There had been a long queue. Berecombe readers were enthusiastic and many wanted a one to one chat with Patrick. It wasn’t often they could enjoy the company of a bestselling writer. Besides, there wasn’t much else on in October.
Once Whiz had chivvied the queue into submission, she held up her tiny hand and bellowed, ‘If we could just pause for a moment before launching into the signing.’
From her position at the till, Amy looked up. This wasn’t on the itinerary. Patrick should go straight into the signing. A pang of unease stabbed. She’d wanted this evening to go well. It was important to Patrick but also for the bookshop.
‘If Amy could make her way over here,’ Whiz continued. ‘We have a little something to show our gratitude.’
One or two people cheered. Biddy yelled, ‘Hear, hear!’ and a ripple of applause sounded.
Amy froze. She hated being the centre of attention. A sharp finger poked her in her back and propelled her forward. ‘Go on then darling, what are you waiting for?’ It was her mother.
Amy’s knees shook as she made her way to where Patrick and Whiz were standing. Patrick was smiling broadly. When she reached them, he put his arm around her and Whiz disappeared into the back office again.
‘Ladies and gents,’ Patrick began. ‘Amy has organized this whole event. On top of running The Little Book Café, she’s made sure the invites went out, that the event was publicized, that the menu was perfect, and so much more.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her on the cheek. ‘How did you know I love black pudding? Those little toast things with the black pudding and chorizo on were the business.’ Everyone laughed. ‘You probably haven’t even noticed her this evening but she’s worked non-stop making sure the drink flowed, that everyone who wanted a book could buy one – and more besides.’ He waggled his brows which made everyone laugh again. ‘Thank you to you all, from a poor starving writer and, on behalf of this proudly independent bookshop, for being so generous tonight. And, when you’ve all staggered off to your beds, this darlin’ will be here clearing up.’ He stood away from Amy a little and she missed his strong arm around her waist. ‘I know you hate the limelight Amy but can you forgive us? We had to say thank you for all you’ve done.’
To cheers, Whiz produced the most enormous bouquet of lilies and roses Amy had ever seen, along with a large flat box of chocolates in telltale Fortnum & Mason turquoise. Patrick reached down and, from under the table, produced a heavy, beautifully wrapped parcel. ‘Set of signed first editions of my books,’ he whispered and kissed her cheek again. ‘Can’t thank you enough for tonight.’
‘Don’t make me do a speech,’ Amy whispered back, stricken. A chorus of, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’ began, which Amy strongly suspected Biddy was behind. Then everyone burst into applause. With difficulty she gathered up her presents and slunk back to the till, mouthing her thank yous as she went.
Patrick yelled, over the noise, ‘Amy says thank you to you all for coming and helping make it such a good night and she’s now getting back to the till to extract more pennies from those of you who still haven’t bought the book. Quite honestly, why the feck are you here, if you haven’t bought the book?’ The champagne-fuelled crowd roared. ‘For those of you who have contributed to my Guinness fund, we can start the signing.’ He raised his glass of champagne to more cheers.
Amy found the tall stool behind the counter and collapsed onto it. Her face burned. She balanced the bouquet on the sales desk and hid the books and the chocolates underneath. She was bursting with pride that Patrick and Whiz had appreciated all her efforts, as had, seemingly, the good readers of Berecombe, but she was mortified. It had been Millie and Petra who were responsible for the delicious food. All she’d done was agree the menu and estimate and order the right amount of champagne. And the rest of it hadn’t been all that onerous; she’d loved doing it. Aware three customers were at the till waiting to pay, Amy got back to work. As each one paid, they complimented her – on the event, on running such a great asset to the town, on how helpful she always was. Amy nodded and smiled. She’d had no idea how much Berecombe loved having a bookshop. Fighting brain-fog, she watched how Whiz took over, seamlessly organising the signing. She skipped from standing just behind Patrick, making sure the book that needed signing was open at the correct page, to getting readers to put their name on a Post-it so Patrick could copy it without having to go through the ‘how do you spell that?’ routine. It should have speeded everything up but it was well after twelve before it finished. As the last few customers began to teeter out of the bookshop doors, Amy put a shaking hand to her head and slipped, bonelessly from the stool.