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Alex narrowed her eyes. ‘I can never tell if you’re joking or not.’
‘Serious,’ Magnús insisted. ‘I can’t believe you don’t haveJólasveinarwhere you’re from. Next thing you’ll be telling me you don’t have a Yule Cat either!’ This was said with a wicked sparkle that told Alex he already knew for sure yule cats were news to her.
‘And what does he do? Chase the yule mouse and unravel the yule yarn? Leave a fur ball on theJólakaka?’
‘You’re making fun of Iceland’s sacred festive traditions?’ He placed a hand to his chest, exaggeratedly offended, making Alex laugh. ‘No, the Yule Cat is a big black hairy cat with spiked teeth and a hungry belly and he lurks around ready to pounce upon and eat any children who don’t receive new clothes at Christmas.’
‘OhthatYule Cat. Sure, everybody in England knows about that guy.’
Now Magnús was laughing.
‘Is that why you gave me your jumper?’ she said. ‘So I wouldn’t get eaten by a demon cat?’
‘Jæja. That’s right. I’m actually kind of offended you haven’t given me anything, not even a pair of socks. It’s like you want me to die.’
‘I’ll be sure to give you something to ward him off, don’t worry. Can you wait or is it likely to strike this afternoon?’
‘I’ll wait.’
The smile seemed fixed to Magnús’s face as he took on the challenge of untangling a string of coloured fairy lights, trying to contain his delight that this had for all the world sounded like a promise that Alex didn’t intend to leave Clove Lore any time soon.
Their task was further interrupted by no fewer than three sets of customers. The first were a couple – hardy tourists in hiking boots who’d persevered through the rain to buy a Matt Haig, two crispy cakes, a milkshake and a black coffee. The second was a local looking for wrapping paper which Magnús had to admit he didn’t stock but he’d managed to sell them one of the baking books from the counter.
The third customer was Bovis.
He’d stumbled inside the shop and looked around wide-eyed as if buying books was an entirely new experience for him.
‘Can I help you?’ Magnús asked, rising from his spot by the tree where he was winding lights around the lower branches. Alex took over from him, wrapping the tree in sparkling colour.
‘I,er, need sommit for the mistress,’ Bovis announced.
Alex interrupted from across the shop to prevent Magnús jumping to the wrong conclusion. ‘He means Minty.’
‘’S’right, the mistress,’ Bovis confirmed. ‘She likes books an’ that.’
‘Any particular kind of book?’
Despite Magnús’s efforts to draw out Bovis’s knowledge of his boss, they drew a blank, until a suddenly brainwave stuck.
‘She likes… organisin’, I s’pose.’
Magnús clapped his hands in triumph and led Bovis to the stationery selection by the till. ‘A woman like Minty will enjoy a notebook.’
‘Reckon?’ Bovis was unconvinced.
‘Definitely,’ Alex put in. ‘And a nice pen… or two.’
‘S’not much, though, is it? For the mistress,’ Bovis added, looking down at the fine watch on his wrist that she’d bestowed upon him last Christmas, engraved on its back, ‘To loyal Bovis, with gratitude, A. C-C.’
‘Add some reading material from our bestseller shelves?’ Magnús suggested, gesturing to the colourful jackets at eye level on the shelves behind the till.
‘What do ladies like to read?’ said Bovis, surprising them all.
‘Can’t go wrong withPride and Prejudice,’ Alex said with a shrug. ‘It’s a classic.VeryMinty! Lots of horsey types and long walks. It was my mum’s favourite – well, when it was on the telly. She loved Mr Darcy!’
‘Can’t say I’ve ’eard of it, not much of a reader, but I’ll take it.’
‘Good choice,’ Magnús congratulated him.
