The Secret Christmas Bookshop (The Secret Bookshop #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three

T he fire was humming happily in the grate, four dogs laid out in front of it, along with a very sleepy goat, sated by a Christmas lunch of sprouts and potatoes, and the pocket of Fiona’s coat which he’d somehow got to without anyone noticing.

Christmas carols played quietly in the background, the beautiful strains of ‘Silent Night’ accompanying their post-lunch chatter, after Lucy’s request to play the Michael Bublé Christmas album for the eighth time in a row had been vetoed. Now she sat on the sofa, the first book in her new trilogy open on her lap. Jazz had told Dexter that, from what she could see, it was definitely YA and the romance was firmly closed door.

Sophie was snuggled up against Harry, her socked feet on the coffee table, happily full of turkey, Christmas pudding and champagne, feeling more content than she could remember. Harry had told her he had a present to give her later, when everyone had gone, (‘Not that kind of present,’ he’d whispered, ‘or, not only that kind of present.’) and she had a wrapped parcel in her coat pocket: a pair of the beautiful gloves in buttery caramel suede from Fiona’s shop. She wanted to get Harry more than just that, but – she realized disbelievingly – she would have a whole lot of time, now, to buy him gifts.

Everyone had been delighted that she was staying, but none of Harry’s guests had seemed that surprised – certainly nowhere near as surprised as Harry – as if they’d all known something she didn’t about the power of Mistingham, or were simply confident that she’d realize, in time, that she was in the best place she could possibly be.

‘What are you doing with your notebooks?’ Birdie asked, cradling her cup of tea. She also had her feet on the table, and was wearing festive socks with little gold crackers on. Before she’d taken them off, Sophie had almost choked on her champagne when the older woman had swept back her purple witchy cloak to reveal a pair of luminous green Crocs.

‘I’m going to keep making and selling them,’ Sophie told her. ‘I did well in the run-up to Christmas, and now that I have a permanent home for them—’

‘And for you,’ Jazz pointed out.

‘And for me,’ she smiled, ‘I’m going to branch out. Look into widening my stationery offer ,’ she added, in a faux-businesslike voice.

‘And the shop?’ Fiona asked. ‘I could be wrong, but it’s possible we might be able to convince the owner of the vacant shops on Perpendicular Street to do you a good deal.’

Sophie looked up at Harry, only to discover he was already gazing at her, a dazed smile on his lips.

‘I’m sure we could sort something out,’ he said. ‘I can’t think of anything better for the old sweet shop than to become a high-end, artisan notebook shop.’

‘Ye Olde Sweete Shoppe.’ Jazz elongated all the e’s.

‘Luckily, it isn’t ever going to be called that again,’ he said.

‘No,’ Sophie agreed, on the verge of laughter. ‘It’s going to be called Ye Olde Notebooke Emporiume.’

‘You are not,’ Harry said.

‘I am. You told me I could, when we were on the way back from our midnight paddle – you said you’d be more than happy with that name.’

Harry winced. ‘I did, didn’t I?’

Sophie laughed. ‘It has a lovely ring to it. Ye Olde Notebooke Emporiume. Or, if I’m branching out, Ye Olde Stationeree Emporiume.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’ Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Will I never be free of stupidly quaint shop names?’

‘Small ears,’ Fiona said.

‘Not that small!’ Lucy piped up, without looking up from the pages.

‘If the sweet shop is getting a new lease of life,’ Dexter said, ‘does that mean the bookshop might be, too?’

The silence that followed was loaded. Sophie glanced at May, who gave a tiny shake of her head, then turned her gaze on Fiona, widening her eyes. Her friend seemed to get the message, giving Sophie a short, sharp nod. May had told her earlier that she didn’t want anyone else knowing who was responsible for the freshly bound books, about Harry’s secret hobby and what she had done with it. She said she’d admitted it to Fiona, but was sure she could swear her to secrecy.

‘Why don’t you want anyone knowing?’ Sophie had asked her.

‘Because Harry’s self-conscious about the books, and he’s only finished a few – hardly enough to do anything with – so it’s best if we keep it between us. If that’s OK?’

‘Of course it is,’ Sophie said, then added, ‘and do you have more projects planned, in your self-appointed role as Secret Bookshop Fairy Godmother?’

May had given her a serene smile, which Sophie thought was answer enough.

She had wondered if, now she and Harry were together, and that she was staying, May hadn’t completely given up on the idea of gifting Harry’s beautifully bound books to people, and now she was convinced she was right. May fully believed in the magic of her Secret Bookshop, and, despite her initial surprise, and her disproportionate reaction when she’d discovered the truth, Sophie couldn’t help believing in it a little bit now, too.

She would keep their secret, and she would always treasure Jane Eyre , which right now was upstairs in Harry’s bedroom, a floor above where he had transformed it from an old, tatty edition into something special. Nobody else had asked Sophie if she’d unmasked her mystery gifter, and she thought that it had mostly been forgotten in the face of festivals and storms, and the all-consuming nature of Christmas. Neither Winnie nor Simon had seemed intent on solving the conundrum, so she thought that May would be free to do whatever she wanted to – as long as Harry was happy – without anyone else realizing it was her.

‘I’m a long way from resurrecting the bookshop,’ Harry admitted. ‘I’ve got to get this place in order first.’ Sophie knew the annex roof patch-up was a big job, that all the books were temporarily piled up in his study to protect them, as the secret room was now exposed to the elements.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Fiona said, indicating the lounge, ‘even if it’s still a work in progress.’

‘Bernie would have loved what you’ve done so far,’ Ermin added.

Sophie felt Harry stiffen beside her. ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I really hope that, after everything, I’m not letting him down. I want the estate to be part of the village again. I’m done hiding.’

‘Well, good,’ Fiona said firmly, but Sophie thought she sounded slightly choked.

‘He’d have loved this, most of all.’ Ermin waved his hand between Sophie and Harry.

‘Yes,’ Jazz added with a smirk, ‘she’s the best thing Harry’s done, for sure.’

‘Jazz!’ Fiona sounded outraged, and Sophie felt her cheeks burn. Harry’s hand slipped to her waist, his fingers sliding under the hem of her jumper to find her bare skin.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Ermin blustered. ‘I just meant—’

‘Don’t listen to her.’ Fiona patted her husband’s arm. ‘She’s run rings around you since she arrived, and I doubt it’s going to change any time soon.’

‘Not a chance,’ Jazz said with a grin.

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ Ermin looked over at the young woman, and Sophie’s heart squeezed at his tender expression.

There was a loud bang from outside, and all four dogs pricked their ears up.

‘What’s that?’ Sophie asked. ‘Not another storm?’

Harry slid his arm out from around her and stood up. He held his hand out, and she took it and let him pull her to her feet. ‘Jason and Simon said they were going to do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘Fireworks on the green. If we go outside, we should see some of them above the treeline.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ Fiona pulled Ermin up, and Dexter waited for Lucy to put her book down, sighing heavily as she abandoned her fictional world for the temporary delights of the real one. Jazz helped Birdie up and everyone followed Harry onto the front steps.

The fireworks were louder out here, and Sophie saw a bright spark, a pink flash followed by a bang and the sound of scattering rain. Everyone stared up, waiting for the next mini explosion, and Harry stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest.

‘I never imagined I’d end Christmas Day like this, with my arms around you,’ he said into her ear. ‘I never imagined my Christmases would be this good again: that my life could be this good.’

‘It’s only been a day,’ Sophie said, but only because it was easier to be flippant than serious. She didn’t know how to tell him that this day, this Christmas, had outstripped her previous ones by an almost incalculable amount. She promised herself she would find the words, embrace the emotion that would no doubt accompany them, when they were alone together, later. ‘Anyway, there’s more to come. It’s not over yet.’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Harry said, sliding his hand under her jumper again. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget what you said to me out there on the lawn.’

‘Which bit? About how we’re going to celebrate, or that I realized I loved you?’

‘That one,’ he murmured.

‘Harry!’

‘All of it,’ he said, his fingers drifting round to her belly button while everyone was focused on the fireworks. ‘Everything you said to me, Soph. But mostly the part where you said you didn’t want to live your life without me.’

‘I don’t,’ she said, simply. ‘Not ever.’

The last firework filled the night sky over Mistingham with the glamour of festive lights set to twinkle mode, and Sophie felt something cold land gently on her nose. As she looked up into a dizzying swirl of snowflakes, and realized her perfect Christmas Day had one more trick up its sleeve, she leaned back into the arms of the man she loved, and knew that she was here to stay for good.

In Harry’s bedroom on the first floor of Mistingham Manor, a gust of wind slipped through the cracked-open window and ruffled the pages of Jane Eyre . The section it fell open on proved, perhaps, that May was right to believe in the magic of the books he’d given a new lease of life to.

‘Thank you, Mr Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you; and wherever you are is my home – my only home.’

The End