Page 7

Chapter 4

25 days until Christmas

There was no better place to be at 8 a.m. on a chilly Monday morning than at the end of Hazel View Avenue outside the Lunch & Lattes van. Well, as long as you didn’t mind a bit of banter, debate, and shameless but well-meaning gossip. Noémi blew on her frosty fingers, waving as the other shopkeepers began to arrive.

The van was parked on a patch of green space at the end of the road that was closest to Noémi’s shop. The land also housed an old wooden lodge that had become empty and unloved – though the van was perfectly lovely.

At the other end of the avenue was Butterfly Gardens – which now Noémi thought of it, had also become overgrown in recent years, and unlikely to attract many butterflies. Perhaps it wasn’t just her shop that needed more love around there. The sparse Christmas lights that trailed along the street seemed to wink their agreement – even they had seen sparklier days.

The shops themselves spread out down one side of the street like a slightly rebellious rainbow, their wooden frontages painted in a range of colours from Noémi’s bookshop’s demure deep blue to the craft shop’s shocking pink, and everything in between.

The other side of the street was bare of buildings, which meant they had views down Bloom Hill and beyond. Incredible vistas of rolling green hills and honeyed-stone towns and villages as far as the eye could see. Theirs was dotted with hazelnut trees and hedgerows. Noémi wouldn’t have traded it for anything – not even a spot in the village’s main square at the top of the hill, where business was apparently still booming and the Cotswold stone and heritage-green paintwork was matched to perfection.

Noémi smiled as more of her fellow shop owners arrived, grateful for this simple monthly ritual of warming up their hands and putting the world to rights before their shops opened. Because a community that drank frothy coffee together stayed together, as the van’s latest owner Chai had once told them. Though today, Noémi wasn’t convinced her make-or-break month ahead would be anywhere near that simple. If she could embrace her inner Nancy and ask for advice, she was about to find out.

Chai, in her usual boho look but with added snow boots and a Christmas-pudding-themed bobble hat, put out her A-board, which she had beautifully sign-written with her new festive hot-drinks menu.

‘Who’s in for peppermint snowman lattes?’ she asked the present members of the gang with a smile, pointing to the picture she’d drawn of a coffee cup with a generous swirl of cream and sprinkles.

Most heads nodded enthusiastically. Clearly Chai hadn’t left her board out for the phantom signwriter, otherwise they’d be breakfasting on Brussels-sprout eggnog.

Noémi pulled her coat around her, the air chilled by the first layer of winter snow. She huddled with the others inside the small gazebo at the side of the van, which had been decorated with string lights, holly wreaths, and mistletoe – not that Noémi would be doing any kissing this season.

The van – which was a vintage Citroën H, painted in a shade of milky chocolate – had once been Noémi’s, in the days when she’d baked and sold award-winning cookies in a whole library of flavours for each season. The Christmas ones, often inspired by the New York Times’s delicious annual Cookie Week recipes or whatever was whizzing off the shelves in M&S (but with her own creative spin), had been her absolute favourites. Noémi had sold the van to young and enthusiastic Chai four years ago when she’d taken over the bookshop. And she had planned to keep both passions going, before Asher’s accident had extinguished her excitement for baking, Christmas, and unconventional dreams. Though that was another long story.

‘Morning,’ said Daniel, arriving under the gazebo wrapped in so many scarves that he might have passed for a Halloween mummy. He stamped the dregs of yesterday’s old snow off his boots and nodded to Chai that he’d have this morning’s special.

Not everyone could make every meeting, but they nipped in and out of each other’s shops enough that it didn’t matter much. Felix didn’t always work on a Monday and Mr Ham from Ham’s Hardware tended to keep himself to himself, reportedly preferring to spy on them all with drones – though there were a lot of tall tales on the hill.

Today’s gathering consisted of the two owners of The Kooky Craft Emporium, colloquially known as Crochet Catherine and Carrie Hot Spoons. Both were in their late fifties and wore a lot of black biker-style leather – though Catherine usually rode a Vespa scooter and Carrie’s Harley-Davidson hadn’t worked for at least eighteen months. Nevertheless, they rocked their looks and scared off any trouble – Catherine with added mittens and earmuffs. They gave Daniel a wave.

Spirit from the plant shop, Leaf Me Alone, was there in her green overalls and bomber jacket, hair wrapped in a bandana. She was a similar age to Noémi, though Noémi always thought she was much cooler – with her butterfly tattoo art and her extensive collection of Dr. Martens boots. Spirit drank only black coffee so she grabbed hers first, and Noémi guessed they wouldn’t hear much from her until she’d downed it.

Chai began lining their drinks up on the counter and Daniel appointed himself chief carrier as the others dragged chairs around a table and sat down.

Noémi sampled her peppermint latte and swooned. Chai was a master with flavours, and the minty sweetness was just the kick she needed.

‘Prisha couldn’t make it,’ said Crochet Catherine, speaking of the owner of Oh Sew Special, who made dresses and costumes using exquisite material from around the world. Prisha had designed and made the coat Noémi was wearing, which Daniel called her ‘Coat of Many Books’, on account of the tiny replicas of book covers that had been stitched onto it. It was a thing of beauty, even if small children were always trying to read things from her derriere. ‘She’s doing the school run. And Barbara’s having a lie in.’

‘Probably until Tuesday,’ Carrie added, with her Glaswegian twang. ‘She was sampling the mulled cider at The Tipsy Squirrel last night.’

‘That stuff is lethal.’ Daniel shuddered.

‘Any other gossip?’ asked Catherine, who’d thrown off her mittens and was busying her hands with what looked like a crochet Santa with his bum stuck in a chimney.

Daniel raised his eyebrows at Noémi.

Noémi warmed her hands around her mug, took a deep breath and explained the bookshop’s grave situation.

Chapter 5

‘Well, that’s a load of elf’s rotten knickers,’ said Spirit, cross at the dwindling bookshop dilemma on Noémi’s behalf. It was the first thing she’d said that Monday morning, and she was starting strong.

‘Urgh, it really is,’ Chai agreed, from where she was hovering at the edge of the gazebo. ‘Your bookshop is the best.’

Noémi shrugged. ‘But we need to sell more books.’

‘We could all do with more trade. We get forgotten down here, balanced on the side of the hill like a row of mountain goats,’ said Carrie Hot Spoons. ‘People prefer shopping up in the square.’