The Christmas Bookshop(26)

Packing case after packing case of books, spooky old teddy bears and hockey sticks, rugby boots and an entire set of dishes in an elaborate box. Carmen frowned at the latter – surely it would be useful somewhere, for something. But Sofia had trendy mismatched earthenware in deep turquoise and blue that either came from Morocco or was strongly pretending that it did. What could she possibly do with a dozen dainty floral saucers?

She saw something that looked like tinsel coming out of an old box, and in her haste to get over to it, banged her leg hard on a low table she hadn’t noticed.

‘Bloody bloody buggering hell!’ she yelped.

‘Are you all right?’ came the tremulous faraway voice.

‘Yes,’ said Carmen, not loud enough for him to hear. ‘That’s the noise I make when everything is going incredibly well.’

She bit her lip and rubbed her leg. That was going to bruise – bugger. She looked at what she’d tripped over, and her mouth dropped open.

In front of her, covered in dust, was an old train set with little fields and trees and stations, working signals, porters on the tiny platforms and criss-crossing rails. It was huge and complicated and beautiful.

‘Wow! Is this your train set?’

‘Oh yes!’ said Mr McCredie. Suddenly his voice had perked right up, and he got quite excited.

‘I haven’t seen it in years. Can you bring it down?’

‘Why don’t you just … ?’

Carmen stopped herself before she suggested that he sell it. It wouldn’t be any use and she would turn into Sofia, telling everyone else what was best for them.

‘Okay,’ she said.

There were also Christmas decorations right next to it, she saw.

She made Mr McCredie cover up his old, very expensive Persian rug with dust sheets as a starting manoeuvre before she brought down the two boxes of Christmas decorations and – carefully and in pieces – the train set.

As he blew off the dust, his eyes widened and Carmen could see him for the boy he must have been: bespectacled, and full of enthusiasm for the little electric locomotives. There was even snow on the fir trees, and little metal figures of a railway porter and a mailman putting large brown sacks of mail onto a goods carriage proudly marked Royal Mail.

‘Does it still work?’ said Carmen. Mr McCredie looked all ready to start re-laying track.

‘Don’t set it up here,’ said Carmen suddenly. ‘If I move the window display … oh yes! We could put it in the window.’

‘We’re not selling my train set.’

‘We’re not! It’s just to attract children in. And surround it with books about Christmas and trains. And Christmas trains.’ Carmen frowned. ‘Let me order quite a lot of The Polar Express. I have a hunch this is going to work.’

Mr McCredie looked at her.

‘Well, I suppose … I have no reason to doubt you so far.’

This felt so good to Carmen that she beamed at him. They carefully carried all the boxes of the train set to the front of the shop whereupon Carmen ordered the books and served customers and Mr McCredie had an undeniably happy two hours setting up the track and the buildings and the trees and even the hill tunnel before the station in perfect order, armed with a damp cloth as Carmen sternly gave him dusting instructions. It was an enjoyable morning for both of them.

Nothing was doing when they clicked the switch on the track, but Carmen dashed down to the friendly hardware store man, returning with an entirely new plug, some bits of wire and odds and ends that the nice gentleman assured her would be just the ticket, and an invitation to the magic shop’s party. She mentioned it to Mr McCredie who winced and said, ‘Oh. Bronagh’s. We’d better go, or she’ll put a spell on us.’

‘You should go,’ said Carmen. ‘It feels like this entire street all really support each other.’

Mr McCredie shrugged.

‘Oh,’ he said, fiddling with the mechanism. ‘I’m not really one for joining in.’

‘Well, tough luck,’ said Carmen. ‘Because I said yes for the both of us.’

They held their breath as Mr McCredie replaced the plug, which had been round and brown and made of Bakelite, and amazingly the little trains took off, lights on at their fronts, trundling round the track against one another.

Not only this but the signal lights worked too, lifting and lowering as the trains grew near.

They stood watching it, completely entranced.

‘We need smoke pellets,’ said Mr McCredie, who looked nearly tearful at his childhood toy come back to life.

‘How … Is that how they make smoke?’ Carmen crouched. There were even tiny plastic figurines in the passenger carriages: women reading newspapers in little hats; men in suits with trilbies and broad shoulders.

There was something slightly sinister in the thought that they had been up there, trapped in their carriages for forty years, stuck in an eternal waiting room. But of course that was fanciful nonsense.

‘Of course.’

‘You know, I could get cheap lights too, from Poundworld,’ mused Carmen. ‘And put them in the trees for Christmas. And some cotton wool for more snow.’

‘Poundlworld,’ frowned Mr McCredie. ‘What on earth is that?’

‘I’m taking you,’ said Carmen. Then she reconsidered. ‘No. You might have a heart attack. But just give me a bit of petty cash and trust me.’