The Christmas Bookshop(15)

And she was gone.

Carmen looked up in the dusty room.

‘I heard you were here,’ said Mrs Marsh, folding her arms.

Don’t be ridiculous, Carmen said to herself. There’s nothing to be scared of. She can’t sack you again.

She eyed Mrs Marsh back, feeling as if she’d been summoned by the headmistress.

‘Okay. Do you want to buy a book?’ She had seen Mrs Marsh read: Regency romances with passionate women on the arms of dukes and lords.

Mrs Marsh raised her eyebrows.

‘So this is a shop?’

‘What did you think it was?’

‘Storage of some kind.’

‘Well. It is a shop, and I’m very busy,’ lied Carmen.

Mrs Marsh tutted loudly. Carmen rolled her eyes.

‘This place is a disgrace. I mean, look at it.’

‘Mrs Marsh, I don’t think you work here?’

It struck Carmen as ridiculous that she didn’t actually know Mrs Marsh’s first name.

‘Well, obviously,’ said Mrs Marsh. ‘Because if I did, it would be nothing like this.’

‘Actually, I’m here to revamp it,’ said Carmen proudly. ‘I’m here to do a kind of consulting interior design exercise.’

She felt annoyed with herself for showing off, but she wasn’t going to be talked down to by the malevolent ghost of her old boss, not here and not anywhere.

Mrs Marsh stepped forwards, ran her finger along a line of books for dust, and found plenty.

‘So where are you going to start?’ she said. ‘Remember what I told you?’

Carmen felt annoyed. Mrs Marsh had various retail mantras she was always trying to instil in them, and she and Idra had made a point of completely ignoring them and sniggering up the back.

‘What have I always told you?’

It was definitely something beginning with C. Crappy, cloudy and cluttered? Cheap, cheery and crud? Carmen frowned.

‘Clean! Clear! Curated!’ said Mrs Marsh, after waiting on a pause.

‘Oh right,’ said Carmen, feeling sulky.

Mrs Marsh caught her gaze suddenly.

‘You know,’ she said, and Carmen realised it cost her something to say it, ‘it was the fashion and the white goods that did for Dounston’s. Did you know that? Haberdashery was always profitable. Always.’

This … it almost sounded like praise. Carmen frowned.

Mrs Marsh turned around slowly, like a battleship, and reached for the door.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing here,’ said Carmen suddenly. ‘I’m not quite sure where to start.’

Mrs Marsh whipped back round immediately.

‘Well, get to know your stock for a start rather than standing around like a pudding. And for goodness’ sake get something going on for Christmas. It’s the beginning of November. Forty per cent, you know! Forty per cent of your year’s sales to see you through happen in the next eight weeks! Did you listen to nothing I said?’

Carmen didn’t answer that.

‘Well. Better late than never. You get this place looking Christmassy. And get it tidied up. Fill it with Christmas … things … ’

‘Books.’

‘Yes. And for goodness’ sake, clean. I don’t want to leave wrapped in filth. And neither does anyone else.’ She gave Carmen a penetrating gaze. ‘Are you up to it or not?’

And then she did leave, without a goodbye, without even waiting to hear the answer, leaving Carmen shaken and annoyed.

Presently, a group of tourists came past, and peered in the window. They weren’t to know they were entirely audible through the thin glazing.

‘Oh my God, look at that,’ said a loud woman’s voice. ‘Do you think something new is going in there?’

‘They should put a juice bar in,’ said another voice. ‘I mean, look at the crap in there.’

‘Oh yes, all these bloody hills,’ came another as they marched past. ‘You get thirsty.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. If you ever want some really shit postcards … ’

‘Shh,’ said the first voice. ‘They might hear you.’

‘Well, I’ll apologise the very next time I don’t go there,’ came the voice, fading away.

They’re right, thought Carmen in despair. They’re right. This is a stupid amount of work, like Mrs Marsh said. I’ll never manage it. It’s too much for me. I always fail. Sofia could probably do it in, like, ten minutes. But I’m not like her. It’s just too much. I’ll find something else. This is just a waste of time. It’s stupid.

She’d explain to Mr McCredie. She wasn’t any use as a skivvy in a shop with no customers, with a boss who didn’t want it to be a shop at all as far as she could tell. This was just a waste of time. Anyway, he was one of those old posh Edinburgh people. He’d have money. He’d be all right, Sofia was probably just egging him on to make her feel bad as usual. There were thousands of restaurants in Edinburgh. If she left now, she could make the tour this afternoon, find a cool well-paid job like Idra. Everyone needed waiting staff this time of year. Sofia could solve her own damn problems.



‘Mr McCredie,’ she announced. There was no answer in the silent shop.

She listened. What was that? A tiny noise coming from somewhere. Oh God, what if they had mice? Of course they’d have mice. Paper-chomping mice, making delicious nests … did mice eat paper and make nests? Probably. Edinburgh mice probably made seven-storey nests. Then made the entrance on floor three and a half.