Page 23 of Book People

‘Maybe a small local festival is what she prefers? Some people like a more personal experience.’

He’s not wrong. Then again . . .

‘She must get invitations to speak everywhere, at festivals larger and more interesting than ours. Why would she choose to come to us over something else?’

‘Good point.’ He glances down at his watch. ‘Hold that thought. Got to get back to the clinic. Let’s discuss at the Arms tonight, yeah?’

I nod and then, after he’s gone, I spend some time pacing pointlessly.

Across the road, a group of women are pushing vast prams into Portable Magic, gossiping and laughing. No one is coming into Blackwood Books. No one at all.

I curse under my breath, pacing some more.

There’s no reason I can think of why Lisa Underwood would want to come to Wychtree. None. Not even as a professional favour. I don’t know her from a bar of soap, but I’m guessing she has publicists to the eyeballs and that they’ll be dragons about what events she’ll agree to.

And I can’t pay her.

The money I would have used for Wyatt I’m now going to have to use to pay back the debts I already have, not to mention the cost of changing all the marketing.

I reach the shelves, turn around and pace back to the front window.

My brain is falling over itself, trying to find alternative authors who would work, and not coming up with any. They’re either too famous to cold call, or they’re not famous enough to generate the kind of ticket sales I need.

Lisa Underwood is our best bet. But how can we get her to come? For nothing. What does Wychtree and Blackwood Books have to offer that she couldn’t get at a book fair? Or any of the other literary festivals going on around the country at the moment?

I’m mid-pace when I notice something sitting on the top of my counter.

It’s a book.

I go over and glance down at it.

Science fiction. Martha Wells.

I’ve been meaning to order her latestSF, because I read the last Murderbot book and enjoyed it immensely. But what with the festival organisation, I haven’t got around to placing the order.

Where did it come from, though? I don’t have any science fiction in the shop, and it’s not from Dan because I didn’t see him put anything down and he doesn’t likeSFanyway.

Was it a customer from yesterday?

I pick the book up and turn it over. There’s a price sticker on the bottom of the cover with ‘Portable Magic’ printed in a jaunty font, complete with magic wand.

Instinctively I glance out of the front window and there she is, Miss Kate Jones. She’s standing in her own shopfront window and looking at me, looking at the book.

She mouths, ‘For you.’

Then she smiles. And waves.

Chapter Seven

I wish I didn’t feel this way about you. Life would be so much easier if I didn’t. But, if I said I felt nothing, that would be a lie. And I can lie to anyone but you.

C

KATE

That night, I sit cross-legged on my little sofa with my laptop on my knees and compose an email to Lisa Underwood.

We haven’t corresponded for a while and I don’t want to immediately barge in with a request for a favour, so I keep it short, more of a ‘Hi, how are you, what are you doing?’ kind of thing. When she emails me back I’ll ask about visiting Wychtree, and would she like to come to our festival.

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