The young publicist was slim, blonde and as pretty as a model, and she grinned broadly as she bustled forwards.
‘Well, isn’t this charming,’ she said. ‘Come on, Blair, it’s just over here.’
A tall man behind her shuffled slightly. He didn’t look at all like the snooty uber-confident man of his publicity. He was wearing owlish glasses, his hair looked rumpled and his mouth was pulled shut so you couldn’t see his bright teeth at all.
He sighed.
‘It won’t be long,’ said the girl in an encouraging manner, as if explaining things to a small child. There was another long sigh.
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Are you ready?’ said the girl. She beamed a bright smile. ‘I’m Emily, by the way. Nice to meet you all! And this is Blair.’
Blair raised a weary hand. Was he terribly hungover? Carmen wondered. Although that wouldn’t go with his reputation of positive self-happy self.
‘Okay, Blair,’ said Emily, as the TV crew stepped forwards and introduced themselves one by one. A woman carrying a large bag approached.
‘Hair and make-up?’ she said. ‘I’ve cleared a space.’
She had but it was right behind the till and in the way of everything which, coupled with the cables, meant that Carmen couldn’t do much more than stand and watch. Mr McCredie had darted away like a mole when he’d seen everything and everyone there – again. Carmen pondered once again that if seeing a lot of people in your shop was worrying, no wonder your retail career hadn’t flourished.
However, she took people back and showed them how to get coffee and tried to avoid the gaze of the angry shoppers waiting in the cold, sticky-beaking through the window. She needn’t have worried: a small feisty-looking woman who was, she realised, the director, marched outside and yelled at them to get out of the way or it would take all day, and meekly, the queue retreated, to the faint annoyance of the magic shop but the clear delight of the coffee shop, who immediately started offering queue delivery.
‘Okay, quiet on set, everyone,’ shouted the director finally, and Carmen edged forwards so she could have a look.
It was absurd. As if a different person had materialised. The grumpy-looking sleepy person slouching in half an hour before was nowhere to be seen.
In front of Carmen now, standing by the silenced train set and a rapidly erected Christmas tree, was a shiny, glowing, somehow much bigger person. He had flicked brown hair, bright gleaming eyes and incredibly bright teeth which he was flashing as if he was enjoying the happiest moment of his life. The director demanded silence, and the cameras started rolling. The red-headed presenter introduced him in tones of awed reverence, and he made a broad ‘aw shucks’ face.
‘Hi there,’ he was saying in a confident accent pitched precisely somewhere between British and American. ‘I am just so happy to be here in Edinburgh, one of the most beautiful cities in the world.’
The red-headed presenter giggled.
‘Well, it’s so lovely to have you here. Can you tell us a little about your new book?’
‘Of course, Caroline.’
He leaned forwards and seemed to look the presenter – or the camera – straight in the eye.
‘It’s about if you ever feel you’re just not good enough – that your Christmas will never be quite perfect enough – if you don’t think you’ll choose thoughtful gifts or that your family won’t be thrilled to see you or that the turkey will be dry … ’
He gave a broad, shining smile, filled with compassion and joy.
‘I just want to tell you that you are good enough. You are absolutely good enough. You are loved. And everything is going to be okay.’