Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall

by Kate Forster

  Marc came and sat next to her. ‘I never knew what contentment was until the first night you were here,’ he said.

  ‘How? You yelled at me twice.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about what an idiot I was,’ he said, as his thumb rubbed the back of her hand.

  ‘It was this feeling when we were sitting around the table and laughing, your incredible food was being served, and I thought, “This is as good as it gets”. But now I know there is something better. When you have someone to share it with you.’

  Christa rested her head on his shoulder and the clock on the mantel struck midnight.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said to him and turned to him and kissed him.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Christa,’ he said and kissed her in return. Suddenly, he stood up. ‘Wait here, I want to give you your present now.’

  ‘Really? You can’t wait till tomorrow morning?’ she asked, laughing at his eagerness.

  He disappeared and then returned with something behind his back.

  ‘I didn’t wrap it,’ he said as he sat next to her and handed her a plain white envelope.

  She turned it over and opened it and then pulled out a sheaf of papers stapled together.

  She started to read but couldn’t make head nor tail of it and so looked at him. ‘I don’t understand. This is the pub? The one that sold?’

  Marc nodded. ‘I bought it for you for Christmas, so you can create the place you wanted. I know it seems excessive but I spoke to Zane and he said that St William’s Charity can work alongside you and it’s totally doable.’

  Christa turned over the page and kept reading. Marc had bought her the pub?

  ‘Why?’ she looked at him, still confused.

  ‘Are you angry? Do you think I’ve gone too far?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s your money; you can do what you like with it. No, I wanted to know why you did this for me?’

  Marc sat back and thought for a moment.

  ‘You know I say I help people but all I do is give people money. I don’t know what it’s doing, or even if it’s helping anyone at all. I mean, I funded trees once because I liked gin. It’s not that I don’t get there is need but I have avoided seeing the need close up because of what I saw as a kid.’

  Christa listened intently as he spoke. He stared at the fire.

  ‘I was ashamed and when I see poverty, I freak out. It reminds me I could lose everything and end up back trying to work out how to feed my family. But you showed me what help is and why it matters. You showed up and I realised I need to also.’

  She laid the papers on her lap and turned to him.

  ‘So that’s why?’

  But Marc shook his head.

  ‘No.’ He thought for a moment and finally looked at her. ‘I did it because I believe in you. Because you’re remarkable and you make me want to do better and put more good into the world. Because you make me want to be a better father and ex-husband and because you can help people in a way that is generous and kind; something I need to do more of.’

  She put the papers on the table. ‘These are wrong,’ she stated.

  ‘Why?’ He picked them up and leafed through them.

  ‘I’m not Christa Playfoot anymore. I’m going back to my maiden name.’

  ‘Good idea, what is it?’

  ‘Hartley,’ she said and looked at him. ‘It meant deer clearing in Anglo-Saxon times.’

  ‘That’s nice, deer,’ he said and she smacked his leg. ‘Terrible pun.’

  He laughed and took her hand.

  ‘Would you change your name again if you remarried?’

  ‘Probably not,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to the first time but Simon insisted, said it would be best for business. That was a lie.’

  ‘Just so you know, I wouldn’t expect you to change your name.’

  She laughed. ‘Are we getting married?’

  ‘Most likely,’ he said and he sounded so sure that Christa didn’t doubt him for a minute, nor did she panic. She didn’t know when she’d come to the realisation but she knew Marc and his boys were her future.

  ‘You bought me the pub for Christmas,’ she said incredulous. ‘You’re going to be really disappointed when you open my present tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh? What is it?’ His fingers were tracing patterns on her leg now, pulling the pink silk of the skirt up to show some of her thigh. She felt goose bumps on her skin and she shivered a little.

  ‘A woollen scarf and some fudge,’ she said. She took a moment and then pushed her leg against his hand.

  ‘But I can let you unwrap me upstairs if you like,’ she teased and saw Marc blush. ‘I might be able to deck your halls as they say.’

  Marc jumped up and pulled her up, put his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, close. ‘Oh you’re very punny,’ he said and without another word he led her upstairs.

  37

  Early Christmas morning, Christa woke in Marc’s arms. The sky was dark still, though she could hear birds singing outside, and she moved in closer to him. He stirred then kissed her and pulled her to him.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said and before she could answer they were tangled up together again.

  Later, they woke again to the sounds of the twins yelling.

  ‘Santa’s been,’ said Ethan.

  ‘Dad is Santa, you big baby,’ yelled Seth and Christa looked at Marc and made a sad face.

  ‘When did you stop believing in Santa?’ he asked her.

  ‘I don’t think I ever did to be honest,’ she admitted.

  ‘Me neither, otherwise Santa was an arsehole who totally forgot about us and that would be too hard to take as a kid.’

  Christa kissed him. ‘We should go and see the kids,’ she said, but Marc pulled her close.

  ‘One more kiss,’ he said and she kissed him and then jumped from bed and pulled on his robe that was on the chair.

  She went to the window and pulled back the curtains and squealed.

  ‘Oh it’s snowed; like proper snowed. God it’s so beautiful. Come and see,’ she said and Marc pulled on sweat pants and a top and stood behind her and wrapped her arms around her.

  ‘Okay, that’s pretty awesome,’ he said and he kissed her head.

  ‘Do the boys know yet?’ she asked and then she heard the boys yell.

  ‘Dad, Dad, it’s snowed.’

  ‘Better get going,’ he said.

  ‘Wait, I’ll go to my room and come from there,’ she said picking up her bag.

  ‘Why?’ Marc frowned.

  ‘Because they don’t know I’m in here with you,’ she said. ‘We can’t force us upon them. They need time to adjust.’

  Marc snorted. ‘Put on some clothes. I want to show you something downstairs.’

  Christa showered quickly, dressed in the nice pants and a pretty lace-pattern woollen jumper and boots. She put on a slick of pink lipstick and walked into the hallway where Marc was waiting.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he said. ‘Black suits you, so does pink.’

  She touched his face. ‘I could wear a potato sack and you would say that it was made for me.’

  He took her by the hand and led her down the stairs.

  ‘The boys are dressed and outside in the snow,’ he said. ‘They’re making a snowman.’

  ‘Oh that’s so cute,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and help them.’

  ‘Yes, but before we join them, I want to show you something.’

  They walked past the tree and down the hallway and into the kitchen and there on the table stood the gingerbread house.

  It was a very wonky version of Pudding Hall, complete with garden at the back, on green icing and with paths and the maze, made from cardboard.

  ‘There’s Bill and Meredith,’ she said. ‘And some deer,’ she added. ‘The monkeys are in the trees.’ She laughed.

  ‘Look in the maze,’ Marc said and she moved closer to look over the top. There in middle were two cardboard figures facing each other, propped upright w
ith sticky tape. A woman with short black hair and an apron on, holding a wooden spoon. And a man with sandy hair and a computer in his hand.

  ‘That’s us,’ Marc said.

  ‘Am I about to whack you with my spoon?’ she joked.

  ‘I don’t know that I’m not boring you to death, talking you through my next deal,’ he said. ‘I don’t always take my laptop to the maze but clearly I did this day.’

  Marc gently lifted the figures from the maze.

  ‘Oh don’t break them,’ said Christa, looking out in case the boys where coming.

  ‘Look,’ said Marc and he showed her the faces of the figures. There were words written on Marc’s face in tiny writing, coming from his mouth.

  ‘I love you.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Oh my God, that’s so cute. We clearly did a terrible job at hiding our feelings.’

  She held the little Christa in her hands. She had ‘Are you hungry?’ written on her face and she burst into laughter and tears.

  ‘This is perfect, truly.’

  Marc put the figures back into the maze and pulled her to him.

  ‘I love you,’ he said.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘Always.’

  Two Years Later

  ‘I’m going to call you train tracks from now on,’ Christa gently teased one of the young students in her class.

  ‘Why?’ the older boy looked belligerently at her.

  ‘Because you haven’t cut all the way through the leeks.’ Christa picked up some leek that was still joined.

  ‘You have to cut all the way through,’ she said to the group of teens.

  They came every Wednesday and she taught them how to cook basic meals. Today was potato and leek soup. A staple that was cheap and easy and nutritious.

  ‘You should now have your onion, potato and leek chopped,’ she said. ‘And one clove of garlic crushed and at the ready.’

  The kitchen was quiet after the lunch rush, which is when the teens came in and cooked. Some had been in trouble with the courts, some had been recommended by social workers and others by Zane and the team at St William’s.

  Hartley House, as the pub had been renamed, had become a place to meet, get help, give help, connect and learn.

  While it wasn’t an easy process to create Hartley House, with the paperwork and permits and convincing the council, eventually Zane and Christa got it over the line and then more hard work began.

  Paul had helped design a place that was both warm and comforting, but not over the top, under Christa’s guidance.

  ‘I don’t want people to feel they’re in McDonald’s but I also don’t want them to feel intimidated as though they’re at a wannabe Cliveden,’ she had said.

  And Paul had delivered something lovely and welcoming. The old wooden panelling had been painted a soft blue and with white walls, papered in a faux pressed metal, it gave the old pub a sense of style without being piss-elegant.

  Paul had loved that phrase when Christa said it to him.

  ‘Piss-elegant. I know a few celebrities who adhere to that style. Namely one ex-president’s wife who has a penchant for white and gold. Only the Pope is allowed to wear white and gold, although he teams it with red shoes, which is a lot, you know, even for the head of the Church.’

  The kitchen was completely fitted out with the largest space for the lunch preparation and then a smaller kitchen with ovens for the cooking classes. It was Selene who came and consulted on the kitchen design after working on the smash hit Blind Baking.

  Selene was the star of the show and her French candour, mixed with her natural warmth and kindness, shone through in every episode.

  Avian had suggested they do an episode at Hartley House and show it to the rest of the world. They would be arriving to shoot next week and the twins would be coming with her to stay at Pudding Hall for the summer.

  Christa saw Marc come through the back door and speak to some of the staff, and he waved with his free hand.

  She waved back.

  She walked the class through the rest of the instructions for the soup.

  ‘Now you can take a break but set a timer. I don’t want the stink of burned potato and leek soup lingering in here for days on end.’

  Christa undid her apron and left the kitchen, saying hello to a few of the social workers who were talking to clients and the dentist who had just finished packing up after some check-ups.

  ‘Hi.’ She beamed at Marc and she leaned over and kissed him and then kissed the soft downy head in the crook of his arm.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Terrible. All she does is sleep, eat and poop,’ he said and he passed Christa their daughter.

  Juniper Beatrice was born on a warm summer evening with little to no trouble, while Marc cried and Christa swore like a kitchen hand. Juniper delivered herself and promptly suckled at Christa’s breast and sighed as though she had been waiting for her moment.

  Christa rocked her now and touched her little cheeks. ‘She looks like Seth at times and then Ethan at other times,’ she said, completely smitten.

  ‘They’re identical twins,’ he reminded her.

  ‘But they’re so different,’ she said looking up. ‘Ethan’s hair sticks up at the back and Seth’s at the front. When Seth frowns he squints but when Ethan frowns he almost sneers. Not to mention the freckle – that was the first way I could tell them apart.’

  ‘The freckle?’ Marc asked.

  ‘Yes, the one on Seth’s cheekbone. Ethan doesn’t have one.’

  Marc groaned and then slammed his hand on the arm of the chair but Juniper didn’t stir.

  ‘Are you telling me for twelve years I’ve struggled telling them apart and all I had to do was notice the freckle on a cheek.’

  Christa shrugged. ‘This is why you’re a terrible parent,’ she teased.

  ‘I know I am,’ he said. ‘Lucky I have you to show me the way to salvation.’

  But in truth, both Marc and Avian had stepped up as parents. They shared custody comfortably and easily and the boys were going to finish high school in America but were hoping to attend university in England in the years to come. And they were back and forth all the time, both adoring their baby sister.

  Juniper woke and stared at her mother and then smiled a gummy smile but Christa could see a hint of a tooth.

  ‘She has a bottom tooth coming through,’ she said to Marc.

  ‘No wonder she’s been grumpy,’ he said, leaning over and rubbing his finger over her gum and nodding.

  Christa sat her up on her lap and Juniper grabbed the Christmas pudding on her mother’s necklace and tried to suck it and scrape her tooth on the jewels.

  ‘No pudding for you, missy,’ said Christa and she tucked the necklace away from the little hands.

  ‘I have to finish this soup class and then we can go,’ she said, standing up and rocking Juniper so she laughed, delighted with her mother’s tricks.

  ‘Yes, Peggy said she had made something for Junie, and Petey wanted to show me the agreement for the sale of the business.’

  Petey had sold the fudge business to a small confectionary brand and he and Peggy were planning on travelling to Scotland to celebrate soon.

  Now that they were living together, Christa had teased them about a wedding but Peggy had refused.

  ‘I’ve been married once – that was enough for me.’

  ‘Not for me, it seems,’ Christa had joked.

  She and Marc had married at Pudding Hall early in the summer after they met, a small event with only Peggy, Petey, Adam, Paul, Selene, Bill and the twins in attendance.

  They had a lunch in the garden and then they napped and lolled about the house, and it was perfect for everyone. Christa wore a blush pink sundress with pink roses in her hair and Marc wore jeans and a white shirt and in every photo they were laughing and kissing and holding the boys close.

  Christa saw Zane waving at her from the office.

  ‘Okay, let me finish
up here,’ she said and handed Juniper back to Marc, who started to blow raspberries on her protruding baby tummy.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked Zane.

  ‘I have the council mothers’ group in the phone. They want to know if they can discuss a cooking for babies series?’

  Christa clapped her hands. ‘Oh yes please, I’ve been thinking about this.’

  She walked back to the kitchen where her teens were starting to blend their soups.

  ‘How does it taste?’ she asked and the young cooks nodded and some said it tasted great.

  ‘Now you all have your large containers. This will keep it warm until you get home, and then you can serve it to your family for dinner. Won’t your parents be happy they don’t have to cook for a change?’

  The kids laughed and some looked embarrassed.

  ‘I have bags of rolls for you all, left over from lunch, and some butter portions. For dessert there’s chocolate brownies. Healthy ones,’ she said as the young cooks moaned, used to Christa’s continual discussions about nutrition and the importance of supporting their mental and physical health. ‘They have zucchini in them, but don’t tell your younger brothers and sisters or they won’t eat them – but I know you’re all not immature like that.’

  She saw a few looks exchanged but she knew the brownies would all be gone in every house. They were so good to eat and so easy to make.

  ‘Next week we’re making shepherd’s pie,’ she said and she heard some groans.

  ‘But not your usual shepherd’s pie,’ she said. ‘This is a shepherd’s pie devised by a Michelin-hatted chef.’

  One of the teen boys frowned. ‘You wear a car tyre as a hat?’

  Christa laughed. Served her right for showing off, she thought. Those things didn’t matter to these kids and nor should they; it was all smoke and mirrors, as Simon had proven.

  After losing his role to Selene, and losing Avian, he had a new restaurant – bankrolled by his parents again – but this time, with no Christa, the reviews weren’t as complimentary as he was used to. It was all over the tabloids that Simon had gone to a reviewer’s house and had relieved himself in the man’s shoes by his back door.

  Except the man had caught him on camera and the footage was released to the papers.