Sign here ...

Background: Piet & Cindy are on a book-signing tour & have stopped in Tamworth, with only one child in tow. This excerpt is from the chapter 'Three Deep'  from the book DLC32.

We had a simple lunch in a bakery not far from the bookshop, in the main street. “Big Daddy’s” was run by an overweight woman who reminded me a little of Aunty Jack in the way she demanded that we order … until she saw Téo & turned into a grandmother, asking what he wanted. He saw this as his opportunity to get a pie that was so full of gravy that we had to take him back to the motel to change. So much for being close to the bookshop. He also got a meringue thrown in, so greasy pie had sugary streaks through it before the shirt came off. Excellent choice of venue. Definitely my fault. I saw “bacon & egg pie” & my brain stopped.

Too little time to drop him in a bath … or should I just leave him & Cindy behind? One look from her & I knew I had to take them both with me. It’s a package deal, of course. 

I have my usual survival kit - a box of poetry, a box of fiction, & a box of marketing - in the car, but I shouldn’t need the books, because this is a chain store, so they work off their own stocks. It just happens magically, as far as I can work out. Jane waves a wand & anyone she hits has to move stuff around.

We arrived walking along the lovely brick paving of the tree-lined street, crossing the road just in front of the store, because we’d had to come back from the wrong direction in changing the lad. He’s now carrying a box. It takes two hands, but it’s not heavy. He will complain, but it’s just his way of letting us know he’s still breathing. Actually, you can almost see the steam coming out of his ears as he walks ahead of us.

“A sinistra all'incrocio.”

“Questo?”

Bookshop.

He hides his reading ability quite well. We’ve been told that he’s lazy. I agree. He doesn’t like to perform for spectators - such as doing tests. But, we’re both of the opinion that his reading is close to where Evie’s was a year ago, in reality, which means above average. If he’s putting in effort to hide the fact, then he could be smarter. It’s a game. I suspect we’ll never win.

I nodded. He won’t go in ahead of us. He just doesn’t. It’s like sacrificing the lower player in case there’s a trap inside the castle gates. That’s usually Mum, but I think it will have to be me taking the risk.

“Hello there. Pietro Malone. Manager about?”

Eyes like saucers. She has to be older than 12, but barely. Obviously, if she was, say, 16, she might be the manager.

“Umm.”

I smiled at her. That rarely helps, to be honest, when you’re dealing with girls who work in bookshops. They get their poise at about 25, when they realise their life is over so they may as well make the most of what they’ve got & undo another button on their shirt.

At least she’s started pointing. I suspect that’s it for her communication skills for now. There’s a reason she’s not still in high school. It’s not that she loves books. To be fair, she probably did go right through high school, but still got nothing out of it.

There’s an older person with a name tag. Jackpot.

“Hello. Pietro Malone.”

She looked at her watch.

“So you are!”

I do hope she’s not using Mickey Mouse as a template for recognising me. I want to check that it’s Daffy Duck on her wrist. I have one of those. Well, I had one. I must still have it somewhere. I’d like to get it a new battery so that one of the kids can wear it. Chrys would, because she’s terribly retro these days, but I don’t think she’d ‘get it’, which is ironic, because she’s the only product of that period in my life.

“This is my wife, Cindy, & son, Téo. If you could tell us where to set up?”

“Yes, I could!”

Oh dear. There is something fundamentally lacking in Tamworth, such that bookstores are full of people who … shouldn’t be allowed out on their own.

Partially hidden behind an array of calendars, there is a table & chair. They’ve moved a rotating display a little away from in front of a cupboard, & turned a table sideways to block traffic. Excellent planning!

“Shall I put up my own signage?”

“Sure.”

Work with me, here.

Cindy - bless her heart - knows how to work this thing. Snap. There it is. It’s kind of like she flicked her wand & … no, I’m not implying in any way that she’s a witch, only that she’s magical. Téo, having stopped moving, is now pulling things out of the box. This is partially helpful. I really only need a pen for now … & the camera that I didn’t buy film for.

“How’s this work? Can I do it?”

The film’s in the box. There’s an advantage to letting him loose in the short term.

“What time did you … advertise for?”

I’m going to regret asking.

“Huh?”

I told you.

“Cindy? I think we’d best do this alfresco.”

“I love it when you talk French.”

No-one’s going to stop me. We just picked up the table & the poster & put them outside. I went back for the chair because no-one’s going to help.

“Now what?”

“You, my muse, will select a random poem, & I shall recite.”

Somewhere not far away, there’s a two-dollar shop with a recording of a barker going through their specials. It’s not my inspiration, so much as a challenge. 

“Téo, I really wish I had a drum for you right now.”

“You do?”

He’s just a little too eager to help.

“No.”

& his face falls just like that. He’s resilient, though. Unstoppable, more so than unbreakable.

I looked up & down. There’s an ordinary number of people, given that it’s hot out. That means I shouldn’t stay here very long myself, because the doors are stupidly half-closed to keep the cool in & I can’t block them. 

In my best lecture-hall-full-of-snoring-students voice, I launch into it, looking directly at Cindy.

I fall asleep, a knowing smile upon my face

when I’m with you, & wake refreshed, as if the dreams

that through the week have left at dawn without a trace

come true at last - or that is how the vision seems.

& every moment I can look into your eyes,

I see my future mapped with so much joy ahead,

but wonder what it takes for me to realise

this is reality - it’s where our love has led.

So I embrace you & that future with the dawn,

drink in your lovely shining eyes, your endless smile,

your body pressed in close, so soft & smooth & warm -

or have I closed my eyes again to dream awhile?

Let this dream never end; if only I can keep

you in my arms so happily, I’d stay asleep.

One is not enough. People have turned - mostly to see who the idiot is shouting down the main street of Tamworth. Are people coming out of shops? Is it working? It’s no good asking Cindy, because she’s looking at me. She likes this bit.

Because she is my lady, or because I am her man,

there is nought to hold above her, & there’s nary one who can;

I give all my life to love her, so I hope she’ll understand

how I do dote upon her greatly as I hold her tender hand.

Because I am enamoured & my love for her’s deserved,

my heart has been at peace at last & no more will be moved,

& as our trysting time is passed with eyes on one beloved,

then equally we’re glamoured as the first sight is preserved.

A life has now fulfilled my dreams & made of them so real

that nothing else exists outside of this deep love I feel,

& no more will I know beside the one whose kiss I steal,

but what we learn as one, or seems to come from loving’s zeal.

Because I’ll hold her tightly & because she keeps me close,

the love we have is right for me & rapidly it grows.

For all my years ahead, I see the way this romance goes -

I’ll thank my lover nightly, writing poesy & prose.

Because I am a poet & because she is my muse,

I write so she will know that her sweet love is all I choose.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Just keep looking sexy. Something’s got to attract attention.”

“What’s going on, mate?”

“Book signing …”

For heaven’s sake! Isn’t it obvious? The big poster, the reading, the silly table?

“Who’s signing?”

Give me strength. The guy in the picture who looks like me.

“Oh, here he is! Am I late?”

There’s a commotion headed our way - my target audience (middle-aged frumpy white woman) & her entourage (daughter).

“Sorry, are you in the line? Where do I get a book?”

“You go inside to buy the book, then we’ll sign it out here.”

“Which one are you?” she asked me, because the poster behind me doesn’t give away … 

Hang on. Which one? She’s here for cookbooks, isn’t she?

“I’m the charming one.”

“Not the chef?”

My reputation precedes me, or possibly Paolo’s.

“He’s the one I saw last night, Mum. I told you.”

“But you’re not the chef?”

“My brother is the qualified chef - I’m the house cook who tested all of the recipes.”

“Oh! The one with the snotty remarks! OK. Could you sign my book anyway?”

She brought her own. It’s the big heavy version of the first one, & it’s seen a fair bit of use. Well, it’s been left lying around open a bit, I suspect.

“Who shall I say is my number one fan?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“What should I write?”

“Your name, I guess.”

They really don’t understand book signings up here, do they?

“Wouldn’t you like me to personalise it?”

She gave me a few seconds of goggle-eye.

“I already put my name in it. I loaned it to my sister & she made a mess of it.”

I refuse to look at Cindy. She’ll have that biting the lip look on her face that says she would really like a moment of time-out to giggle for a bit at my expense.

But, there’s inspiration for you.

Sure enough, her name is in the front, & there’s enough space for me to write:

“If you borrow Beryl’s book again, I’ll have to write her a new one - Pietro Malone.”

“Well, that’s nice. Isn’t that nice?”

She showed it off to her daughter, a 20-something who doesn’t cook & still lives at home (just guessing). Now, theoretically, she’s almost my target audience for the fiction. She’s not looking at Mum, because Mum is terribly embarrassing. Maybe she’ll catch the eye of my poster.

“I’m buying a book.”

Told you.

“What shall I write on yours?”

“Something nice?”

“I hope that Andrea reads all of my books, because she seems nice - Pietro Malone”

“OK, fine, I’ll get a book of poetry, too.”

She went back inside. Given how slow business is, it didn’t take long for her to be at the desk again.

“I’ve got this …”

In Peel St did Andrea find

A new love poem to blow her mind;

In her head she could sing & forget everything,

So she left all her troubles behind.

• Pietro Malone

“Wow. For reals?”

“It’s all yours, Andrea - I promise I will never write that for anyone else.”

“Mum!”

“Now, you go tell your friends about that, girlie!”

I suspect that Andrea will ‘go’ a few metres before it gets tweeted & it’s no longer the one & only copy. That’s technology for you. It’s certainly not copyright friendly.

My first customer has been in the bookshop the whole time. I think he expected more of a show, but he’s finally made a purchase, & I might be lucky & it’s relevant.

“Don’t know where my wife got to. Can’t hang here all day.”

Grey nomad. There’s no telling what state the wife is in.

“Who shall I write for?”

“Oh. Best be for her, then, right? Doreen. Her name is Doreen.”

“& yours?”

“Campbell.”

“That’s your first name?”

I had to be sure.

“Yes, why?”

“I just thought I’d put you together.”

When Doreen & Campbell had stopped

For a rest on their journey, they shopped,

But the book that they bought

Was not quite what they thought

& the rhyme not as good as they’d hoped.

- Pietro Malone

He read it several times. I could tell, because his lips paused at the end of each line.

“Oh. I see.”

I really hope he finds his wife. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s no fun on his own.

We had a bit of a gap in proceedings then. Téo sat on the box, which was probably to the detriment of both of them, & the person who may or may not have been the manager wandered out & looked up & down the street as if they expected something to happen, but didn’t look my way. Obviously, I had things under control, & the crowd wasn’t getting unruly.

“Another reading?”

“They’re not worthy.”

“Oh my! Someone needs a coffee.”

“I need my ego massaged.”

“Not on this street. I think it was in one of those alleys back there.”

No matter how beautifully paved & tree-lined the street with the banks is, there’s always an alley that leads to establishments of ill repute (or wide acceptance as a social necessity). I’m not saying I’m an expert at locating them, I’ve just been told.

This went on for another ten minutes before I got truly shitty. I shouldn’t. This was my idea. I waved Nametag out & discovered that her name is ‘Manager’.

“Shall we call it a day?”

She shrugged. I’m taking that as acceptance that life is genuinely cruel. Mind you, she has at least two more hours of this kind of commercial rejection before she can lock up & go home to feed her cat. She’ll have one. She’s not married.

“Quite a crowd!” 

Snap. The poster goes away as if it was never here. The table will take longer to rub out of existence, but it folds as flat as my ego. But just 'cause I missed it, no need to get all bitter 'n twisted.

“At one point, you had ‘em stacked three deep.”