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‘Everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes, fine, thank you. You’d better sit at the table. We need someone to carve.’
This wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear but he did as he was told and set about sharpening the carving knife.
By the time the tables, all different heights, were arranged in a row before the fire and chairs and stools of all sizes had been dragged around it, and mismatched glasses and mugs located for the Madeira and orange squash, everyone was saying how they were half starved.
Minty was passing around the cutlery when a cold draught swept in from the vestibule along with the smell of mud and donkey.
In clopped Mushy Peas with four pillow cases tied together across his back filled with books. Elliot untied them and led the donkey away for his reward – a carrot from the kitchen presented lovingly by Jude who had at last finished cooking.
Jowan abandoned his spot at the head of the table to welcome Magnús back.
‘What was it like? The bookshop?’
Magnús didn’t like to say, only baring his teeth and inhaling. ‘It could look better.’
‘Mornin’s soon enough to see the place, I s’pose,’ Jowan said sadly, slapping Magnús’s shoulder and telling him he’d done a ‘grand job’.
Monty Bickleigh arrived from the dark afternoon along with the police officer, drawn by the good smell of food, and that made up the whole of the Christmas Eve party.
The books were quickly distributed amongst the campers, some glancing across the table for an exchange, finally arriving at something they liked, and they gazed at the covers as they shuffled chairs, tucking themselves in, while Jowan carved the turkey which had been carried through accompanied by a fanfare tootled through Finan’s cupped hands.
It was all unexpectedly jolly. Even when everyone’s nerves were rattled and their futures uncertain, there was still laughter, if a little hysterical, heightened by gratitude and the knowledge that things could have been far different.
Minty and Jude had rustled up some stuffing and cranberry sauce and a lot of giblet gravy. There were nowhere near enough sprouts and carrots to go around (Minty had only planned on a quiet lunch tomorrow for herself and her tenants) but nobody minded as there were some roast potatoes and the softest, freshest bread rolls they’d ever tasted. The case of wine went a long way to cheering everyone’s spirits too, and as they ate, everyone turned over their new books in their hands.
Magnús and Alex had been separated across the table but were smiling at one another. The wistfulness in Magnús’s eyes told Alex all she needed to know about the state of the bookshop, but as Magnús had proven there were many dry books – enough to select from the newest stock and bring everyone a gift.
‘To theJólabókaflóð,’ Magnús proposed, holding up his glass, and everyone echoed, mangling the pronunciation and laughing as they drank.
‘And to Minty,’ Izaak added, and everyone cheered even louder, except for Bovis who sat chastened and quiet by his mistress’s side, and Jowan who raised his glass in silence to her.
Minty looked pleased with her Barbara Cartland, and Mrs Crocombe with her love poems. Reverend Morgan was delighted with hisMurder at the Vicarage. Baby Serena hadThe Velveteen Rabbit, which her parents thought looked expensive and wouldn’t allow her to hold, and a cloth copy ofThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, which Serena soon discovered was very good as a teething chew. The older children had Mr Men books, Julia Donaldsons and Judith Kerrs, and their grown-ups read to them between mouthfuls to keep them quiet through the feast.
Watching the children at her table, Minty wished aloud that they had some Christmas crackers to pull and everyone had told her not to be silly, they had more than enough of everything they needed, then Tom obliged by telling terrible jokes about how Darth Vader knew what Luke got him for Christmas having ‘felt his presents’, and explaining how, if you ate Christmas decorations, you’d get ‘tinsellitis’. Everyone groaned and laughed and a few wistful tears were wiped away and replaced with smiles.
The flames in the grand fireplace crackled and sparked, the wine flowed, everyone wanted seconds or even thirds of the turkey, the tree lights glinted and it felt very much like Christmas.
‘Hold on! What’s that?’ Mrs Crocombe asked sharply, spreading her hands over the table in front of her to silence everyone. She had her beady eye fixed on Jude’s ring finger.
‘Oh, yes, weum, we’re engaged,’ Jude confirmed, and the noise that went up in the ballroom almost lifted the roof.
Jude was made to do a lap of the table showing everyone her ring, and Elliot shook hands and grinned dopily from all the attention.
‘Itoldyou there would be a wedding at Clove Lore before long!’ Mrs C. said, sighing happily.
‘You should get married here,’ Izaak put in, making Mrs C. wink at him. He’d always been a supporter of her matchmaking. Nobody paid any heed to Jude and Elliot shaking their heads and saying they weren’t planning on rushing anything; this pinpoint of light in Clove Lore’s future was too irresistible not to conspire about.
‘Get married where? We’ve no chapel now, remember?’ Minty tolled.
‘Well, when you think of something, there’ll be the pub for your guests to stay in,’ Bella put in.
Finan asked his wife if that meant they were staying put and she’d told everyone assembled that the Siren’s Tail was staying open come hell or high water and there’d been more cheers and tears at that.
‘Glad to hear it,’ Finan told his wife, leaning in to kiss her.
It wasn’t the Christmas anybody had planned – it had come a day too soon for starters – but it still felt like Christmas around that table, enough for everyone to forget, just for a few minutes, what their world must look like out there.
