Christmas at the Foyles Bookshop (The Foyles Girls)

by Elaine Roberts

  Daisy smiled at Lily, huddled underneath her black umbrella, the rain bouncing off it. ‘Come in, before you catch your death.’

  Lily stepped forward, closing her umbrella as she did so. A puddle began to form on the floor. ‘I’ll leave this on the doormat, otherwise you’ll have drips all through the hall.’

  There was a click as Daisy shut out the awful weather. ‘You’re just in time. I was thinking about leaving, but I’ve been putting it off for as long as I dare.’

  Lily laughed. ‘It’s certainly miserable, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop.’ She pushed down the collar of her black winter coat, pulling it into place. ‘Alice was beside herself with excitement this morning.’

  Daisy gave a knowing chuckle. ‘So was Victoria. I don’t know if Molly realises how pleased they are to have her close by. Anybody would think she had moved to the other end of the country, instead of just changing jobs.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, but it must be quite boring working in a bookshop.’ Lily smiled, as she thought about what their older sisters did for work. ‘Judging from the number of books Alice has bought, she must be their main customer.’

  Daisy giggled.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind. I helped her sort them out on the day she gave birth to Arthur, bless him.’ Lily smiled as she thought about her nephew. ‘We sent loads to the men on the front line, but now she has the same amount again, if not more.’

  Daisy frowned as she led the way into the sparsely decorated front room. ‘I wish Victoria would spend more money on herself.’ She paused and turned to Lily. ‘I know we don’t have much, but we do manage now, thanks to you talking to me about joining the Police. That was quite a turning point.’

  Lily smiled. ‘It’s not thanks to me. You made the step that has improved things for both of you.’

  Daisy shook her head. ‘You encouraged me.’

  ‘Well, let’s face it, out of the war work that was open to us, it was one of the better choices available, and after what Molly went through, we now know how dangerous working at the munitions factory is.’

  Daisy picked up her umbrella. ‘I think that’s why Victoria and Alice are pleased Molly is back at Foyles with them.’

  Lily nodded. ‘Are you ready to go out and face this awful weather?’

  Daisy shrugged. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

  Lily reached out and rested her gloved hand on Daisy’s arm. ‘Is everything all right? You haven’t had any news I should know about?’

  Daisy gave a faint smile. ‘If you mean Stephen, no. As far as we know, he is still at the front, but it will be good to have him home again.’

  ‘So what’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m just not looking forward to this today.’ Daisy shook her head. ‘It’s probably the weather.’

  Lily eyed Daisy with a glint of suspicion, before forcing a smile. ‘Well, it won’t be the first time we’ve been soaked through to our underwear.’

  Daisy giggled. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’

  *

  John Appleton gripped his chest. His breathing was laboured, in between the coughing. The playing cards he was holding fluttered down onto the small table in front of him. His throat tightened as his breath was ripped away from him.

  ‘John, John, here let me help you.’ An elderly lady quickly crossed the room, moving away from the large bay window and the sea view, with unusual agility for her advanced years. In her haste, she collided with the dark oak sideboard, causing two of the family photographs to fall over and a figurine to wobble precariously. She grabbed the ornament, thankful that it hadn’t broken.

  John held up his hand, stopping her in her tracks. His wheezing was getting worse. He closed his eyes and tried to take some small breaths. His voice was weary when he eventually spoke. ‘It’s all right, Grandma.’ He opened his eyes to see worry on her wrinkled face. ‘Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘I’m fine, just clumsy as usual.’

  They both jumped at the sound of his grandpa’s booming voice. ‘You need to get out and get some of that sea air in your lungs; it’ll do you a power of good.’

  John opened his mouth to speak, but his grandma turned from putting the silver framed photographs back in position and beat him to it.

  ‘Herbert, you know John can’t go outside with his condition, especially in this weather. He’ll freeze to death, it’s March for goodness’ sake.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘Have you looked outside and seen the people wrapped up against the cold? The sky looks full of snow and there’s a thin covering on the ground. You must be able to hear the wind rattling against the windows.’

  ‘Nonsense, Beatrice, you mollycoddle him. He only has to wrap up against the wind.’ Herbert stubbed out his cigarette in the nearby glass ashtray.

  John looked from one to the other. The urge to protect his grandmother consumed him. ‘I am here, you know. I’m not a child anymore, I’m eighteen and whatever you may think, I’m not going out for a walk along the beach.’

  Herbert leant forward in his wingback armchair, by the side of the unlit fireplace. The oak mantelpiece dominated the room, along with the shiny, green brick-tiled surround. He folded his newspaper in half, before slapping it into the palm of his hand. ‘You, young man, will do as you are told. You don’t know how lucky you’ve got it. There are men your age, and younger, fighting on the front line, risking life and limb for this country, and you sit there moaning about going outside and breathing in some good sea air that would soon sort out this nonsense about your chest.’

  John felt his body fold inwards at his grandfather’s words. He wrapped his arms around his emaciated body. Anger surged through his veins, knowing he should be able to ignore his grandfather’s rhetoric. It was the same every day. ‘Don’t you think I know people are dying? It’s not my fault that my health doesn’t allow me to fight. As for lucky, you try living with it for eighteen years and then let me know how lucky I am.’ He slapped his hand on his chest. ‘Yes, I’m lucky to be living in Brighton. The clean air has probably kept me alive, but sorry, I don’t consider living with this condition all my life as lucky.’

  The drawing room door gave a small creak as Tom pushed it open. The air was filled with tension. His glance ran over the three of them. He slung his rucksack down on the floor as memories came tumbling into his mind; he was glad to be leaving this house. Pangs of guilt rushed at him. ‘Everything all right?’

  Herbert ignored his youngest son. He dropped the newspaper onto the side table and jumped out of his chair in one fluid movement, but his face was contorted with rage. ‘You, young man, need to learn some respect. I’ll not have you answering me back in my own home.’

  Beatrice gave a slight nod to Tom, before moving tentatively towards her husband. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. The fine wool of his jacket was soft against her fingers as she squeezed his arm. ‘Herbert, please.’

  Herbert shook off her hand. ‘I am not putting up with it, Beatrice. I will not be mocked in my own home.’ He ran his hand through his thinning grey hair.

  Tom took a step further into the room and forced a smile to his voice. ‘I’m off, Pa.’

  Herbert glared at Tom. ‘Thomas, this is not the time, or are you too stupid to realise I am taking your nephew to task.’

  Tom glared at his father. Count to ten a voice screamed in his head. ‘I’m not stupid Pa, but I do have a train to catch.’ He paused for a second. What the heck, he had nothing to lose; his father didn’t like him anyway. ‘It’s about time you stopped picking on your children, and your grandson, otherwise you’ll die a lonely old man.’

  Beatrice turned away. ‘Please stop, Tom, I don’t want you leaving us on an argument. I want you to feel you can come home to us.’ Her eyes pleaded with her son and grandson to be the bigger men, even though she knew her husband was in the wrong.

  Herbert glared at the two boys. ‘I’m sick of the lot of you.’ He stared at John. ‘You need to
show more appreciation, before you end up on the streets for good.’

  John hesitated for a moment, letting his gaze rest on his grandmother. ‘You’re right, Grandpa, I’m sorry, I am grateful you took me in when my own parents didn’t want me.’

  Beatrice glared at her husband. Theirs had been an arranged, loveless marriage and he liked to keep reminding her he was the king of his castle. She was not his queen, but had always been amenable, which was what he liked. She had long since accepted her lot and been grateful for the three children she had borne, two sons and a daughter, but as soon as they had become of age they had left, one by one. He had driven them away.

  Herbert’s dark, bushy eyebrows pulled together, a deep crease forming between them. ‘Yes, yes, well so you should be.’

  Herbert picked up his paper and lowered himself back into the chair. ‘I’ll not have it.’

  Beatrice couldn’t look at her beloved grandson. She knew she should be protecting him more. After all, she was the one that had defied her husband and brought him into this house, when he was just a small child.

  3

  Mr Leadbetter held his breath as he watched Victoria reach up to straighten several books that were leaning awkwardly on the shelves.

  Victoria sighed. It seemed as though the books had lain undisturbed for years, as the particles of dust rose up in the air and drifted back down again. She coughed as they caught in the back of her throat, covering her mouth with her dust-smeared palm. Her mouth felt coated as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

  ‘Miss Appleton.’ Mr Leadbetter edged his way nearer to where Victoria was standing precariously on a stepladder.

  Startled, Victoria gripped the edge of the wooden ladder that was leaning against the racking, laden with books of various shapes and sizes, before looking down at him.

  Mr Leadbetter immediately averted his eyes, concentrating on the books at eye level. He instinctively swerved to miss a child that came running round the corner, clutching a book. ‘Be careful, young man, you’ll hurt someone.’

  The boy looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, sir, me ma’s said she’d buy me a book.’ He smiled, waving his book in the air. ‘But only if I was quick, and I’ve spent ages with a lady who helped me to pick this one, Treasure Island.’

  A smile crept across Mr Leadbetter’s soft, wrinkled face as he took in the boy’s dark ruffled hair, scuffed shoes and patched short trousers. ‘I hope you enjoy it.’

  ‘Oh I will, the lady read me some of it. She put on different voices for each person, even the pirates, and told me to do the same because then it will be fun for me.’

  Mr Leadbetter beamed at the boy. Molly Cooper was back. ‘Come back and let us know if you enjoyed it.’

  ‘She’s good she is, and really made me laugh. She’s behind me somewhere, talking to someone, I fink, but me ma’s waiting so I can’t wait. Can you tell ’er I said fanks? She’s the pretty lady up there.’ The boy blushed and street urchin became an endearing child, as he giggled and disappeared around the corner.

  Mr Leadbetter chuckled to himself, before turning his attention back to Victoria. ‘I understand the van has pulled up out the back, so will you go down to the basement and check what books the driver has collected today. If they are in good condition, we might be able to get them straight onto the shelves.’ He paused for a moment. ‘As fast as we’re selling them, we’re getting more in and I suspect we must be running out of space to store them.’

  Victoria frowned. ‘Yes, sir.’ She took a tenuous step backwards, to descend the ladder. ‘I’ve never been in the basement.’

  Mr Leadbetter stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around the side of the ladder. ‘It’s through the staff area; the door’s on your left.’ He watched her eyebrows furrow together and her eyes dart from left to right. There was no desire to admit his old bones wouldn’t allow him to do strenuous work anymore. His frown gave way to a slight smile, which lifted the corner of his lips. ‘Have you been in your own basement?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Daisy and I have slept down there every night, since the war began. It’s easier than to keep moving, every time the policeman cycles down our street, blowing his whistle and shouting “the Germans are coming.”’

  ‘That’s true, and very sensible.’ Mr Leadbetter frowned. ‘Well, I suppose it’s no different. It might be bigger, but other than that, it’ll be the same.’ He chuckled, almost to himself. ‘Oh, and the fact it’s full of books of course.’

  Victoria nodded and finished stepping down off the ladder.

  ‘As it’s your first time, I could come down with you.’

  ‘No, no, I need to do this.’ Victoria forced a smile. ‘It’s the spiders and mice you might find in these places that bother me.’

  Mr Leadbetter gave a hearty laugh. ‘Would you like one of your partners in crime to go with you? Mrs Leybourne or Miss Cooper maybe.’

  Victoria dusted her hands together. ‘No, thank you, I can do this.’ Turning on her heels, she walked towards the staff area.

  She stood in front of the basement door for several minutes. Beads of perspiration formed on Victoria’s face as she pushed her clammy hands down the sides of her skirt before hesitantly reaching for the door handle. The hinges of the basement door creaked as Victoria pulled it open for the third time in as many minutes, each time letting the door swing shut. Perhaps she should tell Mr Leadbetter she couldn’t do this, but then where would that leave her? Was this going to be part of her daily routine now? She might lose her promotion and the extra money. She frowned as she mumbled, ‘Look, it opens and shuts easily enough.’ She fidgeted from one foot to the other. ‘Come on you can do this, just run down there and do what you’ve got to do then run back up again. Easy.’ Glancing around, she looked for something to prop open the door, but there was nothing heavy enough. Victoria stood, rooted to the spot; she peered into the darkness, searching for a light switch. A glow came from under the door at the bottom of the worn, cold and uninviting stone steps. She took a deep breath and began inching her way down into the darkness. The door slammed shut. Victoria gripped her chest as the sound like a trapped animal escaped from her. She ran back up the stairs as though the devil himself was after her and pushed the door hard, it swung open with ease. She gasped for breath before muttering to herself, ‘I can do this, I’m a grown-up, I can do this.’ Victoria turned and took a deep breath before gripping the handrail and taking another step into the basement. There was a mustiness, and damp hung in the air. There was a smell she couldn’t pinpoint; fresh air hadn’t blown down here for a long time. Stepping aside quickly, she just managed to avoid a large cobweb that had attached itself to the beams. She didn’t know anyone who had ever ventured down these steps before, but why would she? Her position had always been in the payment booth. Victoria took a deep breath and shuddered as darkness wrapped itself like a cloak around her shoulders, sealing in the fear as panic rose in her chest. It occurred to her that she hadn’t told anyone she was going into the basement of Foyles Bookstore. What if she never came out again? Over the years, she had heard many stories of people getting lost, not finding their way to the front of the shop and escaping into the street. There was even a rumour of someone dying amongst the many books that were stacked high on the rows of shelving, as well as teetering piles sitting on the floor, but no one ever mentioned the basement. Maybe she should have told someone. Would anyone look for her? Pull yourself together, girl – Mr Leadbetter knows you’re down here, even if nobody else does. A creaking noise broke the silence. Victoria stood rigid on the step, clutching her skirt. Light drifted up the stairs. It could be a Frankenstein moment. Victoria almost scampered back up the stairs. A sound escaped from her; too much imagination that was her trouble.

  ‘Vic.’ A familiar voice called out from above.

  Victoria sprung round, her anger automatically bubbling to the surface. Only one person would have the nerve to call her Vic. Friend or not she’d lost count of how many times over the years Molly h
ad been told not to shorten her name, after all her parents had named her after the great Queen herself. She could hear the thud of the footsteps on the stairs, as they got nearer.

  Slowly, a dim glow of yellow electric light began to chase away the darkness. ‘Ah, you are down here.’

  Victoria tried to compose herself and swallow her pride; her hand automatically rubbed the back of her neck. She took a deep breath, she was glad to have company. ‘Yes, Molly, what is it?’

  ‘Old Leadbetter said you might want help down here, so here I am.’ Molly smiled. ‘What’s happened? You look quite worried, why didn’t you put the light on?’

  Victoria shook her head and forced a smile. ‘Nothing, I couldn’t find the light, and you startled me, that’s all. Well, apart from you calling me Vic, which you know I hate.’

  Molly giggled. ‘Sorry, ma’am, I forgot myself for a moment.’

  ‘I don’t know what it is about basements, but they are always creepy places.’ Victoria looked towards the doorway. ‘I’d hate to work down here. Imagine if the door got stuck and you couldn’t get out. I remember that happening to me when I was little. I was banging and screaming for what seemed like ages before someone came.’ She shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  Molly took Victoria’s hand in hers. ‘Come on, it’s all right, we’re grown-ups now and anyway you sleep in yours every night, so they can’t be that scary.’

  ‘I’m used to ours.’ A thud travelled up towards them. Victoria grabbed Molly’s arm. ‘What’s that noise? Do you think someone’s down here?’

  Laughter burst from Molly. ‘Of course, Albert is. He does all the deliveries and collections. Haven’t you met him before?’

  Victoria shook her head as she stared wide-eyed at her friend.

  Molly gently pulled her down the remaining steps. ‘It’s time you did. He’s about a hundred and ten years old and he has a heart of gold.’ She beamed, pushing open the creaking, heavy wooden door. ‘He’s like the grandpa I wish I had.’