Page 99 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘Yup.’ Stu rubbed his hands together. ‘And your blast from the past, Bryan Mailer, is arriving at six thirty?’
‘That’s right. Don’t miss it!’
‘Like we would.’ Molly grinned and held out a box. ‘Here.’
Ollie shook her head. ‘I’ve had so many freebies from you recently.’
‘Come on.’ She waggled the box. ‘It’s Christmas!’
Ollie accepted it, told them she’d see them later, then strode up the hill – her thighs at least 30 per cent stronger than when she’d first moved to Cornwall – and walked into A New Chapter.
‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’was blaring almost aggressively out of the speakers, and the first thing Ollie saw was Becky rush past her, her head a mane of different-coloured tinsel.
Ollie laughed, bemused, just as Thea shouted from the top floor, ‘Fuckinghell!What is wrong with this fucking thing?’
Ollie put the box of goodies and her takeaway cup on the counter, and took off her coat. It was clearly time to swing into action.
‘The coffee machine’s not working,’ Thea said, when Ollie reached the first floor.
‘We’ll sort it.’
‘How can we?’ Thea’s face was pale, her long hair somewhat less than sleek where it looked like she’d been tugging it.
‘We’ll have a look at it,’ Ollie said calmly, ‘and if we need to call someone, we will.’
‘But Max isn’t here!’ Thea blurted, and Ollie felt like a stone had been chipped off the road by a car tyre and lodged itself in her heart.
She smiled, pushing the sensation away. ‘We can do this, OK?’
‘Sorry,’ Thea said quietly. ‘I’m stressed.’
‘There’s no need to be. We’ve got wine and elderflower cordial for tonight, so it’s not going to get in the way of the event, and Stu and Molly are working in Sea Brew today. If we need one of them, it’s a five-minute walk. But that’s a bigif.’ She opened the top of the coffee machine, remembering everything the salesman had shown her in the shop, while Max had stood quietly by, his calm confidence transferring itself to her. It all looked as it should, as far as she could see.
‘What is it?’ Thea asked.
‘Not sure yet. Why is Becky running about downstairs like the tinsel monster?’
‘Oh. This morning Meg told her their house wasn’t Christmassy enough, had a huge meltdown about it, apparently, so Becky went to the supermarket first thing. She bought up their entire supply of tinsel, and is intent on making her house, and this place, genuine fire hazards. So that’s nice.’
Ollie laughed. ‘This is Christmas stress, compounded by event stress.’
‘And yet you seem perfectly calm,’ Thea observed, just as Ollie found the problem. A bit of plastic from one of the bags of beans, which were inserted into the machine upside down and supposed to be emptied automatically by the mechanism, had ripped off and got stuck in the workings. She untangled it, held it up, and Thea clapped. ‘Yes! See! How did you do that?’
Ollie put the machine back together, then set it up to make a cup of coffee, to check it was working properly. ‘This is the kind of atmosphere I thrive in,’ she admitted. And then, thinking of Max, of Sophia Forsythe-Hartley, ofBecky’s antagonism, added, ‘Besides, all the worst stuff has already happened to me. Today, Thea, is going to be nothing short of incredible.’
The day was relentless, the savoury pastries from Sea Brew – sausage rolls and cheese pies, the turkey and stuffing rolls Max had commissioned from Beryan – proving welcome and entirely necessary. The shop was extra busy, the town humming with Christmas cheer and happy customers, people coming in to pick up last-minute presents while carrying burgers and burritos from the food stalls; one small boy with his arm, up to the elbow, in a bag of candyfloss.
The music from the bands playing down by the harbour drifted up the hill, and Becky, Thea and Ollie sang and swayed along in their newly enhanced, book-filled Christmas grotto. Ollie didn’t know how Becky had secured all the tinsel to the ceiling, but it hung down in swathes, making her fancy garlands at home seem paltry by comparison.
‘I’d like every Lee Child book, if possible,’ said one woman, her cheeks red from the cold, a poinsettia sticking out of her tote bag.
Ollie winced internally. ‘I’m not sure we have every single one in stock right now. We can order them in, of course, but they won’t be here until after Christmas.’
‘Oh, fiddlesticks,’ the woman said. ‘I tried to get them on Amazon, and they tell you that they have them, that it’s all fine, and then – bam! You get an email saying your order has been cancelled for no reason.’
‘That’s the problem when you’re dealing with an algorithm rather than a person,’ Ollie said, giving her a reassuringsmile. She looked up the details on the computer. ‘We have seventeen of them here, including the first five. Why don’t you get those, give the lucky recipient the first ones under the tree, and then, by the time they’ve finished the fifth book, you’ll have the others waiting. You could even add in some kind of cryptic message, something about there being more to come, then leave the rest wrapped up and hidden about the place, so they keep discovering more.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a bit silly, maybe, but more fun than getting them in one huge, overwhelming bucketload.’
‘What a brilliant idea,’ the woman said. ‘Everyone loves a bit of mystery, don’t they?’
