Page 115 of The Truth About You and Me
The shop is even more full than before. Patrick’s recent stint onBetween the Covershas made his coming here more prominent than I had originally planned. I was pleased, but the minute I make this announcement, the atmosphere will deflate like a popped balloon.
‘Don’t worry, I can fix this.’ Mum squeezes a hand on my arm. ‘I’ll ring his agent?—’
‘No, I… I can sort it. But thanks.’
‘Darling, I know we pushed you to do this on your own but that doesn’t mean we’re not here for you if you need help.’
‘I know. And thanks. But I have an idea.’
If I can keep them entertained long enough to get their attention, I might be able to pull this off.
The magician has finished and the children are starting to fidget. My eyes land on the book folded next to the chair, ready and waiting for Patrick to talk about his book and the story behind it.
‘So… what are you going to do about…?’ Mum gestures to the children who are fidgeting like they’re sitting on a pile of nettles.
I swallow, eyes on the book. The magician gets up and makes her way across the room. I speak quickly, she passes me her pen, and I make my way over to the desk, pull out the ticket list, and hide my activities with my back, before sitting down in the creaking reading chair in front of the children.
I can’t mess this up. The kids are already getting bored, and I’ve seen more than one glance at smartwatches from the parents. I can’t ruin this. Not now. Not after how far I’ve come.
‘Hi!’ I clear my throat. ‘I’m Jack and this is my new shop. What do you think? Pretty neat, eh?’
Neat?How old am I, seventy?
The children look up at me unsure how to answer.
Greta sniggers and mouths ‘neat’ to her sister.
‘Mr Shaw couldn’t wait to meet you all, but he’s got a poorly tummy and can’t come.’ The faces that look at me are already becoming bored, bottoms are shuffling and the parents seem to have with tight lines where moments ago full smiles were clamped over glasses of wine and chocolate-covered pretzels. I get it. I’ve seen my nieces’ tantrums and they are not pretty. I’m losing them fast so I revert to the best way I know around grabbing kids’ attention. ‘He’s been…’ I act out violently farting, wafting my hands. The kids giggle and the unease in my stomach settles a touch. OK, so I may have got a bit carried away with the vomiting actions and louder farting noises, by the expressions and furrowed brows of the Waitrose brigade, but the children are in hysterics. Right. Time to calm them down.
‘But… I’ve been told that this book is magical but we can’t see the magic until the final pages.’ I raise my eyebrows knowingly. Eager and curious glances from the children, sceptical and challenging looks from parents, who are probably wondering if the next part of my act might actually include real farts and vomit. I turn to the back of the book and show the page to the eager faces.
‘I can’t see anything!’ A boy with glasses and scruffy hair scowls at the book, rising up on his knees.
‘Ah well that’s because it will only appear once I’ve read the story.’ I grin and there is a buzz of excitement. ‘But first I have to tell you a bit about me.’ I hold up the book with the invisible writing on the back page.
‘You know how you can’t see any words? Well, that’s a little bit like me. I can’t always read what is on the pages of a book.’
‘That’s stupid. Why do you have a bookshop if you can’t read?’
‘Conner!’ A short sharp voice from a mother who is reddening quickly looks to me and mouths ‘sorry’ but I shake my head and smile to her.
‘You have a very good point. But you see, sometimes, you have to learn new things. Even when you’re a grown-up.’
‘I thought that’s why we have to go to school? I don’t want to learn when I’m grown up.’
There is a murmur of laughter from the parents standing at the back.
‘Ah well. You keep learning even when you get really, really, old… like me.’
I turn the cover over, glancing at the chocolate-smeared faces. Jesus. I’ve run marathons in forty-degree heat. This might be harder. I point to the title and slowly trace the words.
‘I’m going to be brave now and try to read this to you, but I may need a bit of help, is that OK?’
‘I’m red group in English. I can help you,’ a girl of about five pipes up, dark brown ponytail swinging.
‘You are? Brilliant.’
I take a deep breath, ignore the way my hands are shaking, and turn the page.
