Page 50 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
Harry rolled his eyes.
It was another of the glowing animals, but this one wasa goat, its tiny horns and large ears giving it a distinct personality, despite it not having eyes. It was so Felix-like, she couldn’t imagine leaving without it.
‘This as well, please,’ she said to Scratch, who was carefully boxing up their lights.
‘Oh, the goat. Sure.’ He began rootling around beneath the counter.
She could feel Harry’s stare on the side of her face. ‘Sophie,’ he said calmly, ‘what are you doing?’
‘I’m buying us the goat.’
‘Us? Or the good people of Mistingham?’
‘The good people of Mistingham,’ she said. ‘But also us.’ She couldnotthink about there being anus.
Harry shook his head. ‘If you’re that enamoured, you can borrow Felix. He’d love a couple of nights in your flat: he’d only destroy about 90 per cent of it.’
‘This way, he’ll have a little friend.’ When she glanced at Harry, he was rubbing his eyes, looking put-upon and frustrated and utterly, deliciously grumpy. Sophie grinned. She decided that low-key riling Harry Anderly was one of her new favourite pastimes. When Scratch had boxed up their lights, they paid for them with the festival funds they’d been assigned by Ermin, raised at various fundraising events throughout the year. Sophie paid for the goat herself. She carried it out to the car, while Harry carried the boxes of lights. She had an extra spring in her step, and she realized her headache had gone. She couldn’t help thinking of a line fromJane Eyre, one that had stuck with her when she’d come across it:
I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. ‘A good idea!’ I thought with glee. ‘I see I have the means of fretting him out of his melancholy for some time to come.’
They drove back to Mistingham and went straight to Vea’s Crafts, which was tucked away down a narrow road behind the seafront, a hidden jewel of a shop with a colourful window display that promised soft textures and delicate projects to while away a few, satisfying hours. Sophie had used Vea for as many of her notebook supplies as possible, and she’d always been helpful when Sophie had wanted to order in anything specific. After the assault of the seasonal superstore, it felt like a balm.
Inside, the shop smelled of cinnamon. The front room was tiny, much of the space reserved for large rolls of fabric at the back, and Sophie could feel how close Harry was behind her.
Vea wafted through the white muslin curtain that cordoned off the fabric room from the rest of the shop, her smile on seeing Sophie turning to surprise when her gaze landed on Harry.
‘Goodness!’ She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘I thought I’d stepped into the past for a moment, though you’ve filled out a bit since you were a teenager.’
Vea was Jamaican, in her sixties, Sophie thought, though she seemed a lot more youthful, the grey in her corkscrew curls looking more like silver dye, the frames of her glasses pink and studded with jewels.
‘Hi, Vea.’ Harry cleared his throat. ‘How have you been keeping?’
‘Oh well, well, thank you! And you? How’s the patch-up job on the manor going? What about all those books?’
Harry shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets. ‘The books went when Dad closed the shop.’
Vea fiddled with the gold chain round her neck. ‘Is that the case?’
‘Are you a big reader, then?’ Sophie cut in. She could add another name to her anonymous gifter list.
‘I wouldn’t saybigreader,’ Vea said, her focus still on Harry. ‘It’s mostly cookbooks and crafting manuals, more practical than recreational. Harry reads, though.’
‘I know.’ Sophie deflated a little. Crossing someone off the list wasn’t as good as circling their name.
‘Such a shame,’ Vea said heavily, ‘that the leftover stock from The Book Ends was sold or given away.’
‘What else was I supposed to do with it?’ Harry’s voice was tight. ‘The shop had to close, and I had no use for a lorry-load of books. I sent what I could back to the wholesalers, some went to other bookshops in the area, I took a few boxes to Dad’s care home, for their library. Of course a few came back to the manor with me, but … it was all I could do.’
‘You could have kept them,’ Vea said, in a way that managed to be both soft and steely.
‘We’ve come to talk to you about bunting,’ Sophie said desperately. ‘We want a whole lot of Christmas bunting for the Oak Festival.’
Vea finally gave Sophie her attention. ‘Do you want to make it, or do you want me to?’
‘Oooh.’ Sophie turned wide eyes on Harry. ‘What do you think?’
He stared at her as if she’d sprouted three heads. ‘No. Sophie—’
