But what if they were on the side of Harold and Gordon? What if they agreed that the castle, with all its celebrated restoration, needed such a place to help tell the history of Hay? What if that was more important to them than a bookshop selling queer stories? The people of Hay loved his shop and saw its value – such was their accepting nature. But the castle was sentimental to them all.
They loved his father and by extension, they supported him, but that didn’t mean they would fight for him.
The conflicted feeling hit Quinn hard. Was he being selfish? Was he refusing to budge out of his own desire to keep his haven? Maybe now was the time to move on from Hay and let this place go, even though that was the last thing he wanted.
He couldn’t do it.
The idea of leaving frightened him more than Dougie’s pert bum apparition. Who was he if he didn’t have a role in Hay’s community?
What else was there out there for him?
The publishing job. The offer given to him all those months ago to become an editor for a publishing house. He applied on a whim after leaving Dougie, thinking he needed to escape Hay. Almost immediately, he regretted the application. The interview request filled him with dread. The job offer paralyzed him.
London. A city job. A life away from Hay where there was so much noise and people barging past and never any time to sit, catch their breath, and smile at one another. That was the perception this small-town boy had of the big city of London.
They say everyone should have a city experience once in their life.
Don’t they?
He didn’t want that experience, though. He was happy with his small town, thank you very much.
Quinn unlocked the door of his shop and turned the closed sign to open. He went to his window display, where Christmas books lined a Christmas scene he’d made by hand. Crocheted snowmen and reindeer sat on yuletide logs readingA Christmas Carol, and the book itself stacked with gorgeous foiled binding at one end of the window.
Scrooge. He looked at the castle. Scrooge!
This was the Dickens experience. He was living inA Christmas Carol. Except without the starvation and Tiny Tim and the spooky ghosts.
‘If there are any Christmas ghosts willing to show Harold the error of his ways, be my guest.’ Quinn spoke out loud, listening for even the faintest sign that one of the ethereal beings had listened to him.
‘I don’t know if that will happen.’
Quinn screamed, jumped, and turned around to see his mother standing at his counter.
‘What the hell, Mum?’ With shaking hands, Quinn pulled out the chair behind his desk and sat down. ‘How did you get in without making a sound? You bloody dormouse.’
‘Thanks.’ Claire caught a strand of ginger hair and curled it behind her ear. Crossing her arms, she looked around at the church, her eyes wide. ‘This is such a relaxing atmosphere when you come in.’
‘I haven’t put the music on yet,’ Quinn said.
‘I always loved the music. Relaxing.’
‘That’s what this place is. To what do I owe this visit?’
‘I thought maybe we could get a coffee. We should talk about this.’
‘I need to run the shop,’ Quinn said, but he didn’t move from where he sat. He felt lethargic. His mind, racing with the comments on his social media, distracting him. Besides, she didn’t need to know that Daniel Craig would be here at any moment.
Claire reached into her handbag, an old leather thing that peeled at the edges, and unfolded a newspaper.
‘What is this?’
She dropped it on the counter and turned to the sixth page where a small column about his shop stared back at him.
Quinn’s eyes widened. He snatched the paper up, gripping it so tightly it almost ripped, and read the sentences.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get the point across. The story of a developer at Christmas evicting a queer bookshop seller was clear to see. A small picture of the shop, old and taken from Google’s Street view, accompanied the article.
‘It’s in the paper, too?’
