Christmas at the Marshmallow Cafe (Delightful Christmas Book 4)

by CP Ward

  ‘I would really appreciate it.’

  ‘Why don’t you relax for a while? I’ll make a phone call.’

  He disappeared into another room, leaving Bonnie alone. She stared at the photograph for a couple of minutes before the weight of history began to bear down on her, making her feel small, a footnote on the reel of Christmas Land’s long history. Instead, she got up and wandered across to the nearest bookshelf, reading the spines of the books. It appeared Len was an avid science fiction reader, with a collection of classic novels standing alongside several books on geology and geography. Near the end of one shelf, however, she came to a section of self-help books grouped together. Switching the Lights On: Stepping Back into the World. Dealing with Grief in Ten Easy Steps. Turning your Pain into Gain. Living through Grief: A Practical Guide.

  ‘Bonnie?’

  She spun around. Len stood in the doorway, a mobile phone in one hand. He smiled and cocked his head.

  Bonnie felt her cheeks redden. ‘Sorry, I was just looking around.’

  Len shrugged. ‘That’s okay. Listen, I spoke to my father. I’m afraid he couldn’t help. He’s not in great health, and although he remembered the park, he couldn’t recall the day of that photograph, nor who might have been wearing the costume.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’ll ask Belinda when I go back. She might remember.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Len watched her. Aware she was still standing next to the self-help books, Bonnie found words moving into her mouth to fill the empty space, tumbling over her tongue.

  ‘Your wife … she passed away, didn’t she?’

  Len’s brow furrowed and he looked down at his feet with an expression of such sorrow Bonnie wanted to run across the room and pull him into her arms. He looked as though the rods that had held him upright had abruptly dissolved, leaving him frameless, immobile. Bonnie watched as he composed himself, taking a moment to rub his eyes before looking up once more.

  ‘Two years ago,’ he said. ‘Bone marrow cancer. We couldn’t find a donor in time.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’ve come through the worst of it. There are still dark days, but most of them are bright enough. Working in a pub helps, believe it or not. Just being around people, sharing conversation, it makes such a difference. And Thomas, he was a rock. She fell ill during his A-Levels but somehow still got the grades to get onto a dentistry course. Amanda—that was my wife’s name—pushed him every step of the way. I was wallowing in despair, but she wouldn’t let anyone get down. She wanted to see him pass, and he did.’ Len pointed at the picture with the certificate. ‘That was a document confirming his place. This one, with the headscarf, was taken the day he left for university. She wouldn’t let him miss the start of his course, but she died during the Christmas holidays that first year. One reason I find it hard to get excited about the festive season.’

  ‘I can understand. It must have been terrible for you.’

  ‘She was a good woman, my wife. One of the best. But what’s done is done, isn’t it?’

  Bonnie thought of her own life, how what she considered the tragedies were still open-ended, capable of being repaired. Her daughter might come home, her son might come around. To have something happen that was so final, a delete button pressed on a section of your life … it was hard just to think about.

  ‘Do you want another drink?’ Len said, nodding at her empty coffee cup. ‘The pub doesn’t open for another half an hour. I promise not to bore you with tales of misery.’

  Bonnie smiled. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I know they wouldn’t be boring. Tell away.’

  Half an hour turned into an hour, only interrupted when a couple of regulars banged on the pub’s front door, asking to be let in. Bonnie was disappointed their conversation had to end, because it had been anything but boring or miserable. Len turned out to be a fine storyteller, filled with interesting information about the Lake District and its surrounds, a keen student of its myths and legends. She could have sat and listened to his stories all day, even finding it frustrating when he frequently paused and attempted to change the subject to her own life, as thought worried he was hogging their communal airtime. The truth was, Bonnie couldn’t think of much to say except for sharing a couple of anecdotes about her old job that would shock shoppers if they knew. Len laughed, sounding interested. Bonnie tried to recall Debbie’s encouragement and throw off the shackles of low confidence; unfortunately it was easier said than done.

  On her way back, all the doubts began to return. It didn’t matter than Len had sounded sincere when telling her to come back and let him know what happened at the end of her mysterious treasure hunt; she felt sure he was only saying that, trying to be nice. He seemed like a good guy, so why would he be interested in her? Whatever attractiveness she might once have had she had left behind on the bus of her early twenties. And who could compete against a ghost?

  Every table on the patio outside the café was full. Bonnie smiled as she watched two children making a snowman while their parents watched from a table nearby. The woman, young and attractive, wore a baby harness, with the face of a sleeping baby, no more than a couple of months old, peering out of the top.

  ‘Alan,’ she said to the man seated opposite, could you go and ask if they have any formula milk? I left ours back at the chalet.’ As the man stood up, the woman patted the baby harness, then turned to the children. ‘John, Lily, don’t let your drinks get cold.’

  Bonnie made a mental note to order a couple of boxes of baby formula. There was some, but she would likely need more for the Christmas holiday season which was only a couple of weeks away. It would be a nice gesture to offer it for free to young mothers. While her children might be grown, she remembered how hard it had been when they were young. Wonderful, of course, but at times backbreaking.

  Through the window she caught sight of Debbie and Larry behind the counter. Both were laughing and smiling despite the rush of customers. Confident that the café was in good hands, she headed for Belinda’s clothing shop.

  The old woman looked up as she entered. The shop, at the far end of the park, was empty. Belinda sat behind the counter reading a book on wild flowers. Bonnie paused, breathing in the scent of lavender over the top of the mustiness of leather. She glanced around at the racks of traditional dress, some for sale, others for hire, and wondered what kind of costume Belinda had worn all these years.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Belinda said, noticing Bonnie for the first time. With slow, arthritic fingers, she closed the book and placed it gently down on the counter top. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure? Not looking for an alternative uniform for your café, are you?’

  Bonnie shook her head. ‘I wanted to ask you something,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’

  Bonnie pulled out her phone and found a picture she had taken of the group in the book. She held it up for Belinda to see. The old woman leaned forward, lifted her glasses, and squinted.

  ‘Well I never,’ she said. ‘How the years pass. I was quite a looker back then, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Do you remember when that was taken?’

  Belinda chuckled. ‘Oh, the memories. Of course I do. I might have lost the looks, but I’ve still got the brains.’

  ‘The label says that this is the group who founded the park.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It is. There’s Don and Gene, Merv—quite the charmer he was back then, although we fizzled out after a couple of years, sad to say—me, over there, and Nick, in his getup as always.’

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘You don’t recognise him?’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘I’d have thought, perhaps. That beard was natural, you know. He’d stick pine needles into it, for effect, he always said.’

  ‘I have no idea who that is.’

  ‘Oh, shame and circumstances. I’m surprised by that, I really am. That’s Nicholas Green.’ Belinda paused as though to allow the information to sink in. ‘He
was our financier, putting up the initial cash for the park to be built. Your grandfather.’

  Bonnie felt her knees weaken. She reached out for the countertop. Belinda lifted a wispy eyebrow.

  ‘Are you all right, dear? Would like a chair? There’s one in the corner over there.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’m just a little shocked. My dad used to tell me stories about Christmas Land, but he never said it was owned by my family. I don’t get it. I got nothing when my father died. What little there was went to my mother.’

  ‘You don’t know your grandfather?’

  ‘My grandparents on my mother’s side were always around. It felt at the time as though I only had one set, that the others were absent because there was no space for them. I don’t remember ever really talking about it. I heard my father mention once about his mother’s passing, but there was never any mention of his father. As though he didn’t exist. After my dad died when I was twelve, everything shifted to my mother’s side of the family. My father’s side became a footnote.’

  ‘That’s a shame, but isn’t it true that the practical doesn’t often mix well with the mystical?’

  Bonnie frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘Your grandfather, Nicholas, he was such a wonderful man. But at the same time he was very elusive and mysterious. I met him at university, don’t you know. He was a lecturer. All of us were there at the same time, me, Gene, Mervin and Donald. Nicholas taught a course called Symbolism and Festival studies. We loved him. So full of life. He had this massive beard which reduced him to a pair of eyes, and he always wore the most wonderful clothes. I looked forward to his classes every week. Then, one day, he called the four of us aside.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He told us he had come into some money and some land, and that he wanted to build a theme park. He needed some young, enthusiastic people to run it. He said he had chosen us based on our answers in a recent assignment based on Christmas mythology.’

  ‘How strange that must have been.’

  ‘Indeed it was. We were young, full of excitement for the world, but even so, it was a big decision. Merv, as he was Nicholas’s son, was already roped in, but the rest of us had to be convinced. Gene and myself were an easy sell, but Donald less so. Eventually we all got talked around. And so Christmas Land came about. We finished our studies, moved up here, and oversaw the building and the opening of the theme park. Nicholas offered us a ten percent stake each. Donald didn’t last long, selling his stake to Brendon’s father and moving down to Quim, where he opened the pub they have there. He didn’t like all the trees, preferred the fells and the meres. The rest of us, though, we loved every minute of it.’

  ‘So what happened to my grandfather?’

  Belinda smiled. ‘Well, here’s the thing. He wasn’t around for long. He spent a few weeks teaching Gene how to do a good Father Christmas, then he departed, leaving us in charge. He went full silent partner, signing over the running to those of us who remained. I assumed he’d returned to his teaching position, but as the years passed, I thought of him less and less.’

  ‘So, if he owned sixty percent of the park, why didn’t he leave that to Mervin or my father? All I got was Mervin’s lease, something I’m not allowed to sell.’

  Belinda’s eyes twinkled, taking years off her. ‘Have you ever considered that your grandfather might still be alive?’

  Bonnie stared. ‘He couldn’t be, could he? He’d be ancient by now. I mean, I’m fifty-two—’

  ‘It’s possible. He was in his forties when I knew him. He’d be close to the big one hundred, but he might just be holding on.’

  ‘But where is he?’

  Belinda smiled. ‘I couldn’t tell you that, dear,’ she said. ‘I think you might need to just trust your intuition.’

  ‘That doesn’t help.’

  ‘I know.’ Belinda sighed. ‘I’m an old lady now. There won’t be many more Christmases left in me, but those few that I have got, I want to enjoy. Would you like a hot chocolate? With extra cream?’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘I’d love one.’

  33

  Trusting Fate

  Dark had fallen and a light snow was pattering on the ground. The café had closed at six o’clock, but Bonnie was sitting outside, relaxing with a hot chocolate left over from the day’s makings. Her arms ached and her back needed a good rub, but otherwise she felt fantastic, her body filled with a warm glow. Her supermarket job had been a dull grind, swiping items and cards, handing over bags and change to people whose expressions told her they’d rather be anywhere else. And that was on the good days. Being lambasted for mistakenly swiping something twice, or blamed because the shop was out of a certain type of biscuit or brand of teabag … it had become part of the grind, something she had dully accepted as part of her lot.

  But now … feeling the buzz of excitement as people pushed through the door fresh from a ride on the coaster or an ascent of the viewing tower, bags of toys in hands, talking with thrilled tones about how the park’s Father Christmas had been out shoveling snow, only to stop and pull a handful of presents out of his jacket … then marvelling at the exotic marshmallows and variations of hot chocolate on the menu, gasping with delight as Bonnie handed across a foaming monstrosity of bubblegum bright colours … it never got old. She felt as though for the first time in her life she was doing something worthwhile.

  Then there was the conversation. No one was angry or frustrated, tired of their job or annoyed with the kids, everyone had something positive to say. She began to recognise familiar faces, those staying for a week or more who visited daily, older groups, young couples, families with children. She learned names, home cities, jobs, favourite subjects at school, and when many told her they would certainly return she found herself already looking forward to it. Some, like the boys from Bristol or the elderly male couple, were already on their second visit. John and Tim were coming over for dinner tomorrow night, and Bonnie was looking forward to getting to know the two smiling old men, as well as hearing tales of this other wonderful Christmas village they had told her they visited every season. Life, for the first time in years, felt like life; she was alive, creating positive waves, doing something beyond just helping others to tick the boxes of their own uninspired existence.

  Across the plaza, she watched Debbie comically bend to kiss the much shorter Larry on the cheek, before stopping to watch him wander away into the dark, in a direction which could lead either to the chalets or the restaurant forum and the pub. It looked like Debbie had finally made a choice from her many suitors, deciding on Larry, who had decided to stay until the spring at least, maintaining his social media empire from his chalet while working part time in both the café and one of the forum’s restaurants.

  After Larry had vanished into the dark, Debbie turned and made her way over to the table. Bonnie took a couple of glasses off a tray and lifted a bottle of wine.

  ‘Ready for a nightcap?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s the poison?’

  ‘Sauvignon from Chile. A customer gave it to my today, said it was to thank me for the great drinks over the last few days.’ Bonnie smiled. ‘I know he bought it in the grocery shop next to June’s, but I appreciate the thought.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Debbie said. ‘Been a hell of a day.’

  ‘Are you and Larry an item now?’

  Debbie shrugged. ‘It was tough at first. We had to wait for Mitchell and Barry to leave with the others, because I know Mitchell still holds a flame for me. And I had to explain it to Alan.’

  ‘And Shaun?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And what about Ben?’

  ‘Oh, we never really got off the ground. It was just a drink in the pub.’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘I don’t know how you manage it.’

  ‘Ah, it’s the mystery, see. Thing is, now I’ve de-robed, there’s not so much excitement. No one’s been paying me any attention these last couple of
days.’

  ‘Well, the trenchcoat would raise eyebrows, particularly in a café with pink décor.’

  Debbie patted the jacket she wore. It was still black, but a far cry from the ankle-length vampire suit she preferred. Ending at her waist, it allowed people to see her jeans, and unzipped, it gave a view of her staff t-shirt with a smiling anthropomorphic marshmallow on the front.

  ‘I know you think I’ve changed,’ Debbie said. ‘You think I’m turning into a pop idol or whatever, but I’ll never truly turn to the light. Not on the inside.’

  ‘We have to keep real to what we are.’

  ‘Right.’

  They sipped their wine in silence for a while, listening to the patter of snow, the distant laughter, the swaying of the trees.

  ‘What are you going to get me?’ Debbie asked at last. ‘For Christmas, I mean.’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘Well, I was in the music shop in Quim a few days ago, and I saw some nice folk CDs….’

  ‘Seriously, don’t go there.’

  ‘I stopped short of actually purchasing anything.’

  ‘Just a tube of black nail polish and a four-pack of stout will do.’

  ‘I’ll make a note.’

  ‘And what do you want?’

  Bonnie sighed. ‘Nothing. I have everything I could have dreamed of right here.’

  Debbie narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I think so. Things are going pretty well. I have friends, both new and old, I’m the master of my own destiny—’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Debbie held up a hand and grabbed her forefinger. ‘Firstly, your kids. Have you had so much as a phone call since we came here?’

  ‘To be fair, they probably don’t know the number—’

  ‘No excuse. And now you’ve cleared all the negativity out of your head, you’re in a position to start thinking about—’

  Bonnie put up a hand. ‘Oh, no. Don’t even mention it.’