Christmas Wishes at the Chocolate Shop

by Jessica Redland

  ‘Ooh, how exciting. I wonder who it was.’

  ‘It was on Thursday last week,’ I said, reading down the report. ‘Oh. Pants.’

  ‘We got a bad report?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. It’s actually a glowing report. Top scores. I’m saying pants because our mystery shopper was the woman who asked about the chocolate letters for leaving gifts.’

  ‘Oh. So that means she doesn’t really want them. Pants indeed.’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s pants because that means she wasn’t Stacey.’

  ‘Charlee! I thought you’d decided she wasn’t worth another minute of your time!’

  I slipped the report back into the envelope. ‘I had and, after I’d convinced myself that the mystery shopper was Stacey, I felt like I’d got closure. I’d met her, she’d said sorry that Nanna had died, she knew it was cancer that took her, and she’d congratulated me on an impressive business as though she was saying she was proud of me. I realised that’s all I wanted from her. I didn’t want or need to hear why she’d given me away because I’ve read the letters so I already know.’

  I’d finally had a chance to tell Jodie what I’d discovered in the letters over a Chinese takeaway on Sunday night. From the early letters, I’d gleaned that Stacey had unexpectedly fallen pregnant when she was twenty. She’d been backpacking round Europe, meeting lots of new friends and partying hard, which was obviously code for sleeping around because she didn’t know who the father was. She loved her uncommitted lifestyle and wasn’t ready to give it up for a baby.

  Stacey and Nanna had been really close back then and she’d phoned home in tears after she took a pregnancy test. Nanna had convinced her to fly home and talk about it. Stacey was determined to have a termination but Nanna convinced her to go through with the pregnancy and see how she felt at the end of it, promising that they’d bring me up if Stacey didn’t want to.

  Nanna had obviously hoped that Stacey would fall in love with the life growing inside of her but a difficult pregnancy and a traumatic birth did the opposite. Stacey supposedly went for some fresh air eight hours after my birth, and never returned. A day later, she was in Spain and my grandparents now had the opportunity to bring up a second child; something they’d always longed for but obviously hadn’t expected to get in this way.

  The rest of the day passed with a steady flow of customers and I pushed all thoughts of Stacey out of my mind again. It was pointless thinking about her. Nearly three weeks had passed since I’d written to her and she hadn’t been in touch. She’d either moved again so the letter hadn’t made it to her, or she’d read it and wasn’t bothered. No, that was unfair. She probably was bothered about her mum dying, but she wasn’t bothered about me. She’d never wanted me and I needed to accept that it was nothing personal; it was about her. I’d never missed out. I’d had an incredibly happy childhood, full of love and laughter. As far as I could see, the only downside to being brought up by grandparents was the generation gap which resulted in them leaving my life earlier than parents might have done in the normal scheme of things. Which left a huge gap and an ache that would probably never go away.

  We had a post-school rush in the shop but things calmed down from about 4.45 p.m., which they often did. Jodie fiddled with the music and the familiar opening drum beats of Band Aid filled the shop. ‘I thought we’d have Now Christmas on for a change,’ she said, giggling.

  As we dusted and straightened the stock, Jodie taking the side wall and me the back, we took it in turns to sing along, doing exaggerated impressions of each artist. We were so into the song that we didn’t hear the doorbell or see the customer come in. It was only when I turned round to play an air guitar riff – something that I’ve never, ever done in my whole life – that I spotted the woman.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  Jodie called, ‘Sorry,’ too as she turned down the music.

  I tucked the duster into the pocket on the front of my apron. ‘Apologies for the appalling karaoke. Can I help you with anything?’

  She looked me up and down, one hand on her hip, her other palm pressed against her cheek. ‘I can’t believe it. After all these years, it’s really you.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s Charlee, isn’t it?’ she said, a slight European burr to her voice. She ran a slender hand through her long dark hair. ‘I’d have recognised you anywhere. You have so much of your father in you.’

  29

  ‘Oh my God, Charlee. This is huge,’ Jodie whispered as I pulled on my coat. ‘Are you okay? Do you want me to come with you? Are you okay? I’ve already asked that. But are you?’ I’d never seen her quite so agitated.

  ‘I’m fine. My birth mother who I have never met before is in my shop and wants to take me out for a drink and, strangely, I feel very calm about that. Unlike you. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m in shock. I genuinely didn’t expect you to ever hear from her. How can you be so calm about this?’

  I shrugged. ‘Shock too, perhaps? It’ll probably hit me later.’ I fastened my coat buttons. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind finishing up on your own?’

  ‘It’s no problem. You go with her, but either come and tell me all about it straight after or ring me, no matter how late. I’ll be pacing the flat, desperate to know. Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ I hugged Jodie tightly then pulled my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Wish me luck.’

  ‘Luck. Loads of it.’

  Stacey and I walked to the pub in relative silence, agreeing that there was much to be said but that it was pointless starting a conversation then having to stop to order drinks. I’d thought it might be awkward, but it felt more like a companionable silence. She admired the enormous tree outside the shopping centre and I pointed out some of my favourite Christmassy shop window displays and a party dress I adored in the window of one of the clothes shops.

  We secured a table in a quiet corner of The Old Theatre. She removed her charcoal wool coat and a cream scarf, draped them over the back of a spare chair and headed to the bar.

  I removed my coat and watched her placing our drinks order. She looked younger than her fifty years, with straightened dark hair reaching her shoulder blades and big brown eyes. She was about the same build as me and, even though she was wearing jeans, boots and a plain top, just like me, she looked so much more stylish in them than I did.

  Moments later, she placed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. ‘I know you asked for a small one but I thought we might need more,’ she said, pouring us both a glass. ‘Or I might.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, reaching for my glass and taking a grateful gulp.

  ‘Thank you for letting me know about my mother,’ she said as she sat down. ‘I wish I’d known she was ill.’

  I didn’t want to be on the defensive, but I couldn’t help it. ‘Nanna said she wasn’t in touch with you and I had no reason to doubt her. I had no idea where you lived or even if you were still alive.’

  ‘Oh, Charlee, I wasn’t having a go at you,’ she said gently. ‘I was just thinking out loud. I know it’s not your fault and it’s not Mum’s either. I know I’ve moved around a lot over the years, but I’ve always let her know where I am so she could have contacted me if she’d wanted to. She obviously didn’t want me to know.’

  She didn’t sound angry or bitter; more resigned. For a moment, I actually felt sorry for her. She had, after all, just found out that she’d lost her mum. Even though they hadn’t seen each other since I was born, they’d remained in contact. It had to have hurt. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out by letter.’

  ‘It’s okay. You had no other way of doing it. Was it cancer?’

  I nodded. ‘She’d fought it once already. You probably already knew that?’ I paused as she nodded. ‘When it came back, I think she was too tired to fight it again. She was ready to join Grandpa. She died the day after I turned thirty.’ My voice cracked and I blinked back the tears. I didn’t want her to see me cry. ‘I sc
attered her ashes on Spurn Point where we’d scattered Grandpa’s.’

  Stacey smiled. ‘They both loved it there. I’m sorry for your loss. I know you were all really close.’

  The loss hit me like a train. I tried to blink back the tears but there were too many. ‘I miss them so much,’ I admitted. ‘They were my parents.’ I didn’t say it to hurt her, but it was how I felt.

  ‘I know. And if your childhood was half as happy as mine, you were a very lucky girl.’

  I rummaged in my bag for a tissue and dabbed at my eyes. ‘Did you just come here to thank me for letting you know about Nanna?’

  She sipped on her wine then sighed. ‘I came here to explain why I didn’t bring you up myself.’

  ‘There’s no need. I already know.’

  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘How?’

  ‘Nanna kept your letters and postcards. The man who bought their house from me found them under the floorboards and I read them so I know all about you and your crazy life travelling round Europe, finding yourself unexpectedly pregnant by God knows who, and not…’ I gasped. ‘Hang on. When you first came into the shop, you said I had so much of my father in me.’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘But you said in your letters that you had no idea who my father was.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was easier that way.’

  ‘So there weren’t loads of men?’

  ‘Oh no. Far from it. There’s only ever been one man for me and, for four delicious months, he was my whole life and I thought we’d be together forever. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what our heart desires.’ Her eyes glistened with tears as she gazed past me, clearly lost in the past for a moment. She gave herself a little shake and looked me in the eyes again. ‘I know exactly who your father was… is, Charlee. You do too.’

  ‘What? I do not!’

  She shook her head. ‘All those years and he never even gave the slightest hint that you were his daughter?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘None of them said anything?’

  She looked genuinely surprised, but I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. ‘Who’s my father?’

  Stacey bit her lip; a gesture I recognised from myself. ‘Your father… and this is going to be a bit of a shock to you given that they’ve obviously managed to keep it secret… but your father is Pierre DuPont.’

  Pierre? My former boss and great friend? ‘Bullshit! He is not!’

  ‘Think about it, Charlee. You know he is.’

  Oh. My. God! A million little things suddenly made sense. He’d always treated me like a surrogate daughter, but I’d assumed that was just because I was reliable, great with customers and good at my job so I’d earned his respect and made him proud; not because I actually was his daughter. The dark hair, dark eyes and olive complexion weren’t just coincidence; they were shared genes. No wonder customers often assumed I was his daughter and that Gabby and I were sisters. They’d recognised an actual biological connection.

  I registered something else Stacey had said. ‘You said they knew? Are you saying Lillian and Gabby knew?’

  Stacey nodded.

  I picked up the bottle and topped up my glass. ‘You’d better start talking.’

  ‘Okay. Here goes from the start. Despite what you might think, given my absence from their lives, I genuinely loved my parents. They were an amazing couple and I had a wonderfully happy childhood. From a young age, I would spend Saturdays in Dad’s chocolate factory, as I called it, eagerly lapping up everything that he showed me. I knew that I wanted to be a master chocolatier from the very start. Give me a bowl of chocolate and a piping bag, and I’m in heaven. I’m sure you feel the same.’

  ‘I do.’ But I was stunned to hear that she did. I’d never heard of her love of chocolate from my grandparents but that was hardly surprising when I’d been told so little about her. I wasn’t sure how I felt about us having a shared passion. It had been easier to imagine we had nothing in common.

  Stacey smiled. ‘I suppose it’s in our blood. Anyway, the plan was for me to take over the chocolate factory one day. Working with chocolate every day and running my own business was exactly what I wanted, but I started to feel really anxious about it. It wasn’t the thought of actually running the chocolate factory, but more the thought that I’d be doing that forever and would never experience anything different. I’d only ever lived in Brockington and I’d only ever worked in Dad’s shop. It scared me. I felt trapped. Does that make any sort of sense?’

  I smiled wryly. ‘Perfect sense. I felt the same and retrained as a pastry chef because of it.’ Another thing in common. This was unnerving.

  ‘Oh yes, I remember Mum saying something about that when she…’ Stacey shook her head. ‘I’ll come to that part later. So, there I was, having this panic about the future when my best friend, Miriam, asked me if I wanted to take a year out and backpack round Europe with her. Definitely! Mum and Dad were a little surprised at my decision but they understood and reassured me that, if I changed my mind about my career while I was away, they’d support me in whatever I decided to do. I was certain about being a chocolatier, but I was also certain that I needed some time out first.

  ‘Miriam and I set off on our travels in late August after we’d finished college. We found temporary jobs like cleaning and waitressing and would tend to work for a bit, travel for a bit, then work again. After about six months of travelling, we reached a small town in the south of France called Roussillon. It was really pretty and, to be honest, the novelty of constantly being on the move had worn off so we made an agreement to stay in Roussillon for longer than usual, as long as we were both able to find work. Miriam found a job as an English language assistant in a local school. I didn’t fancy waitressing again so I thought I might see if any of the shops needed staff. That’s when I came across a chocolaterie with a sign in the window seeking staff.’

  ‘Pierre’s chocolaterie?’ I’d known that he’d owned one in France before moving to the UK and taking over Grandpa’s although I hadn’t known the name of the town.

  Stacey took a sip of her wine and nodded. ‘Yes. Pierre’s. I’d studied French at school and had been reasonably competent but I’d become fluent during my travels. There’s nothing like living and working in the country for honing your language skills. When I told him that I was a trained master chocolatier, he seemed doubtful because of my age, so I pointed at the various chocolates he had on display and told him exactly how he’d have made each of them.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I still remember the stunned expression on his face, bless him. He offered me the job there and then.’

  My mind was racing ahead. Pierre was married to Lillian now but Gabby was older than me so the maths didn’t work. ‘Where was Lillian?’

  ‘She’d walked out on him taking Gabby with her. Gabby was only four months old and Pierre hadn’t seen it coming. She left leaving a note that read something like, “I don’t love you anymore. Don’t look for us. Gabby isn’t yours.”’

  ‘No! Pierre’s not Gabby’s dad?

  Stacey shook her head. ‘He is her dad, but Lillian said she wasn’t because—’

  ‘Sorry, I’m interrupting your flow. Continue the story and I’ll keep quiet.’

  ‘I don’t mind. You probably have a million questions.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll ask them later. Please continue.’

  Stacey took another sip of wine. ‘So Lillian had walked out saying that Pierre wasn’t to look for them. Naturally he did, but even her parents had no idea where she was and were as stunned as him at the suggestion that he wasn’t Gabby’s father. None of her friends knew where she was or, if they did, they weren’t telling him.

  ‘Several weeks passed and I settled into the chocolaterie. Pierre taught me some different techniques and I learned about catering to the French palette instead of the English one. It was a fantastic experience and I was so glad we’d chosen to stay in the town. Then I got home from work one day to find Miriam packing her b
ags. She’d fallen in love with one of the teachers and he’d asked her to move in with him. We had a huge argument about it. I accused her of being selfish because there was no way I could afford the rent and bills on my own, and she accused me of being selfish for only thinking of me and not being happy for her for finding love. I laughed at her and said that it was lust, not love, and that it probably wouldn’t last until the summer.’

  ‘Did it?’ I bit my lip. ‘Sorry. I’m interrupting again.’

  Stacey smiled. ‘Miriam and Laurent are happily married with five children and two grandchildren. I was happy to be proved wrong and I’m grateful that she forgave me and has remained my best friend for all these years. As for me, I told Pierre that I’d have to leave work because I had nowhere to live. He didn’t want to lose a talented chocolatier and insisted I stay in the spare room in his apartment above the chocolaterie. Working together and living together, we became really close. It was only friendship at first, but it quickly became more.’

  She smiled again. I could tell from the warmth in her voice and the sparkle in her eyes every time she mentioned Pierre that she had loved– and still did – love him.

  ‘I was nineteen and he was thirty-four but they were just numbers. The fifteen years between us made no difference. But then…’ She sighed and looked down.

  ‘What happened next?’ I prompted, desperate to know more.

  ‘We’d had ten glorious weeks together when Lillian returned. It was early August and I remember that day so well. Pierre was chasing me round the shop with a piping bag, threatening to squirt me, when the door opened. This stunning brunette was standing there holding a baby and I knew. I knew it was her.’ She paused and took a gulp of her wine. ‘I told Pierre that I was taking my lunch break and that he could find me by the fountain when he was ready. Two hours I sat there. When Pierre finally appeared, he looked like that same broken man I’d met on the day I enquired about the job.’

  ‘Where had Lillian been?’ I asked.