The Christmas Bookshop(33)

The red-headed presenter giggled.

‘Well, it’s so lovely to have you here. Can you tell us a little about your new book?’

‘Of course, Caroline.’

He leaned forwards and seemed to look the presenter – or the camera – straight in the eye.

‘It’s about if you ever feel you’re just not good enough – that your Christmas will never be quite perfect enough – if you don’t think you’ll choose thoughtful gifts or that your family won’t be thrilled to see you or that the turkey will be dry … ’

He gave a broad, shining smile, filled with compassion and joy.

‘I just want to tell you that you are good enough. You are absolutely good enough. You are loved. And everything is going to be okay.’

He smiled beatifically again. Carmen screwed up her face.

‘Isn’t he amazing?’ said Emily, who was standing next to Carmen, watching him slavishly.

‘Is this it?’ said Carmen. ‘Does he have something to say that isn’t just “everything is going to be okay”?’

‘I know,’ went on the relentlessly cheerful voice, ‘that it doesn’t sound much, just saying, “everything is going to be okay”. But you know what. Sometimes, it’s enough. And I just want to tell you that you – you – are enough.’

Carmen could have had a few things to tell him about how that didn’t exactly fly after they had shut all the old employment opportunities in her old home town and thrown half the decent people of working age on the dole with no way out and the other half, like her, had had to move away altogether, but she managed to restrain herself.

‘Even if you – what’s the phrase? – “burn the tatties”,’ he said with a silly Scottish accent to show he knew it wasn’t very good.

‘Well, that’s terrific,’ said the presenter, looking rather pink – he was very close to her. ‘It’s so lovely to see you here.’

‘Well – Blair! Is there a more Scottish name?’ he went on. ‘It’s the most wonderful land of my forefathers and I can’t wait to meet as many Scottish people as I can. I’d say I hope they’re all as pretty as you, but I wouldn’t dream of saying something like that these days so I will say I hope they are all as pretty as Dean the cameraman.’

There was appreciative laughter among the crew.

‘And I’m going to be down at the sick kids’ hospital this afternoon signing copies of Your Child’s Calm Wellness in Five Minutes a Day, so I’m looking forward to meeting people there too.’

‘Thanks for giving up your time like this.’

‘Are you kidding? It’s an honour. And seriously, you are all so lucky to live in the heart of such an amazing place. I feel inspired here, I really do.’

‘Well, we’re happy to have you. And now back to the studio … ’

Blair Pfenning stayed frozen in place as the cameras switched off and Emily jumped forward and directed him to the signing table.

‘Can we get them in please?’ she said, as the camera operators were dismantling cameras and sound men were taking fuzzy things off mikes. She bustled to the doorway and started bringing people in two at a time, all of them hopeful and expectant, clutching copies of Blair’s books, most of which looked worn and well-loved.

And he was distantly charming with everyone; didn’t rush, took his time, made sure he was spelling people’s names correctly and complimenting hats and brooches. He submitted merrily to photographs, flashing that brilliant grin, putting arms nearly round the women but not touching them and, when someone started to tell him a problem, passing them on to Emily to take their details but promising that someone from his office would get back to them.

Finally, by noon, every adoring person had been swept from the shop, every last piece of cabling had been removed, the spare decorations had been packed away, every single book was sold so the cashbox was overflowing and the shop was temporarily quiet.



It was like watching the air go out of a balloon. He seemed to almost shrivel in front of Carmen’s eyes. The smile and the teeth vanished; his body slumped. He took off the Harris tweed jacket with the elbow patches and pulled on a grey hoodie Emily had stretched out for him, zipping it up to his chin and putting on his glasses. He laid his head down on the counter.

‘We done?’

‘Four local radio stations, two national, children’s hospital, BBC again.’

‘We just did them.’

‘This is the whole of the BBC. That was just local.’

A tearful noise came from under the hoodie.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Let me get you a coffee.’

There was no answer from the large figure now prone upon the case.

‘Um,’ said Carmen. ‘We are, believe me, so appreciative.’

She really and truly was. They had taken money continuously; the old till had tinged and rung and the stack of Blair Pfenning books had dwindled to nothing. She had never known anything like it, not even during one of the periodic bursts of craft sales in haberdashery that followed Kirstie Allsopp appearing on television.

‘But would you mind if I got into the till?’

He glanced up at her, his eyes hollow.

‘Whatever,’ he said.