Page 29 of Christmas at the Little Bookshop by the Sea

‘That’s cos it’s bloomin’ freezing out there.’ Jasmine grinned at her, chattering her teeth as if to demonstrate.

‘Nutter,’ said Maggie, giggling.

‘You’re looking positively radiant, Mags,’ Florrie said, as she shuffled up the settle opposite her, taking in her friend’s glowing skin and glossy mane of hair. Lark slipped in beside her while Stella took the seat at the head of the table.

Maggie beamed. ‘Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself, flower.’

‘Thanks for getting the wine in, Mags,’ Stella said, lifting the bottle out of the chiller and filling the four empty glasses. She’d folded her coat over the back of her seat and was looking casually chic in a pair of skinny black jeans and a beige turtleneck sweater. Her hair was fastened into a loose bun at the back of her head, blonde tendrils falling gently around her face. ‘You okay with your lemonade or are you ready for a top up?’ She hitched an enquiring eyebrow at Maggie.

‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m having to watch my liquid consumption since Baby Marsay here has decided to perch him or herself right on top of my bladder. I’ve been running to the loo every five minutes. I tell you, my step count is off the scale – or should I say, my “waddle count”?’ Maggie chortled.

‘Oh, blimey.’ Stella pulled an amused face that teetered on the edge of concern. ‘In that case, please do watch how much you guzzle. I don’t fancy mopping up any puddles, especiallythatsort.’

‘Stells, since when have you ever mopped up puddles of any sort?’ Jasmine gave a hearty laugh. ‘In fact, I’d be amazed if you even knew what a mop looked like.’ The others joined in with herlaughter, including Stella herself. She would be the first to admit to her lack of domestic prowess.

‘Jazz does have a point, Stells.’ Maggie grinned. ‘Mind, you flourishing a mop wouldn’t half be a sight worth seeing. I reckon some folk would pay good money to get a glimpse of that.’

‘I’ll have you know, I think there’s a mop in my apartment,’ Stella said, adopting a faux offended air.

‘Note the use of the word “think”,’ said Jasmine, making them all laugh some more.

Stella responded by poking her tongue out at her friend before succumbing to giggles herself.

Florrie sat back, releasing a relaxed sigh. She loved this part of the week, getting together with her best friends, loved how the light-hearted banter bounced around them seamlessly. How they could rib one another mercilessly without the risk of anyone taking offence.

Beside her, Lark pulled off her hat and unbuttoned her coat, wriggling out of it. ‘Ooh, that’s better,’ she said, flicking her long, golden waves, woven with tiny plaits, over her shoulders and making her armful of bracelets play a jangly tune.

Florrie took a sip of her wine, her eyes roving around the room, soaking up the atmosphere. The old pub oozed character with its low, heavily beamed ceiling and thick, uneven walls, imbued with centuries of history and hints of intrigue thanks to its smuggling heritage – something Jack had used to great effect in his novel. Heavy curtains were pulled across the stout mullioned windows, keeping the wintry night at bay, while repurposed hurricane lamps and wrought iron wall lights cast a warm glow, creating an achingly cosy air. An old ship’s bell, hung above the chunky oak bar, gleamed alongside the highly polished beer pumps. While at the far end stood a salvaged ship’s figurehead in the form of a bare-breasted woman. It had been washed up on the beach in front of the pub several yearsago, and the landlord then had reclaimed it, declaring it would make a good talking point for the hostelry. He hadn’t been wrong; it had proved to be the source of many conversations, with local fisherman, grizzle-faced Lobster Harry, hanging his mariner’s cap from one of its nipples to indicate his presence in the pub.

‘So,’ said Jasmine, setting her glass down and sweeping her gaze around the group. ‘What’s the goss, lasses?’ Her jade-green jumper emphasised her vibrant red hair and bright green eyes, the crop of freckles that danced across her nose and the apples of her cheeks lending her a youthful air. ‘What have you all been up to since I last saw you?’

All eyes swung round to Florrie.

EIGHTEEN

‘I think our Florrie – AKA our newlocal celebrity– has had the most going on this week, what with the window reveal, book readings and signings, and interview with the local news channel. Have things settled down after the bookshop was on the telly? Oh, and can we have your autograph?’ Maggie flashed a wide beam Florrie’s way. She’d sent her a text straight after she’d seen the news article on the television, raining praise and congratulations down on her and Ed. As had all of her friends. It had all felt slightly surreal to Florrie.

‘Ooh, yeah! The kids and me watched that,’ said Jasmine. ‘You can imagine how excited they were when they caught sight of themselves in the background.’

‘Aww, they looked so cute.’ A gentle smile lit up Lark’s pale-green eyes. ‘And you and Ed did a brilliant job of promoting the bookshop – it lookedamazing.’

‘You did.’ Stella nodded, Maggie and Jasmine following suit.

‘Thanks, lasses. We’ve just about got over the embarrassment of seeing ourselves on the screen.’ Florrie scrunched up her nose and gave a self-conscious laugh.Did her voice really sound like that?She had no idea her accent was quite so broad, all flat Yorkshire vowels, while her voice hadsounded almost little-girl-like to her ears. She took a sip of her wine, hiding behind the glass for a moment, waiting for her internal cringe to subside.

‘Any idea yet as to who contacted the news station?’ asked Lark. She even managed to have an ethereal air about her in her winter clothes of a loosely knitted pixie dress in fading shades of purple. It was shot with sparkly thread and trimmed with shiny beads that glittered in the firelight. Florrie thought it lent her friend a fairy-like quality.

‘Nope, none. No one’s owned up to it yet.’ She set her glass on the table. She’d trawled her mind several times, going through everyone she considered likely to do such a thing, each time drawing a blank.

‘And much as I hate to drag the tone down, dare I ask, how’s the situation with Ed’s parents? Has he heard any more?’ asked Maggie. Florrie had sent her friends a text earlier in the week briefly telling them about the phone call from Peter Harte, saying that she’d elaborate further when they were all together on Friday.

‘Yeah, what’s happening with them?’ asked Stella, tapping her foot in time to the jaunty tune the band had struck up.

Florrie puffed out her cheeks and blew out a slow breath as the feelings generated by the phone call resurfaced. ‘Well – I’ve already told Mags briefly about this, so forgive me for repeating myself, Maggie – Ed’s dad rang in the early hours of Monday morning and launched straight into a rant – no surprises there, I know. Anyroad, I couldn’t make out everything that was being said, but his tone sounded really aggressive.’ Her stomach churned at the memory. ‘He’ssuchan angry man. I’ve no idea where he gets it from, he’s nothing like Mr and Mrs H. And I don’t know why he thinks it’s okay to talk to Ed that way.’

‘He’s a bully,’ said Jasmine, blunt as ever. ‘Plain and simple.’

‘I have to agree,’ said Stella. ‘So, what’s the miserable old toad wanting from Ed this time?’

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