Page 22

Sunday starts with my usual shift at Every Book the tinkle of the bell on the door when someone comes in; even the chaos of the back room, which is crammed full of stock and paperwork and old T-shirts.

All week my head has been filled with Neon and the unicorn and even that silly pink rabbit.

For now, I try to stay in the real world.

While I rearrange nine years of paperwork, Mutti sits at the counter on her laptop. She’s already hard at work on edits for her next book, which is due out in a year. I hear a lot more sighing and muttering than typing, so it’s obviously not going well.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t get anything out today.” She leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes. “Fancy a cup of tea?”

I sit back and realise my legs have gone stiff from crouching down so long. “Yes, please.”

Mutti makes us each a cup, then gets Mum’s emergency biscuits down from the top shelf.

The back room is too cramped for us both to stand in comfortably and there still aren’t any customers, so we take our mugs up to the pulpit and settle into the cosy reading chairs there.

The tea is exactly how I like it, nice and milky, and it actually makes me feel a little better.

“What do you think this place will be turned into once it closes down?” I ask Mutti.

“No idea, Laur.” She peels off the wrapping on the biscuits. “What would you like it to be turned into? What’s the town missing?”

I think for a moment. “Maybe an escape room. Or a karaoke place.”

Mutti laughs and passes me the packet. “Both great ideas. You should start a petition, see if you can get the community on board.”

“If I was going to start a petition, it would be to save the shop.” My heart quickens. “Do you think that could work?”

“It’s a bit late for that, ducky.” Mutti smiles sadly. “I love that you’d be ready to do that, though.”

I try to imagine the space around me with all the books gone, the cosy armchairs vanished, all my recommendations cards ripped up and thrown away. Most likely the place will sit empty for months or years before anyone rents the space for a new business, and that makes me even sadder.

“Is there anything bothering you?” Mutti looks at me as she blows on her tea. “Other than the news about the shop, I mean. You seemed a little far away at dinner last night. Joel too.”

I take a hasty gulp of my drink and try to come up with an excuse.

Mutti dunks her biscuit into her tea and waits, not pushing me for an answer.

Between promo for her latest book and edits for the next one, she’s been really busy over the past couple of months.

It’s been a while since we had any alone time together.

Of both of my parents, she’s definitely the one more likely to believe me about Neon. I decide to test the waters.

“Mutti,” I say slowly, “how real do you think stories are?”

She looks confused by my question. “How real? Well … I think they have a real impact, if that’s what you mean.

They’re mirrors for how we see ourselves.

” Her eyes start to shine – this is one of her favourite topics.

“That’s why representation is so important.

Especially for queer people, people of colour, disabled people, all sorts of marginalised groups.

Stories can help people feel seen and included, or show them what they can achieve. ”

“Definitely.”

We’ve had this conversation before. I’ve talked about it with Tilly in the past too, about how much she likes finding books written by British Chinese authors or shows with Asian actors playing the main characters.

And I still remember getting really excited the first time someone gave me a picture book featuring a family with two mums.

“But I also think it’s important not to get too swept up in fiction,” Mutti says.

“Things can be more black and white in stories than they are in the real world. It’s not a replacement for real life.

Sometimes, when you and Joel were younger, I’d be so caught up in the plots I was creating that I’d miss things that were happening in our lives. I regretted that afterwards.”

I wonder if I’ve done the same. After I made Neon up, I spent so much time imagining his life in New York City that sometimes I hardly noticed the world around me. At times that was what I needed, especially when things were tough with Caitlin and Hannah. But I wonder how much I missed.

Before I can think about how to broach the topic of Neon, the door opens and a customer comes in. Mutti quickly finishes her tea and hurries back down to the till. A few more people come in after that, and there’s no chance to pick up our conversation where we left off.

Once my shift is over, I head home for a quick lunch, then cycle up to Tilly’s to see Neon and the unicorn.

There are voices coming from inside the barn when I arrive.

I push open the door and find the unicorn curled up in a pile of hay with Neon and Tilly, who are both hand-feeding her carrots like she’s a spoilt Roman emperor.

Neon looks up at me and grins. “Hey! We’ve been trying to work out what this one eats. Turns out she loves carrots, so I guess she’s not totally unlike a horse.”

Bella is sitting in the corner, her chin resting on her paws, obviously miffed that the attention has been pulled away from her.

I kneel down to stroke her between the ears before going towards the unicorn.

She turns her head to look at me and gives a soft whinny.

It’s the first sound I’ve heard her make.

It’s light and musical, almost like bell chimes.

“She looks happy,” I say, gently touching the unicorn’s mane. The fine silvery strands glimmer in the glow of the fairy lights above us.

“Isn’t she the most beautiful thing ever? Except Bella, obviously,” Tilly adds, with a guilty look over at her dog. “We’ve been trying to come up with a name for her. Do you have any suggestions?”

I was thinking about that too, but nothing comes to mind.

Tilly takes out her phone and searches for ideas – there are a surprising amount of articles dedicated to suggestions for unicorn names.

We try out a few from one list: Celestia, Calypso, Luna…

The unicorn doesn’t react to any of them but, when she hears Tilly read out Aurora, she throws back her head and makes that light, tinkling sound again.

“I guess Aurora it is,” Neon says cheerfully as Tilly laughs and pats Aurora’s back. “Was everything OK at yours last night? Joel didn’t tell your moms about her, did he?”

Aurora finishes one carrot and looks up expectantly. I reach for another from the bag, and she takes a big, happy bite. Bella gives a snort of disgust and slips out of the barn to go and sulk.

“No, no. You don’t need to worry about that,” I say. “But I do have bad news. My mums have to close down the shop.”

“No!” Tilly slaps her hands to her cheeks. “I love Every Book & Cranny!”

Neon jumps to his feet. “We have to save it!” he shouts, exactly like I knew he would.

“I don’t think there is any saving it,” I say sadly. “Mum says they’re in a lot of debt. She sounds pretty sure that this is the end of the road.”

“So much stuff here has closed down,” Tilly says, nodding. “And it must be so hard for bookshops to keep going when they’re up against those huge online stores that can sell things much cheaper.”

“Come on! There has to be something we can do.” Neon starts to pace, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully. “We need to get the word out about the place, right? Get more customers in?”

“We could bring Aurora to visit.” Tilly grins and loops her arms round the unicorn’s long neck to give her a hug. “Might be a bit of a tight squeeze, but that would definitely attract attention.”

Neon claps his hands together. “What about an event? That would bring people to the shop!”

“They do host events sometimes – Mutti’s had book launches there before, and some other local authors have too.”

They’ve also tried to do reading groups and things, but since the pandemic only a few people have showed up. Mum’s last attempt was a slam poetry evening, but so few people came that it didn’t even cover the cost of keeping the shop open late.

“But they didn’t have us to promote it! We can tell everyone at school, get them all to come. How about an open-mic night?” Neon spins round to point at me. “We could sing together! You said you wanted to try again. This could be our chance.”

My stomach instantly fills with anxiety at the thought of performing – or, worse, trying and failing to perform – in front of people for a second time. “The place is a bit small for that, isn’t it?”

“We’ll move some stuff around. Maybe we could borrow some chairs from school, for people who need them, and others could stand. And we could bake some cakes to sell!”

Deep down, I know that if the event was a success it would be a one-off.

There’s no way we’d be able to raise enough money to actually save the shop.

But Neon seems so excited by his idea and so keen to help, and that’s hard to say no to.

He bounces on the balls of his feet, willing me to agree, and eventually I throw my hands up and laugh.

“It’s worth a go, I guess.”

“Awesome.” Neon punches the air. “We need to do it soon. How about Friday?”

Tilly shakes her head. “Halloween is on Friday. Loads of people will be out trick-or-treating, and we don’t want to clash with the school disco. Let’s do Saturday instead.”

We start throwing out names of people we know who might want to perform. Neon’s a definite yes, of course, and I might join him if I can muster up the courage by then. Tilly’s friend Jamie wants to be a stand-up comedian, which shocks me as she seems really shy.

“Um, I could have a go at performance poetry.” Tilly’s cheeks go bright red. “I mean, my poems are really bad, but I could give it a try.”

I didn’t know she wrote poetry. I’m about to say so but I hold myself back. Tilly has changed since we were best friends in primary school, and that’s OK. I’m not the same person I was back then, either.

“Bet they’re not,” I say. “I’d really like to hear them.”

“Me too!” Neon sticks one hand out. After a beat, Tilly and I place ours on top of his. “We can do this, I just know it. We’re going to save Every Book & Cranny.”