The Christmas Bookshop(32)

‘Hi, yeah, we’re in the hotel?’ said a busy-sounding publicist. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Um, no,’ said Carmen, swallowing the last piece of flake. ‘I haven’t opened up yet.’

There was a disappointed sighing noise.

‘Only our schedule’s really tight?’

‘I get that,’ said Carmen. ‘We’re on it. Come when you like.’

A camera crew were stamping their feet around the entrance and already setting up; Carmen knew enough to aim straight for the person with the clipboard.

‘We have to do the filming first,’ she tried to explain to the queue. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a wait … if you want to go away and come back again?’

The faces turned towards her were steely. Nobody was going away and coming back again.

‘I’m afraid I can’t let you in till we’re done?’

The wind whistled through the stairwells; up the hill and over the top of the terrace. Clouds scudded overhead, occasionally letting in a flash of light, but mostly reminding you that daylight had not arrived before 8.30 a.m. and would be leaving promptly at 3.30 p.m. and not really showing its face much in between so if there was ever an opportunity to be somewhere nice and cosy inside, nature couldn’t give you much more of a clue than to do it now.

Still, the feisty women were in no mood to desist, so Carmen smiled apologetically at them and made her way indoors, even as she could feel the daggers shot at her back.

The camera people did mysterious things with lights and trailing cables and tried not to drop more books on the ground than was strictly necessary under the circumstances. The woman with the clipboard smiled and talked into a walkie-talkie, and told them to turn off the train set. Carmen reminded Mr McCredie that they were bringing the superstar in through the back door, i.e. the alleyway close that led into his house, and he smiled weakly then promptly forgot all about it again.

Finally, the shop was looking as lovely as it could. The TV people had brought along a lot of extra holly garlands and had hung them on the shelf with little sparkly fairy lights which, while they looked very pretty, Carmen had to admit would be absolutely useless for anyone actually attempting to browse or buy a book on the shelves. The people trying to peek in the window were politely shooed away and everything was cued up and at 10.45 a.m. ‘He’s on the move!’ was heard over the walkie-talkie, and Carmen scampered up to the back alleyway to escort the great man through the McCredie home and in through the stacks.

The young publicist was slim, blonde and as pretty as a model, and she grinned broadly as she bustled forwards.

‘Well, isn’t this charming,’ she said. ‘Come on, Blair, it’s just over here.’

A tall man behind her shuffled slightly. He didn’t look at all like the snooty uber-confident man of his publicity. He was wearing owlish glasses, his hair looked rumpled and his mouth was pulled shut so you couldn’t see his bright teeth at all.

He sighed.

‘It won’t be long,’ said the girl in an encouraging manner, as if explaining things to a small child. There was another long sigh.

‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Are you ready?’ said the girl. She beamed a bright smile. ‘I’m Emily, by the way. Nice to meet you all! And this is Blair.’

Blair raised a weary hand. Was he terribly hungover? Carmen wondered. Although that wouldn’t go with his reputation of positive self-happy self.

‘Okay, Blair,’ said Emily, as the TV crew stepped forwards and introduced themselves one by one. A woman carrying a large bag approached.

‘Hair and make-up?’ she said. ‘I’ve cleared a space.’

She had but it was right behind the till and in the way of everything which, coupled with the cables, meant that Carmen couldn’t do much more than stand and watch. Mr McCredie had darted away like a mole when he’d seen everything and everyone there – again. Carmen pondered once again that if seeing a lot of people in your shop was worrying, no wonder your retail career hadn’t flourished.

However, she took people back and showed them how to get coffee and tried to avoid the gaze of the angry shoppers waiting in the cold, sticky-beaking through the window. She needn’t have worried: a small feisty-looking woman who was, she realised, the director, marched outside and yelled at them to get out of the way or it would take all day, and meekly, the queue retreated, to the faint annoyance of the magic shop but the clear delight of the coffee shop, who immediately started offering queue delivery.

‘Okay, quiet on set, everyone,’ shouted the director finally, and Carmen edged forwards so she could have a look.

It was absurd. As if a different person had materialised. The grumpy-looking sleepy person slouching in half an hour before was nowhere to be seen.

In front of Carmen now, standing by the silenced train set and a rapidly erected Christmas tree, was a shiny, glowing, somehow much bigger person. He had flicked brown hair, bright gleaming eyes and incredibly bright teeth which he was flashing as if he was enjoying the happiest moment of his life. The director demanded silence, and the cameras started rolling. The red-headed presenter introduced him in tones of awed reverence, and he made a broad ‘aw shucks’ face.

‘Hi there,’ he was saying in a confident accent pitched precisely somewhere between British and American. ‘I am just so happy to be here in Edinburgh, one of the most beautiful cities in the world.’