Читать книгу Love and Lies at The Village Christmas Shop - Portia MacIntosh - Страница 8

‘Holly Jones, what have you done?’ I hear my mum ask through gritted teeth, with enough volume to show that she’s angry, but not so much that the shop full of customers can hear her.

I remove my nose from my copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone to see what exactly my sister has done now. I wouldn’t usually jump to conclusions, but this is Holly, and Holly will do anything if it has enough shock value.

We went our separate ways at the school gates no more than a couple of hours ago. Holly wanted to go into town with her mates for a while before tea, but I wanted to come here and read my book, sitting on my stool behind the counter of my mum’s Christmas shop. I always enjoy spending time here but now that it’s December – and actually Christmas time – the place feels all the more magical.

This afternoon the shop is overflowing with tourists, who have travelled from all over to check out Marram Bay’s open-year-round Christmas shop. Christmas Every Day is so much more than just a shop though, it’s like a magical Santa’s workshop, with wall-to-wall Christmas decorations and gifts, with glitter and twinkly lights everywhere you look. Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ is pumping out through speakers around the shop. It’s such an infectious song, which you can’t help but love and sing along to. I’m not even sure I can name another Mariah Carey song, but this one is a Christmas classic.

Despite the trees in the shop being artificial (they do have to stay up all year round, after all), my mum has these special pine air fresheners which, combined with the locally made gingerbread she’s selling at the counter at the moment, give the place a real, irresistible Christmassy smell that I can’t get enough of. Perhaps my favourite part of all – and a favourite feature of many of the customers who visit the shop – is the steam train that runs on a track around the shop, over bridges, through tunnels and even around the shop Christmas tree that stays up all year.

From the second you walk through the door there’s just this magical feeling in the air. That warm, hopeful, festive feeling you only get at Christmas time. It makes you want to eat gingerbread, sing carols and be happy with your loved ones – and I get to experience it all year round.

But while I might share my mum’s love and passion for all things festive, my twin sister Holly absolutely does not. In fact, she has such a strong dislike for the most wonderful time of year that she always acts up around the holidays. And now, here she is, like clockwork, on 1st December, with a drastic new hairstyle that my mum did not sign off on.

Holly’s previously shoulder-length blonde hair, along with her hairline and most of her neck, is now bright red.

‘It’s just like Lisa Scott-Lee’s,’ my sister says, running both (stained red) hands through her hair, by way of an explanation. I think it’s safe to say that her obsession with Steps has reached its peak.

‘You’re my 14-year-old daughter, you’re not Lisa Scott-Lee,’ my mum reminds her as she serves a customer. When the shop is so busy, my mum is forced to parent around working – or work around parenting, whichever needs to take priority at the time.

I laugh quietly to myself, although not quietly enough.

‘Oh, should I want to be a wizard when I grow up, like Ivy does?’ she says mockingly.

I clutch my book to my chest self-consciously.

The customer my mum is serving laughs as she watches our little family drama play out in front of her.

‘Sisters, huh?’ she says to my mum politely, like perhaps she has daughters of her own, and she knows exactly how tricky they can be.

‘Would you believe they’re twins?’ my mum replies. ‘Non-identical, in both appearance and interests. Fascinating really. Can I get you anything else?’

‘No, that’s great, thanks.’

‘Have a very merry Christmas,’ my mum says brightly as she hands over a receipt, before turning her attention back to Holly. ‘Who did that for you?’

‘I did it myself,’ she says proudly. ‘Only 99p from Boots.’

‘Will it come out?’

‘Yeah, well, in three washes,’ she admits.

‘Can you go and get started on the first wash now then, please,’ my mum asks gently.

‘I thought you’d like it,’ Holly persists. ‘Red is festive.’

My mum laughs wildly. ‘You’re not going to convince me you did this in tribute to Christmas – you hate Christmas.’ We all know Holly hates Christmas; she’s not exactly shy about it.

Right on cue, Wizzard’s ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’ starts playing. Holly rolls her eyes.

‘OK, fine,’ she whines.

‘Oh, Holly,’ my mum calls after her. ‘Ivy was looking for her boot-cut jeans. Have you taken them?’

‘No, burglars broke in, and only stole Ivy’s jeans,’ she replies sarcastically as she disappears up the stairs.

‘Never have teenagers,’ my mum tells me once Holly has stormed upstairs. I blink at her. ‘You don’t count; you’re not like a teenager. You’re an angel.’

I smile.

‘Holly doesn’t think Christmas is cool,’ I tell her. It’s not a very good explanation, but it’s all I have.

‘Not cool like Steps.’ My mum laughs. ‘She’s going to be mortified, when she’s in her thirties and someone reminds her she used to wear a cowboy hat.’

With a moment of calm at the till between customers, my mum takes my natural long blonde hair in her hands, combing it with her fingers.

‘It’s no surprise your sister is sick of Christmas,’ my mum reasons. ‘She does live in a Christmas shop that’s open all year round. You’re lucky you love it as much as I do. For her, it must be torture.’

I replace my bookmark and close my book, setting it down to one side.

‘Have you always loved Christmas?’ I ask, because I realise I haven’t actually asked her that question before.

‘I have,’ my mum says with a smile. ‘This shop is my dream come true. Like now, in December, it’s so wonderful to see people coming in, all excited for the holidays, looking for quirky decorations to hang on their trees, or unique little gifts to give their loved ones. I love it in the summer too, though, when tourists come in from the baking-hot sun, usually after a day catching rays on the beach – they literally step into Christmas and that pleasantly baffled look on their faces is one I never grow tired of.’

‘I can’t wait to work here,’ I tell her. Ever since I was little, all I’ve wanted to do is help out in the shop. My mum sometimes gives me little jobs to do, so that I think I’m working here, but now that I’m a teenager, I’m hoping she’ll let me work here properly one day soon.

‘And I can’t wait for you to help out, but you need to finish school first,’ my mum insists.

I smile as I watch a dad lifting up a little girl so she can choose a bauble from the tree. She delicately removes a glass bauble with a white feather inside – a great choice; I’ve always loved that one. We have the exact same one on our tree in the living room upstairs.

I feel my smile drop as I think about my own dad. It doesn’t matter how many Christmases go by since he passed away, I still miss him now more than ever. They say these things get easier with time but every time I see something that belonged to him, someone mentions his name, or I see a happy child playing with their dad, it gets me. I miss him so much.

‘You know, apart from you and your sister, this shop is the thing I’m the most proud of. It’s practically like one of my kids.’ She laughs. ‘It’s taken a lot more raising than you – probably less than Holly, but don’t tell her that.’

I giggle.

‘I like to think about when you and Holly are grown up, happily married, with kids of your own. I imagine you bringing them here and then, after I’m gone, I don’t know… I imagine the shop being in the family for years, generation after generation. That’s silly, isn’t it?’

‘That’s not silly,’ I reassure her.

‘You’re a sweetheart, Ivy Jones, but you know I’d never expect either of you to work here. I’m sure you’ve got your own big ideas for the future.’

‘Mum, I mean it. We’ll keep the shop going forever.’

‘That’s my girl,’ she says, squeezing my hand before turning to serve yet another smiling customer, delighted by the armful of Christmas decorations they have selected.

I’m not sure whether or not she believes me, or if she’s just humouring me, but I’m serious. I know how much this shop means to my mum. I’ll always be here to help.

I hear thudding on the floor upstairs – most likely Holly working on her routine to ‘5, 6, 7, 8’. Holly might not care about Christmas or the shop, but I do. I know how important this shop is to my mum and I’ll always do whatever it takes to keep it going.