Page 24 of Christmas at the Borrow a Bookshop

And there they all were, Blu-tacked to the dashboard as if they weren’t the most prized of her possessions. Pictures of her mum and dad in the cockpit of theDagalienwhere she sat alone now; a shot of Alex as a five-year-old in a captain’s costume at the river gala, the ferry decorated with black-and-white bunting, everyone smiling; and a shot from a rare holiday at Praa Sands with a lanky, gap-toothed Alex holding a drippy 99, her mum beside her in a stripy sundress.

The photos may well have faded but they were enough to prompt the memory of what it had felt like, having her parents right there with her. Now the pictures were damp. They’d need to be dried quickly in case she lost the images forever. She slipped them carefully into her coat pocket.

Rifling through the cockpit, her hands fell upon some of the documents she’d need: the bill of sale, ancient now and signed in her dad’s hand; untidily kept maintenance records and safety certificates held together with elastic bands; but no insurance papers – they were definitely at home. There was some comfort in knowing that Tom hadn’t searched through them, thank goodness. They were all clearly marked with the nameDagalienand with her Port Kernou address stated on the registration documents. She could hold onto her secrets a little longer.

She glanced around the cockpit, her back slumping. Decades of her family history were now dripping with salt water; the electrics shorted and the wood splintered. She couldn’t imagine ever sailing theDagalienagain. A growing belligerent streak piped up inside her brain, telling her she didn’t ever want to.

Every day, back and forth, handling all the pound coins and fivers, fishing for change in her pocket, pulling pink tickets from a reel in all weathers. Smiling and making small talk with the tourists, pointing out the sea birds and occasional dolphin out in the open water.

That had been her dad’s life, not hers. Had he meant for her to carry on with his work? He’d never actually told her so. She’d taken it upon herself, and she wasn’t sure why any more.

Of course she’d felt a connection with him here, and it had kept her busy and stopped her from being alone but it had, she was realising, stopped her from doing anything else.

If Magnús hadn’t been aboard, she’d have shut herself inside the cockpit and cried. Turning to look at him through the door, she found he wasn’t watching her; in fact, he was standing to greet someone approaching the boat. She had seconds to pull herself together before making her way out into the glare to join him.

‘All right, you pair?’ a cheery, Scottish voice called out. It belonged to a small woman with a big smile coming down the lifeboat slope carrying a basket.

Alex slipped into a spot on a passenger bench and watched her approach.

‘You don’t know me, but I know you, Magnús,’ the woman said. ‘I handled all the emails on your booking. Jude Crawley?’

‘Ó, já,’ Magnús offered her a handshake over the side of the boat.

Alex thought it so formal and polite she stopped worrying about her predicament and stared up at him as he straightened his back again.

She had the curious experience of seeing Magnús through Jude’s eyes. She must see how his eyes were as blue and pale as the wind-blown winter sky. She must see how rugged and outdoorsy he looked in his super high-tech waterproof jacket. He had the look of a man who’d enjoy yomping up the side of a volcano before stopping at the top to read a moody European thriller and have a slice of cake. How could someone be so fit and fierce and yet so soft too? Did Jude see how his hair was shaven at the sides and the short velvety buzzed areas looked so soft and blond and touchable?

Wait!Alex had to stop herself.

Nothing in the way he’d treated her had been anything other than respectful and, well, really kind of noble, and here she was thinking how nice it would be to run her fingertips through his hair?

She had never thought of Ben like this; properly lustful thoughts that bloomed effortlessly in her brainstem and sank down her spine where they settled in the treacherous muscles of her core and set to work maddening her with longing sensations for this Icelandic stranger who, weirdly, didn’t feel at all like a stranger when she was beside him.

Jude had reached a hand out to Alex by now and, in a bit of a daze that made her blush and apologise, Alex shook it. ‘Sorry, I was just… it’s the shock of seeing the boat again.’

‘Looks like you’re staying a while?’ Jude said, surveying the damage, but not waiting for an answer. ‘You’ll be needing a wee bit of brunch, I reckon.’ She was already in her basket pulling out a paper bag. ‘You’re Cornish, aren’t you? Jowan said so. Hope these live up to expectations. Pasties. I’m experimenting with something new.’

Alex took the bag, now fully awake and functioning with as much adult rationality as she could muster. ‘Thanks, I love a pasty. My mum’s were legendary.’

This drew Magnús’s eyes down to her but she kept hers fixed on Jude, just in case there was pity in his expression. She didn’t want to see it from anyone but especially not from Magnús. All she wanted from him was more of that light and warmth that had radiated from him last night.

‘While the weather’s dry you should make the most of Clove Lore,’ Jude was saying, with something provocative and insinuating in her voice, even though she was trying to suppress it. ‘Have a walk together.’

‘That might be a good idea, now we have a picnic,’ Magnús said, acknowledging Jude’s gift.

‘The waterfall’s well worth wandering to, along the beach.’ Jude pointed a finger, making them both turn to look over their shoulders at the cliffs along the bay.

‘We’ll do that,’ Magnús told her, making Jude smile to herself.

‘I’ll away drop these in at the pub, then. Not that they have many guests now. Bella told me their Christmas bookings are almost all cancelled; the storm warnings are putting everyone off travelling. Still, they might get the local lunch crowd.’ Jude held up her basket and gave it a little shake. ‘Anyway, you enjoy your walk, and your pasties.’

When they’d thanked her and she’d gone on her way to the Siren’s Tail, which looked a little sorrowful today without any lights on inside, apart from in the bar room, Magnús turned to Alex, and some of his reserve returned.

‘Would you like to see this famous waterfall, with me? And some… pasties?’

Alex’s laughter told him she accepted his offer and she shoved the documents into her pocket beside the photographs and clambered out of theDagalien, closely followed by Magnús.

They began the slow trudge over the pebbles and slippery kelp heading away from the lifeboat station and along the bay, all the while staying close to the foot of the cliffs rising above them in a sheer, black craggy wall.

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