Lifesaving for Beginners

re-open it at the page where I signed it earlier. The page where I wrote her name, then my name. Now I write, in big, looping lettering, Thank you for coming to find me. Lots and lots of love, Kat xxxxx I make her promise that she won’t read it in front of me. She promises and I hand her the book and she opens it and reads the inscription right there in front of me. She nods and says, ‘You’re welcome.’
    The book I signed for Minnie is still on the table. I open that and write, below the place where I wrote her name and my name, Even if I had lots of friends, you’d still be my best one. Kat xxxxx
    Later, Minnie will read it and say, ‘Soppy cow.’
    I look at Milo, who is keeping count. He flashes ten fingers at me, closes his hands, then a further seven. Seventeen people left. I keep going.
    Now there’s just one woman in front of Thomas. One woman with an enormous rucksack on her back. She struggles out of the bag, sets it on the floor and opens it. Inside are books. Stacks of them. She removes them one by one. Places them in two piles on the table. Eighteen in total. Nine in each pile. The Declan Darker books. Two sets. She explains about her neighbour, who is in hospital having her varicose veins done. Would I mind signing all of them? One set for her and the other for her neighbour? The veins are bad. They’re the bulgy variety. The operation hasn’t been as successful as she’d hoped.
    You can’t argue with bulgy veins. I say, ‘My pleasure,’ and I start signing. Even the cramping of my hand is not enough to quell my outpourings of affection.
    ‘What’s your neighbour’s name?’
    ‘Dolores.’
    To darling Dolores, so sorry to hear about your troubles. Hope you are back on your feet very soon. All my love, Kat xxxxxxxxxx
    I write eight more variations of that, then I start on the other pile. The woman’s name is Kerry. I start to write. ‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s with a C. And an ie.’
    ‘Cerrie?’
    ‘That’s me. And could you sign this one for my boyfriend?’
    To Des . . .
    ‘With a Z.’
    To Dez
    ‘This one’s for Florence.’
    ‘With an F.’ My little joke.
    ‘No, with a P h.’
    ‘Phlorence?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    I sign and sign. I’m nearly there. Behind Kerry – Cerrie – Thomas is on the phone. I hear his voice, soft and low. Wispa bars. My mouth waters.
    ‘Here’s the last one. Can you make it out to Lola?’
    ‘Sure.’ Lola. You can’t go wrong with Lola.
    ‘Eh, there’s an H at the end,’ says Cerrie. I add the H – Lolah – and Cerrie smiles. ‘You’re much nicer than I thought you’d be.’
    ‘Er, thank you.’ It takes her ages to put the books back inside the rucksack. I try to help but she says no. They have to go back in chronological order. I don’t say, ‘Have a safe trip back to the asylum, won’t you?’ I say, ‘No problem. And thank you for coming. And give my best to Dolores, won’t you? And to Dez, Phlorence and Lolah, of course.’
    Eventually, she hoists the rucksack on her back, turns and leaves.
    ‘There you are.’ That’s what Thomas says when I look up. He smiles his old familiar smile and says, ‘There you are.’ I feel like he’s right. Here I am. It’s taken me so long to get here but I made it in the end.
    I say, ‘I’ve missed you.’ It slips out. I’m still springing leaks, it seems.
    He looks shocked. I can’t blame him.
    He doesn’t say, ‘I’ve missed you too.’ I decide not to take it as A Sign.
    Instead, he says, ‘You never got in touch.’ He sounds hurt, like he wanted me to get in touch. A feeling surges, like a tide coming in. I recognise the feeling. It’s hope.
    ‘I thought about you every day. I missed you every day.’ I say it real matter-of-fact. It’s the only way I can manage. ‘I just . . . I didn’t want to call you. I didn’t want to presume. And I knew you had your own stuff going on . . .’
    ‘You mean Sarah?’
    I nod.
    ‘That was a mistake.’ I stand up. He doesn’t call it a disaster, which I would have preferred. But a mistake. That’s something. Someplace to start.
    I say, ‘I know all about mistakes. But it’s like Samuel Beckett says, about failing. You have to try again. Try harder. Fail better.’
    ‘Fail better?’
    ‘Yes. That’s my plan. I’m going to fail better. No point in setting expectations too high, with my track record.’ That earns a smile. A small one.
    I move around to his side of the table. Stand beside him. Close enough to