The Secret Christmas Bookshop (The Secret Bookshop #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘ H ow are you and lover-boy, then?’ These were the first words that greeted Sophie when she stepped into the village hall on Thursday. It was nine days until the festival, and they’d agreed to have the hall open every evening, for people to come and make decorations, to drink tea and play board games. Jazz had called it a soft launch , and Sophie supposed it was.

She smiled at old Mr Carsdale. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You and Lord of the Manor,’ he said. He was wearing a royal blue scarf over a green and yellow Pringle jumper, even though they’d given the heating enough time to get going and it was toasty warm inside. ‘Everyone’s heard about the stir you caused when the lights went up.’ He gestured to the window, where the twinkling oak tree cast Mistingham Green in a beautiful rainbow glow. ‘Could have been done for indecent exposure, from what they were saying.’

Sophie narrowed her eyes. ‘He kissed me on the head and put his arm around me.’

‘You know what Mistingham’s like.’ Mr Carsdale had a gleam in his eye.

‘Good to see you’re abreast of everything in the village,’ Sophie said evenly. She had known she wouldn’t be able to keep her and Harry a secret, but they hadn’t been ripping each other’s clothes off on the front steps of the hotel. Maybe they should – that would give everyone some real gossip. ‘Have you got everything you need?’

‘I’m going to teach the others to play bridge.’ He gestured to several of the older villagers sitting patiently around a table. ‘I don’t have the dexterity for all that fiddly crafting any more, but it’ll be good to get a bridge tournament up and running again.’ His smile was small and content, and Sophie’s irritation faded.

‘That sounds lovely.’

‘And I’ve been practising for the open mic.’

‘I have your name down,’ Sophie said, ‘but not what you’re doing. A bit of Frank Sinatra, maybe?’

‘ The Odyssey ,’ Mr Carsdale said. ‘By Homer, you know.’

Sophie tried to hide her panic. ‘The whole thing? Isn’t it several books’ worth?’

He chuckled. ‘We’ll see how we go.’

‘We will indeed,’ she said, wondering how she could cut him off politely. The Odyssey would take up an entire night of the festival – maybe two – and they only had four nights in total.

‘Tea’s on the way, Frank,’ Jazz told him. ‘It doesn’t look too bad, does it?’ she said to Sophie.

They’d been working hard in their spare moments this week, and Sophie took in the finished effect. Sets of gold waterfall lights hung over two of the walls, and there were new, plum-coloured cushions on the plastic chairs. The trestle tables had been decorated with red and green tablecloths, and each one had a bud vase with a spring of holly in, and a couple of battery-operated tea lights.

They had lowered the screen, and Ermin’s laptop was projecting an image of a glowing fireplace, the wall-mounted speakers sending a low crackle through the hall. A real Christmas tree stood in the corner, its silver star brushing the ceiling, its mirrored baubles reflecting the twinkling silver lights, giving it a disco ball effect.

‘It looks amazing,’ Sophie said. ‘We’ve knocked it out of the park.’

Jazz beamed. ‘I’ll go and get the teas.’

The door pushed open, and Sophie went to greet the newcomers. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Come in and sit down.’

A man with a shock of grey hair was supporting a woman on crutches, a shorter, rounder man leading a crocodile of three small children, all under ten. Their excited giggles and wide eyes were all the confirmation Sophie needed that the hall looked the part.

‘Let me show you to the Decoration Station,’ she said to the excited group. Jazz had named it, a flash of inspiration so pleasing that Sophie smiled whenever she said it.

Indigo waved as they approached. He was wearing a green elf hat with a red bauble on the end, and he’d taken out some of his many face piercings. Sophie felt a rush of affection for him, especially when he opened his arms wide and greeted the children with a squeaky rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ that had them in fits of giggles.

She grinned at him, then went into the kitchen, where Fiona was preparing plates of Dexter’s mince pies and cranberry sausage rolls. ‘I didn’t know if anyone would come to these decoration sessions,’ she said. ‘But it’s busy out there already.’

‘It’s a chance for people to get together on cold winter evenings,’ Fiona replied. ‘And I’m sure with the children—’ she gestured with a mince pie ‘—their parents and grandparents are glad to have somewhere they can come that will exhaust all their pre-Christmas energy.’

‘Birdie’s bringing Lucy in a bit,’ Sophie said. ‘Dexter’s working flat out, and I don’t think we’re the only ones who have commissioned things from him.’

‘Birdie’s really taken a shine to that girl.’

‘And Lucy must be in heaven, with all her witchy books and potions.’

‘I’m sure their friendship is based on more than that,’ Fiona said with a chuckle. ‘It’s lovely to see, though. And Dexter’s working as hard as he can so he can take a whole week off over Christmas to spend with her.’

Sophie opened one of the large Tupperware boxes, and started putting sausage rolls on the willow-patterned serving dish that Fiona must have brought with her. ‘He’ll need the break,’ she said. ‘These look so delicious.’

‘I did wonder if we’d see you tonight,’ Fiona went on. ‘Or if you’d be ensconced in your love cocoon.’

‘My love cocoon .’ Sophie laughed.

‘How’s it going with handsome Harry?’

‘It’s good,’ Sophie said, her cheeks warming. ‘Actually, it’s great.’ She had gone back to the manor last night and, in between other activities, he’d shown her the finished bunting. She’d been incredulous: not just at the amount, but the quality of it.

I told you, I’m good with my hands.

Well, I know that now.

Predictably, after that, they’d got distracted all over again.

But she felt guilty, because she still hadn’t told him she’d decided to stay in Mistingham. Jazz knew, and that probably meant Fiona did too, but the person Sophie had got closest to, the person who had changed her mind, was still in the dark. Her stomach churned with nerves every time she thought about telling him, because it felt like the biggest step of all, but she knew she needed to do it soon.

‘He’s in London today,’ she told Fiona. ‘He’s got a meeting with the people he consults for. He should be on his way back now – I think the train gets in at eight.’

‘I bet London’s a nightmare this close to Christmas,’ Fiona said. ‘I heard from Dexter that you’ve been asking around about the book, too. It seems like quite a few things have changed for you.’

Sophie thought how plausible it was that Fiona was behind The Secret Bookshop, even though she’d always denied it. Until she’d got to know Harry, May and Jazz, Fiona had probably been the only person who cared whether or not Sophie stayed in Mistingham. She thought of all the times her friend had bemoaned the loss of The Book Ends, and wondered if it had been a way for her to bring back the spirit of the bookshop, while also encouraging Sophie not to leave.

‘Fiona?’ She put the last sausage roll on the plate, checked the counters for paper napkins.

‘What is it?’ Fiona paused, her hands hovering over the plate of mince pies.

‘I need to ask you something.’ She looked at the woman who, almost as soon as Sophie had arrived in Mistingham, had appointed herself a friend and colleague, had given her business a fighting chance with a permanent corner in her shop. Fiona was as straightforward as they came. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Forget about it.’

‘Come on,’ Fiona said jovially. ‘We don’t have secrets from each other, do we?’

‘No.’ Sophie looked at her boots. ‘No, we don’t.’

‘Then tell me what’s on your mind.’

Sophie didn’t think it could be Fiona, but she needed to know for sure. She wanted to start this new phase of her life with complete honesty.

‘Sophie?’

‘Did you leave that book for me?’ she asked in a rush, and watched Fiona’s eyebrows lift in surprise. ‘Did you give one to Winnie, and one to Simon and Jason too?’

‘I told you I didn’t.’

‘It was left in the shop – how could you not have seen who did it?’

‘I was out in the back room,’ Fiona said calmly, ‘making tea or checking stock, answering the phone. You know what it’s like.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I’m really all you have?’ Her tone was harder, now. ‘Out of everyone in the village? Birdie and Dexter, Harry and May. Natasha? What if it was a mistake? What if they meant to say more on the postcard, sign their name, then got distracted and forgot? What if this was never meant to be a mystery, Sophie?’

Sophie flung her arms up, exasperated. ‘So then why has nobody come to see me, to say, “Hey Sophie, what did you think about the book?” Why don’t Simon or Winnie have any idea who it is either?’

‘Perhaps it wasn’t meant for you. Perhaps the postcard was left inside it ages ago, and it’s all a huge coincidence?’

‘You’re clutching at straws.’

‘And you’re clutching too, if you think I would do it and then lie to you.’

Sophie picked at a loose bit of edging on the counter. ‘But is it really lying, if it’s this elaborate secret? A game, almost.’

‘It’s a lie,’ Fiona said flatly. ‘I would never lie to you, Sophie.’

Sophie nodded, but didn’t look up. Her friend wasn’t furious, but she knew from her tone, from the way she kept saying Sophie , that she was disappointed. ‘I’m sorry—’

‘We need to get these snacks out to our ravenous elves,’ Fiona said. ‘Help me carry them?’

Sophie picked up her platter and tried to put her conundrum to the back of her mind.

The hall was busy all night with villagers coming to make decorations, write secret wishes or messages of gratitude, play board games and talk about Jane Eyre . Sophie started the discussion off, spent half an hour talking about the themes, before the conversation inevitably turned to other books, then other things. It was the nature of a book club, she knew, that it would stray off topic, the original story acting as a springboard, a much-needed ice-breaker.

She hadn’t seen a glint of knowing or amusement in anyone’s eye when she’d held up her beautifully bound edition, a hint that she was the butt of their Secret Bookshop joke, but then she didn’t know any of these people, had met most of them for the first time that evening. And, after her chat with Fiona, she wasn’t feeling enthusiastic about investigating anyway.

She had moved over to the Decoration Station, her fingers soon covered in glue and purple Sharpie, while Frank Carsdale ran his bridge sessions with enthusiasm, swapping people in and out and keeping the energy high.

At the end of the night, once they’d said goodbye to the last guests, Fiona tidied the tables while Jazz and Sophie cleared up in the kitchen.

‘You OK?’ Jazz asked, as she passed her a stack of plates. The dishwasher had left everything clean but soapy, its rinse function clearly worn out, but this was still easier than a sink full of suds and a scrubbing brush.

‘I’m fine.’ Sophie couldn’t help replaying her conversation with Fiona, the crackle of tension it had left between them, her friend’s I would never lie to you. She couldn’t stop thinking about the monumental decision she was keeping from both her and Harry. She needed to be braver, just like Jazz had said, because was she really committing to staying if she hadn’t told the most important people in her life?

‘Sophie, you’ve put that plate in the saucepan cupboard,’ Jazz said with a laugh. ‘Something is fucking with your brain.’

‘Oh shit.’ Sophie’s own laugh was hollow. She moved the plate to its rightful place. ‘I’m thinking about what I told you the other day.’

Jazz’s eyebrows went skywards. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

‘No.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Not at all. I just … need to tell people.’

Jazz laughed. ‘So tell them. Is it really that difficult? What are you expecting them to do?’

Sophie didn’t know. She didn’t understand how, after everything Jazz had faced, she was able to accept the kindness that people offered her, all the promises, and not question them. But Sophie had lived her short-term lifestyle for decades longer than Jazz; it was all so ingrained. ‘It’s not easy,’ she admitted, reaching into the bottom cupboard to put the baking tray away, trying not to think about the spiders that might be lurking inside.

‘Harry,’ Jazz said.

‘Yes, of course Harry,’ she replied, her head half inside the cupboard. ‘He’s been so lovely. Too lovely, if anything.’

‘That sounds like a backhanded compliment.’

Sophie whacked her head on the roof of the cupboard, her heart thundering. That was not Jazz’s voice.

Jazz laughed. ‘I wasn’t asking if he was one of the people you needed to tell,’ she said. ‘I was saying hello to him.’

Sophie backed out of the cupboard, gave herself a second to breathe in relatively fresh air, then looked up. Harry was wearing the black wool coat, dark trousers and shiny black shoes he’d put on that morning, before he’d left for his train. His cheeks were pink from the cold.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘How was London?’

‘Not much fun, but pretty productive.’ He made no more allusions to what she and Jazz had been talking about, and she thought he probably wanted to wait until they were alone. She didn’t know how much he’d overhead. ‘How has tonight been? Can I walk you home?’

‘It’s gone really well – it’s been so busy. My flat is only two minutes away, you know.’

‘My place is further.’ He held out a hand and, when she took it, he pulled her to her feet. The momentum brought them close, so she could see the flecks of green and brown in his eyes, the individual bristles of his stubble, turned pale under the florescent lights. His lips, slightly cracked, were angled up, ever so slightly, at one side.

‘Trying to work out if I’m too lovely?’ he whispered.

‘I know you are.’ She matched his smile, and he seemed to relax. ‘Give me five more minutes to finish up here, and we can go.’

‘Give me a job, and it’ll only take two.’

They finished clearing up together, then Sophie went round and switched all the lights off.

‘Hello, Harry.’ She heard Fiona greeting him at the main door. ‘And your lovely dogs. What are they called again?’

Sophie paused, could hear the reluctance in his voice as he told them, then Jazz’s high laughter as it reached near hysteria.

‘Darkness and Terror!’ she screeched, and Sophie grinned to herself.

Outside, she locked the door and handed the key to Ermin. Jazz was leaning on Fiona’s shoulder, her whole body shaking.

Harry gave Sophie a pained look, and she wrapped her arms around him.

‘Darkness and Terror,’ Jazz said again, her voice muffled, and the two dogs, which Harry had tied up outside along with Clifton, looked up at her.

‘They’re very stately dogs,’ Sophie said soothingly.

‘Thank you for trying to rescue the situation.’ Harry slipped an arm around her waist.

‘Right. We’ll be off, then,’ Fiona said. ‘See you in the shop tomorrow, Sophie?’

‘Of course.’ She swallowed. Her friend still sounded chilly, and she knew she needed to rebuild that bridge as soon as possible.

‘Cheerio,’ Ermin said.

‘Bye Harry, Sophie.’ Jazz’s eyes were glittering. ‘Bye Clifton. Bye, Darkness and Terror .’

The two larger dogs surged forward, accepting strokes and licking Jazz’s palms, oblivious to the fuss their names had caused. Then Fiona, Ermin and Jazz strode off in the direction of home, and Harry, Sophie and the dogs turned towards the manor, walking on roads slippery with frost, the air so cold it felt like icy breaths against Sophie’s skin.

Their footsteps echoed in the quiet, and a tawny owl hooted from somewhere close by. If she really concentrated, she could hear the shush of the sea, and she wondered how many fishermen’s lights were dotting the invisible horizon, dark sky bleeding into dark water.

‘What do you need to tell me?’ Harry asked eventually.

Sophie’s sigh turned to mist in front of her. Could she do it? It would mean no going back, relinquishing some of her control.

‘Soph?’ Harry prompted. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘Relieved how well tonight has gone, that people are embracing our new and improved festival. We have a lot of handmade decorations already, and there’s still over a week to go.’

‘You must be tired,’ Harry said. ‘Working all day, making more stock, and now you’ll be spending your evenings in the hall, as well as finalizing things for next week.’

‘You’ve been in London,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘You’re not exactly putting your feet up.’ She stopped, facing him. ‘I’m glad I get to see you now, though. That I’m not going home to my flat, alone.’ The word hung in the air between them, the moonlight fractured by the trees overhead. She could only see Harry’s features in patches, but she knew he was looking at her, perhaps trying to read her expression.

‘I’m glad you’re here too,’ he said. ‘Actually, let’s take it up a couple of notches from glad.’ He leaned forward, his lips close to her ear, gusting warmth onto her chilled flesh. ‘I am delighted you’re here. Want me to show you how much?’

‘When we’re inside in the warm, if that’s OK?’

‘Come on, then.’ He picked up his pace and Sophie hurried to keep up with him, the dogs barking into the darkness, thinking it was a game.

He’d lit a fire in his room. It was a much smaller fireplace, more modern than the huge caverns on the ground floor, but the glow and crackle were instantly soothing, shadows dancing across the walls.

Harry stood in the firelight, his smart blue shirt showing off his lean torso. Sophie shivered and put her bag on the floor under the window. When she opened it to take out her phone, she saw Jane Eyre nestled inside, the talking point of tonight’s book club chat. She’d left the brown paper at home, so its beautiful cloth cover was visible, the gold foil details dulled in the shadowy interior of her handbag.

‘Soph?’ Harry came up behind her and slid his hands down her arms. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ He bent his head, kissed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

She leaned into him. This was what she wanted. His touch and the low rumble of his voice settling over her like a blanket, turning her into heat and sensation, obliterating all other thoughts. ‘I am now.’

He put his chin on her shoulder, his hands on her waist. ‘Can you tell me …?’ He stopped, his grip tightening, his body frozen behind hers. It lasted a second, maybe less, then he softened, and she heard him swallow. ‘Can you tell me what you and Jazz were talking about?’ he said, but he sounded different. Flatter, somehow.

Sophie turned in his arms, and his gaze snagged hers, a slight furrow between his brows. She tried to think how to start; how she could possibly change the course of her life with a few, simple words. But then, before she’d uttered a single one, Harry kissed her. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to his bed, lowered her onto it and then followed, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands cupping her face as he kept kissing her, over and over.

Sophie let him claim her, let him take her breaths until she felt as if she had none left. She leant up on her elbows, then higher when he pulled the hem of her jumper, lifting it over her head.

‘Harry,’ she gasped, tugging at his shirt, roughly undoing the buttons, sliding it off his wide shoulders.

‘Shh.’ He hovered over her, feathering light kisses across her jaw and neck, down to her collarbone.

‘I don’t—’

‘Forget I asked,’ he urged. ‘Don’t say anything at all.’

Sophie nodded and looked into his eyes, saw the heat in them, a fervour he’d never shown her before. She gave herself up to her desire and his, let him kiss and touch her, overwhelm her with every part of him, and wondered if he’d been saying those words for her alone, or if he’d been saying them to himself, too.