Page 49 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘I doubt that,’ Sophie said. ‘Anyway, I’m not much younger than you, and I have a rented flat above a chippy, a forgotten corner of another person’s shop to sell my handmade notebooks in, and the only being who relies on me is a scruffy dog I rescued from under a bridge. My list of life achievements is short.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Harry said. ‘You’re proudly independent, and you know what you want out of life. You’re not bowing to pressure from friends or villagers, or society. You do what you want, not what’s expected of you.’
Sophie hid her surprise. ‘You don’t think I’m in the position I’m in because I haven’t had much choice?’
‘Not at all. You’re determined. I think if you wanted something different, you’d find a way to get it.’
Sophie nodded, thinking about Cornwall. Shewasdetermined to have the life she wanted, and sometimes that meant starting again somewhere new. It was the best way she knew of feeling in control: keeping people at arm’s length was better than caring too much, giving them control of you. That wasn’t something she was about to admit to Harry, so she stared out of the window as the flat, winter-sparse fields were broken up by quaint villages, cottages decorated with wreaths, outdoor trees draped with golden lights that twinkled even though it was morning. Christmas was coming, and Sophie and Harry were responsible for bringing it to Mistingham. She hoped they could pull it off.
Harry swung onto the large car park and Sophie looked up at the building they were about to enter. Called the Seasonal Superstore, it clearly changed with the time of year, and right now, over halfway through November, it was all about Christmas. It was also an assault for the senses.
In the window, a slightly wonky tree was draped with various different light strings, some static, some winking; they were gold and frosty white, blue and multicoloured. There was a forest scene of two plastic reindeer, a snowman and, inexplicably, a giant hedgehog, all of them lit from within, like the figures Sophie had sometimes seen decorating front lawns during December. An inflatable Santa was stuck halfway up the window, a sack with illuminated presents spilling out of it, the disaster frozen in time. Two gold angels stood discreetly in the corner. Sophie imagined they were cowering.
‘This is … classy,’ she said, as they walked up to the door.
‘We’re not decorating Sandringham,’ Harry replied. ‘Now we’ve committed to this, the first thing we need to do is bling up our oak tree.’
‘Bling it up?’ Sophie spluttered out a laugh. ‘Can you say that again so I can record it?’
‘No,’ Harry said, but she thought he was fighting a smile as he held the door open for her.
She stepped into a space that, despite the warning in the windows, she wasn’t prepared for. ‘Holy shit.’
‘It’s … a lot,’ Harry agreed. That was, possibly, an understatement. Displays of ornaments, lights and baubles, trees and statues and garlands shimmered, twinkled and flashed in every colour imaginable, while speakers blared out ‘Fairytale of New York’.
‘Harry, my dude!’ A man appeared from somewhere, dressed in a red shirt that was at least two sizes too big for him, his brown hair straggling over his shoulders, a scruffy goatee on his narrow face. ‘It’s been an age.’
‘It’s good to see you, Scratch.’ Harry sounded slightly embarrassed. ‘This is Sophie – Sophie, meet Scratch. We knew each other at school.’
‘Yeah, but I hightailed it out of Mistingham as soon as I could, in search of the bright lights.’ He laughed at his own joke, and Sophie tried to join in. ‘You need my assistance.’
‘We need to decorate the oak tree for our festival,’ Harry said. Sophie might have been imagining it, but she thought he sounded relieved, as if a part of him had been wanting to give in to the villagers’ requests all along.
‘Ah, the Mistingham Oak. For sure.’ Scratch nodded. ‘Come this way, and I’ll show you all the possibilities.’
‘Allof them?’ Sophie whispered, horrified, as she followed the two men to the back of the shop.
An hour later, her head ached and she felt as if dust had worked its way into all her cracks and crevices, but they had their lights.
They’d chosen a string of simple globe bulbs in bright colours and one of little illuminated books, which Sophie had secretly picked in tribute to her copy ofJane Eyre. Scratch had insisted on them having a whimsical string of acorns as well, because it was an oak tree. Sophie was surprised at how good quality the lights seemed, how robust they were, and she was feeling a lot more confident than she had when they’d come in.
They were on their way back to the till, when she spotted something that made her gasp.
‘OK?’ Harry asked.
‘Look!’ She pointed.
‘Sophie.’ His deep tone held a warning, and a shiver ran down her spine. She realized how much she loved his voice, an entirely unhelpful thought that she quickly dismissed.
‘We have to get it,’ she said. ‘For the green.’
‘No, we don’t.’
‘Felix wouldloveit.’
His sigh was harsh. ‘I have no idea how Felix would react, but luckily we’re not going to find out.’
‘We are.’ She hurried over and picked it up. ‘Look how adorable it is.’
