than that,’ Zach said, still standing over his uncle. ‘Try a smile.’
Norris raised his upper lip.
‘Not that far. Dial it down a bit. Not so many teeth.’
Parents started arriving with their children and prodded them towards Norris. Eugene and I watched from behind the till, snorting disloyally.
‘Merry Christmas!’ he’d say stiffly to each one. ‘Would you like a present from my sack?’
‘He’s got to stop saying that,’ muttered Eugene. ‘He’ll be arrested.’
The small child looked terrified but, behind them, their pushy parent urged them on as if it was sports day: ‘Come on, Orangina/Archibald/Persimmon! Tell Santa what you want for Christmas!’
Little Orangina would perk up at this point and declare she wanted a real-life unicorn.
‘I’m not sure I have one of those,’ Norris replied, with a chuckle. ‘But why don’t you put your hand in here and see what you can find?’
‘Seriously, I’m going to call the police in a minute,’ hissed Eugene.
I hit him on the arm. ‘Don’t ruin it. This is nice.’
It was better than nice. It was magical. Zach had run white fairy-lights around the shelves and Nat King Cole was burbling from the speakers. The shop glowed through the windows, which encouraged more and more people inside, off the damp pavements.
Having texted me earlier in the week, asking if she could bring ‘a date’, I spied Jaz arriving with Dunc, plus Maya and George. I grinned and waved at them across the crowd but had to stay put because there were so many punters queuing to buy books. I doled out the wine while Eugene put the sales through the till. I quite forgot that I was dressed like a pudding and he shook his head, making a little jingle every time a customer reached for their paper bag.
In another corner, underneath the gardening books, stood some of the NOMAD crew. Seamus had swapped his tatty old overcoat tied with string for a tweed jacket and looked like he’d brushed his hair, a Christmas miracle. Lenka and Mary were sipping nervously at their mulled wine and Elijah was frowning suspiciously at a mince pie. I’d never seen any of them outside our classroom before and felt a swell of pride that I’d brought them together here.
Although really this was all thanks to Mr Snowman. Every now and then I glanced up to see him taking pictures, his camera over his ludicrous plastic nose, and felt grateful. Not just for injecting energy back into the shop but for livening us all up. Even Norris seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling at Zach’s camera less like a murderer.
‘Carol singers are here,’ said Eugene, elbowing me and pointing through the windows at a group of Chelsea Pensioners waiting outside.
‘ZACH!’ I shouted over the throng, before pointing at them.
He carved his way towards the door, his white head bobbing above the others. One by one he shook their hands, then turned back and stood in the doorway of the shop.
‘EXCUSE ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Could everyone make way for our carol singers? No, not you, Father Christmas, stay right there. But if everyone else could make space, that would be grand.’
Shoppers, parents and children huddled together. Some sat on the stairs, others were pressed up against the bookshelves. I told a couple of people to lift their kids on the counter so they could see. It was as crammed as the Central Line at 8.01 on a Monday morning, just more festive.
I bent under the till to turn Nat off and poured myself a glass of wine as the Chelsea Pensioners shuffled themselves into a semicircle. One of them was holding a trumpet. There was a brief silence and then they were off, into a warbly rendition of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman’.
Then the trumpeter picked up his weapon for a rendition of ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’. We joined in for the chorus, getting louder every time. And I don’t know whether it was the wine, the music, the old soldiers singing in front of us or my hormones (a combination?), but I suddenly felt almost overwhelmed with emotion. I looked around the shop, from Jaz standing with Dunc on her hip, to the trumpeter parping his way through the last verse, and all my anxieties – about this place, about Rory, about counting and the colour of cars – seemed insignificant. For a brief moment, my head felt more spacious, empty of worry. I filled up my glass again and, looking across the shop, caught Zach’s eye, grinning