The Secret Christmas Bookshop (The Secret Bookshop #1)

Chapter Nine

T he book was on Sophie’s wooden coffee table, still loosely wrapped in its brown paper. She sat on the sofa, cradling her coffee, while Clifton snoozed in his dog bed, under a patch of winter sun filtering in through the window.

She picked up Jane Eyre , held it to her nose and sniffed. It had that familiar, slightly musty scent, with a faint chemical undertone that might have been the glue used to rebind it. She flicked through it, stopping to read a paragraph here, a line there, pausing on a page that caught her eye:

I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that brow professes to say – ‘I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.’

With a lump clogging her throat, she turned back to the first page and slid the gold ribbon in to it.

Next, she reread the postcard:

Dear Sophie, sometimes you have to look closer to home to find what you’ve been missing. Please accept this gift as an early Christmas present – love from The Secret Bookshop.

She hadn’t heard anyone in Mistingham mention a secret bookshop, and Fiona hadn’t either. She wished, now, that she’d asked May about it on Saturday, but there had been too many other things to talk about. She still felt indignant that there was someone out there who thought she was missing something in her life, who thought they knew her well enough to tell her that, but indignation was far outweighed by intrigue, and she was desperate to find out who had given it to her.

She put the book and postcard back on her coffee table, finished her drink and went to get ready for work.

‘Aunty Sophie! Uncle Clifton!’ was the shout that greeted her when she arrived at the bakery at lunch time. As usual, its incredible smells met her even before she’d walked through the open door – a mix of baking bread, frying bacon and melting cheese – and Sophie’s taste buds burst into life in anticipation.

‘Lucy.’ Dexter wearily ran a hand through his hair. ‘Not everyone is Aunt and Uncle.’

Lucy had been sitting on the bakery counter swinging her legs, but now she jumped off and wrapped her arms around Sophie, then crouched to stroke her dog while Sophie tied him up outside, next to a large metal water bowl.

Lucy’s dark hair was a tangle of glossy curls, and Sophie had always thought of her and Clifton as kindred spirits. She was surprised how long the girl’s legs looked in jeans; how much more grown-up she seemed without her school uniform on.

‘You said loads of people called random friends Aunt and Uncle,’ Lucy pointed out, ‘so why can’t Sophie be Aunty?’

Dexter gave Sophie an exasperated look as she stepped inside. ‘Well, if she agrees. But Clifton can’t be Uncle. He’s a dog.’

‘In the book I’m reading there’s a horse called Great-Uncle Arthur.’

‘Does your book have dragons in, too? Goblins? Unicorns?’

‘They’re ogres, not goblins,’ Lucy said.

‘There you go then,’ her dad replied. ‘It’s a completely different world, so it’s a different set of rules.’

Sophie shrugged. ‘Uncle Clifton sounds pretty cute to me, though.’

‘Don’t encourage her,’ Dexter said with a smile. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Two of your epic chicken sandwiches please, with mayo and red onion and tomato and mustard – the works.’

‘Good choice.’ He turned to his preparation counter.

The bakery was at the top of Perpendicular Street but set back slightly from the road, with a small patch of grass in front of it that was constantly flattened by people queuing up for sourdough loaves, croissants and baguettes. Dexter also made a range of savoury pastries – his cheese, onion and bacon had legend status in the village – and fresh sandwiches for the lunch crowd. Sophie tried to make lunch at home and bring it with her, but with the bakery so close, and the greeting so warm, her willpower wasn’t always up to it.

‘Why aren’t you at school?’ she asked Lucy.

‘Insect day,’ Lucy said.

‘In set ,’ Dexter corrected. ‘Your teachers aren’t going around hunting for woodlice and spiders.’

‘Spiders aren’t insects,’ Lucy told him. ‘They’re arachnids.’

‘True. But I doubt your teachers are looking for them either. It’s some kind of training day.’

‘So I’m working here today,’ Lucy said to Sophie. ‘But I might go and help Birdie with her allotment this afternoon.’

‘As long as you wear your hat,’ Dexter said. ‘It’s cold today.’

‘Nice to have a bit of sunshine, though.’ Except that, when Sophie turned to the window, she saw that the blue sky was fighting a losing battle with a wall of grey cloud. She chewed her lip. She wasn’t going to get anywhere if she didn’t ask any questions. ‘Have either of you heard of The Secret Bookshop?’

Dexter looked up from his chopping board. ‘No, what is that? Some kind of experience in London?’

‘There’s the secret bunker in Essex,’ Lucy said, ‘but it has brown tourist signs pointing the way, so I don’t think it’s still a proper secret.’ She twirled one of her curls around her finger. ‘What’s the point of a Secret Bookshop, anyway? How would you find the books?’

‘With a magic key?’ Dexter suggested. ‘You’re the one who reads all the Romantasy. There must be a special way of getting in: a handshake, some kind of seal, or a hidden door in a bookcase.’

‘Oh I love those,’ Lucy said, her dark eyes wide with excitement. ‘I’ve never seen one in real life, though.’

‘Me neither,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I don’t have any details about The Secret Bookshop, I just … I was given a book the other day. It turned up on my counter in the shop, but I don’t know who left it there. It’s a beautiful copy of Jane Eyre , and there was this anonymous note saying it was from The Secret Bookshop. I just … I wondered if you’d heard anything about it.’

Dexter turned around, a finished sandwich in one large, plastic-gloved hand. ‘No, never, as far as I can recall, and I’ve lived here all my life.’

‘I haven’t heard anything about it at school,’ Lucy said. ‘It sounds amazing , though! I bet Uncle Clifton knows, but he can’t say anything because he only speaks dog.’

‘The shop doesn’t have CCTV, does it?’ Dexter asked. ‘Then you could check to see who left it for you.’

‘I don’t think Fiona’s into all that modern security stuff.’ She sighed. ‘Thank you, though. It made me think of The Book Ends. From the way everyone talks about it, it sounds as if it was special – the kind of place that might have been involved in mystery book deliveries.’

‘Oh it was.’ Dexter slid the sandwiches carefully into paper bags. ‘It was really unique, and now it’s just—’

‘Haunted,’ Lucy finished. ‘It’s definitely haunted!’

‘We sort of debunked the ghost story,’ Sophie told her. ‘Did you hear?’

‘About the young woman who was sleeping in there?’ Dexter said. ‘Jazz, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. She’s staying with Fiona for a few days.’ She didn’t think it was her place to say anything more, like the fact that Fiona had turned up in a tizzy that morning, because she’d offered Jazz another week with her and Ermin, and at first Jazz had said she was leaving immediately, that she didn’t want their charity, and then, once they had persuaded her to stay for a couple more days, she had shut herself up in her room.

Fiona was being generous, and Sophie sympathized with her frustration, but she could have told her at the beginning that offering her home to someone like Jazz, who’d had such a difficult, turbulent life, was unlikely to be plain sailing.

‘Hopefully having somewhere safe to stay will give her a bit of stability,’ she said to Dexter. ‘A pushing-off point for whatever she wants to do next.’

‘Sometimes all anyone needs is a breather,’ Dexter said. ‘A break from the full-time struggle to survive. Do you need a sandwich for her, too?’

‘No thanks – she’s at Fiona’s today, not the shop. Anyway, she didn’t see any ghosts while she was in The Book Ends.’

‘I expect she missed it,’ Lucy said authoritatively. ‘It probably went somewhere else for the night. That big old house has ghosts, too.’

‘Mistingham Manor?’ Sophie wondered what Harry thought of that particular rumour, then answered her own question. He wouldn’t give it the time of day.

‘Everywhere in this place is haunted if you listen to the older residents,’ Dexter said.

‘Not our bakery.’ Lucy folded her arms. ‘But the bookshop, and that crumbly old house, and my friend Alice’s mum said she saw this old man in the village hall when a minute before it had been empty. She was taking down the balloons after Alice’s baby brother’s party, and he was just sitting there!’

‘It was probably a relative in a sugar coma,’ Dexter said with a chuckle.

‘No it wasn’t, Dad. It was someone she’d never even seen before!’

‘Right. Ghosts everywhere.’ Dexter gave Sophie a wry smile. ‘But none of that helps you with your secret bookshop, or your strange gift.’ He put the wrapped sandwiches into a larger paper bag, which had Mistingham Bakery written on the side in a purple roundel. ‘There’s nobody you’ve got close to recently? Nobody you might expect a gift from, out of the blue?’

‘Dad means a boyfriend,’ Lucy said.

‘Oh.’ Sophie felt herself flush. ‘Nobody like that, no. Not on the horizon or … or anything.’

‘Right.’ Dexter nodded, then looked away.

‘God.’ Lucy sighed. ‘Adults are so awkward .’

‘Just wait until you’re a teenager,’ Dexter said, then gave Sophie a horrified look. ‘My daughter is going to be a teenager.’

‘Not for four years.’ Sophie didn’t point out that she was already acting like one.

‘You’re so cringe, Dad,’ Lucy said. ‘Can I go outside and play with Clifton on the grass?’

‘Uncle Clifton would love that,’ Sophie told her. Lucy grinned and hurried out of the door. ‘She’s a happy handful,’ she said to Dexter once they were alone.

‘Yeah, she’s amazing.’ Dexter rolled his shoulders. ‘She keeps me on my toes, which I need. And she’s happy, which is the main thing I care about.’

‘She’s very lucky to have you.’

‘Right.’ Dexter looked pensive all of a sudden, so she took the initiative to stop him from having to ask.

‘I can’t exactly speak with much authority, but I think having one stable, loving parent is a gift. Of course, Lucy will miss some things not having her mum in her life, but you’re doing an amazing job of being all the parent she needs.’

‘I worry about it,’ Dexter said. ‘But I always make her my priority – or I try to.’

‘It shows.’

‘ Jane Eyre was the book you were given by this mysterious, secret bookshop?’

‘I know.’ Sophie laughed. ‘One of the most famous orphans in literature. But I’m creeping up on forty, so I don’t really think of myself as an orphan any more.’

‘It was someone who knows you well enough, though,’ Dexter said. ‘To know that about you, I mean.’

‘But we live in Mistingham,’ Sophie pointed out, remembering how May had mentioned her upbringing the other day, too. ‘It only takes one person to have that nugget of information, then the entire village does.’

Dexter returned her smile. ‘One of the curses of living here.’

‘How many curses can one place have?’

Sophie jumped at the deep voice behind her, and Dexter’s easy smile morphed into shock.

She turned to find Harry Anderly in the doorway. He was wearing jeans and a grey and black checked shirt, the sleeves rolled up, showing off forearms that were tanned despite it being November. His brown hair was unkempt, and stubble covered his jaw. It was obvious that he didn’t care a whole lot about his appearance, and yet he was tall and broad-shouldered, his features classically handsome, then with all the edges roughened in a way that should have dulled the effect but somehow enhanced it.

His glance flitted between her and Dexter while they both stared at him. Then he shrugged and said, ‘It was a rhetorical question anyway. What specific curse were you talking about?’

Sophie found her voice first. ‘The curse of everyone here knowing your business after you’ve told a single person.’

‘Ah. That one. It’s why I tend not to share details too widely.’

‘Except about your dogs—’

‘Could I have a seeded sourdough please, Dexter?’ Harry spoke over Sophie, then gave her a stern look.

She felt a pleasant shiver run through her, but she set her expression to mild indifference and murmured, ‘You can’t keep it quiet for ever.’

‘I can try,’ he said, leaning towards her. ‘I see it was a mistake to trust you with it.’

Was he teasing her? She mimed zipping her lips closed.

‘How are you, Dex?’ Harry asked.

Dexter took a few seconds to reply. ‘Great, thanks. Yeah, I’m … I’m good.’

‘And Lucy? I saw her outside playing with a black mop. Strange toy for a nine-year-old.’

‘That’s my dog .’ Sophie was incredulous. It seemed Harry Anderly was capable of teasing.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I met Clifton, remember?’

‘Lucy’s really well too.’ Dexter sounded cautiously bewildered, like he was waiting for the trick to be revealed. ‘How are you, Harry?’

‘I’m OK, thanks. Dealing with the consequences of listening to other people, rather than trusting my own instincts.’

‘You mean volunteering for festival planning?’ Sophie asked him.

‘I got volunteered,’ Harry pointed out. ‘And it makes no sense. I’m enemy number one because I want to protect the oak, so why anyone’s keen for me to get involved in their precious festival, I don’t know.’

‘Maybe it’s an olive branch?’ Dexter suggested.

‘Or it’s punishment,’ Harry said. ‘Not sure how getting me to do community service is an olive branch.’

Sophie folded her arms. ‘You think working with me is a punishment?’

Harry opened his mouth, and she had a delicious moment of seeing him lost for words.

‘Anyone would be lucky to work with you, Sophie,’ Dexter said sincerely, and she blew him a kiss.

‘We need to get together,’ Harry said abruptly. ‘Meet up to start planning it. The sooner we start, the sooner it’ll be over.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Sophie said brightly. The look she got in return could have frozen her eyelashes.

‘Anything else for you, Harry?’ Dexter put his wrapped loaf on top of the glass cabinet.

‘Um.’ Harry released Sophie from his glare and looked at the display of pastries. He was closer to her now, and she remembered how he’d taken her hand, pressing gently, turning it over as if it was something precious. He smelled of fresh air and grass, something darker and spicier underneath. ‘A steak slice, please,’ he said, oblivious to Sophie’s scattering thoughts.

‘Good choice.’ Dexter got his tongs.

‘What shall we do first, then?’ Sophie forced herself to ask. ‘I wasn’t here last year, so I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like. But Winnie could be our starting point. I’m sure she’d help.’

‘She’d make it torturous,’ Harry said.

‘Why?’

‘Have you met Winnie?’

‘Of course! She’s nice – she runs the post office as well as the hotel. She’s clearly efficient.’

‘She’s also a menace.’

‘A menace whose hotel sells the best chocolate eclairs in Norfolk?’

‘May said you loved the eclair.’

‘What else did she say?’

Harry shrugged. ‘You’re right: we should speak to Winnie first. Otherwise we’ll be floundering in the dark.’

‘Great. When?’

‘What about when you finish work tomorrow, unless you have other plans?’

‘That’s fine,’ Sophie said. ‘We’re usually done at five on a Tuesday.’

Harry nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Winnie after this, let you know if it’s on.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie said. ‘That’s kind.’

Harry accepted his bread and the steak slice, and took out his wallet to pay for them. ‘Good to see you,’ he said to Dexter, then glanced at Sophie and added, ‘I’ll be in touch.’ She didn’t think it was a coincidence that he was echoing her words from the other night.

‘Looking forward to it,’ she said.

She was so tempted to call after him, to ask him to say hello to Darkness and Terror for her, but he’d offered her a glimpse of his softer side, had made her think they might be able to work together without killing each other, and she didn’t want to lose that so soon.

Dexter rested his arms on the counter. ‘That wasn’t on my Bingo card for today.’

‘We’ve got to plan the Christmas festival together,’ Sophie said with a shrug. ‘He’s going to have to interact with people, so maybe he’s getting some practice in?’

‘He behaved like a normal human being.’

‘It seems some things are possible.’

‘Wow.’ Lucy burst into the bakery with Clifton under her arm. ‘That was Uncle Harry, right?’

Dexter sighed. ‘Not everyone’s Uncle or Aunty, Luce.’

‘He didn’t mind when I called him Uncle Harry,’ Lucy said, and Dexter winced.

Sophie burst out laughing. She couldn’t remember enjoying a lunch break so much, even if she’d spent the whole time talking, and Fiona would be wondering where her sandwich was.

‘He did say Uncle Clifton looked like a mop, though,’ Lucy added thoughtfully, and Sophie’s laughter faded. Right. Next time, she was definitely going to out Harry’s stupid dog names. If he was going to give it out, then she was more than prepared to dish it right back.

She paid for her sandwiches, took her reluctant dog back from Lucy and said goodbye to her and Dexter. As she turned in the direction of Hartley Country Apparel, she saw Harry walking up to the hotel’s main entrance. His stride had some bounce in it, and she might have been imagining it, because he was quite a way away, but it looked very much like the Dark Demon Lord of Mistingham was actually smiling.