‘Actuallysick?’ said Carmen.
‘One year, yes. So. Nice and short, is it?’
Carmen happily gathered up their entire pile ofNight Watch, a clutch of funny and heartfelt stories about working in a hospital at Christmas time.
‘It is,’ she said. ‘But it’sreally funny.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ said the woman in plum. ‘Although frankly, it barely matters. Nobody will remember a thing about it.’
She paid and swept out of the shop, seemingly looking forward to her terrifying night full of vomit, and Carmen tried to distract herself by looking at the accounts.
They were undoubtedly improving. The big old beautiful editions – particularly of children’s books – and the big girls’ annuals of Christmas activities were selling like hot cakes. And a huge box of hardback copies of Noel Streatfeild’sWhite Bootsfrom 1951 was steadily moving, except for one Carmen had held back for herself and was avidly reading in a corner, following the plight of poor Harriet and nasty Lalla.
The Box of Delightsworked well positioned next to the train, and forThe Night Before Christmas, of course it could only be the little mouse house. She had turned it round so the front door, with the steps leading out, could be seen, then she’d gone online and bought tiny light-up Christmas trees and little model gas street lights, and lit every room behind its windows, one Christmas tree shining through and another one outside.
Children knelt down in awe in front of it, mouths open, ignoring the puddles soaking through their trousers. Carmen had actually got slightly obsessed with it and started moving the mice about, making them do different things. When she found herself up at 10 p.m., making a tin foil lake with paper clip ice skates, she did start to wonder if she was going too far, but the next day the little skating mice drew a crowd to rival the train set, and they sold endless copies of bothThe Night Before Christmasand a book Carmen had never seen before, which was more or less the same except instead of nothing stirring around the house, there was something stirring and that something stirring was a mouse, who then proceeded to attempt to get the better of Father Christmas, although they ended up friends.
To distract herself further, she took a picture of her latest mouse creation – today she had covered one mouse in cotton wool to make a snow mouse – and was just putting it on Instagram when Oke walked in.
‘A regular customer,’ said Carmen, smiling at him.
‘I live upstairs,’ he said.
‘Oh! I didn’t know that.’
‘That big building up the steps? It’s a student residence. The one you walk up and over every day.’
‘Is it?! I had no idea. Is it full of people with lots of spare time in the day?’
‘You were never a student.’
‘I wasn’t.’
Even all these years on, it was still a sore point. She had ploughed her exams, staying out all night, laughing her head off, pretending like she didn’t care. There didn’t seem much point, when Sofia got nothing but As and was studying law, for goodness’ sake. What was she going to do? Her parents had begged and pleaded, but she already had a Saturday job in the department store, and loads of friends there. It didn’t make any sense, she’d argued, to get into loads of debt when she could just start earning. Her parents had put a brave face on it, but she’d known that yet again she’d broken their hearts, whereas Sofia was off conquering the world – her year abroad in America had probably been the worst. Their mother had kept badgering Carmen to go visit, hoping it would kindle something in Carmen – and then Carmen had gone, and couldn’t have felt more out of place with the cool, multicultural, international, incredibly smart crowd Sofia hung out with, making friends all over the world, visiting luxury homes and at home anywhere.
‘That could still be you,’ said her mother when she’d got back, jet-lagged and dreading the next long day’s shift of standing in the shop, being shouted at by Mrs Marsh, who would be dusting and talking about netting, waiting to retire.
‘It can’t,’ Carmen had said grimly. It couldn’t. She couldn’t fit in with them and their travel and their knowledge, and their immediate acceptance of Sofia as one of them.
‘Sorry,’ said Oke kindly. ‘You look lost in thought. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.’
Carmen felt raw all over that morning; completely exposed and vulnerable.
‘You didn’t,’ said Carmen. She blinked. ‘I … I would have liked to have gone … I think. But at the time, I … I thought I couldn’t keep up. I failed my exams.’
‘On purpose?’
‘No! … Maybe,’ she said. ‘If I didn’t try, then … I suppose I had an excuse for failing.’
Oke nodded. ‘I can understand that.’
There was a pause.
‘This is the bit where you tell me all the best people didn’t go to university, and the University of Life is brilliant, and everything is going to be absolutely fine,’ said Carmen.
‘Where I am from,’ said Oke, ‘there aren’t as many good options for people without an education, so no. I would never say that. But look at the good you are doing with your life.’
‘I don’t know if I’m doing much good,’ said Carmen.
