Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market

by Heidi Swain

  ‘And the WI ladies will be out in full force,’ added Gwen. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

  I couldn’t imagine that anyone would get away with staying at home if Gwen had anything to do with it.

  ‘Well, that’s great,’ said Tom, ‘I think Ruby’s idea is an excellent one and I will certainly put forward the suggestion first thing in the morning so we can hopefully get the ball rolling. There isn’t all that long until December the tenth.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about that,’ shouted Jim, ‘you only had about a week to sort out the switch-on and look at the success that was!’

  ‘Very true,’ agreed Tom, ‘but we’re going to be relying on everyone pulling together for this one, folks, so if you do have any ideas to add, or any doubts that you won’t be able to help out, do come and see me.’

  ‘There is just one thing I’ve thought of,’ I said, ‘and I’m sorry to put a spanner in the works as it was my idea.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Tom.

  ‘How are we going to fund the baking sessions?’

  ‘And the crafts?’ added Jemma.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Tom, ‘leave it with me. I know Amber and Jake offered to donate their profits from the hog roast last week to future community events. I’m sure we’ll be able to utilise their generous contribution and perhaps we could approach some local businesses for a donation as well.’

  I was relieved that he didn’t think the funding would be a problem.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m closing the meeting, but do come and see me if there’s anything you’d like to say before I approach the council in the morning.’

  Everyone began to pull on their coats, drain their glasses and head off into the frosty night.

  ‘Thanks, Bob!’ I called over to him and Shirley who were just about to leave. ‘I probably wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘No, thank you, love,’ he said, ‘for another cracking idea.’

  His eyes were shining and I was a little surprised that he looked so thoroughly thrilled at the prospect of a town bake sale.

  ‘I bet you’d never guess,’ he explained, ‘but there’s nothing I like better than a spot of baking on a Sunday afternoon, so I’ll definitely be contributing.’

  That night, as I walked home beneath a sky laden with stars, I couldn’t get the image of Bob in a flowery apron out of my mind. At least that was one thing you could say for life in a small town; it was always full of surprises! I was delighted that the bake sale was going ahead and hoped helping to organise and run it would keep me occupied and out of the house for even longer than usual. Now Steve had seen to it that he no longer had a hold on my heart, I was hoping that my argument with Dad could be settled too, but in order to achieve that we needed to let the dust settle for a bit longer yet.

  Chapter 17

  By Saturday the bake sale had the council seal of approval, the planning and promotion for it were in full swing and it was all change on the market.

  ‘Are you really sure you’re up for this, Angela?’ I frowned, as together we finished setting up. ‘It might not feel too cold now, but when you’ve been standing about for a couple of hours you might feel a bit differently about the idea.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, bobbing down behind the stall and popping back up again with a hot water bottle and a thermos flask. ‘See, I’m all prepared.’

  Personally I couldn’t help thinking it was going to take a whole lot more than a few cups of not quite hot tea and a rubber bottle of water to keep her warm, but she was quite determined.

  ‘You’ve been looking forward to this all week,’ she reminded me, ‘and to tell you the truth, so have I.’

  I looked at her doubtfully.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she smiled, having successfully read my mind, ‘I love the café and I love working with Lizzie and Jemma, but even I could do with the occasional change of scene.’

  ‘Well, all right then,’ I said, handing over the money belt which held the stall float, ‘but if you change your mind or find the cold too much, just send someone over and we’ll swap places. I’ve got my market coat and my boots in the car so it would be no bother.’

  ‘Oh stop fussing,’ she said, shooing me away, ‘go and get yourself over there otherwise you’ll be late.’

  The thought of spending the day cocooned inside the coffee and cinnamon scented Cherry Tree Café was certainly one to relish and I rushed across the square looking forward to a few hours in the warm.

  Although delighted that the bake sale had been approved, and that everyone had embraced the preparations so wholeheartedly, I had been feeling increasingly forlorn. The atmosphere at home when Dad and I were in the same room together was still far frostier than most early starts on the market, and although Steve had successfully quashed any desire to rekindle our romance, I wasn’t at all happy about the way things had ended between us. His accusations had tainted everything and although no longer preoccupied with his presence at the market and thoughts of whether or not we would end up back together, I had now become increasingly suspicious and watchful of everyone.

  I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the café, hoping that my day indoors would warm my heart as well as my hands and set me back on track.

  ‘Here you are,’ beamed Lizzie, throwing me my apron the second she heard the little bell announcing my arrival. ‘You all set then?’

  ‘You have no idea how ready I am for this,’ I told her.

  I quickly tied my apron in place, looked up again and then stood open-mouthed, all thoughts of what I had been going to say next quickly forgotten. I spun around on the spot trying to take in the magical transformation that had somehow happened overnight.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I breathed, ‘wow!’

  The entire café had been decorated for Christmas in keeping with the vintage style that Lizzie loved so much, but with such finesse that it looked more like a Cath Kidston inspired set for a festive photo shoot than a real business. Paper chains in pretty pastel shades decked the ceilings and doorframes, along with pictures and napkins featuring the little Rudolph that Lizzie had scaled down from the one she painted for the game at the switch-on. The crowning glory however, was her collection of vintage snow globes which she had arranged along the shelves in the crafting area and festooned with old-fashioned cotton wool snow, glitter and fairy lights. The entire café looked like a very grown-up grotto and I couldn’t wait to welcome the customers and listen to what they had to say about it.

  ‘It’s cute, isn’t it?’ said Lizzie, her own outfit cleverly matching the décor. ‘Every year I say it, but I don’t think this place can get any prettier!’

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ I beamed, ‘absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘Well thank you,’ she blushed, ‘and in about half an hour it’s going to be heaving, so let’s get everything ready.’

  Rather than just waiting on tables I was going to be helping out with the first festive crafting session of the season. A dozen keen crafters had signed up almost as soon as the details of the event had been made available and they were going to be making bespoke Christmas crackers. In the crafting area Lizzie already had everything organised and arranged neatly in boxes, much as I had expected, and beyond setting everything out, there was actually very little left to do.

  ‘We’re only going to have three tables that aren’t set up for crafters today,’ said Jemma as she rushed through with a basket of cutlery, ‘and I can easily manage to wait on those myself so don’t worry about spreading yourself thin, Ruby. Just stick to helping with the crafting. Everyone has already ordered from a set menu so when we get to lunchtime it will just be a case of serving and then clearing away.’

  ‘What’s on the menu?’ I asked, my mouth already watering in anticipation.

  ‘I’ve kept it quite simple,’ said Jemma, ‘let’s see. Well, there are a couple of quiche choices.’

  ‘The triple cheese is to die for,’ cut in
Lizzie.

  ‘Avocado and walnut salad,’ Jemma continued, ‘spiced butternut and sweet potato soup, fresh, warm rolls . . .’

  ‘Oh Jemma, stop,’ I said, ‘stop! I’ve been looking forward to today all week. I don’t want to wish the morning away just so I can get to lunch!’

  Jemma was clearly delighted by my reaction.

  ‘How very clever you are,’ I said, thinking back to how differently things were run when the café first opened. ‘A set menu is such a good idea.’

  ‘Oh, we weren’t always this efficient,’ laughed Lizzie, ‘were we, Jemma?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Well, you know that, Ruby, you were with us in the early days! Do you remember that one time . . .’

  There was no time to hear what she was going to say as the little bell sang out and the first of the crafters arrived, their noses pinched and red and their fingers blue, desperate for a steaming mug to warm them up and return them to a healthier hue.

  ‘Oh, girls!’ cried one, as she took in the pretty scene before her. ‘This all looks simply adorable!’

  ‘Lizzie, you clever thing,’ joined in her friend as she hung up her coat, ‘I wish you’d come and decorate my house for Christmas and perhaps Jemma could supply the eats!’

  ‘Now there’s a thought,’ said another, eyeing Lizzie in an evidently new light, ‘have you thought about offering your combined services beyond the café?’

  ‘Well, I have decorated a few of the wedding marquees at Skylark Farm,’ said Lizzie thoughtfully, ‘and Jemma has baked her blissful cakes for each of those but beyond that no, I can’t say we’ve considered expanding further.’

  ‘You could do dinner parties,’ someone suggested, ‘and tea parties!’

  ‘You could give the hosts’ homes your clever vintage twist, Lizzie, and Jemma could seduce the guests with her delectable baking.’

  ‘Hello everyone!’ laughed Jemma, appearing from the kitchen. ‘Are you all ready for a day of crafting indulgence?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ the friendly little trio chorused.

  ‘Well,’ Jemma continued, ‘before you all say another word, I’ve been listening to your expansion plans while I was preparing your teas and coffees, and as wonderful as the ideas sound, I’m afraid that unless Lizzie and I can successfully clone ourselves two or three times over, then your ideas are out of the question. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day!’

  ‘Oh now that is a shame.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jemma, ‘but there’s only so much that can be done in twenty-four hours and only so many nights a girl can neglect her husband because she’s batch baking!’

  I couldn’t help noticing that Lizzie had been very quiet while her business partner and best friend had been fielding everyone’s Cherry Tree expansion ideas.

  ‘Don’t you agree, Lizzie?’ said Jemma, clearly looking for support. ‘Lizzie?’

  ‘You know what,’ said Lizzie, clearly unperturbed by the thought of working even longer hours, ‘it might be worth considering.’

  ‘Says the woman who doesn’t have to get the kids bathed every night and rucksacks ready every morning,’ laughed Jemma.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ said Lizzie, rushing over to give her friend a hug, ‘I’m sorry. Maybe this is something we’ll consider in a few years’ time, ladies. Run it by us again in twenty twenty.’

  ‘Or maybe you could just take on some extra staff now and strike while the iron’s hot?’

  ‘I’d book you right now,’ jumped in the woman who had first come up with the idea. ‘My mum’s sixty-five in the New Year and a bespoke catered tea party at home would be just the thing!’

  ‘Right,’ I said, stepping forward in an attempt to get the session started. ‘Why don’t you all find a seat and I’ll help Jemma with the drinks.’

  Half an hour later and almost every seat in the café was filled, the chatter had risen above the level of the Christmas CD which was playing in the background, and all thoughts of expanding the Cherry Tree empire had been forgotten, for the time being at least.

  Looking through the supplies and equipment, I could see that Lizzie had cleverly chosen a huge variety of papers in all sorts of colours and patterns for the main body of the crackers. My personal favourites were the pretty pastel floral and polka dot sheets which matched the café décor along with the more traditional rolls which were patterned with holly, ivy and mistletoe. There were ribbons and bows to match all options along with the obligatory snaps, paper hats and cardboard innards.

  Some of the group, I noticed, had decided not to use the novelties and jokes supplied and came prepared with treats and trinkets of their own which they spread out on the table for everyone to admire. These bespoke crackers were going to be given their own matching labels with the recipient’s name written in Lizzie’s neatest handwriting so the right people were guaranteed to receive the right gift.

  Once everyone had had a trial run and refined their technique, they settled down and the chatter gradually quietened as they focused on their work. The crackers didn’t take all that long to put together and once packed inside the beautiful matching boxes Lizzie had sourced and tied up with ribbon they looked extremely smart. I particularly liked the sets which had the ends of the paper shaped by dextrous use of some clever scallop-bladed scissors Lizzie had presented with a flourish at the start of the session. Most of the boxes held six crackers altogether, but practically everyone was making multiple boxes and I guessed that a lot were going to be given away as gifts.

  I spent the morning wandering between the tables, holding bows and ribbons in place and trying to avoid the warmer attentions of the glue guns. At lunchtime the tables were cleared and everyone, including Jemma, Lizzie and I settled down to eat together.

  Just as I had hoped, the hours spent in the soothing embrace of the cosy Cherry Tree Café had proved a calming balm for my troubled mind, and watching Jemma zip about with her competent skill set and efficient organisation made me realise that with her at the helm in the town hall kitchen, the bake sale was bound to be a success. In fact, by the time I helped clear away the empty plates and bowls, I was really beginning to look forward to it.

  ‘What’s the deal with this table?’ I asked Lizzie as she helped me tidy away the last of the dishes. ‘It hasn’t been used at all.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘the couple who booked did warn me they might not be able to make it until this afternoon. In fact,’ she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, ‘I’m rather hoping that what you said on the phone before you moved back still holds, because . . .’

  Whatever she was going to say next was lost as the café door opened, bringing with it a rush of cold air and Sam and Steve poised on the threshold, looking like fish out of water.

  ‘I take it this is the “couple” you were referring to,’ I muttered, my recently restored spirit suddenly taking a nose dive. ‘I didn’t have either of them down as the crafting kind.’

  ‘Me neither,’ shrugged Lizzie, ‘but they’re paying customers so who am I to argue? Come in, guys, and shut the door,’ she called over to the dynamic duo. ‘I’ve saved you the best table in the house!’

  Needless to say, I avoided having anything to do with Steve and the ‘best table’ and focused my attention squarely on the rest of the group.

  ‘What are you putting in this one, Alice?’ I asked. ‘You certainly seem to be taking your time over it.’

  ‘She’s sending it overseas,’ butted in her neighbour, ‘it’s a very special delivery, isn’t it Ali?’

  Poor Alice turned beetroot red and I got the feeling that when they left, her friend was in for an absolute ear bashing.

  ‘Well, it’s a very pretty shade of pink you’ve picked,’ I said, ‘and I love the floral ribbon, very girly.’ I stood up to move on to someone else and save her from further blushes, but she tugged on my sleeve and pulled me back down.

  ‘That’s because it is a girl,’ she whispered, sliding a piece of paper
across the table. ‘My husband is currently working abroad and he won’t be back for Christmas. We thought I might be pregnant before he left, but we’ve had so many false alarms that I didn’t want to tell him until I was absolutely sure and a little further on. That,’ she said, pointing at the paper I could now see was a scan photograph, ‘is one of my most recent scan pictures.’

  I could feel a lump forming in my throat as I thought of her husband in some far-flung hotel pulling his cracker on Christmas morning and being presented with the very first image of his baby daughter.

  ‘But surely it won’t get to him in time?’ I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice as I imagined all her efforts coming to nothing.

  ‘Yes it will,’ she said, ‘he has a colleague who happens to be heading out to work with him next week and he’s taking it with him. I can’t put the snap in of course, but given the circumstances I don’t think my other half will mind.’

  ‘Well, congratulations, my lovely,’ I said, blinking back my tears and feeling somewhat taken aback by my unusually emotional reaction, ‘I’m absolutely thrilled for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said shyly as she tenderly tucked the precious photograph inside the cracker. ‘We’re Skyping every day, but I can’t wait to have him home.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said, passing her the ribbon she had picked out to secure the ends.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Lizzie, ‘that’s two down.’

  I looked through to the café area and was surprised to see that Sam and Steve had already left.

  ‘Did they change their minds?’

  ‘No,’ said Lizzie, with a shrug, ‘they’ve taken all the bits and pieces with them and Sam said they’d make the crackers up at his flat.’

  ‘That’s a bit odd,’ I frowned. ‘Why bother going to the trouble of booking a space and then not using it?’

  ‘I think they lost their bottle when they realised the place was filled with festive-feeling females!’

  Personally I had my doubts. I thought it was considerably more likely that Steve had decided, now I had spelled it out for him that I wouldn’t be joining him under the mistletoe, to give in to Mia’s many and varied charms and was putting together something special for her. Either that or he simply couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same room as me.