Page 12 of The Cotswold Christmas Bookshop

With her hands on her hips, Isla’s gaze travelled around her. She couldn’t really settle to anything, not while Guy was brandishing his laser machine about the place, taking photos of all the nooks and crannies, and then hearing the sound of his footsteps above as he walked back and forth across the floor of the flat. She was almost relieved when he reappeared at the counter, bringing with him that subtle but distinctive smell that she’d detected earlier. Not unpleasant, but annoyingly elusive.

‘All done. Thank you very much. I’ll let Jon know my findings.’ He looked around him, over his shoulder, into the back rooms. ‘This is a great place. Much bigger than it looks from the outside.’

‘It really is,’ she said forcefully. ‘The high street needs to do everything it can to retain the specialist shops like Finch’s. Bramlingham is a historic town that is a popular visitor destination for tourists and locals alike. It would lose its individuality and charm if it were to be taken over by national chains.’

‘Absolutely, I would have to agree with you entirely on that point.’ He nodded, that easy smile playing on his lips again, his brown eyes observing her thoughtfully, but she didn’t trust him one iota. He probably heard pound signs ringing now that he had taken a proper look at the building. ‘Well, it’s been great seeing you again, Isla. Thanks for your help. Probably see you again sometime,’ he said with a knowing look, as he glanced over his shoulder at her on the way out.

She really hoped not, as she let out an audible groan when he left. There was something about Guy Madley that got beneath her skin and left her feeling out of sorts. As far as she was concerned, if she never saw him again, it would be far too soon.

9

In the same way that Isla had little instinct when it came to cats, she felt the same way about small children. Not having any young relatives or experience of being with kids, she was never entirely sure how to act around them. Did you speak to them in the same way that you would to an adult, or did you need to adopt an entirely different tone? And come to that, what exactly did you talk to them about? It was a mystery. Small people were unpredictable and eyed her with a certain suspiciousness, as though they could see right through her.

As she contemplated her feelings towards children, she had to wonder why she ever thought it might be a good idea to offer a Christmas story-time session, especially when she would be the one telling the stories. Jonathan had done it with great success back in the day, but he was naturally charismatic and charming, and seemed to have that indefinable quality that meant he was liked by children. Something she clearly didn’t possess.

Now, her lovely, peaceful sanctuary of a shop had been infiltrated by small terrorists who were running around with abandon being half-heartedly herded by parents and carers who were much more interested in their own conversations rather than looking after their charges. The noise was ear-splitting and Isla could feel a migraine coming on.

She glanced at her watch. Was it too late to cancel the session altogether and ask everyone to leave?

‘I don’t suppose you would like to lead the story time, would you?’ Isla asked, more in hope than in expectation.

It was a last-ditch attempt, but Penny, who worked three mornings a week, gave a firm shake of her head, her brown hair curls bouncing around her face.

‘God, no! I come here to get away from the kids.’ She played with the silver teardrop pendant on her necklace. ‘You’ll be great, though,’ she said, as an afterthought, laying a hand on Isla’s arm. ‘I can man the till. Don’t worry.’

Isla took a deep breath before heading into the children’s section where she sat on the chair by the low table and beckoned for the children to gather around. The group of about ten, many more than Isla had anticipated, jostled for position but quickly made themselves comfortable on the cushions, fidgeting and chatting all the while.

‘Welcome to story time,’ she announced, trying to inject a touch of kindly authority in her voice. ‘My name is Isla.’

‘Elsa! I love her. Frozen is my favourite film! “Let it go, Let it go!”’ The little girl in the front row had a very tuneful voice and it almost seemed a shame to stop her in full flow, but thankfully, her mother stepped in and whispered to her to be quiet. The little girl looked crestfallen before she piped up, ‘Are we going to read the Frozen books?’

‘No, no, we’re not. Right, if we’re ready, shall we get started?’ Isla plastered on a big smile. ‘Our first book is called, The Night Before Christmas.’ She held it up to the assembled audience.

‘We’ve got that book at home,’ said one little boy, who tipped his head back, opened his mouth and rolled in his eyes all in one fell swoop, looking as though he might pass out with the effort.

‘That’s good,’ said Isla primly, ‘because you’ll know all the words then.’

In fairness, once she got started, she held the children’s attention rapt, the musical rhythm of the words keeping the children captivated. Isla enjoyed showing off the beautiful pictures within the book, which were filled with colour and intricate details. It was a great choice of story to read first and set the tone for the rest of the session. She followed with a tale about Santa who loses a boot on his deliveries, and must retrace his steps to find it, getting into all sorts of trouble on the way when he meets a rogue gang of reindeer. The story was met with lots of laughter and interaction from the little ones, and it was the perfect segue into some well-known Christmas songs, which rounded off the session nicely, with some enthusiastic singing from the children. Isla had laid out colouring sheets on the table along with some coloured pencils, which they settled down to once the stories were over.

‘Hey, you’re a natural!’

Isla was just gathering up her notebook and pen when she heard a familiar voice in her ear. She turned to see Charlie, standing casually alongside her, hands in pockets, looking unnecessarily attractive. She hadn’t seen him in years and now he’d turned up twice in the space of a week.

‘Hi, I’m not so sure about that!’ she said, her gaze travelling around the small department to find Amelia on her knees, her tongue peeking out of one side of her mouth as she concentrated intently on drawing. ‘I winged it a bit. I’m not really used to children.’ She was glad that she hadn’t spotted Charlie earlier or she would have been even more self-conscious knowing he was watching her.

‘So, what are you doing these days? I take it this isn’t your full-time job?’

‘No, I work in London, in publishing.’

Not strictly the truth, but it was all Charlie needed to know.

‘Ahh, so living the dream then? You always wanted to do that, didn’t you? I remember you loved your books, and working here.’ His gaze swept around him before snagging on hers, and she needed to look away. So, he hadn’t completely erased her from his memory or forgotten about her hopes and desires. ‘Listen, we should have a proper catch-up sometime. I don’t know if you’re around on Saturday, but there’s a group of us meeting up at The White Hart for a few drinks. There’s some live music on, apparently. You’ll probably know a load of them from school. Sophia will be there too,’ he added, as if he suspected that he might have given her the wrong idea. ‘We like to take advantage of the live-in babysitters while we can. Anyway, no pressure, but if you’d like to join us, then please do.’

‘Thanks.’ She supposed it was nice of him to invite her. ‘I’ll see how I’m fixed,’ she said non-committedly.

Back at the front counter, she sidled up to Penny and let out a huge sigh of relief.

‘Oh my goodness, never again! Who knew children were so exhausting? That was the longest thirty minutes of my life.’