Page 88 of Winter Nights at the Bay Bookshop
She’d followed it up with another one yesterday.
From Cassie
You need to see the Pixie’s feed RIGHT NOW! But look at Sunday’s before you look at today’s. That’s very important or today’s won’t make sense. And STOP IGNORING ME! Apologies for going Justin on you with the shouty caps but it warrants it. Here for you always. COME HOME! x
I had a lot of making up to do with Cassie. With everyone, really, but Lars needed to be my starting point. I clicked into the Paperback Pixie’s Instagram feed and did as Cassie had instructed, bypassing yesterday’s post and focusing on Sunday’s first.
It’s me! The Christmas Paperback Pixie with my final gifts of the year, sharing and spreading the book love this yuletide. Does that make me a Christmas Elf rather than a Pixie? I’m no superhero but, just like Superman, I hide my identity while walking in plain sight. The time has come to share my secret with my very own Lois Lane. I hope it’s a good surprise or I might find a rotten potato in my stocking! Merry Christmas everyone and, as always, please tag me and share a photo if you find one of these books. Happy reading!
I glanced down at the first book –A Game of Thronesby George R. R. Martin left outside the public toilets in South Bay. I actually laughed out loud at the placing of that one, drawing a curious look from a woman browsing the shelves nearby.
Next wasAnne of the Island, the third book in L. M. Montgomery’s series resting in the branches of the Castle Park Christmas tree. How lovely to see one of my favourite books being gifted. Something stirred in me and I grasped for the connection but I couldn’t quite get there. But, as I scrolled onto the third photo, my heart leapt into my throat. Outside the Lifeboat Station wasAnna and the Snow Dragonby Sigrid Hansen. No way! That was far too random a choice. It had to mean… I pressed my fingers to my lips. It couldn’t be, could it?
Heart pounding, I reread the accompanying message.The time has come to share my secret with my very own Lois Lane.The books themselves were the clues and they could only mean one thing – that the Paperback Pixie was Lars.A Game of Throneswasn’t about the title but the series name – ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ as a nod to Lars’s roots in the land of ice and fire.Anne of the Islandwas the book in which Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe got together. Lars knew they were my favourite books and I’d told him how Gilbert regretted calling Anne names and destroying any potential for friendship at school. As forAnna and the Snow Dragon, who else would know that book and what it meant?
Words jumped out at me like the use ofyuletideinstead of Christmas. Lars had described Christmas in Iceland as being more akin to yule.Christmas Elf?I’d called him that on several occasions. The Superman reference itself was one he’d made when we first spoke about the Paperback Pixie and why they might want to remain anonymous and therotten potatoinstead of coal in the stocking had to relate to what the Yule Lads left in the shoes of naughty children. Lars was the Paperback Pixie. He had to be, and Cassie saying she knew who the Pixie was would support that. I couldn’t imagine that seemingly random collection of books meaning anything to anyone else.
My hands were shaking as I clicked into the latest post from yesterday and read the message.
Have you been naughty or nice this year? I’m afraid I’ve been naughty and upset somebody very important to me. Even though I said Sunday’s books were my final gifts of the year, I wanted to leave a few more to get back on Father Christmas’s good list. Books can speak volumes and I hope this incredible person hears what my choices for today are saying and gets in touch. Have a Christmas that’s Perfect (for you) and don’t forget to leave Carrots out for the reindeer.
Praying and heart emojis followed the message and, once again, I noticed the word choice. Lars was probably the only person I knew who used Father Christmas rather than Santa Claus and he’d capitalisedPerfectandCarrots– the nicknames for me and for Anne Shirley.
Tears rushed to my eyes as I scrolled through the five books, each left somewhere I’d been with Lars. On a bench in Castle Park was the beautifully poignant picture bookTabby McTatby Julia Donaldson.Anne of Green Gableshad been left outside The White Horse in Little Sandby where we’d had our first date. Book three, left in the theatre’s lobby, was Margaret Mitchell’sGone with the Wind, and L. Frank Baum’sThe Wonderful Wizard of Ozhad been left in the reception at Sherrington Hall where Cassie and Jared had married. Every single one of those books had a strong theme – the importance of home and family and, to avoid any risk of me misinterpreting that as Iceland, the fifth book was a Whitsborough Bay guidebook left on the windowsill outside Bay Books. Message received loud and clear. There was no place like home and Lars wanted me to know that his home was right here in Whitsborough Bay. With me.
To Lars
Hi you, I’m home and I owe you a huge explanation and so many apologies. Could we meet tonight? Name your time and place and I’ll be there x
As soon as the message sent, I couldn’t resist adding another one.
To Lars
It’s Lois Lane, by the way. Posts seen, loved and understood x
* * *
I’d collected the pictures from Whitsborough Frames, handing over a box of goodies from Charlee’s Chocolates to thank Frank for the rush-job, and was on my way back to the car when Lars replied.
From Lars
I’d have replied sooner but I was at work and my phone was on silent as I don’t want to upset the boss again. I’m so sorry. I know what you overheard and I promise it’s not what you think. 6.30pm? My house? It’s The Lodge on Hutton Valley Lane x
To Lars
I’ll be there. Thank you x
There were about a dozen houses on Hutton Valley Lane, all with views over the river, fields and Hutton Wicklow Castle, and I wondered which one The Lodge was. When I was six, I’d started piano lessons with a lovely woman called Mrs Mayflower who lived on the lane. She’d had to stop teaching a couple of years later to care for her husband who’d been seriously injured in a car crash. I couldn’t remember what her house was called but I’d loved going there. The piano had been upstairs in front of an arched window with a view across to the castle which Mrs Mayflower said inspired her as she played. I’d loved looking at the castle but my favourite thing about that room was a pair of large fluffy soft toy ducks she had on the window ledge. She let me cuddle them at the end of every lesson and I remembered telling her I wanted to live in the house when I was grown up so I could see the ducks every day. She’d laughed and said that her husband had given her a duck when each of their children were born and she was very attached to them so, if she ever moved, they’d go with her but, after my final lesson, she gave me a small fluffy duck keyring which I attached to my school bag – the one Lars had told me he’d noticed on our first day at Laurendale School.
Arriving back at the car, I carefully placed the pictures in the boot and drove home where I checked in on Dad.
‘You got your assignment finished?’ I asked, noticing his big smile.
‘Finished and submitted, and I’ve had the grade back for my last one. Distinction!’
‘That’s brilliant, Dad. You’re smashing it!’
‘I can’t get over how much I’m loving studying again. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when my Master’s ends.’
