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Felix scratched his head. ‘Now I’ve quite forgotten what I came in here for. But a Christmas costume? Yes, this I remember – though it’s been a long while. Maybe it’s buried somewhere. Do you need help?’

Noémi nodded, and together they moved further into the depths of the storeroom, which she’d come to learn was a bit like Mary Poppins’s carpet bag, in that it was almost limitlessly full of surprises.

‘When did she wear it?’ Noémi asked as they worked their way through the boxes, tearing at parcel tape and shaking their heads.

‘All sorts of occasions. Reading festive stories to the children by the crackling log fire – though I’m not sure that would pass health and safety these days. Their little faces would light up in the glow, excited by the prospect of Father Christmas and wolfing down Élisabeth’s excellent madeleines. She baked a special spiced cranberry flavour for Christmas.’

Noémi felt her stomach groan at the memory. And she did remember sitting on the woolly rug for story time. It had been magical.

‘She wore the costume for book club too, when we had a Christmas theme. Did I tell you I have a few interested names on my book club list? I jotted some down in The Tipsy Squirrel. And.’ He lowered his voice, as though cobwebs might have ears. ‘When everybody was outside queuing to zip wire in a pair of angel wings, I sneaked around gathering their names too. A bit cheeky. But we can’t have that Shay whatshisface having all the business.’

‘Oh, well done,’ said Noémi, giving Felix an impromptu hug and making his bow tie wonky.

Felix did still have moments of brilliance, even if Daniel would swear he made more mayhem than money. She didn’t love the idea that they were relying on Shay’s customers to fill their book club, but if he was going to parade around on their turf, maybe he should watch out for team bookshop. Perhaps a buoyant book club would be the thing to turn their luck around.

‘I did have to promise free mulled wine and homemade festive treats for all attendees. But we can manage that, can’t we? You could even make some of those biscuit things you used to be so good at. What were they now? Christmas cookies? Perfect for the season.’

Noémi pursed her lips. She might have to take back that bit about the brilliance. ‘I don’t make those anymore. We’ll have to get some mince pies in. Or gingerbread. There’s that lovely café in Mistleton Village.’ At this rate she’d be spending more on catering than they could hope to gain from book sales.

‘We could always extend the book club to get out and about. Your mum once did a local literary walking tour to tie in with locations in the book club reads. That got people excited.’

Noémi pulled a doubtful face. It sounded too much like pinching her neighbour’s real-life adventures and she was happier in the warmth of her shop. Qui ne risque rien n’a rien. She shook her head, not sure how her mother’s voice had just got in there. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She was in here risking life, limb, and imminent spider attack, wasn’t she?

‘One thing at a time,’ she whispered back, half to Felix, half to the imaginary voice. Perhaps they were getting close to this dress. She bent down and continued rummaging.

‘Why did Mum stop wearing the Christmas costume?’

Felix made a hmm sound, as though thinking. ‘Well, I can’t be sure. It could have got too old or damaged. Though there was this one day.’ His forehead scrunched. ‘When a child asked where Mr Claus was and said there was no point in having Mrs Claus without her Santa.’

‘Oh.’ Noémi put a hand to her heart, feeling a pang of sadness for her mother. Her Mr Claus had left her, and she’d chosen not to replace him. To have that pointed out, however innocently, must have hurt.

‘Do you know if Mum was lonely, being by herself?’

Noémi didn’t remember seeing her suffer emotionally after Henri left them, but in hindsight, she guessed she must have. Élisabeth had just been good at keeping their little ship sailing.

‘Everybody needs their person.’

Noémi heard a small sob escape her throat.

‘But she had you,’ Felix added quickly. ‘You were her person. You still are. Look how she trusted you by passing on her beloved bookshop.’

‘No pressure,’ Noémi replied, pulling out a tissue and dabbing her eyes, which had swiftly filled with tears.

As an escaped tear fell onto a box, pooling on its dry cardboard surface before slowly spreading outwards, Noémi had a strong sense they were close – even if she couldn’t explain it.

She swiped a layer of dust from the top of the box, revealing the handwritten words: À jeter. Her mother’s instructions to herself to throw whatever this was away. Though much like her, Élisabeth had never been one to waste things.

‘I might be completely imagining it, but I feel like this is something. Shall we look?’

Noémi and Felix dragged the box into the bookshop, Noémi having decided that if it was the festive costume her mum had been so enamoured with, it deserved better than the cobwebby storeroom of horrors. On the other hand, the message on the box did essentially say chuck me – so it could equally contain moth-eaten Christmas decs from the days of Joan of Arc.

Daniel stopped what he was doing to join them, the three friends gathered around as though there might be magic inside those cardboard walls. In fairness, it had been another slow-ish morning.

‘This might be nothing,’ Noémi warned. ‘And even if it is Mum’s old Mère Noël costume, I’m not about to start flitting around in it, like some half-arsed version of Mr Tights next door.’

‘Just open the box, Mi-Mi.’ Daniel put his hands on his hips.

Well, it would be rude to argue.