Page 13 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Nobody knows that for certain. Did you expect him to agree to help out tonight? Maybe he’s changing his ways.’
‘I thinkwas strong-armedis more accurate thanagreed,’ Sophie said, her words cut off when a loud bang reverberated through the shop.
‘Goodness!’ Fiona pressed a hand to her chest.
‘Maybe the only thing left in the bookshop is the ghost?’
‘You know the story, don’t you?’ Fiona ran her finger along a shelf, Sophie’s torch beam picking out the impressive dust bunny she collected.
‘Is it the ghost of the village bibliophiles’ unsatisfied needs?’ Sophie suggested.
Fiona chuckled. ‘Apparentlyit’s the ghost of a customer who died in the Fifties, before Harry’s father took over the shop. He was heartbroken, had lost his love, you know the sort of thing, and he came into the shop and bought a copy of his favourite book, then—’
‘What was the book?’ Sophie asked.
‘I have no idea,’ Fiona said. ‘Let’s say …Great Expectations, because none of his were met. So, he bought his book, left the shop, turned right and walked down to the beach, straight into the icy water, not stopping until he was lost to the waves.’
Sophie frowned. ‘Why did he buy a book if he was about to do that?’
Fiona shrugged. ‘As some sort of message?’
‘It’s a bit far-fetched. I mean, what about—’ Another loud bang shook the shelves on the wall between the sweet shop and the bookshop.
Sophie sucked in a breath.
‘A bit far-fetched?’ Fiona repeated, looking nervously around the space.
‘Thestory.’ Sophie dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Not that there’s not a … I mean, I don’t believe in ghosts. But whatisthat?’
‘A pigeon? A bat? Abadger?’
‘Do you have the bookshop key on that ring?’ Sophie asked.
‘I do.’ Fiona swallowed. ‘You can’t possibly want to go and check in the dark?’
‘Don’t you think we should?’
‘You’re braver than you look, Sophie Stevens. Come on then, let’s go and see what horrors we can discover.’
Fiona locked the sweet shop and they stood in front of the bookshop’s red door. Further up the hill, the last few stragglers were filtering out of the village hall, saying their goodnights. Sophie had the sudden urge to run back there, into the light and the warm. She wouldn’t even mind if Harry was waiting for her.
Instead, she cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cold glass of the bookshop window. She could see nothing but the vague outlines of empty shelves, the rest in darkness. The banging had stopped. All was still. It was her turn to swallow.
‘Are we going in?’ Fiona asked.
‘Yes,’ Sophie said, with more confidence than she felt. She imagined Harry standing beside them – a tall, imposing presence. From what little she knew of him, he seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude, something they could do with right now. For a second, she wished he was here.
‘You know,’ Fiona said, holding the bunch of keys up to the light, ‘he called the shop yesterday.’
‘Who did?’ She wondered, not for the first time, if Fiona could read her mind.
‘Harry Anderly,’ her friend clarified. ‘We were just talking about him changing his ways, and I forgot to mention that he phoned the shop. All he wanted to know was if you were working; if you were OK.’ She found the right key, then turned to Sophie. ‘Anything I should know about?’
Sophie stared at Fiona, bemused. And then she remembered: it was only two evenings ago that she’d met him on the cliff path, refused his curt offer of a lift home. He’d really been bothered enough by it to check up on her the following day?
‘No,’ she said, feeling even more uneasy. ‘There’s nothing you need to know about.’
‘OK then,’ Fiona replied. ‘You know I’ll find out anyway.’
