The Secret Christmas Bookshop (The Secret Bookshop #1)

Chapter Twelve

A nnie Devlin was five foot nothing but had a laugh twice as big as she was. Did it come from working in an amusement arcade? Being surrounded by people playing games, winning cuddly toys and bits of plastic that, while not the best quality, would remind them of a day out or holiday they loved?

‘Sophie, come, come!’ She waved expansively, and Sophie followed her into Penny For Them where, at lunchtime on a Friday in November, the customers were sparse but the jingling, doo-wop sounds of the games filled her head like audio candy. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m really good, thanks.’

‘Got a haul of change you want to use up?’

‘Not exactly.’ But she automatically felt in her pockets to see what was there. Was there anyone in the world who didn’t love a two-pence machine: a little cardboard cup filled with dirty bronze coins offering up all that possibility? ‘I wanted to talk to you about the festival, actually.’

‘Oooh. Let’s talk in here for a sec, where it’s quieter.’ Annie pushed open the door into a tiny office. There was a plain wooden table being used as a desk, two tatty office chairs, and a plethora of colourful children’s drawings on the walls, along with some framed family photos. ‘We’ve run out of space on the fridge at home,’ she said, when she saw Sophie looking. ‘Now, the festival. I saw how thrilled you were when Ermin teamed you up with that chap from the manor house.’

‘Harry Anderly,’ Sophie confirmed. ‘It’s actually going better than I hoped, and I wanted to check in with you. As it’s going to be a street festival again this year, I wondered if you would be happy to hire some festive games to have here?’

‘Of course. We’ve got a few different suppliers, so I’ll talk to Jim and let you know what’s available.’

‘That’s great,’ Sophie said. ‘Thank you, that was easy.’ There was a cacophony from the arcade floor, a series of dings and bells that were louder than the rest.

‘The pinball machine’s paid out,’ Annie explained. ‘Someone has won the grand sum of ten pounds.’

‘Woah. That’s a fortune for a day at the seaside.’

Annie laughed. ‘I know what you mean. You only need enough for an ice cream, a game of pool or duster hockey, then fish and chips before you go home. The beach is free.’

‘Although it’s a bit cold for paddling today.’

‘But never too cold for ice cream,’ Annie said, as they walked out of the office.

Sophie almost didn’t ask her next question, but this was the reason she’d accepted this role, and she couldn’t keep backing out. ‘On an unrelated note, I was thinking about starting a book club.’

‘You were?’

‘It’s the perfect activity for winter evenings, when you can’t always get outside. Would you like to be involved? Are you a big reader? What kind of books do you like?’ She forced herself to take a breath.

Annie folded her arms, the picture of practicality in her thick grey fleece, her blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail. ‘I read true crime, mostly. I can’t get enough of them: how the police and FBI track down serial killers. It’s fascinating.’

‘No … romances? Classics?’

‘Oh no, I don’t have time for all that. I need something fast paced, that grabs me and holds on tight. Jim likes Charles Dickens.’

‘Really?’ Sophie perked up, then thought how awkward it would be if Annie’s husband had given her the copy of Jane Eyre . And why would he? That was what would get her to the truth: finding someone who had a motive, who cared about what she was looking for in life, or else wanted to confound her. It should have been easy; her social circle in Mistingham wasn’t exactly large. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve firmed up the details, anyway,’ she said. ‘Then you can decided if you want to come along.’ She was already pretty sure that Annie and her husband had nothing to do with The Secret Bookshop.

As they walked through the brightly coloured arcade, Sophie’s gaze fell on Whack-A-Crab. It was painted like a beach, with a glittering blue sea and yellow sand, the tops of the bright orange crabs visible inside their shallow holes. The large foam hammer was purple, attached to the game by a woven cord.

She was about to ask what the top score was now – it had been a while since she’d played, but Harry mentioning it had unearthed a dormant competitiveness – when Fiona appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushed, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.

‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Quick, Sophie!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Sophie had never seen her friend so panicked.

‘It’s Felix,’ Fiona huffed out. ‘Felix is on the rampage.’

‘Felix …’ It took a moment for her brain to kick into gear. Harry’s goat. The sweetest thing she’d ever seen, who loved paisley knitted jumpers. ‘On the rampage ?’

‘He’s in Birdie’s garden,’ Fiona explained, as Sophie wished Annie a hurried goodbye and they raced up Perpendicular Street. ‘I don’t think there’s going to be anything left if we don’t get him out of there soon.’

Birdie’s house was one road back from the green, an ancient flint cottage surrounded by gardens that looked like a fairy grotto. There were mature, twisting trees, grasses that added shades of green, blue and yellow throughout the year, a vegetable plot that changed with the seasons. Right now a winter jasmine was lush with delicate yellow flowers, and Sophie remembered how dreamlike her garden had looked in summer, the burst of colour and scent, the myriad flowers the old woman had nurtured to perfection. On first glance it gave the impression of being wildly overgrown, until you looked closer and saw order in the chaos.

As Sophie and Fiona reached the cottage, they could hear voices coming from the back garden, Felix’s name being called, the high screech of a young girl. Lucy, Sophie thought, as they pushed open the gate and took the cobbled path round the side of the house.

Birdie was standing on her back doorstep, her arms folded over her chest. Her silver dress was covered in tiny, twinkling beads, her long grey hair pulled into a bun. Sophie was surprised to see Jazz standing next to her. She hadn’t seen her since the night they’d found her, and she looked better – less tired, less unkempt – but still had a restless energy about her that Sophie understood all too well.

‘Hey, Sophie.’ Jazz gave her a quick smile then turned back to the drama.

‘It’s good to see you, Jazz.’

‘You too,’ Jazz said distractedly. ‘Get a load of this.’

This was Dexter, standing with his feet gingerly planted between two rows of winter vegetables, his arms outstretched, while Lucy hopped up and down on one of the meandering, paved walkways. Felix, wearing a purple jumper with a pattern Sophie couldn’t make out, was standing on the roof of the shed, munching on something.

‘I told you, Sophie!’ Fiona pressed her hands to her cheeks.

‘How did he get up there?’ Sophie asked.

‘He’s a goat,’ Dexter called. ‘Goats love jumping, and they love making mischief.’

‘It’s a rather ungrateful move, considering I’ve made him all those jumpers.’ Birdie turned her twinkling eyes on Sophie and Fiona. ‘It’s lovely to see you both.’

‘Are you OK?’ Fiona asked. ‘He’s destroying all your hard work.’

‘He’s a very small goat,’ Birdie said. ‘He’s trampled one of the grasses, stolen a couple of carrots and unearthed a sprout tree, but that was ready to harvest anyway.’

‘This is like a proper community garden,’ Jazz said, sounding awed. ‘There’s so much here.’

‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ Sophie said. ‘You’re not angry, Birdie?’

‘I would rather he got down from the roof,’ Birdie mused, ‘and I don’t want to have the entire vegetable plot uprooted, but I do like seeing how well he is. It’s Dexter and Lucy who are making a big deal of it.’

As if to prove her point, Lucy squealed when Felix took a step closer to the edge of the roof.

‘He’ll be OK, Lucy!’ Dexter inched closer, as if there was an unexploded bomb up there rather than an adorable goat. ‘We just need to get him down.’

‘What if he falls?’ Lucy shouted.

‘He won’t, darling,’ Birdie said. ‘Goats are incredibly agile.’

Jazz put her hand over her mouth, probably to hide a grin.

It was, Sophie had to admit, a funny situation, but Lucy looked on the verge of tears.

Fiona went over and wrapped her arms around the girl. ‘Your dad will get him down,’ she said soothingly.

‘Someone needs to call Harry,’ Dexter shouted. ‘I have no fu— flipping clue how to get this goat to come down.’ He turned his head. ‘Sophie, can you do it? You know him better than I do.’

‘Yes, Sophie,’ Fiona said. ‘Get Harry to come and retrieve his rampaging goat.’

Sophie looked at the sweetly dressed animal chewing happily on his carrot, and stifled a laugh as she took out her phone and found Harry’s number.

He picked up on the third ring. ‘Sophie!’ He sounded out of breath.

‘Um, Felix is on Birdie’s shed roof,’ she said. ‘Hello, by the way.’

‘Fuck,’ Harry said emphatically. ‘He’s chewed through the fence again. I was searching for him, but I didn’t know where …’ He exhaled. ‘Birdie’s shed is a whole lot better than I thought it would be, but still.’

‘Fuck?’ Sophie tried.

‘Exactly that. Give me five minutes.’

‘See you soon.’ They hung up, and Sophie realized everyone was watching her. ‘He’ll be here in five minutes,’ she announced, and Dexter’s shoulders sagged with relief.

‘Have you got Harry Anderly at your beck and call?’ Fiona asked, amused. She still had her arms wrapped around Lucy, who was looking worriedly up at Felix.

‘He’s hardly at my beck and call,’ Sophie scoffed. ‘He’s only coming because his goat has escaped.’

‘He dotes on little Felix,’ Birdie said. ‘After Oliver, Felix’s brother, died so young, I think he let him live in the house.’

‘Felix had a brother?’ Sophie glanced at the goat. ‘Poor thing.’

‘I was only going to make one jumper, but Harry likes to indulge him and I love to knit, and—’

‘And now he’s repaying you by eating your veg,’ Dexter said, joining them on the patio.

Felix had lain down and was looking serene, like a fluffy white king on his shed throne.

‘A tiny proportion of my veg,’ Birdie said. ‘He’s done no harm, really. It’s good to see my harvest being appreciated.’

‘Your harvest is always appreciated,’ Fiona said.

‘Do you want a stall at the street festival?’ Sophie asked.

Birdie peered at her. ‘You mean I can sell my chutneys and jams?’

‘Anything you want,’ Sophie said.

‘Not your herb … concoctions,’ Fiona cut in. ‘Not unless they’re harmless.’

‘All my concoctions heal,’ Birdie said. ‘None of them are harmful. But I will stick to the jams and chutneys. Thank you for asking me – Winnie never let me.’

‘Winnie thinks you’re a practising witch,’ Dexter said matter of factly, then his face fell as Lucy, who was supposedly still agonizing over Felix, gave the older woman a curious look.

‘A witch ?’ Her voice was breathless with excitement.

‘No, Luce—’ Dexter started.

‘Do you want me to show you my book of magic?’ Birdie asked.

‘Ohmygod yes please!’ Lucy squealed. Her dad tipped his head back and groaned.

‘All harmless.’ Birdie patted Dexter’s arm, and he shot her a look that was half irritated, half amused.

Birdie held her hand out and Lucy abandoned Fiona, and her distress about Felix, to go inside with her.

‘I don’t think Birdie’s as worried about Felix being here as we are,’ Fiona said, once they’d disappeared.

‘That goat’s just hanging out, doing goaty things.’ Jazz shrugged. ‘Hey, why are you having a street festival when there’s the village green out there?’

‘You can ask Harry when he turns up,’ Dexter said.

‘It’s a sore point,’ Fiona added, her expression softening as she spoke to Jazz. ‘But this village wouldn’t be what it is without some drama here and there.’

Sophie folded her arms. ‘You’ve changed your tune. I thought you were as angry with Harry as anyone.’

‘It’s like Midsomer Murders ,’ Jazz said, leaning against Birdie’s wall, ‘but without all the death. Everyone knows everyone else, you all chip in where you can.’ She shook her head. ‘Five people turning up to get a goat off an old woman’s roof, even though you’ve actually done fuck-all.’ She gestured at Felix, still happily munching.

‘Jazz,’ Fiona chided with a chuckle.

‘It’s nice,’ Jazz went on, sounding wistful. ‘The way this place is. None of you living in silos, being friendly and getting in each other’s business.’

‘It can be a bit claustrophobic at times,’ Sophie said, and got looks from Fiona and Dexter that made her wonder if she should have kept that thought to herself. ‘Just … you know. It’s so small. Everyone knows everything .’

‘It’s nicer than people being lonely, though,’ Jazz pointed out. ‘I bet your events are more like giant house parties. Everyone bringing a dish, Scrabble tournaments.’ She smiled indulgently, then quickly flattened her expression. ‘You know – old people stuff. Book clubs, singsongs, all that rubbish.’

A flicker of something ignited in Sophie’s brain, but she had no time to grab hold of it because the unmistakable, throaty sound of Harry’s Land Rover cut through the quiet, and a moment later he appeared round the side of the house.

His jeans and shirt were covered in mud, his hair was more askew than usual and he had a smudge of grime mingling with the sweat on his forehead. He looked wild, angry and worried, and Sophie felt an unexpected twist of concern for this man she barely knew.

‘He’s OK,’ she said, hurrying over to him.

Harry glanced at her, then his gaze followed her outstretched arm to the shed, where Felix was lying, the carrot-top sticking out of his mouth, looking like a cute farmyard poster.

‘Thank fuck,’ Harry murmured. ‘And I’m so sorry …’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Birdie?’

‘Inside,’ Dexter said grimly. ‘Teaching my daughter how to become a witch.’

Harry stared at him, agog, then winced. ‘Shit. Sorry, Dex. Seems like you might come off worse than me from this little … escapade.’

Dexter folded his arms, but his lips were twitching. ‘We followed your goat in here, trying to be good citizens, and now look what’s happened.’ He glanced at the house, then back at Harry. ‘Want help getting your pet down from there?’

‘Thanks.’

Sophie, Jazz and Fiona watched as the two men approached the shed. Felix eyed them curiously and made no move to get up.

‘Come on, Felix,’ Harry coaxed, stretching his arms up. ‘Playtime’s over.’

Felix gave a long, high bleat, dropping his carrot top in the process.

‘Felix,’ Harry said wearily. He glanced at Dexter, then caught Sophie’s eye before turning back to his goat. ‘If you don’t get down from there now, Birdie won’t knit you any more jumpers.’

Felix bleated again.

‘I mean it.’ There was more steel in his voice this time.

Sophie didn’t know if the goat actually understood what he was saying, or if it was the change in Harry’s tone, but Felix stood up, came to the edge of the shed and then, without any warning, jumped down into his owner’s arms.

Harry caught him easily, holding him against his chest and, as he turned, Sophie saw him give Felix a quick kiss on the head. At that moment, she thought that she would be the one who came off worst from this whole situation. It was so overwhelming: Harry, ruffled and muddy and handsome, holding the fluffy goat he clearly adored, which was wearing a purple knitted jumper.

‘This is too much,’ she said, then flushed. She had not meant to say it out loud.

‘The peculiarities of Mistingham.’ Fiona sounded amused. ‘I’d better get back to the shop now the excitement is over. Jazz, do you want to help me this afternoon? I’ll pay you.’

Sophie bit her lip, waiting while Jazz considered her options. ‘Yeah, all right,’ she said eventually.

‘Excellent.’ Fiona beamed. ‘Coming, Sophie?’

‘In a minute. I need to update Harry on my chat with Annie.’

‘Of course. See you soon.’ Fiona and Jazz went back round the side of the house, and Sophie resisted the urge to call a thank you to the young woman, because her words had sparked an idea, something possibly ridiculous but potentially brilliant.

Dexter went inside to rescue Lucy before she became a fully fledged witch, and then it was just Sophie, Harry and his goat.

‘I’ll have to make it up to Birdie somehow,’ Harry said. ‘After I’ve reinforced the entire perimeter fence, fixed the dodgy plumbing in the manor, replaced the draughty windows and got Felix some kind of escape alarm.’

Felix bleated, looking up at Harry.

‘Yes, I am talking about you,’ he said. The goat batted his head against Harry’s chin.

Sophie’s pulse was fluttering unnaturally. She wanted to wipe the mud off Harry’s forehead. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked instead. ‘That sounds like a long to-do list.’

‘My life is one long to-do list,’ Harry told her. ‘I’m used to it though. Sort of.’

‘Are you working, as well as fixing the house?’

‘I still do some financial consultancy for the firms I worked with in London. I don’t have to go down there more than once a month, though, and it pays well. The manor is turning into a money pit, so every bit is welcome, even if the work itself isn’t that stimulating.’ He sighed. ‘How are you?’

Sophie resisted asking more questions. What would he do, if he could do anything? ‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘Annie’s going to look into festive games for the arcade, and Birdie’s delighted that she can sell her chutneys and jams this year.’

‘Don’t let her bring packets of mushrooms to sell.’

Sophie’s mouth fell open. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously. But chutney and jam should be fine: we’ll make her give us an ingredient list. We’ll need that for all food and drink, anyway, in case anyone has allergies or intolerances, but the suppliers should be used to that. And we need to check what regulations there are; any permits we need.’

‘Winnie didn’t mention anything about that.’

‘Winnie is used to it, running the hotel – she would have done it without a second thought – but we need to look into it. It’s better to be safe than sorry.’

‘Of course,’ Sophie said, just as Harry winced. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Do you need to put Felix down?’

‘It’s not that,’ he said, as they walked through Birdie’s garden towards his Defender. ‘I just realized that I sounded like the most boring person on the planet.’

Sophie laughed. ‘Since when do you care what people think of you?’

She thought Harry must not have heard. He was busy securing his goat in the back of the Land Rover.

Once his arms were empty, he leaned against the driver’s door. ‘Thanks for sorting those things out.’

‘No problem.’

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He smelled of grass and mud and a hint of the clean sea air. Sophie’s insides were a jangle of knots and confusion. She took a step towards him.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘if you need help with things at Mistingham Manor, then you can always ask me. You’re helping me with the festival, so it’s only fair.’

He dropped his hand. ‘It’s not fair. We both got volunteered for this thing. It doesn’t stand to reason that you should fix all my problems too.’

‘But the village, the community …’ Sophie thought of what Jazz had said. ‘We help each other out, don’t we? I don’t like to think of you struggling by yourself.’

‘I’m not,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve got May, at the house, not to mention Darkness and Terror.’ His mouth curved. ‘And Felix.’

‘A goat and two dogs can’t help you repair draughty windows,’ she said, but his mention of May was like a bucket of cold water. She was overstepping, and she needed to back off.

‘I’m fine, honestly. But thank you for checking in.’

‘You look …’ She bit her lip.

‘I look what?’

She thought about it for an agonising, protracted moment, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached up and wiped her thumb along his muddy forehead. It did hardly anything, made the smear worse, maybe, but it meant her fingers could brush against his hair, feel how soft it was, in all its messy disarray.

Harry went completely still. He stared at her, his lips slightly parted. His eyes were a chaos of green and brown, his pupils inky black. She wasn’t that much shorter than him, and she knew if she tipped forwards, even slightly, they would be close enough for their breaths to mingle.

‘That’s better,’ she said, pulling her hand away. So much for backing off.

‘Thanks.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And thank you, for letting me know about Felix.’

‘Of course.’ Sophie felt silly, and guilty, and like a total fool. ‘I’d better …’

She turned away, and warm fingers wrapped around hers.

Harry tugged her back to face him. ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Sophie. I just – I’m lucky to have May, and Felix and the dogs are great, but they aren’t always …’ He shook his head. ‘I’m glad we’re doing this together.’

Sophie waited. She wanted more from him, something more explicit, but she didn’t know what, exactly, so instead she said, ‘Me too,’ and they stayed like that, looking down at their intertwined fingers for one heartbeat, two, before she let go. Then he said goodbye, got in his car, and drove his rampaging goat back to Mistingham Manor, while Sophie tried to get her head in gear for an afternoon of avoiding all Fiona’s questions.