Christmas Cakes and Mistletoe Nights

by Carole Matthews

‘Too many bloody bills,’ she complains.

  ‘Fay says you’re doing a great job.’

  Lija shrugs, never finding it easy to accept praise.

  ‘I can help you while I’m here too,’ he says. ‘Let me know if there are any odd jobs you need doing.’

  ‘I have list.’ She’s grinning in quite an evil manner now.

  ‘I might have known.’

  Danny eats half a dozen mince pies while I make him tea and Rainbow continues to stare at him, lovestruck. For once, she seems at a loss for words.

  ‘Can I steal this lovely lady away from you for an hour?’ Danny asks Lija when he’s finished his tea and demolished a good deal of the cakes. ‘I moored The Dreamcatcher further down the canal and walked up the towpath.’ He nods towards the direction he’s come from. ‘I’m going to head down to the next winding hole and turn the boat around. I thought I’d tie up at the jetty, if that’s OK with you.’

  ‘Sure.’ Lija flicks a thumb in my direction. ‘Do not be like her and ask for every single thing or I will have to kill you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Danny says.

  ‘I’ve got some cherries to dip,’ I remind Lija. As part of the afternoon tea we’re serving cherries dipped in white chocolate and tiny silver dragées, plus I’ve baked gingerbread snowflakes and there are red velvet macarons ready to be piped with icing sugar buttons and fur to look like Santa’s coat.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Lija says. ‘Am sick of paperwork.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ But I’m already taking off my apron. The thought of being alone with Danny sends a thrill through me after weeks of enforced separation. ‘I’ll be back in time to serve the teas with you.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ Lija says. ‘Don’t make me send out search party.’

  ‘I promise. Two at the latest.’ That’s when our first guests are booked in. I hang my apron on the hook behind the door and Danny takes my hand.

  ‘Come on, Digs.’

  ‘Laters!’ Rainbow waves at us.

  Together we walk out of the house into the bracing cold and take the towpath along the canal towards The Dreamcatcher.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘You don’t know how good it feels to be on board again,’ I say with a happy sigh as I climb into the cabin of our lovely narrowboat.

  ‘Good to hear it.’ Danny wastes no time in wrapping his arms round me and pulling me close.

  ‘When I came back to the house it felt as if I was coming home then I realised that this is Lija’s place now. She’s changed how the café is run and the house is most definitely hers. No matter how much she tells me otherwise, I do feel slightly in the way. The place is familiar and strange all at the same time. But coming here, with you – and Diggery – this feels like home.’

  Twining my hair in his fingers and kissing my neck, Danny whispers, ‘I’ve missed you. God, you smell so good.’ Probably the lingering scents of vanilla and strawberry jam from this morning’s baking session. ‘I could eat you.’

  ‘I thought we were taking the boat down to the winding hole?’

  ‘That can wait,’ Danny says. ‘Come to bed.’

  I need no persuasion.

  ‘Stay, Digs,’ Danny instructs and our dear dog curls up into his basket with a slightly disgruntled look on his face.

  Danny leads me to our tiny cabin and closes the curtains over the window. I think of the first night we spent together when we fell into bed in a frenzy of passion. This time we take our time, slowly undressing each other, savouring every moment. There’s no less passion, but this way of reacquainting ourselves feels all the more delicious.

  As he moves above me, tears spring to my eyes and Danny kisses them away. This man completes me and makes me feel whole again. Whatever happens, wherever we go in the world, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m meant to be with him and there’s a contentment deep in my soul from knowing that.

  Afterwards, we lie in bed entwined in each other’s arms.

  ‘We should do this more often,’ Danny says. ‘Steal some afternoon delight.’

  I glance at my watch. ‘We should, but the clock’s ticking now and I have to get back to help Lija before too long.’

  Danny props himself up on his elbow. ‘She doesn’t look her usual self,’ he notes. ‘Feisty as she is, the spark’s not quite there, and she looks even more pasty than usual.’

  ‘I know. I can’t put my finger on it,’ I tell him. ‘You know that she normally swears like Catherine Tate’s Nan, but she’s hardly been offensive at all. For Lija.’

  ‘Perhaps Rainbow’s relentlessly positive nature is having a good effect on her.’

  I laugh at that. ‘I think she’s actually one cupcake away from killing the poor girl.’

  ‘So what is wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve tried to chat to her about it, but you know what Lija’s like – not very forthcoming when it comes to emotions. It could just be the stress of taking on the house and the café. It’s not a small undertaking by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps she’s just realising that.’

  ‘We’ll help her all we can while we’re here.’

  I snuggle in closer to him. ‘I want to stay around for a while, Danny.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’m happy to do that. It’s not much fun standing on the back of the boat in all weathers. I thought my fingers were going to fall off yesterday they were so cold. I’m not quite one of the hardened canal folk yet,’ he admits. ‘We can hole up here for the winter.’

  I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  ‘I’ll walk into the city either later or in the morning to see if I can get some casual work,’ he adds. ‘I might have missed out on seasonal jobs now but, you never know, I could get lucky.’

  He kisses me again and then we get up and dressed. Diggery greets us as if we’ve been lost to him for decades. I make some tea while Danny goes out to get The Dreamcatcher’s engine started. When the tea’s brewed, I pull on my thick fleece jacket and go out onto the back of the boat. He’s already untied the ropes and I sit beside him as he manoeuvres us away from the bank. Danny takes the tiller as we head towards the winding hole – a wider part of the canal where we can do a three-point turn with a boat this long – though I’m more than happy to steer now too.

  The air is cold as it blows past us, even at the sedate pace of the boat. I snuggle deeper into my jacket and Danny perches next to me, putting his arm round me for warmth.

  A few minutes later and we sail past the bottom of the garden. From the water, even in its winter garb, the house looks attractive – solid, steadfast. The sort of place that most people would feel lucky to own. Unbidden, I get a prickle of irritation towards my sister who had it all and sold it without a second thought, but I bite it down as I don’t want my dark thoughts to spoil Danny’s return.

  Next, we’re alongside the Maid of Merryweather. Her once bright paintwork is faded now. She looks like one of the many abandoned or neglected boats that you see dotted along the canal.

  ‘The poor old girl’s looking a bit sorry for herself,’ Danny remarks. I told him on the phone about the leak and what a mess it had made inside.

  ‘I know. It breaks my heart. I haven’t had time to do much. The boat needs to be run and a dehumidifier or something put inside. She’s so damp. I’m worried that if we get a harsh winter, she won’t make it through.’

  ‘I’ll have a look at her later, see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate that. I’d feel terrible if we had to scrap her.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’ He squeezes me. ‘I know how much she means to you.’

  We reach the winding hole and Danny stands to concentrate on completing the task of turning the boat while I look at the scenery on the canal. A bold heron stands by the bank ignoring our presence as it searches intently for its lunch. A double row of towering poplar trees flank the cycle path that runs parallel to the towpath. I wonder how long they’ve
been standing there, as I remember them being as tall when I was a child. This is an amazing place to be able to make your home and I thank my lucky stars for it.

  Danny turns the huge boat on a sixpence – skills honed by doing this day in and day out. Then we head back to the house and moor up on the jetty next to the Maid of Merryweather.

  Chapter Fifteen

  During the afternoon I help Rainbow to serve the Christmas afternoon teas while Lija holds the fort in the kitchen. We are a veritable flurry of Christmas cakes and cups of tea. The dining room is filled with happy chatter and it’s lovely to see the Christmas decorations giving a festive glow to the room.

  With a little direction from me, Danny ventures up into the loft and comes down with our old family Christmas tree followed by boxes and boxes overflowing with decorations hoarded from many a Christmas past. If Lija’s agreeable, I’ll put this tree up in the living room. There’s a smaller tree, less than a metre high, that would fit in a tiny corner of The Dreamcatcher and I’ll also pinch a few of the decorations to give the boat a festive makeover. While I fuss with the boxes, Danny goes next door to say hello to Stan.

  I don’t know where the afternoon goes, but soon the happy customers are departing. We’ve made some Christmas cakes to sell and it’s pleasing to see several of the clients departing with them boxed up and tucked under their arms. Rainbow and I go back into the kitchen to help Lija. While we’re clearing everything away and preparing some goodies for tomorrow’s onslaught, the door opens and Stan is standing there.

  ‘Thought I’d bring a visitor,’ Danny says.

  ‘Hello!’ Stan risks taking a hand off his frame to wave.

  I’m amazed to see him doing so well and also glad to see that my patient is wrapped up warmly as it must have taken him an age to walk just the short distance from his cottage to the house. He’s been pottering about at home, but is still a bit unsteady on his feet. I don’t want the cold air getting on his chest, but I’m sure he’s happy to be able to leave the cottage for a short while. Every day, I’m pleased to say, there’s a bit more colour in his cheeks and he looks a little stronger.

  ‘Look at you, out and about.’ I give him a hug. Danny has treated him to a proper shave and it’s taken years off him. ‘You look so much better.’ I’ve been helping to keep his bristles at bay with Anthony’s old razor, but clearly Danny has better barbering skills.

  ‘Cut-throat razor,’ Danny says, proudly. ‘My dad taught me to do it years ago. I’ve not lost the knack.’

  ‘Brave of you to put that to the test, Stan!’

  ‘I had every faith in him.’

  ‘Ran you a nice bath too, didn’t I, Stan?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Stan says. ‘I feel great. A million dollars. I could run a marathon.’

  ‘Maybe not today, Stan. Leave that till tomorrow.’ I give him a wink. ‘Sit yourself down. Cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ Stan says.

  ‘SELFIE!’ Rainbow trills and positions herself next to Stan. ‘This is when you take a picture of YOURSELF. Selfie,’ she repeats slowly. ‘I know that old people don’t know that.’ She holds the screen up and duck-pouts. Stan grins amiably. ‘SAUSAGES!’

  ‘Sausages,’ Stan echoes.

  One day I must tell Rainbow that Stan was a fighter pilot and after the war led expeditions to Nepal and the North Pole. She might like to know that he worked in the movies doing dangerous flying stunts and has even spent summers hunting for the Loch Ness monster. As much as she loves him and fusses over him, I think all she sees is the frail old man next door who never complains about anything, but there’s so much more to him than that. And even thinking that makes me all teary again.

  Rainbow clicks the camera button on the phone. Then she does the same with all of us, taking noticeably longer over the one with Danny. ‘SNAPCHAT,’ she declares and no one even asks.

  We all sit together, a mash-up of people thrown together as a family. We eat the leftover sandwiches and cakes for our supper.

  ‘OMG, I’ve got a twitchy eye,’ Rainbow says. ‘Look, look.’ We all examine her twitchy eye.

  ‘Those eyelashes are quite something,’ I note. Not her own, of course. As is the fashion now, they’re long, black fluttery things.

  ‘My nan calls them spiders for lashes. I HATE spiders. I’ve got that agoraphobia. Once I woke up with one of my eyelashes on my pillow and thought it was a spider. OMG, I ACTUALLY died!’

  I have to say she looks quite well on it.

  ‘My nan says that wearing false eyelashes damages your eyesight, but I’m not so sure. That’s like saying high heels damage your feet, right? Who’d believe THAT? When I look back at old pictures of me when I’m, like, five and WHATEVER, I look really WEIRD without false eyelashes. They should make them for kids. Girls, like, not boys. That would be WEIRD. Except if you were a boy who liked to wear make-up – that would be fine.’

  She continues to machine-gun us on the subject of false eyelashes and many kinds of make-up until we all start to lose the will to live. Even Stan, who has only just pulled back from the breach.

  ‘Shall we all decorate the tree together?’ I jump in quickly when there’s a slight pause where Rainbow breathes.

  Rainbow is out of her seat and bouncing before I’ve finished the sentence. ‘OMG, it’s my FAVOURITE Christmas job. Though I like wrapping presents too. And opening them. OBVS! I’m a nervous Christmas present opener because, like, you never know what you’re going to get and you might not like it. But then I LOVE a surprise too, so I’m always CONFLICTED.’

  It’s a dilemma I’d never previously considered and certainly have never had.

  ‘I was going to go to the pub with Chelsey, but she’s seeing that bloke I told you about. The one who looks like LIAM from One Direction. But not really. Should have gone to SPECSAVERS! Hahaha. And I said, “He was going out with that girl who looks like her off Corrie, why would you want to see him?” And she said …’

  Then she’s off again and we all zone out. Stan still looks stunned and he likes a talker.

  Lija opens a bottle of red and I say, ‘Shall I make mulled wine with that?’ It looks a bit cheap and cheerful, so it might liven it up.

  She shrugs. ‘Wine is wine.’

  ‘It’ll be nice. Christmassy.’

  ‘I am sick of it already,’ is her contribution and she stomps off into the living room.

  ‘I’ll go and put the tree up.’ Danny follows her and Rainbow trots along in their wake, still talking.

  I pour the bottle of red wine into the big saucepan, adding some water, sugar and, finally, splash in a good slug of brandy. Thankfully, we have some left over from soaking the Christmas cakes. I give Stan a little tot of it neat.

  ‘Good for the heart,’ I tell him, though I’ve no idea whether it is or not. A little tipple won’t hurt.

  Stan rubs his hands together. ‘Oh, my favourite.’ He smacks his lips together as he sips it.

  While the wine is warming, I cut up an orange and add that, along with a couple of cinnamon sticks and a sprinkling of cloves to add a bit of spice.

  ‘It smells lovely, Fay.’

  ‘So you’ll definitely join us for Christmas dinner this year?’ I ask. ‘You’ve nothing else planned?’

  Stan shakes his head. ‘How can I ever thank you for your kindness? I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your care.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s the least I could do.’ I go to give him a hug.

  ‘How can I possibly repay you?’

  ‘No need,’ I say. ‘It’s been my pleasure. You’re a very good patient.’

  ‘If I’d been lucky enough to have a daughter, I would have liked her to have been like you.’ There are tears in his eyes as he speaks.

  ‘Oh, Stan. That’s a lovely thing to say.’

  ‘I know that I’m not your dad, but I feel very paternal towards you. Does that sound silly?’

  ‘It sounds very nice.’ I plant a kiss on his now smooth cheek before I scurry back to
the cooker to check that the wine is warmed through. Then I pour it into glasses. ‘I’ll take you into the living room and then I’ll come back for this.’

  ‘I can manage,’ Stan says and I try not to dive in to help as he struggles to his feet, gripping his walking frame. I know that he values his independence and wants to do this on his own. Eventually, with a bit of huffing and puffing, he gives me the thumbs up. ‘Good to go.’

  In the living room, the Christmas tree of my childhood stands tall in the corner. In fairness, it’s probably looking a little dated now, but it’s still an imposing sight, stretching right up to the ceiling. The branches are covered in dark green and silver strands of tinsel with no attempt to make it look like a real tree as the current ones seem designed to be. Rainbow is opening all the boxes, as giddy as a five-year-old. She pulls out all the baubles, scattering them over the carpet.

  ‘OMG! Look at these,’ she says. ‘They’re like ANTIQUE and EVERYTHING!’

  ‘They’re glass,’ I chip in, hoping that Rainbow gets the hint and won’t continue to chuck them about with quite so much abandon. ‘Mainly from the sixties.’

  ‘OMG!’ She holds them reverently now. ‘That was WELL long ago. They’re like VICTORIAN or something.’

  ‘Well, Stan is ninety-three. That’s positively medieval.’

  We all laugh – except Rainbow, who is quite prepared to believe it. ‘WOW. I’ve done history and EVERYTHING at school.’

  ‘Who was on the throne when you were a lad then, Stan?’ Danny jokes.

  ‘Henry the Eighth,’ he deadpans.

  ‘OMG. Wait till I tell my nan. She loves Henry Eight. She follows him on TWITTER. He looks exactly like that Irish actor who drinks too much and falls over.’

  Rainbow is WELL impressed. OBVS. I smile at her naivety.

  While she gazes at Stan in awe, clearly wondering why he can be so very decrepit and still be alive, I hand out the wine. ‘There’s alcohol in this, Rainbow. Go easy,’ I say in the style of an old person. She’s seventeen and, as such, could probably drink me under the table.