The Secret Christmas Bookshop (The Secret Bookshop #1)

Chapter Eleven

N estled in the cosy study, Harry and Sophie worked their way methodically through every element of the festival – food, drink, decorations and entertainment, logistics and practicalities. She had read out the notes she’d written during their chat with Winnie, and he had offered up more suggestions.

He knew someone in Norwich who could supply them with as many sets of lights as they wanted, and a choir a couple of villages along who would be able to sing carols if the usual group weren’t available. He even suggested they hire a real reindeer, which Sophie thought would be fun but potentially problematic. He wasn’t arrogant or pushy, just calm and considered, as if, now he’d accepted his involvement in the festival, the most painless approach was simply to get on with it.

They would use Mistingham businesses wherever possible, especially as the festival was going to be on Perpendicular Street. Batter Days could provide festival-sized portions of fish and chips, and Jim and Annie in Penny For Them could hire some Christmassy amusements to have in pride of place in their arcade. It was a relief to have some concrete ideas written down, even if all they had achieved was a list of people to approach.

Once they’d done all they could without picking up the phone, Harry had driven her home. ‘Thank you for tonight,’ he said, idling the Land Rover outside her flat. It was late, and Sophie could see Simon clearing down inside Batter Days, the sign on the door turned to Closed.

They’d picked Clifton up from Fiona and Ermin’s house, Harry waiting in the car while Sophie went to get him. ‘Good night?’ Fiona had asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity, and Sophie had smiled and nodded and thanked her for dog-sitting, without offering any other details.

Now she turned in the passenger seat so she could look at him. ‘Why are you thanking me? We were at your house, eating your food and drinking your beer, and you organized the meeting with Winnie. I should be thanking you .’

He shook his head. ‘It was easy. And we’ve made progress.’

Sophie laughed. ‘You thought I would make it difficult?’

‘After our last few meetings, I wasn’t sure.’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have blamed you, either.’

‘Well.’ It came out more primly than she’d intended. ‘You made it easy, too. We’ve got a plan, and it was … fun. I had a good time.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Shall we check in when we’ve both got somewhere?’

‘Of course. Night, Sophie.’ He ruffled Clifton’s head. ‘Goodnight, mop.’

Clifton clearly didn’t mind the nickname, because he crawled into Harry’s lap. Harry gave him a more effusive goodbye, then Sophie took her dog and got out of the car. She heard the Land Rover lingering on the roadside until she’d shut the front door and climbed the narrow flight of stairs to her flat.

‘It’s going well, then?’ Fiona said the next day, when Sophie had given her a brief rundown of their meeting.

‘It was better than I’d expected,’ she admitted. She was reorganizing her display, filling in gaps after a welcome flurry of sales. ‘It’s early days, but we’re actually talking, which is good.’ She wrinkled her nose, thinking how much Harry had changed. When it was just the two of them, he was a different person.

‘Talking civilly?’ Fiona asked.

‘Being friendly, even.’

‘Goodness.’ Fiona sounded as surprised as she felt.

‘How’s Jazz?’ Sophie asked.

‘Eating me out of biscuits,’ Fiona said morosely.

Sophie gave her a warm smile. ‘I know you want her to be OK, but it’s not going to be a quick fix.’

‘I’m not sure she wants to stay here.’

Sophie laid out her most recent creations on the counter in front of her. They were thin, card-covered notebooks with a holographic Christmas tree design; threadbound, with wide lines inside. ‘That’s up to Jazz,’ she said evenly. ‘If she’s used to moving around, if that’s how she feels safe, then you need to let her.’

Fiona scoffed. ‘I wouldn’t stop her.’

‘It would be hard for you to let her go, though,’ Sophie said. ‘Have you had a proper chat with her?’

‘She’s not inclined to come out of her room. I persuaded her down for some lasagne, but she kept her eyes on her plate, gave monosyllabic answers. I’m sure she could have a job at the hotel, at least until after Christmas.’

‘If that’s what she wants.’

There was a spark of frustration in Fiona’s eyes. ‘I don’t want her heading back out into the wilderness, sleeping in deserted shops, risking hypothermia and not eating properly. She’s letting me take her for a check-up at the doctor’s, but nothing else.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sophie said softly. ‘You’re being so generous, but I guess …’ She thought of how she had been at eighteen: free of the foster system, her new, thrilling independence mingling with panic at having to make all her own decisions. She had her art course and the confidence that Mrs Fairweather, her favourite foster parent, had instilled in her, but that was about it. ‘I guess she’s using the time you’re giving her to think through her options. That’s as scary as hostel-hopping in its own way.’

‘I understand,’ Fiona said quietly. ‘It doesn’t make it easy, though.’

‘I know. Shall I go and make us some tea?’

‘Thanks, Sophie. Tea is exactly what I need right now.’

When she came back with two steaming mugs of Earl Grey, Dexter was leaning on Fiona’s counter, the two of them laughing about something.

‘Oh Dexter, hello! Do you want one?’

He waved her away. ‘I can’t stay long, just came to give you a heads-up.’

‘For what?’ Sophie asked.

‘Lucy wants to get her three best friends gift bags for Christmas. The four of them have decided to do that, rather than buy each other more expensive gifts. Sweets, hair decorations, that sort of thing.’

‘It’s a great idea,’ Fiona said. ‘It’s always fun finding those little bits, and exactly what girls want at that age.’

‘And it’s less pressure, because she can get most of it herself.’ Dexter stood up straight. ‘Except that, obviously, she’s asked me to scout out notebooks. She wants three original Sophie Stevens designs, but she’s got football practice after school today, then a sleepover on Friday and – well, basically, I have been instructed by my nine-year-old daughter to take photos of your top picks, then show them to her so she can decide.’

Fiona chuckled. ‘It’s a good thing she doesn’t have you under her thumb.’

Dexter’s eye-roll was pure affection.

‘Come over here, then.’ Sophie took her tea behind her counter. ‘I can show you what I’ve got – are you thinking sparkly, feminine colours, or would that offend her?’

‘Depends on the day of the week, to be honest. Sometimes she’s in full-on princess mode, sometimes pink is an assault to her eyes. I can take photos of the shelves, then a few of your top designs.’

‘OK.’ Sophie took her favourite notebooks off the display and laid them out on the counter. Clifton raised his head to give her a bleary look, then went back to his snooze.

Dexter took his time, picking each notebook up, examining it carefully before setting it back down and taking a photo. Sophie thought Lucy would likely go for the sparklier options, perhaps the ones she’d used foil on, and her thoughts skipped to her copy of Jane Eyre . She had got precisely nowhere with finding out who had given it to her.

‘This one’s great,’ Dexter said. It had a navy leather cover and an elastic closure, and suited him perfectly.

Sophie leaned over the counter. ‘I’m not sure it’s Lucy’s style,’ she said. ‘What about this one, with little books all over it?’ She placed her selection on top of his.

‘Fair point,’ he said, grinning at her, just as the shop door swung open and let in a blast of cool seaside air, followed by Harry.

Sophie stood up straight, though she didn’t quite know why.

‘Hey,’ Harry said. ‘Hi, Fiona. Dexter.’ He gave the other man a curt nod. He looked as if he had already run out of patience, and Sophie’s spirits sank.

‘Hi, Harry,’ Dexter said, oblivious to the atmosphere. ‘Come to buy some notebooks?’

Harry’s eyes roamed over Sophie’s display, and she realized she was holding her breath.

‘No,’ he said, after a beat. ‘Though I can see that they would make good Christmas presents. Did you make all of these?’

‘I did. I’d like to have a bigger selection, but I don’t have enough time or space to—’

‘We’ve come up with a solution for that,’ Fiona cut in. ‘Ye Olde Sweete Shoppe.’

‘Too many e’s,’ Dexter and Harry said in unison, and Sophie grinned.

‘This one,’ she said to Dexter, before either of them could ask precisely how the old sweet shop was a solution. She tapped his hand where it rested on top of the notebook she’d suggested. ‘I’ve done it in three colour-ways, so she could give a different one to each of her friends.’

‘That sounds perfect.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks, Sophie. I knew I could count on you.’

She did a mock curtsey. ‘Always happy to help with people’s blank-page-related queries. Let me lay them all out, so you can take photos.’

Harry cleared his throat and gestured to the door. ‘I’ll come back later.’

‘Oh no,’ Sophie said. ‘Give me two minutes.’

Dexter snapped the photos, then put his phone away. ‘I’m done. I’ll check in with Lucy, let you know what she says. Good to see you Fiona, Harry. Thanks again, Sophie – I can tick this off my to-do list.’

‘I hope you’ve written it in a notebook,’ Sophie called after him, and he turned and grinned, then opened the door and stepped outside.

‘I’ve got a few things to catch you up on,’ Harry said, ‘if now’s a good time?’

‘Now is perfect,’ she told him. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

They walked down to the seafront, where the wind was blustering and the waves crunched rhythmically along the sand, like someone constantly trying to clear a frog from their throat.

‘What have you got to catch me up on since last night?’ Sophie asked. Harry was like a wall at her side, sheltering her from the worst of the icy gusts.

‘What do you think about having a Father Christmas grotto at the festival?’

Sophie stopped trying to work out whether a dark, bobbing shape in the waves was a seal, and turned to face him. Harry did the same, so they were both leaning on the promenade wall, looking at each other, their hair being tangled by the wind.

‘The world’s grumpiest Santa,’ Sophie said.

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘I do have other settings.’

She grinned. ‘I’m just starting to discover that. You’re offering to do it, though? Not get old Mr Carsdale togged up in a red suit and beard? Or Ermin?’

‘I don’t know.’ His gaze drifted out to the horizon. ‘I haven’t thought beyond the fact that it was missing last year. I’m not sure if they had it before that, when it was …’

‘On the village green?’

He ignored her pointed words. ‘I know it’s a kid’s thing, but—’

‘It takes pressure off the parents, too,’ Sophie finished.

She remembered Santa coming to Mrs Fairweather’s house, how at first she’d decided she was too old, but had enjoyed the excitement of the other children. And then, later, her foster carer handing her the slim, beautifully wrapped package; her delight when she’d unwrapped the pale green notebook inside, along with a slim, maroon hardback of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. There was something magical about Santa Claus, even if you were an adult and knew it was someone wearing an itchy suit and a beard.

‘It’s a brilliant idea,’ she told Harry. ‘Whoever we get to do it.’

‘Good.’ He exhaled. ‘And I thought we could get Dexter to make mince pies.’

‘I’m sure he’d be happy to. I’ve set up a meeting with Annie.’

‘Maybe we could run a Whack-A-Crab tournament?’ Harry suggested.

‘You love Whack-A-Crab?’ It was Penny For Them’s version of Whack-A-Mole, but with a distinctly Norfolk theme.

He frowned. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Of course I do! It’s the best thing in there.’

‘What’s your highest score?’

‘Thirty-six,’ she said proudly.

His eyes widened. ‘In a minute ?’

She nodded, gleeful.

Harry rubbed his jaw. ‘Shit. I’m going to have to practise.’

‘Come on then. What’s yours?’

‘Twenty-nine,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t get to the arcade very often.’

‘So ready with the excuses.’ Sophie folded her arms, shivering slightly in the wind.

‘Do you want to go back?’ he asked. ‘Anything else we need to discuss that you don’t want Fiona to overhear?’

‘She wants to know everything ,’ Sophie said with a groan. ‘She’s like a hawk, watching my every move.’

‘She likes being in control,’ Harry said, more kindly than Sophie would have expected. ‘She and Ermin do a lot for the village, and maybe it’s harder than they thought: they’re used to Winnie being in charge, knowing exactly what she’s doing.’ He frowned. ‘The last couple of years, it can’t have been easy …’ His words trailed away, and Sophie wondered if he was beginning to realize what his sanctions had cost them.

‘And now they’ve given responsibility to a couple of unknowns,’ she said.

‘Right. The black sheep and the … what did you call yourself? Temporary outcast?’ He emphasized temporary , and Sophie winced.

‘Do you like Jane Eyre ?’ she blurted.

‘I do,’ he said, after a moment. ‘It’s very, um … romantic. The relationship between Jane and Rochester. Gnarly and intense and a bit desperate in places, but ultimately, very romantic. Why?’

Sophie stared at the wind turbines rotating on the horizon. ‘No real reason. Just … you know, thinking about Christmas presents.’ She hoped he wouldn’t ask her who she was buying for.

‘It’s not easy to get present-worthy editions locally any more,’ Harry said, and Sophie watched a series of emotions play across his face. She couldn’t help it: she squeezed his arm. His gaze shot to hers, surprised.

‘Hey,’ she said gently. ‘You’re helping with the festival now. People can’t talk nonsense about you for ever.’

He raised an eyebrow, and it was such a haughty, attractive expression that Sophie squeezed him tighter. ‘Are you sure about that?’ he murmured. ‘Or will they just come up with new rumours, perhaps about who I’m spending my time with? Why I’m finally talking to people, instead of being—’

‘The Dark Demon Lord of Mistingham?’ Sophie finished.

He nodded and swallowed. He didn’t release her gaze or pull his arm away, and Sophie felt the charge between them. But it was just surprise, wasn’t it? That he’d started to warm up, to tease and joke; that they actually seemed to be getting along with each other. That would make anyone feel off-kilter, especially after their less than positive start.

A seagull let out a plaintive cry, startling them both. Harry blinked and cleared his throat, and Sophie dropped her hand.

‘I’d better get back,’ she said.

‘Yes, me too. Too much daylight and I might turn to dust.’

She laughed. ‘You can’t be a demon, a vampire and Santa Claus.’

‘Can’t I?’ He sounded amused. ‘What a shame.’

They walked back to the clothes shop in a silence that felt almost comfortable, and Sophie couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Why had he agreed to help with the festival – a festival most of the villagers thought he had already ruined – instead of refusing Ermin’s request? Had May given him an ultimatum: stop being such an angry recluse and make peace with Mistingham , or was there another reason? It felt like another mystery she needed to unpack, along with uncovering who was behind The Secret Bookshop. She hoped spending more time with him would help her find at least one of her answers.