Excerpt from All the Lonely People by Mike Gayle, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"That certainly sounds like a packed schedule!" said Rose. "I don't know how you do it."

"Neither do I, darling. Neither do I. Anyway, you take care, me speak to you soon."

Ending the call, Hubert sat for a moment contemplating his conversation with Rose. He'd nearly put his foot in it once or twice. He really was going to either have a brain transplant or at the very least get himself a better system for making notes. Picking up the pen from the table beside him, he wrote down "MAKE BETTER NOTES" in his pad, then tossed it to one side with such force that Puss, who had curled up in his lap again, woke up and stared at him accusingly.

"Don't start with me," said Hubert, trying to avoid her gaze.

Puss continued to stare.

"You know it's not like me enjoy doing this."

Still Puss stared.

"It's not like me got a choice in the matter, is it?"

Puss gave Hubert one last disdainful glower before jumping down to the floor and stalking out of the room as if to say she didn't tolerate liars. Because the truth was Hubert Bird was a liar. And a practiced one at that. Not a single word he'd said to his daughter was true. It was lies, all lies. And he felt absolutely wretched about it.

2
THEN
June 1957

It was early evening and Hubert Hezekiah Bird was enjoying a glass of rum with his friend Gus at Karl's, which was the closest thing their village had to a bar. Karl's consisted of a shack made entirely of sheets of corrugated metal painted in a patchwork of bright colors, with a few mismatched tables and chairs outside. A stray dog lay on the ground nearby, soaking up the last rays of the setting sun.

Draining his glass, Hubert asked Gus if he wanted another and his oldest friend gestured for him to wait.

"Let me tell you my news first," he said.

Gus reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a piece of paper, which he waved in the air with an exaggerated flourish.

Hubert's eyes widened.

"Is that what me think it is?"

Grinning, Gus handed the one-way ticket from Kingston to Southampton to his friend. Hubert couldn't quite believe what he was looking at.

"You're going to England?"

Gus laughed that deep laugh of his.

"Yes, man! I've been saving like crazy these past few months. Didn't you wonder why I haven't been able to stand you any drinks lately?"

Hubert laughed. "Me just thought you were being tight with your dough!"

"I been wanting this really badly, Smiler," said Gus. "There's nothing for me here. You know Cousin Charlie left just last month and he wrote to Auntie that he's already got a job and he's even managing to send a bit of money home too. He must be rolling in it!"

Gus sighed and gazed over Hubert's head dreamily.

"I can't wait to have some money, get myself some nice clothes and maybe even an English girl too!"

He picked up the glass of rum he'd been drinking, downed it in one, and put his arm around his friend's shoulder.

"Come with me, Smiler. You and me in England! We'll have a wild time! What do you say?"

For the rest of the evening and long into the night the two friends spoke of nothing but life in England: all the things they'd heard about and all the things Gus would see and do. It seemed unreal, like they were talking about a fantasy, but within just a few short weeks Hubert found himself standing at the Kingston docks, waving his old friend off on the journey of a lifetime. As he watched the boat disappear over the horizon, Hubert made the decision that he too would make this same journey.

Over the weeks that followed, Hubert took on all the extra work he could handle to supplement his income, and within a few months he'd scraped together the money for his passage. The day he bought his ticket, the very first thing he did was tuck it safely in the back pocket of his trousers, and the second was head home and break the news to his mother.

Excerpted from All the Lonely People by Mike Gayle. Copyright © 2022 by Mike Gayle. Excerpted by permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.