Page 30 of The Cotswold Christmas Bookshop

‘Mum! What are you doing here?’

‘Well, we’ve come in to have a look around the Christmas fayre at the town hall, and to get ourselves some lunch, and the ladies insisted we pop in to see you.’

‘Hello!’ Isla recognised the two women as Diana’s friends, Harriet and Rose, and members of her mum’s book club. She walked round to the front of the counter to give them each a hug.

‘It’s so good to see you all. Mum often talks about book club and which books you’re reading. I’m always interested to hear what you thought of them.’

‘We love it, don’t we?’ said Harriet to her friends. ‘It always ends up in quite a discussion. It surprises me how we can have such differing views on the same book and sometimes, it can become quite heated.’

‘Yes, but normally I’ll pour us all another glass of wine at that point,’ said Diana, laughing. ‘That usually does the trick.’

‘And we’re all friends again by the end of the evening,’ said Rose. ‘We’ve enjoyed all the books that you’ve recommended so far, Isla.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. I have so many up here,’ she said, tapping her index finger to the side of her head, ‘so if you are ever stuck for ideas, then you only need to ask.’

She could never imagine a time when she would tire of talking about books, speaking to customers and discovering what their likes and dislikes were and leading them to the reads she thought they might enjoy. Sometimes, it could be as straightforward as leaning into their favourite authors and genres, but often, she liked to recommend books that were outside their normal reading material. Something they might never have picked up for themselves, but which Isla thought, based on the little she knew about them, they might enjoy. Isla was sure that she didn’t hit the right spot with all her recommendations, but to hear back from someone that they’d really loved one of her suggested books was hugely rewarding.

‘We always say what a wonderful job it is that you have,’ said Rose. ‘To be paid to read books all day and to attend swanky publisher parties, it’s the dream, isn’t it?’

If only it was really like that, thought Isla ruefully.

‘Well, it has its moments,’ she agreed with a tight smile, ‘but it isn’t all champagne soirées!’ She flashed her mum a glance, who was totally oblivious to her daughter’s discomfort.

‘Oh, that’s the thing about Isla, she’s very modest and never likes to blow her own trumpet, but there’s no denying you have done incredibly well, darling? Weren’t you the youngest person in your company to head up your own imprint?’

It was true, but that hardly counted for anything now. Did it mean she was also the youngest person to have failed at leading an imprint? She really didn’t want to know the answer to that question. When she was first appointed to head up the division eighteen months ago, the news made a big splash in the trade press and much was made of her tender years. It had been such an exciting time, especially receiving so many plaudits and good wishes from her friends and colleagues in the industry. Now, she wondered what those same people would think once they heard that the imprint had folded.

Isla looked up to see Diana, Harriet and Rose looking at her proudly.

‘Well, publishing is a young person’s industry,’ she told them, ‘and there are plenty of people my age doing great things in my particular field.’

‘Excuse me, can you help me, please?’

Isla had never been so pleased to see a customer arrive at the front counter and she was grateful it gave her the opportunity to say her goodbyes to her mum and her friends, sending them on their way with a wave.

Her shoulders sagged at the reminder of what a terrible daughter she was not to have told her parents sooner about the redundancy. Her poor mother was still revelling in the glow of Isla’s career, telling all her friends, and strangers in Guy’s case, what a wonderful job she was doing, when in fact, the opposite was true. The trouble was when Isla had first arrived home from London, she’d been in such a state of shock, she couldn’t have faced telling anyone the devastating news, but now a terrible thought struck her. What if her parents were to uncover the truth somehow? A chance conversation with one of Isla’s publishing pals or a glance at the company’s website, and everything could be revealed, which would leave Isla red-faced and ashamed, and feeling as though she’d let down her parents in a way that she would never have wanted to do. It was bound to come out sooner or later so why didn’t she just get on and do it?

Now, she shook her head to get rid of those thoughts and turned to serve the waiting customer, who told Isla she was looking for a present for her brother and his girlfriend who had just bought a house together.

‘They’ve got a decent-sized garden, but they don’t have the first idea about gardening. I thought a book that tells you what jobs you should be doing each month of the year might be helpful.’

‘Yes! We have a couple of those. Let me show you the way.’

Isla led the customer over to the home and lifestyle section of the shop where there were plenty of books to choose from. She pointed out a couple to the lady and picked up one for herself. It was a hardback copy with a glossy jacket and she started thumbing through the pages. It was laid out by month, with a checklist of jobs to be completed, with beautiful illustrations and wonderful photos of different plants and flowers.

‘This is a fabulous book,’ said Isla, more to herself than to her customer. It took her to another point in time when she might have her own house and garden, where she would wear dungarees and wellies, pin her hair up on her head in a messy topknot and grow her own vegetables and herbs.

‘It really is,’ said the lady, peering over her shoulder. ‘That’s exactly what I’m looking for. I’ll take it, thank you.’

Isla felt a pang of sadness that the book was being sold. She almost wanted to snatch it back for herself, to sit on her stool and take her time to leaf through the pages to discover what exactly she should be doing in her imaginary garden in December.

Back at the till, Isla took the woman’s payment and handed over the book, smiling at another satisfied customer. No sooner had the woman left, than another young woman arrived at the till, laden down with about eight paperbacks in her arms. She giggled, letting them topple out of her precarious hold and onto the top of the counter.

‘You’ve got quite the haul there,’ Isla said. ‘Are they all for you, or are they Christmas presents?’

‘They’re gifts. My sister was reading about the Icelandic tradition of giving books on Christmas Eve and we all thought what a good idea it sounded.’

‘Ah, you mean, Jólabókaflóðið.’