Roy smiled from his high stool. “Thank you, Jefferson, favorite owner of my favorite bookshop.” He was glad he’d gone with the title Gold. His agent liked the new title because it stood alone and couldn’t be lumped into the Roy Clarke Rainbow. Besides, Gold had more gravitas than Red. Red was the name of a pony.

He wasn’t as nervous as the last time he’d stood before an audience in this shop. He’d found the perfect passages to read. He was going to skip around, really give them a taste of the book so they didn’t have to read it at all if it was too much trouble. At least they’d have an entertaining evening.

As with his others, now that the book was finished and in print, he had misgivings. He could have done more. The book could have been longer or shorter, the names less annoying. He could have had a glossary of Martian terms, a Russian dictionary, and an introduction by someone from NASA. He could have written something more sensible and less inane. Best not to think about that now.

“I want to express my sincerest gratitude to you all for coming tonight.”

Roy recognized almost every face in the shop, as if all of the guests from Bonfire Night had been squashed into one room, plus a few extras. Nurse Peaches, her musician husband, Greg, and their son, Liam, Shy’s boyfriend, with their rescued three-legged greyhound at their feet. Wendy’s friends from work, Manfred and Gabby, who’d made the donuts. Stuart Little, his beautiful wife, Mandy, and their pyromaniac son, Ted. Stuart Little’s rock star bandmates. Shy’s Latin teacher and table tennis coach, who was really rather brave to show his hairy face. The handsome doctor, who’d brought another very handsome man with him. Jefferson, the bookstore owner, and his girlfriend. That big knucklehead who’d started the schoolyard fire and helped rescue the little boy. Tupper, wearing his signature navy-blue suit spattered with plaster because he was working on something new, and beside him an empty chair with a piece of paper on it that read THIS CHAIR LEFT INTENTIONALLY VACANT. Christian, the Scottish student currently renting their newly renovated Airbnb basement flat. Shy and her sisters, Chloe and Anna, whose stroppy glares had not worn off since they’d arrived at JFK. And, of course, Wendy.

“Thank you for being such wonderful neighbors. I’d like to thank my youngest daughter for learning to make those cinnamon buns out of a tube and for eating some of them so I don’t eat them all. I’d like to thank my other two daughters for deigning to be here.”

“Don’t forget Mum,” Shy whispered loudly.

“How could I possibly forget?” Roy whispered back even louder, setting off a ripple of laughter.