Alex had eventually got a signal and spoken to Mrs Thomas in Port Kernou.
‘I really am all right. I’m glad they both got home safely too. New Year? No idea, to be honest. I’m not thinking that far ahead, I’m just glad to be alive.’
She lay flat across a camp bed with squeaky metal springs and Magnús sat crossed-legged on the floor by her side, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She’d made a second call to the hospital and been told Eve had already been discharged and was heading home to spend Christmas with her little boy.
When she hung up the call, Magnús lowered his face to hers and they talked in whispers punctuated by discreet kisses.
At four o’clock the postman was shown into the ballroom by someone in a hard hat and incredibly muddy waterproofs. Bovis too slipped in, his hat in his hands, complaining that he’d been behind a police cordon for hours and they’d only let him through when he saw the postie being allowed in and complained that he worked here, so if anyone was allowed in, it ought to be him. The inhabitants of the ballroom welcomed them like heroes.
The postman quickly had a crowd around him and he thoroughly enjoyed telling everyone how he hadn’t been let through at first. ‘But I’d a van full of your parcels. Told ’em I couldn’t very well take ’em back to the depot, could I? Not when they might ‘ave some Christmas cheer inside for you all.’
The postie called out names and Minty emerged from the kitchen to comment that it was like ‘letters day’ at boarding school. Nobody in the room had the experience to concur that it was indeed just like that, but they all stepped forward to collect the bundles of Christmas cards and packages that on any normal Christmas Eve would have been brought to their doors hours ago.
Some struck it lucky: Bella and Finan unwrapped boxes of chocolates from family members far afield; one of the old men held up a bottle of whisky from his brother in Torrington. That received a rowdy cheer. Others were less fortunate. Poor Monty received an outdoor clothing catalogue while Monica Burntisland opened, of all things, a water bill.
‘One ’ere for Magnús Sturluson? Care of the Borrow-A-Bookshop?’ the postman called.
Magnús hadn’t paid much attention until this point; he’d been too busy telling Alex soft things in her ear and letting her whisper back words that made him blush and bite his lip. Now he was amazed to find he was the recipient of a parcel passed from group to group across the ballroom.
‘For me?’ he asked the package once it was in his hands. ‘Ah! It’s Mamma’s writing.’
Alex sat up and watched as he tore the wrapping away and turned over a book, a copy of theVinland Sagasin Icelandic, in case he was at risk of forgetting where he came from. He took a deep sniff between the pages before realising what he was doing. Alex laughed brightly and told him it was nothing to be ashamed of.
Inside the flyleaf was an inscription written in English, his mum’s idea of a good joke for her son living the life of an English bookseller. He read her message a few times with a light coming on inside him and glowing brighter as his eyes re-scanned the words. Then he held it out for Alex to read.
Son, you will have your Christmas book flood, even in England. We are proud of you. Please enjoy your bookshop and come home happy again. Love, Mamma.
‘Christmas book flood?’ Alex asked.
‘Já, thejólabókaflóð. Everyone gets a book on Christmas Eve in Iceland. It’s tradition. And we read all evening. It’s the best part…’ Magnús’s mouth snapped into a straight line. He was thinking.
Then he was up on his feet.
Everyone watched as his eyes darted from Alex’s to Jowan’s.
It had taken only a few minutes to formulate the plan and the whole ballroom had waved goodbye to Magnús and Elliot (roped in because of his strength and fitness), as well as the man in the hard hat (who worked for the council, it turned out, who’d said he’d accompany them on their way down to the middle of the slope), and of course, Mushy Peas, the best donkey for the task, as they went on their mission to the Borrow-A-Bookshop to retrieve gift books for all the villagers.
Alex sent Magnús on his way with a proud kiss pressed to his forehead. ‘That one’s from your mum,’ she told him.
After they’d left, Minty had informed the postal worker that he was staying the night even though he’d objected, saying he could sleep in his van. Of course, he’d been powerless against her insistence and was immediately tasked with helping to push the tables together for the turkey dinner that was imminent.
The most wonderful aroma of thyme, lemon and onion along with Jude’s homemade bread rolls was filling the ballroom, already scented with gingerbread, pine needles and log fire. Everyone’s thoughts turned to their stomachs so Bella passed around the chocolates.
‘Right!’ Minty told the room, brushing her hands over her apron. ‘There are donkeys in my vestibule, at least twenty campers in my ballroom, three foot of muddy water in my cellars, and umpteen spare turkeys squeezed into the fridge. What else!’ She turned for the kitchens again.
‘Ahem!’ The sound of a throat being cleared behind her stopped Minty in her tracks.
Turning, she was met by the sight of an earnest, gulping Bovis. He was grasping a ball of mistletoe from one of the sconces.
‘Araminta Clove-Congreve, uh… Minty,’ he said, grandly, before swallowing hard and adding, ‘Mistress.’
‘Bovis?’ Minty’s brows creased.
The whole room watched on in silence, eyes alight with fascination. Mrs Crocombe was on her feet and listening, open-mouthed. What on earth was happening?
‘My…um… my feelings will not be repressed,’ Bovis told Minty bravely, his chest swollen like a pigeon.
‘Goodness, Bovis, are you quite all right?’ Minty glanced immediately to Jowan who could see exactly what was coming and was shrinking for his old friend in her embarrassment.
