had been right; it was the perfect October day, a clear sky and the sun already high enough to dazzle us as we fought with the table legs.
‘What did I say? The guy’s a pervert,’ Jaz said, once I’d finished explaining.
‘He’s coming later today so you can tell him yourself,’ I said, as I unfurled a banner I’d made that week. ‘As are my entire family, including my dad.’
‘Your old man?’ said Jaz, squinting at me in the sunshine. ‘It’d be nice to meet him.’
‘Mmm,’ I murmured back, realizing that, although I’d mentioned Dad many times in NOMAD meetings, I’d always kept him – and the rest of my family – very separate. But today, everyone would collide. Not just Jaz and my family, but Rory, too, along with Eugene and Norris. And Zach! The thought made me dizzy.
‘You all right?’ said Jaz.
‘Mmm,’ I said again. ‘Come on, help me with this.’ I handed her one end of the banner and picked up the Sellotape from the table.
‘Chuck us that,’ Jaz said after I’d secured my side.
She taped her corner and we stood back to survey our handiwork.
A BOOKSHOP’S FOR LIFE, NOT JUST FOR CHRISTMAS, said the banner, in wobbly red letters since I’d decided to paint it rather than risk the printer again.
‘That? That’s the slogan you went with?’ said Jaz, her hands on her hips.
Zach opened the door and came out, hand in hand with Dunc.
I squatted down. ‘Hello, you’ve got so big!’
He buried himself between Zach’s legs.
‘You’ve got a mate,’ said Jaz. ‘What are your babysitting rates like?’
‘Free to this one,’ Zach replied, putting a hand on Dunc’s head. ‘We’ve been looking at dinosaur books, haven’t we?’
Dunc nodded. ‘Yes, and my favourite is the, er…’ His small face contorted with concentration before he frowned up at Zach.
‘The diplodocus,’ said Zach.
Dunc nodded authoritatively.
‘You’re my hero,’ Jaz told him.
‘Not at all. But nice work, you two. You all right if I open up?’
I nodded. ‘I might make a coffee quickly. Jaz, want one?’
‘Yeah, babe. Milk, three sugars please.’
The sunshine meant shoppers flocked to the King’s Road in their cashmere overcoats and sunglasses. By lunchtime, we had over three hundred signatures and Jaz had gone hoarse from shouting like a town crier.
‘Save our local bookshop,’ she croaked for a final time before I told her to quit. I could feel the tentacles of a headache twitching behind my forehead.
Zach ferried us tea and biscuits while Eugene manned the till inside, helped by Dunc sitting on the counter, sliding new books into paper bags.
It was around eleven when I spotted a familiar head of silver hair coming towards us.
‘Dad!’ I cried, one hand shielding my eyes from the sun, the other waving like a small child who’d just spotted her father at the school gates.
He grinned and, behind his spectacles, his eyes crinkled into lines. Time spent in hot countries meant his face had darkened over the years as his hair turned paler.
‘Ah, my Florence, hello,’ he cried, as I hurried out from behind the table and he wrapped his arms around me.
‘Hi,’ I mumbled into his overcoat before stepping back and squinting at him. ‘How are you? Tired? How was the flight? When do you go back? Where are the others?’ I glanced over his shoulder to gauge how long I had him before they arrived.
Dad laughed. ‘Which question do you want me to answer first?’
‘All of them. Oh no, actually, meet my friend Jaz. Jaz, this is my dad, Henry.’
‘Henry Fairfax, hello, very good to meet you.’ He held a tanned hand out towards her.
‘Henry, my man, you too. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Dad pretended to grimace. ‘Not all terrible, I hope?’ Ever a diplomat, he was always ready to charm strangers.
‘Mostly terrible, yeah, but some good,’ she replied, with a grin.
He turned back to me. ‘Your stepmother and sisters have stopped in a shop down there…’ He turned and pointed along the King’s Road. ‘Patricia wanted to look at hats. And I’m extremely well, only sorry that this trip is so brief.’
‘You’re flying back tomorrow?’
‘’Fraid so. Got to be back in the embajada on Monday.’
This meant the embassy. Dad was good with languages. He’d picked up Urdu in Pakistan and was now fluent in Spanish. Mum had been the same – born in France, she could natter in French and English as a child and learned Hindi while teaching in Mumbai. Apparently she’d called me ‘baby bandar’ when I was tiny, a Hindi term of affection meaning