Page 121 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“Mum, I’m probably going to go...”
“I’m not belittling anyone, Sasha. I’m merely trying to give a little perspective; they’ve got roofs over their heads and food in their bellies...”
“Well, if that isn’t patronizing, I don’t know what is. You are a Neanderthal when it comes to mental health...”
“Mum, can you hear me? I’m going to go now, leave you two to it. Say hi to Dad for me...”
“I know plenty about mental health. My grandfather had shell shock after the war...”
Nory gave up and ended the call.
The books in the Christmas window had been selling out almost faster than they could refill it. Nory had reached the stage where she was having to place some of her most favorite vintage titles in the display—titles that she had surreptitiously held back because she couldn’t quite bear to part with them. Of course, Andrew had been onto her from the start.
“Here, this would go nicely near the front, propped up by Santa’s boot,” he said on Wednesday morning, handing a book through to Nory, who was kneeling inside the deep bay window with her back to him. She took it and sucked in a sharp intake of breath.
“This is a 1955 edition ofPookie Believes in Santa Claus.”
“I know, that’s why I handed it to you.”
“I can’t sell this!”
“You absolutely can, and you must. You are a bookseller, it’s literally what you do.”
“God, you’re mean.” Nory opened the book and looked at each illustration in turn, trying to imprint them onto her brain, then she closed it, lovingly gave the cover a stroke, and placed it in the window, nestled in a fake snow drift.
“And don’t put it where nobody can see it.”
Nory harrumphed and sat the book up straighter. Almost immediately two women stopped at the window and one of them pointed delightedly at Pookie.
Dammit!
Andrew passed her a 1970s copy of’Twas the Night Before Christmas, with a very Coca-Cola Santa on the front. She sighed and leaned it up against one of a pair of kitsch fawn bookends that held a row of classic Christmas titles between them, including a tattered copy ofThe Nutcracker, which Nory was hoping would slip under the radar, sandwiched as it was between the two bright intact spines ofHow the Grinch Stole Christmas!and Raymond Briggs’sThe Snowman.
Andrew handed her another book, but the moment Nory touched it, she knew it wasn’t for the window. It was faded from red to burned orange with tinges of its original brilliance hidden on the inside cover. A picture of a Victorian Christmas tree sat in the center of the cover, which had been worn shiny.
“Ah, no, not this one. Magdalene will want this,” she said.
“It’s not on the list,” Andrew mused. He knew the names in Nory’s little book.
“No, I only just realized that it’s for her,” Nory replied thoughtfully.
Andrew laughed quietly. “The book whisperer strikes again.”
It was wet and cold outside, and despite the fearful draft from the ancient windows, Nory felt deeply cozy as she looked out through rain-mottled panes onto the busy street beyond. She wondered for the ninetieth time that day what Isaac was doing. She could never have imagined that her short time spent with Isaac would have such a profound effect on her thought processes, but there it was: Her brain was now tuned to think about Isaac whether she wanted to or not.
“Come along, madam. Get your bottom out of the window, and I’ll make you a nice hot cup of tea,” said Andrew.
Nory shuffled backward out of the bay.
“Ooh, lovely,” she replied, shivering.
Andrew went into the kitchenette to make tea, and Nory busied herself with a box of vintage books she’d bought at an online auction after half a bottle of wine. She could feel her fingertips tingle as they brushed against sepia pages. The faces of customers who were—whether they knew it yet or not—destined to love these books bloomed into her mind’s eye. She grabbed her notebook and began to make a list.
The door tinkled, and Nory looked up to see Guy looking apprehensive. She froze. Guy gave her a tentative smile and held a leather satchel up, as though this should indicate something to her.
“What part of ‘leave me alone’ are you having trouble with?” Nory crossed her arms defensively across her chest.
Guy shifted from foot to foot. He seemed reluctant to leave the welcome mat.
