On the other hand, it looked sensational.
It had been a chilly morning. And now Carmen, while grateful for the custom – rather sweetly, she’d bumped into Crawford, who had bought three beautiful books on winter birds for his window display, and added a note explaining where to buy them and they’d had lots of queries – was not feeling at her best.
‘Because,’ she was saying, ‘a place where you borrow books is called a library. And in fact twenty metres away across the road is the National Library of Scotland. And in there they have every book ever written! And you can have any one you want!’
The old woman, who was Mrs MacGeoghan, was still looking belligerent.
‘But I want to read this one.’
‘You can,’ said Carmen. ‘But I’m afraid you have to buy it.’
She could hear Mr McCredie rustling about in the back, getting nearer to the shopfront which wasn’t ideal as he would probably let the lady take it if she promised to bring it back, and they weren’t out of the woods yet, money-wise. Sofia had told her if they made a profit and paid a few of their debtors by the new year, it could go up for sale as a going concern. What Carmen would do then, they didn’t discuss. Idra had mentioned restaurant jobs going and her mum had said there were community initiatives happening. She’d find something.
‘But I’m a pensioner,’ the old woman continued.
‘I realise that,’ said Carmen. ‘That’s why I absolutely would suggest a library. They are wonderful, amazing places. But this isn’t one.’
‘Well, that’s just … evil capitalism!’ said the old lady who was, Carmen couldn’t help but notice, wearing the same incredibly expensive brand of wellingtons Blair had bought.
Although the day hadn’t been all bad, she reflected. Before she left the house that morning, amid the usual school hubbub, Phoebe had sidled up to her and pressed something warm into her hand.
‘Uh, thanks?’ Carmen had said, glancing down and realising to her horror that Phoebe had given her a piece of warm cheese.
‘It’s for the mices,’ Phoebe had whispered. ‘At the shop.’
‘Oh,’ said Carmen. ‘But you know, they’re not real.’
‘In the DAY they’re not real,’ whispered Phoebe. Her gaze strayed towards the room with the television in it. They’d watched The Muppet Christmas Carol every single second they’d been allowed to.
She leaned up on tiptoe, casting a sharp gaze around the room first in case Pippa was listening in.
‘I think at night they come alive,’ she whispered. ‘And that’s when they’ll need cheese.’
‘We certainly will get alive mice if I put down that cheese,’ said Carmen. ‘But they won’t be wearing bonnets.’
She looked at Phoebe’s disappointed face.
‘But it’s a brilliant idea,’ she said. ‘I bet we could make some cheese to add to the house. Not real cheese, but maybe … what looks a bit like cheese?’
They both frowned and looked for a moment extremely similar, although they didn’t realise it. Phoebe grinned suddenly.
‘My sponge!’
‘You’re a genius!’
‘I hate my sponge,’ she said.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ said Skylar suspiciously. ‘Have you done your thankfulness this morning, Phoebe?’
‘I’m doing it right now?’ said Phoebe defiantly. ‘I’m being thankful for my sponge.’
‘That’s right,’ said Skylar, beaming. ‘Cleanliness is so good for the soul, don’t you think, Carmen?’