Page 75 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
She still wanted to know who had given it to her, who had written that message – even more so because the note accompanying Winnie’s book had been so much more straightforward – but her motives had changed. She didn’t want to unearth The Secret Bookshop so she could put the mystery to bed and move on, she wanted to do it so she could ask them why they had chosen her; so she could thank them.
‘Have you read it?’ she asked Jazz.
‘Fiona’s given me a copy, and I’ve started it, but I’ve never been a big reader. Besides, the hotel is keeping me busy.’
‘You’re enjoying it?’
Jazz grinned. ‘Yeah, I am. I can’t quite believe it, you know? That Fiona and Ermin, Winnie and Mary, have given me this chance. Ididn’tbelieve it for a while.’
Sophie remembered how frustrated Fiona had been when Jazz was holed up in her room, refusing to talk or come down for meals. ‘It’s hard to accept it,’ she said, ‘when you’re always braced for the worst, but then things start to pick up – it’s like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.’
‘Exactly.’ Jazz swivelled on her bum, ignoring the sound system for a moment. ‘When I got here, after that crazy long bus ride, I thought this place would be boring, full of ancient people who followed the same routines every day: that it’d be one of those places where people came to die, you know?’
Sophie laughed. ‘I do know.’
‘But it’s not, is it? The hotel’s popular with all sorts of guests, not just doddery old folk, and the pub’s definitely got a younger vibe.’ A smile slipped onto her lips, and Sophie wondered if Jazz was thinking about Indigo, Natasha’s son.
‘Not to mention that the older people are still pretty spirited,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘Have you met Mr Carsdale?’
‘Not yet. Fiona’s told me about him, though.’ Jazz returned to her work, untangling the microphone lead, and Sophie went to see if the pile of tatty board games had any hidden gems they could use for their festival tournament. ‘She also told me that you really are leaving,’ Jazz called over. ‘That you weren’t joking when we talked about it before.’
Sophie turned around. ‘I wasgoing to leave. In January. I prefer staying nimble, being—’
‘Being able to move on at a moment’s notice,’ Jazz finished. ‘When things don’t feel good any more.’
Sophie nodded, but the lump in her throat stopped her from replying.
‘What about Mistingham doesn’t feel good?’ Jazz spread her arms wide, her laugh incredulous.
‘That’s what I mean,’ Sophie said haltingly. ‘Iwasgoing to leave.’
‘You mean you’re not now? You’re staying?’
Sophie swallowed. She hadn’t said it aloud to anyone yet, had perhaps only decided properly a few minutes ago. But over the last few weeks, the questioning voice in her head had got louder. What, exactly, was she going for?
She sat next to Jazz on the dusty floor, resting her elbows on her knees. ‘I was in Bristol for three whole years.’
‘Wow.’ Jazz’s eyes widened. ‘A lifetime!’
Sophie laughed. ‘I know. I was with this guy, Trent, for just over two of them, and I thought that was it – that I was staying. We had a good life together: he was a teacher at the local secondary school, I was working in a trendy, arty café, making my notebooks on the side, selling them at craft fairs and markets. I thought we were happy.’
‘Uh oh,’ Jazz said ominously.
‘Then he asked me to move in with him,’ Sophie said, ‘and I felt instantly claustrophobic. Even though I’d have been giving up a grotty little flat to move into his beautiful town house. He’d been saving for a house deposit since university – talk about being prepared.’ She shook her head.
Jazz laughed, then said, ‘But the flat was your safety net?’
Sophie nodded, the lump back in her throat as she remembered how it had fallen apart. Slowly, at first, with Trent’s frustration showing as snippy remarks and periods of silence, everything awkward when before it had been so comfortable between them. And then, how quickly the momentum had gathered; that race downhill to rockbottom. ‘I told him I needed more time, and he said that I wasnevergoing to be ready, so what was the point?’
‘He had no patience?’ Jazz asked.
‘He had been so patient with me – really, more than I deserved. I knew it was my fault, that we’d been together long enough, so I decided I could do it; that I could be braver. But then he told me I couldn’t make notebooks and work in cafés for the rest of my life, that I was always going to be treading water,that I was incapable of committing to anything important.’
‘Shit,’ Jazz murmured.
Sophie rubbed her hands together. ‘We need to make sure the heating’s put on early on festival days – and that it’s also on the week before, when people come to make decorations. This place needs time to heat up.’
Jazz nodded. ‘What happened next? With Trent?’
