Christmas at the Marshmallow Cafe (Delightful Christmas Book 4)

by CP Ward

  ‘The club?’ Bonnie grinned. ‘I didn’t get an invite to that.’

  Debbie looked pained. ‘It must have come up while you were in the bog. It’s only the cellar underneath the pub. They have a dancefloor.’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘You have a good time.’

  ‘I’ll try. At least I’ll have your shoulder to cry on if things go tits up. So, what are you going to do about this café?’

  Bonnie let out a slow breath. She had been avoiding the question herself, but now that Debbie had brought it up again, she knew she had to face it. And soon: she couldn’t blag a second week off work. It was go back to the smoke and her old life, or give it up and take up residence as a hermit in the middle of a mostly abandoned theme park.

  ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you, that this would be like a dream come true,’ she said. ‘I mean, it would for most people. The thing is, I don’t know the first thing about running a café. All I know about marshmallows is how to scan them at the till and burn them over a barbeque. I’d be hopeless. And for all I know, the park could be gone in a couple of years anyway. Then where would I be?’

  ‘You know, your house might not be all that to look at, but you could get a solid rent on it from someone from London,’ Debbie said. ‘They love that whole seafront life.’

  ‘I don’t live anywhere near the seafront,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘You could walk it,’ Debbie said. ‘Technically.’

  ‘In about half an hour, if you pushed it. And Weston isn’t exactly the Costa del Sol.’

  Debbie rolled her eyes. ‘L.O.L. at the ninties ref,’ she said. ‘And anyway, it’s retro. People love that these days.’

  ‘This place is retro,’ Bonnie said. ‘And it’s deserted.’

  ‘That’s only because no one knows it’s here.’

  Bonnie frowned. ‘No, I suppose you’re right.’

  In the end, Bonnie decided to skip out of dinner and whatever Christmas Land considered clubbing and have a quiet night. She cleaned and tidied Mervin’s flat—even though she knew she had to start referring to it as her flat—made up Debbie’s bed with fresh sheets from an airing cupboard, then began the arduous task of getting the place organised.

  She decided to leave the attic grotto until the morning. Luckily, Mervin had kept everything personal in the one place, so the downstairs area just needed a sort and a clean. It appeared he had died several months before the letter arrived, and the house had been left untouched. Everything fresh was now long gone off, both in the flat’s cupboards and those in the café downstairs. She was lucky to find a roll of bin liners in a drawer next to the sink, but by the time she was finished, half of them were full. She lined them up inside the café’s front door, afraid if she left them outside some animal would come and rip them open.

  While she still hadn’t decided what to do, she quickly realised she needed more information from someone. She had no idea where the nearest supermarket was nor how to get there, nor when rubbish was collected, where the collection points were, whether she had to sort recycling or not, and whether it was collected on the same day or different. It was a logistic nightmare she had just a few short days to figure out, so after eating a quick dinner of spaghetti with some meat sauce which was only a week past its sell-by date, she headed outside, hoping to find Brendon still on duty.

  She hadn’t noticed nightfall, but as she stepped outside of the café’s front door, her breath caught in her throat. Lights had come on all over the park. Ornate lamp posts stood on every walkway corner and strings of lights hung in the trees. Patches of darkness showed where some bulbs needed to be replaced, but even in its obvious state of disrepair, and lacking any of the snow which would make it truly magical, the effect was enchanting. Bonnie, marvelling at the scene, locked up the café and zipped her jacket shut. Then, hearing the tinkle of classical music coming from hidden speakers, she headed for the park’s entrance.

  She was nearly there when a dark shadow stepped out from behind a closed shop, startling her. For a moment she stood motionless as the creature, standing to her shoulder, turned in her direction, snorted, and then moved off. A moment later a second followed it, followed shortly after by a tiny version, hurrying to keep up, hooves clacking on the paving stones.

  Reindeer. Bonnie couldn’t remember ever seeing one this close, but as they moved off across the park, picking at patches of grass, she felt a shiver run up her arms, and she shook her head in disbelief.

  She was just about to head off when a figure stepped out from the same shadows. Dressed in green, she recognised Mark, the stubbly-faced elf character from before.

  ‘Oh, hey,’ he said. ‘Should I stick to character or is it okay to dress down?’

  ‘You’re good,’ Bonnie said. ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘Hopefully back to the stables,’ Mark said. ‘We lock them up at night otherwise they’d eat all the greenery. We let them roam in winter, if it snows. I’ve got the rest inside, but these three had wandered over near the gates.’

  ‘Are they wild?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve only been here a couple of years, but they’re brought up tame. If the park was busier we’d probably keep better tabs on them, but some of the fences of their enclosure need a bit of work done and the deer have a habit of getting out and wandering off. As long as people keep their dogs on leads, there shouldn’t be any problems.’

  Bonnie remembered the Labrador she had seen. ‘I suppose that’s for the best.’

  ‘Certainly is. They look harmless, but those antlers would toss a dog into the lowest tree branches.’ He laughed. ‘So, how are you setting in? I heard from Brendon that you’re taking over the Marshmallow Café.’

  ‘I haven’t decided what to do,’ Bonnie said.

  Mark nodded. ‘So much potential,’ he said. ‘But this place needs a collective kick up the butt, and a fresh injection of enthusiasm. I heard it used to be amazing, fifty years ago.’

  ‘I heard the same. What happened?’

  ‘People got bored, moved on to different things. And the park stayed the same. You’ve got to move with the times, or you’re done for. All the shop owners got old and retired or died, and no one wanted to take over. The usual thing. It’s only still open because the big dog is bankrolling it out of his pocket.’

  ‘The big dog?’

  ‘The boss. The owner. No one’s quite sure who it is, but he’s clearly pretty loaded. Word has it he’s about run out of patience now.’

  ‘The park does appear a little … neglected.’

  ‘It’s running at less than a quarter of full operation,’ Mark said. ‘More rides closed than open. While a few of them are rusted solid, most just need a good oiling and they’d be off again. No staff, no customers … it all adds up eventually to no park.’

  Bonnie nodded. ‘Do you know where Brendon is? It’s some of this stuff I need to talk to him about.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s over in the staff briefing room. You know it?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘I’ll take you there. The park officially closes to new visitors half an hour after the last train. All day staff then report for a debrief.’

  ‘If I opened the café, would I have to attend?’

  Mark smiled. ‘No, as a leaseholder you’d go to the leaseholders’ meetings. Different system, because even though we’re all involved, leaseholder businesses aren’t part of the main park.’

  ‘Not sure I understand.’

  ‘Kind of like a contractor. You pay a percentage to the park but the rest is yours. Most of the current onsite shops are leaseheld, which is why the park itself is broke. And they’re only making money because there’s so little competition. I think you’d better get a lowdown from Brendon. I’m just an old man in an elf suit. For what it’s worth though, we’re all hoping you stay. In the couple of years I’ve been here, Mervin’s was the place to go. What he put in those marshmallows, I’ll never know, but they tasted heavenly.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll do wh
at I can.’

  Mark led her to the main square and indicated a door between two closed tourist shops. Light glowed through frosted glass over the door. As Mark bid her goodnight and hurried off in pursuit of the reindeer, Bonnie wondered if she was subconsciously talking herself into giving the café a go. There was so much to consider. The lease meant that the land beneath the cottage could be sold out from under her at any time, and while Bonnie knew little about housing legality other than that her mortgage was far higher than it ought to be, it couldn’t be good. The park could close around her, leaving her sitting in a customer-less café in the middle of a forest.

  And not to mention that to open it, she would have to somehow figure out how to run it. Mervin had been here for fifty-odd years; Bonnie less than a day.

  She gave the door a polite knock, then tried the handle. It opened quietly on to a narrow corridor with none of the ornate decoration of the shop fronts. Down the corridor Bonnie found herself in the lobby of what looked like a convention centre, doorways leading off into rooms of chairs and fold-out tables all pointing at whiteboards or projector screens.

  To the left she heard voices. She walked down the corridor until she heard sound behind one of the doors. She gave a light knock and then opened the door.

  About thirty people, many of them dressed in elaborate Christmas-themed costumes, turned to look at her. Behind them, standing by a blackboard covered with numbers and red, downward-pointing arrows, was Brendon.

  ‘I do apologise,’ Bonnie said. ‘I don’t suppose I could come in? I’m afraid I’m still trying to figure things out about this place.’

  13

  Decisions and Dilemmas

  Brendon came over with three cups of hot chocolate on a tray. After sitting through the end of a depressing meeting about declining park performance, the staff had been dismissed and Bonnie found herself alone with Brendon and his wife June. Brendon led them through into a dated but more comfortable room where they took an armchair each around a coffee table. Bland, strip lights made everything clinical; not even a dusty piece of tinsel hanging over the door was able to lift the sombre mood.

  ‘My boss thinks I have the flu,’ Bonnie said. ‘I can get away with being off work until the weekend, but by next Monday I really need to know if I’m going back to work or not. I’m not in a position where I can go a long period unemployed, and it looks like there would be quite a lot of risk involved in coming here.’

  June and Brendon exchanged a glance. Bonnie could tell it wasn’t the opening statement they had been hoping for.

  ‘Mervin’s Marshmallow café used to be a central hub of the whole park,’ June said. ‘Lots of people came just because of it, especially during the off-season, when he would prepare seasonal varieties of marshmallows. Your uncle was a culinary artist when it came to them.’

  Bonnie grimaced. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. The only thing I know about marshmallows is how to open a packet. There can’t be much to it, surely?’

  ‘Mervin’s were homemade,’ Brendon said. ‘From natural products, traditional recipes. That area of marsh behind the Ings Forest station was where he sourced his mallow plants from.’

  ‘Mallow plants? I thought marshmallows were made with gelatin.’

  June laughed. ‘Now they are, but not in ancient Egyptian times.’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

  June shook her head. ‘Mervin made his marshmallows according to ancient recipes and methods. It’s why his café was so famous. He sold types of marshmallows you can’t buy anywhere else, at least not in England.’

  Bonnie leaned back on the chair, feeling a growing sense of inadequacy. ‘I could never do that.’

  ‘You don’t know unless you try,’ Brendon said. ‘It would really help the park if you stayed.’

  ‘How can I know if the park will be here much longer?’

  Brendon sighed. ‘You don’t. None of us do. Things are up in the air right now. The local authority is considering closing the train line, meaning we’d be cut off. There is another access road, but it runs over private land and the terms of usage are for commercial deliveries only. It can’t be used for customers.’

  ‘So no one will be able to get in?’

  ‘Like everything else, they have to make a profit, and this branch of the railway was originally built to service our customers. Without any, it’s obsolete.’

  ‘But why would any customers want to come all the way across the country to a park where nothing works and most of the shops are shut? You can see wandering reindeer at pretty much every farm park nowadays.’

  Brendon nodded. ‘That’s half the problem.’

  ‘Well, can’t we—I mean, you—switch on a few more rides?’

  ‘Without the customers, they won’t make any money.’

  ‘And without the rides, you won’t have many customers.’

  Brendon spread his hands. ‘You see what I mean?’

  ‘Christmas Land was built on the personalities and uniqueness of its leasehold businesses,’ June said. ‘Matilda’s Twirl Cakes, the Lonely Pine Steakhouse, the Evening Shadow Cookie Stop, Mervin’s Marshmallow Café … they gave the park a feel guests couldn’t get anywhere else. And now they’re almost all gone.’

  Bonnie stood up. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this,’ she said. ‘Two days ago I was checkout person at Morrico, and I don’t think anything has happened to change that. It’s been a nice idea, and I’ve enjoyed the experience immensely, but I don’t think I can make such a difference. I’m a no one. I’m used to being a no one, and I can’t think how all this could change me. I’d only disappoint you all if I tried. I’m sorry.’

  She ran for the door, not giving them a chance to talk her around. It was a stupid idea, thinking she could turn herself from a faceless checkout person to the proprietress of a world famous café overnight, and somehow not be an utter fraud. Perhaps her children were right: it had been her fault that her husband had run off. After all, who was she really? A no one. She could be erased from existence tomorrow and no one would notice.

  No one, perhaps, except the black-clad girl standing outside the café door when she got back, swaying from side to side, banging on the door and weakly shouting up at the windows for Bonnie, as though afraid of waking anyone up. Bonnie glanced at her watch and was surprised to see it was nearly midnight. The time had flown by.

  ‘Debbie? What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t have a key.’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘The door’s not locked.’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘That’s because this is the back door, not the front door, which I told you I would leave unlocked.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Debbie swayed drunkenly from side to side. Bonnie smiled, reminded of the first time they had met. ‘Come on, follow me. Did you have a good night?’

  Debbie grinned. ‘The best. This place is awesome. It was metal night. Christmas songs covered by metal bands. I’ve never been rocked so hard. The lads … oh, the lads, they had no idea what hit them.’

  ‘They enjoyed it?’

  ‘We borrowed some scissors from behind the bar and rocked up their clothes a bit.’

  ‘You cut up their clothes?’

  ‘We did it together. It was awesome. They’re like my best mates now.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  ‘But not as best as you. You’re the ultra best. The double best.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  ‘We have to stay here forever, and become elves or something. Heavy metal elves. That’s the best thing ever. Playing guitar from the back of a reindeer. Nothing could ever rock harder. Nothing.’

  ‘Sounds nice.’

  She led Debbie inside. As soon as they were out of the cold, Debbie’s legs sagged. Afraid she was going to pass out right there on the café floor, Bonnie guided her up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. Debbie slumped down on the bed, snoring almost before she hit the pillow. Bonnie, fondly remembering the
first few times her daughter and son had met alcohol, did her best to make Debbie comfortable, painstakingly unlacing and pulling off Debbie’s boots, then her coat, and then finally putting a blanket over her. With a smile, she turned out the light and shut the door.

  By the time Debbie was settled, it was half past twelve, but Bonnie felt too wired to sleep. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine out of a bottle from a rack next to Mervin’s old microwave, then headed up through the secret door to Mervin’s grotto. From there, she took the door leading up to the rooftop balcony.

  With a coat wrapped around her, the temperature was just about bearable, but the view made every second worth it. The park’s lights were still on, lines of Christmas lights stretching away into the trees. Overhead though, the sky was clear, and looking up, she saw a sea of stairs in all directions.

  Could she be happy here? Could this be her life, the owner of a café in the middle of a theme park she had dreamed about since she was a child?

  She shook her head. At fifty-two, that stargazing child was a long way behind her, almost forgotten. The reality of Christmas Land, a child’s dream, was far more difficult. It was sales figures and accounting and customer access and recipes. Yet, it was also beauty, and friendship, and seeing the delight on a person’s face as their day was made. When had anyone she served at Morrico ever looked like they were happy to be there? There were the shrugs and tired smiles, the frustration, the guarded eyes, the stress as some kid played up, as some item was forgotten, as a card transaction failed, as a bag inadvertently split.

  She sighed, sipping her wine, then allowed herself a brief smile. It was a stroke of luck that she was even here. It might not work out, but the Old Ragtag thought she had flu; she was good for the next few days.

  It wouldn’t hurt to give herself until the end of the week.

  14

  Jingle Bells

  Just the sight of Debbie in the kitchen, humming some rock track as she prepared breakfast, seemingly unaffected by whatever she had drunk last night, made Bonnie feel hungover. She guessed a late night and a single glass of wine equaled a rough night for someone of fifty-two.