Page 2

‘Talking of which.’ Daniel gave the road one last visual sweep before returning to the tatty carboard box, where Noémi was now standing. ‘How’s Fantasy Man?’

And there was another topic of conversation that was better avoided. Could she disappear headfirst into this inviting box of tinsel and hope it transported her to a time when her biggest worry had been whether the Very Hungry Caterpillar would get bellyache?

‘Perfectly fine, as far as I know.’ Noémi sank down onto the floor next to the box, rearranging her long wool-blend skirt. She’d chosen it because of how it reminded her of Sherlock Holmes’s deerstalker cape – only the fictional detective probably didn’t opt for shades of mauve. She blew her dark fringe out of her eyes. ‘Anyway, let’s get on.’

She wasn’t in the mood for another of Daniel’s lectures about the weirdness of sending online messages to strangers she would never meet. He argued it was time for her to get back onto the dating merry-go-round – with real-life people. Daniel had his own heartbreaking reason to be sworn off his hunt for Mr Right. And though not everyone understood, Noémi had her reasons too.

Daniel threw down a cushion, hitched his smart trousers up at the knees and sat down next to her. ‘Dry clean only.’ He pointed to his trousers before pushing up the sleeves of his shirt.

‘You didn’t need to wear your best clothes. We’re only …’ Noémi’s voice trailed off. About to have one of the most miserable conversations ever. Well, she couldn’t say that.

‘Rifling through dusty Christmas décor. I know. Though even if it was bin day, you wouldn’t catch me dressing like I’m feral. Shame on you.’

Decorating the shop for Christmas was a tradition they’d shared together for as long as she could remember. It used to make her heart happy – at least until that life-shattering Christmas two years ago. The one that had changed everything. This year, she and Daniel had agreed that the memory of those tragic events was not going to squeeze the joy from yet another festive period, and she could tell he was trying to stay positive for them both. Though was she about to ruin that with a fresh revelation of doom?

She checked the tiresomely loud clock again. How late was Felix going to be? On second thoughts, maybe they could put off the real talk until tomorrow. Ooh, or maybe this time next week?

Noémi peeled the brown parcel tape from the box’s lid, inhaling the scent of cardboard and relishing the tape’s ripping sound as it allowed her entry to a carefully packed collection of good memories.

As she pulled the last piece of tape free, the lid sprang open, the top layer of tinsel bouncing up like the limbs of a jack-in-the-box. Some people mocked her tinsel – some people being Daniel, who was now pulling it from the box with a carefully pinched forefinger and thumb, as though it might turn around and bite him. But to her, if you were going to decorate for the festive season, you might as well go all out. Or out with a final bang.

Noémi loved to take the best of both the English and French traditions. The bookshop’s Christmas tree would always be a real one – her mother’s ritual, since she had bought the place when Noémi could barely walk. This year’s tree was now standing near the unlit log fireplace, bare and ready to be robed. They would adorn it with ornaments – each with its own special story. Then they’d add candles (battery-operated, because she did have some regard to health and safety), ruby-red apples, pine cones, velvet ribbons in a shade not unlike that stranger’s coat …

She blinked a few times, wondering where that unbidden thought had come from. Other people’s unusual outerwear was none of her business. She returned her mind swiftly to the tree.

There had been a time when she used to tie small boxes of bite-sized Christmas cookies to the branches in a plethora of flavours. From those moreish ones made from brandy-butter cookie dough and sweet cinnamon sugar to the fudgy chocolate crinkle cookies cut into adorable stars and the decadent cherry kisses with their rich almond flavouring. But not anymore. For the last couple of years, she’d insisted on supermarket candy canes instead – because they weren’t tainted by echoes of sadness. Or guilt.

‘Penny for them.’ Daniel nudged her. ‘I sense something’s troubling you. I mean, beyond … past stuff.’

A weighty look passed between them and Noémi squeezed his arm.

‘Nooooo,’ she repeated, because there was no point in jumping into it yet. There was every chance she might still be able to delay the conversation by sawing off her own head.

Then she sighed because who was she trying to kid? ‘Maybe there is something,’ she confessed, before she could change her mind, grab her best flat shoes and leg it out of there. ‘I was pondering …’ She busied her unsteady hands with unwrapping various ornaments from their tissue paper. ‘Future Christmases, I guess.’ She swallowed hard, trying to hold back the sudden threat of tears.

Luckily, Daniel was preoccupying himself with a string of multicoloured fairy lights he’d just extracted from the box, which looked like they were from circa 1980 but which Noémi loved even more for their nostalgic, slightly plastic twinkle. ‘If you dare to plug these in, this place might not see next Christmas.’

‘Right,’ Noémi replied weakly. If only he knew.

Just as she was pondering the possibility of climbing up the chimney and hiding there with a book, the bell over the shop’s door jingled. They both looked up.

Felix – the third member of their shop floor trio. Behind schedule, as always, and perpetually looking a touch confused. Felix was probably way past retirement, was never seen not sporting a patterned dicky bow, and had an absolute heart of gold – even if Daniel privately grumbled that he was the worst shop assistant ever. Noémi liked him exactly as he was. He was part of the fabric of Adventures in Books (as her mother had named it) and had worked there since time immemorial. Which was yet another reason this was going to be excruciatingly painful.

Noémi swallowed hard and stood quickly. There was no more putting it off, because that just wasn’t fair. She wasn’t going to blub. Much.

‘Felix!’ Noémi rushed to hug him.

He blushed, like he always did, then straightened his bow tie – patterned with festive candy canes and paired with a Nordic jumper as a nod to his late Icelandic parents. Though nothing could sweeten what she now had to divulge.

So as Felix popped his snow-flecked coat on the coatstand, Noémi took a deep breath, clenched her fists like a boxer getting ready for a fight, and made her way to the mantelpiece, leaning on it for support.

‘Erm. I have something to tell you both.’ She signalled to the old leather armchairs that encircled the fireplace. ‘Please do sit down. And please don’t let me off the hook until I’ve actually admitted it.’

Chapter 2

‘There’s no jolly way to say this,’ said Noémi, wondering if she should have tried to cheer things up by wearing a bearded Santa costume and ending on a big ‘ho, ho, ho’. ‘But the bookshop isn’t doing well.’ Say it, say it, say it.

She cleared her throat. ‘If we don’t find a way to turn things around, this might be …’ She looked at Daniel and Felix, both perching on the edges of their chairs, their eyes wide. Too heartbroken to face their expressions, she screwed her own eyes shut. ‘This might be the shop’s last Christmas.’