The Christmas Bookshop(16)

She stepped forward quietly and tilted her head. It sounded like … less like a mouse, perhaps a cat mewing? She stood stock-still. Then she realised. It was a person.

She frowned. It could be … well, Mr McCredie, as she had learned that morning, left the door open all night, so it could be anyone. It could be him. Or a homeless person or someone ill … or a burglar. Probably not a burglar. The cash till was sitting there, untouched.

Carmen took out her phone cautiously, just in case she had to dial 999. Then she took a step forwards, through the entrance at the back, and into the forbidden stacks. She couldn’t see a light switch anywhere; her hands groped along the wall, but with no luck.

It was the oddest thing. The shop went on, deeper and deeper, narrower and narrower. But there started to be fewer and fewer books, but a pot plant here and there, and the strip lighting faded to be replaced by darkness, and then she noticed that the hard floor of the shop had turned softer. I wonder, is that a plank? she thought, stooping down to feel it with her hands. But instead of feeling the hard, smooth stone of the floor of the bookshop, she felt something extremely soft and gentle and warm to the touch, like fine old wood. This is very odd, she said to herself, and went on a step or two further.

The next moment, she saw that there was a light ahead of her – not a strip light in the ceiling where the stock room should be, but a soft glow, some way off. A moment later, she found that she was standing in the middle of a sitting room, with rugs under her feet and wallpaper on the walls.

She looked back over her shoulder and there, between the dark book stacks, she could still see the open doorway of the shop, and even catch a glimpse of the busy road outside.

Looking around the room, Carmen thought she had never been in a nicer place. It was a dry, clean room with a carpet on the floor and two little chairs and a table and a dresser and a mantelpiece over the fire, and above that a picture of an old man with a grey beard. In one corner there was a door which Carmen thought must lead to Mr McCredie’s bedroom, and on one wall was a shelf-ful of books. And on the seat nearest the fire was Mr McCredie, crying as softly as he knew how.

‘Goodness, Mr McCredie. Are you all right?’

As he looked up, the man’s blue eyes filled with more tears and then they began trickling down his cheeks, and soon they were running off the end of his nose; at last he covered his face with his hands and began to howl.

‘Mr McCredie! Mr McCredie!’ said Carmen in great distress. ‘Don’t! Don’t! What is the matter? Aren’t you well? Do tell me what is wrong.’ But the man continued sobbing as if his heart would break.

Carmen poured him a fresh cup of tea from the warmed pot she saw and placed it next to him. Finally, he straightened up.

‘I’m … I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a bad person.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve let the shop go to rack and ruin … I’ve wasted my life, betrayed my family … ’

He looked up at the stern, grey-haired picture of his father and held up a letter.

Carmen looked at it.

‘It’s from the council,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Carmen. ‘I know what it says. Sofia told me.’

Mr McCredie started to cry again.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t really believe it until now.’

‘I’m sure it will be okay,’ said Carmen. ‘I’m sure it can be saved.’

‘It’s too late!’

‘Nothing is ever too late,’ said Carmen, hoping she believed that. ‘Never!’

‘But it’s nearly Christmas.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Carmen. ‘It’s winter here for about nine months. It’s never Christmas. I’m sure there is lots we can do. Also, forty per cent of business is done at Christmastime.’

‘Do you think?’

‘So I heard.’ She looked around. ‘Sorry, do you live here?’

‘Upstairs mostly,’ said Mr McCredie. ‘This is where I come to read.’

‘It’s lovely,’ said Carmen. ‘Like a little cave.’

‘I know but I’ve wasted so much time here when I should have—’

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Carmen severely, trying to head off another flourish of tears. Oh, for goodness’ sake. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’

‘But you’re going to leave! I heard you talking to your friend.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t eavesdrop.’

He sniffed and nodded then looked up at her meekly.

‘I’ll stay till Christmas,’ she said finally. ‘And you need to let me do what I want and stop telling me not to go in the stacks or move anything.’

He swallowed.

‘I’ll try.’





‘Are you going to take us on any outings or anything?’ said Jack, bouncing his ball on the floor the next day, which happened to be a Sunday, meaning the shop was closed, even though Carmen thought closing the shop several Sundays before Christmas was a dumb idea.

‘Like where?’ said Carmen. The children had more or less given up on expecting much of her. She didn’t seem at all impressed by Pippa’s gold stars, she didn’t care about football and she didn’t seem to notice Phoebe at all. She wasn’t like Federico’s brother, their uncle Julio, who played in goal and held skipping ropes and tickled Phoebe even though she pretended to hate it and bought them two ice creams a day whenever he swung in. That was a fun uncle to have. Carmen, Pippa loudly told Skylar, was not a good auntie at all, and Skylar said very firmly not to forget that we always had to Be Kind? and Carmen didn’t have a goal in life? And was very sad? Which would have been fine had Carmen not been just coming out of the shower at the time, and had to dig her fingers into her hands to pretend she hadn’t heard. She and Sofia were still not speaking which was very annoying as there was a delicious-smelling venison stew on the burner and Carmen was starving.