Signing Off

London, September 1991.

The queue for the signing stretched halfway down the bookshop, curling between tables stacked high with hardbacks carrying A.J. Rose’s name. Emily was nervous and jittery. Every few minutes she peered towards the signing table at the far end of the shop as though checking he was still there.

Beside her, Helen held her handbag tightly against herself and tried not to look in that direction at all.

“You’re acting strangely,” Emily said eventually.

“I’m fine.”

“You look nervous.”

“So do you,” said Helen with a frown.

Emily smiled. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What sort of surprise?”

“You remember I told you I met someone travelling?”

Helen nodded cautiously.

“Well…” Emily lowered her voice slightly. “It was him.”

Helen’s face turned white.

“What?”

“A.J. Rose. I know him.”

“You know him?”

“We just sort of bumped into each other in the Cotswolds. It’s a long story.”

Helen suddenly felt very cold.

When her mother didn’t speak, Emily said, “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Helen looked towards the front of the queue where Andy sat signing books beneath the bright lights of the shop. She considered leaving and for one brief moment, she almost did.

At the front table, A.J. signed another book, smiled politely for a photograph, then reached automatically for the next copy waiting in front of him.

“Who shall I make this out to?” he asked without looking up.

“Emily,” she said brightly. “And this is my mum, Helen. She’s a big fan.”

The pen stopped moving. A.J. looked up. His eyes found Emily first, then they moved to Helen.

His practised smile disappeared instantly, replaced by shock, disbelief, and something far too raw to hide beneath the bright lights. For several long seconds, nobody spoke.

Helen suddenly felt herself standing in a smoky London flat, watching her whole future disappear down the stairs in handcuffs.

“Hells…” he said quietly.

Nobody had said her name like that for over twenty years.

Emily looked between them both, her excitement slowly fading as the pieces began falling together.

Helen managed the smallest smile. “Hello, Andy.”

The name hit him visibly. Around them, the shop carried on obliviously. Quiet conversation. Rustling pages. The slow shuffle of the queue behind them. But at the signing table, time seemed to have stalled completely.

Then A.J.’s eyes shifted slowly between mother and daughter. Helen saw the exact second of realisation on his face and Emily’s too as she remembered the books on her mother’s shelf and the argument between her mother and grandmother… You ruined my life…

“Oh my god…” Emily whispered.

“You didn’t tell me your surname,” A.J. said softly.

“You didn’t ask,” Emily replied.

Then came Helen’s moment of realisation as she watched the interaction between her daughter and AJ. The queue behind them shifted impatiently.

Helen glanced back awkwardly. “You should probably sign the book before your readers riot.”

That finally seemed to bring him back into the room. He looked down at the open title page for a moment before asking, “What would you like me to write?”

Emily glanced at her mother, then back at him. Finally, she smiled faintly. “Maybe just… to Emily. From Andy.”

He wrote slowly and carefully, added a small x at the bottom, then closed the book and handed it back to her. Then he took a spare book from the table, opened the cover and signed it, ‘To Helen, my love…from Andy.’

It was the only time he’d ever signed a book from Andy. Neither Helen nor Emily moved immediately. A.J. glanced towards the growing line, then back at the two women standing in front of him.

“If you’ve got time, perhaps we could all have dinner afterwards?”

Helen opened her mouth slightly, caught off guard by how naturally he had said it.

Emily looked between them both, then grinned. “I think that sounds nice.”

For a second, Helen considered refusing. Instead, she heard herself say, “Okay, why not?”

“We should probably move before your readers **** us,” Emily said, which earned a smile from him.

They shuffled off, stopping only when they reached the far side of the shop.

Helen folded her arms slowly. “So,” she said. “Tell me exactly how well you know him.”

Emily’s face flushed. Helen sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh god. You slept with him?”

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

Then, despite herself, Helen started laughing.

“We should probably have a little chat before we go to dinner,” She said.

The End