Page 82 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Andyou’reclutching too, if you think I would do it and then lie to you.’
Sophie picked at a loose bit of edging on the counter. ‘But is it really lying, if it’s this elaborate secret? A game, almost.’
‘It’s a lie,’ Fiona said flatly. ‘I would never lie to you, Sophie.’
Sophie nodded, but didn’t look up. Her friend wasn’t furious, but she knew from her tone, from the way she kept sayingSophie, that she was disappointed. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘We need to get these snacks out to our ravenous elves,’ Fiona said. ‘Help me carry them?’
Sophie picked up her platter and tried to put her conundrum to the back of her mind.
The hall was busy all night with villagers coming to make decorations, write secret wishes or messages of gratitude, play board games and talk aboutJane Eyre. Sophie started the discussion off, spent half an hour talking about the themes, before the conversation inevitably turned to other books, then other things. It was the nature of a book club, she knew, that it would stray off topic, the original story acting as a springboard, a much-needed ice-breaker.
She hadn’t seen a glint of knowing or amusement in anyone’s eye when she’d held up her beautifully bound edition, a hint that she was the butt of their Secret Bookshop joke, but then she didn’t know any of these people, had met most of them for the first time that evening. And, after her chat with Fiona, she wasn’t feeling enthusiastic about investigating anyway.
She had moved over to the Decoration Station, her fingers soon covered in glue and purple Sharpie, while Frank Carsdale ran his bridge sessions with enthusiasm, swapping people in and out and keeping the energy high.
At the end of the night, once they’d said goodbye to the last guests, Fiona tidied the tables while Jazz and Sophie cleared up in the kitchen.
‘You OK?’ Jazz asked, as she passed her a stack of plates. The dishwasher had left everything clean but soapy, its rinse function clearly worn out, but this was still easier than a sink full of suds and a scrubbing brush.
‘I’m fine.’ Sophie couldn’t help replaying her conversation with Fiona, the crackle of tension it had left between them, her friend’sI would never lie to you.She couldn’t stop thinking about the monumental decision she was keeping from both her and Harry. She needed to be braver, just like Jazz had said, because was she really committing to staying if she hadn’t told the most important people in her life?
‘Sophie, you’ve put that plate in the saucepan cupboard,’ Jazz said with a laugh. ‘Something is fucking with your brain.’
‘Oh shit.’ Sophie’s own laugh was hollow. She moved the plate to its rightful place. ‘I’m thinking about what I told you the other day.’
Jazz’s eyebrows went skywards. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’
‘No.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Not at all. I just … need to tell people.’
Jazz laughed. ‘So tell them. Is it really that difficult? What are you expecting them to do?’
Sophie didn’t know. She didn’t understand how, after everything Jazz had faced, she was able to accept thekindness that people offered her, all the promises, and not question them. But Sophie had lived her short-term lifestyle for decades longer than Jazz; it was all so ingrained. ‘It’s not easy,’ she admitted, reaching into the bottom cupboard to put the baking tray away, trying not to think about the spiders that might be lurking inside.
‘Harry,’ Jazz said.
‘Yes, ofcourseHarry,’ she replied, her head half inside the cupboard. ‘He’s been so lovely.Toolovely, if anything.’
‘That sounds like a backhanded compliment.’
Sophie whacked her head on the roof of the cupboard, her heart thundering. That wasnotJazz’s voice.
Jazz laughed. ‘I wasn’t asking if he was one of the people you needed to tell,’ she said. ‘I was saying hello to him.’
Sophie backed out of the cupboard, gave herself a second to breathe in relatively fresh air, then looked up. Harry was wearing the black wool coat, dark trousers and shiny black shoes he’d put on that morning, before he’d left for his train. His cheeks were pink from the cold.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘How was London?’
‘Not much fun, but pretty productive.’ He made no more allusions to what she and Jazz had been talking about, and she thought he probably wanted to wait until they were alone. She didn’t know how much he’d overhead. ‘How has tonight been? Can I walk you home?’
‘It’s gone really well – it’s been so busy. My flat is only two minutes away, you know.’
‘My place is further.’ He held out a hand and, when she took it, he pulled her to her feet. The momentum brought them close, so she could see the flecks of green and brown in his eyes, the individual bristles of his stubble, turnedpale under the florescent lights. His lips, slightly cracked, were angled up, ever so slightly, at one side.
‘Trying to work out if I’m toolovely?’ he whispered.
‘I know you are.’ She matched his smile, and he seemed to relax. ‘Give me five more minutes to finish up here, and we can go.’
