Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market

by Heidi Swain

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I just can’t help it. Everything I said about the market is true and I do still have my doubts about your dad, but I can’t deny my heart. I can’t pretend my insides don’t fall through the floor whenever I see you, Ruby.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  ‘Well you’re just going to have to try,’ I said, ‘otherwise we’re both going to end up in big trouble, aren’t we?’

  I didn’t wait around to hear his answer. I knew there was simply no way he wouldn’t have noticed how my body had behaved in his arms and I couldn’t bear to see that knowing look in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ruby Sue!’ he shouted after me as I finally made my escape and headed for home.

  Chapter 21

  ‘You all right, my love?’ asked Mum as she peeped around the bedroom door. ‘I didn’t hear you come in last night, but you did say to wake you if you slept after nine and it’s now quarter past.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I yawned, feeling anything but.

  Truth be told, I felt as if I’d only climbed into my bed a few minutes before.

  ‘Do you want me to open your curtains?’ she offered, stepping into the room.

  ‘No,’ I said, sitting up far too quickly and making my head spin. ‘I’ll do them. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Dad’s got all the boxes down so we can make a start whenever you like.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I smiled.

  I knew she was looking forward to putting the Christmas decorations up together and I couldn’t deny that the smell of the tree they had picked out at the auction was enough to send my excitement soaring to the same level as Ella’s, even if I was feeling a little worse for wear. It had been years since I had decorated the house and I was looking forward to doing it every inch as much as Mum was.

  ‘I thought I might put the slow cooker on and make a stew for lunch,’ she added, ‘with herby dumplings.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I sighed.

  She slipped back out, quietly closing the door behind her and I thanked my lucky stars that she hadn’t noticed the floor behind the door.

  Steve and his stupid, unwanted, electrifying, awe-inspiring kiss had set my pulse racing and my brain whirring and I’d spent far too much of the night looking through the memory box I’d kept hidden and which was crammed full of cringe-worthy photographs and receipts, Valentine’s cards and diaries. The last thing I had put inside before I left for university was the order of service booklet from his brother’s funeral.

  Sean’s untimely death up at Hecate’s Rest had stopped more hearts beating than his own and although I knew it was no one’s fault I couldn’t help wishing I could have just had a glimpse of how things might have been had his bike made it around that corner.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, looking at the photograph of him smiling back at me as I packed everything away again, ‘I know it’s selfish of me to blame you, but sometimes I just can’t help it because I know you would have loved working alongside your mum and dad and I know your brother would have loved life at university.’

  I had just finished hiding the box at the back of the wardrobe when Mum called up the stairs.

  ‘I’m coming,’ I shouted back. ‘Just give me two minutes.’

  After the speediest shower ever and with the smell of Mum’s delicious steak and red wine stew in the slow cooker beginning to mingle with the pine from the tree, we settled down to make a start on the decorations.

  ‘Do you mind the music?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ I told her, reaching for the remote and turning the volume up a little.

  ‘We can change it if you like,’ she frowned.

  ‘Decorating the house without the sound of your Carols from King’s CD in the background would be like your roast dinner without the gravy,’ I insisted, ‘it would just be wrong, all wrong.’

  Mum looked suitably soothed as Dad came through from the kitchen with a tray loaded with sherry and mince pies.

  ‘I know we aren’t quite over the yardarm,’ he smiled, ‘but you can’t do the decorations without the traditional accompaniments.’

  ‘It’s a great tree this year, Dad,’ I said as I helped him find a place for the tray amongst the boxes.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘I’m rather pleased with it. I think they were all better quality this year and from what I can gather they all sold.’

  ‘They did,’ I confirmed. ‘Gwen took the last few stragglers.’

  ‘Oh, now there’s a surprise,’ laughed Mum, ‘and I dare say Chris Dempster offered to deliver them free of charge.’

  ‘He did, actually,’ I said, wondering how she knew and whether she had just slipped up and revealed a little more about her association with the family than she had intended.

  ‘Happens every year,’ she tutted, with a meaningful look in my direction, ‘you take a trip along Gwen’s road between tomorrow and the New Year and you’ll find those trees lined up in her garden and bedecked in a collection of interior decorations she has kept outside for years.’

  ‘She is certainly one of life’s eccentrics, isn’t she?’ I laughed, shaking my head.

  ‘She is that,’ agreed Dad, as he passed around the glasses, ‘but you won’t find a more community-minded resident in this town.’

  It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that the Dempster clan could probably give her a run for her money but decided to keep the thought to myself.

  ‘And talking of community spirit,’ I ventured, ‘I was pleased that you thought the town was looking good yesterday.’

  I thought it best not to specifically mention the stall. Not when the morning was going so well.

  ‘It all looked wonderful,’ he conceded. ‘You and Tom certainly seem to have everything under control.’

  ‘Not just us,’ I reminded him, ‘everyone at the market is making a huge effort in the run up to Christmas and it seems to be working. You said yourself that the town looked like it did when you were a boy yesterday, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, taking a gulp of sherry, ‘but of course, one good day doesn’t mean a return to the glory days. It would take a lot more than that.’

  ‘They’ll get there,’ I said firmly, ‘if they get the chance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dad asked.

  I swallowed hard and ignored Mum who was determinedly trying to steer our attention towards the plate of mince pies she was proffering.

  ‘Well,’ I swallowed, ‘I heard this rumour . . .’

  ‘Oh another rumour,’ cut in Dad. ‘What is it this time? I’m planning to bulldoze the church to make way for a cash-and-carry, or am I in line for another new car courtesy of the council tax pot?’

  I bit my lip thinking it was ironic that he’d mentioned another car as that was what Steve was convinced the Retail Park had bought and paid for.

  ‘There’s talk that the market site is up for sale,’ I said, deciding not to back down, ‘and that the stalls will either go straightaway or be relocated to somewhere so inaccessible that it won’t be long before the holders give up of their own accord.’

  ‘And who exactly,’ said Dad, picking up one of the mince pies, ‘is spreading this rumour?’

  I shrugged, determined not to mention Steve’s name. But in fact, thinking back to the day at the market when I’d made my rousing little speech to the traders about treating me as me, rather than as Dad’s daughter, not one of them had stepped up and mentioned that the site was up for sale. The only talk that I’d heard of it had come from Steve’s own lips, the very same lips that he had forced on to mine when he kissed me the night before and I actually had no proof that he was right or justified on either front.

  ‘Oh forget it,’ I shrugged, ‘I probably got the wrong end of the stick. If it’s any consolation, I did defend you to the person who told me.’

  ‘And how did Steve Dempster feel about that?’ Dad asked, as he took a bite of the pie.

  Fortun
ately I was saved from grappling for an answer as he began to cough and splutter and spat his mouthful of mince pie into his napkin.

  ‘Where the hell did these come from?’ he cringed, draining his glass of sherry in one big gulp.

  ‘The bake sale,’ Mum shrugged. ‘Some of the children from the playgroup helped make them. Are they not nice?’

  ‘Not nice,’ Dad groaned, ‘that’s something of an understatement! They’re full of salt!’

  Mum and I tried to suppress our giggles until he was out of earshot but I’m not sure we succeeded.

  ‘I wish I knew what’s really going on with him,’ I sighed as we began unpacking the boxes.

  ‘You and me both,’ said Mum, as she began carefully unwrapping the coloured glass baubles that had once belonged to her grandmother. ‘He was fine up until a few months ago and no matter how hard I try, I can’t pinpoint anything that happened to put him out of sorts.’

  ‘Nothing at all comes to mind?’

  ‘Not a single thing,’ she said, setting aside the baubles to help me unravel the string of lights Dad had carefully wrapped around a cardboard tube to avoid tangling the flex. ‘I know he’s under an awful lot of pressure at work.’

  ‘But so is Tom and yet I haven’t noticed that he’s had a dramatic change of personality.’

  Spotting the look on Mum’s face I decided to drop the subject. She’d been looking forward to our day of decorating ever since I got back and I had no intention of ruining it by making her even more worried about what was going on with Dad.

  ‘There,’ she said, standing on tip-toe to reach the top of the tree when we’d finally finished. ‘Every year I tell myself to put the angel on first and I always forget!’

  This particular angel wasn’t a vintage beauty such as the one Simon and Jude had for sale on their stall. No, this was a pipe cleaner and paper doily glitter-fest fright, crafted by my own fair hands when I was about six. Every time she unwrapped it I begged Mum to buy a replacement but she was adamant that the cross-eyed creation should have pride of place during the festive season.

  ‘I’d better go and stir the stew,’ she said as she stepped back and took a final quick look around the room, ‘it’s almost time to make the dumplings.’

  Right on cue my stomach gave a loud rolling groan and I remembered I hadn’t bothered with breakfast.

  ‘It all looks lovely, Mum,’ I told her, pulling her in for a hug. ‘I’m so pleased we got to do it together.’

  ‘So am I,’ she said, kissing my cheek, ‘who knows where you’ll be next year, or where I’ll be for that matter.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked as she disentangled herself and I followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Well,’ she said, wafting the oven gloves to disperse the steam that poured out of the slow cooker as she lifted off the lid, ‘I’m not supposed to say anything, but your father has said he’s taking us on a cruise for our anniversary next year!’

  ‘A cruise?’

  ‘I know!’ she smiled, giving the stew a stir. ‘How exciting is that? I can’t decide if I want to go somewhere hot like the Caribbean or cold like the Norwegian fjords, either way it’s my choice so I need to hurry up. I imagine these things, especially the really exclusive ones, book up pretty fast, don’t you?’

  My mind was whizzing and there was a tight little knot of pain in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with the fact that I’d missed my breakfast.

  ‘Ruby?’ said Mum.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I said,’ she laughed, ‘I hope you aren’t jealous that you won’t be the only Smith travelling the world next year.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘of course not. It sounds wonderful.’

  ‘But . . .?’ asked Mum. ‘I know you, Ruby Smith, I can tell there’s a “but” coming somewhere.’

  ‘Well, cruises don’t come cheap, Mum,’ I began, then stopped myself.

  ‘And silver wedding anniversaries only happen once in a lifetime,’ she said in a tone that suggested she had heard more than enough out of me. ‘Come and give me a hand with these dumplings.’

  Mum’s cooking was an absolute joy as always. The beef was tender, the dumplings were plump and comforting and the red wine gravy was rich and fragrant, filling the house with its wonderful aroma. Weekends in my student digs were spent dreaming about meals like this, but this time around it was spoiled. The taste was divine but the consumption of it was shrouded in an unsavoury feeling that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake off.

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’ asked Mum as I passed her my almost empty plate.

  ‘It was delicious,’ I told her, ‘every bit as wonderful as I remember and if Dad wasn’t so averse to the idea,’ I added with a smile, ‘I would have licked the plate clean!’

  To my surprise, Dad didn’t say a word. He just continued to stare into space, his jaw grinding and a frown fixed firmly in place.

  ‘Did you hear what Ruby said, Robert?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, finally tuning back in. ‘Yes. It was delicious.’

  Mum and I exchanged worried glances.

  ‘Why don’t you both go and turn the tree lights on?’ she suggested. ‘I’ll load the dishwasher and put the kettle on.’

  Dad got up from the table and headed off towards the lounge leaving Mum and I shaking our heads, our concern for him and whatever was on his mind cranking up another notch.

  Chapter 22

  My head was still abuzz after the weekend and Dad was beginning to look as if all the fight had been knocked out of him. I found it somewhat disconcerting that he had made no further attempt to tempt me behind a desk at the council and I was curious as to how he was going to finance this anniversary cruise that Mum was so excited about. Even though I hadn’t been around for all that long, the niggles and upsets that came with moving home had sucked me in and I was far more preoccupied with the woes at Wynbridge than I wanted to be.

  Life in the small town was beginning to close in around me and as I watched my fellow traders (but not Steve, of course) at work that week, I tried my best to remind myself that actually none of what was going to happen here next year was my problem. In just a few short weeks I would be long gone, protecting myself from nothing more demanding than the searing heat of the sun and quite possibly the attentions of one very handsome celebrity chef.

  Trying to convince myself that was all that mattered didn’t work, of course, because I had fallen into the trap, the caring trap and not just about my dad. No matter how hard I tried to persuade myself otherwise, I genuinely cared about what was going to happen to this little square and the people who made their living in it. I tossed and turned at night as I imagined the lights being switched off and the stalls being rebuilt miles from the centre of town down some back alley that was impossible to reach and where no one wanted to go. Don’t get me wrong, I had no intention of changing my plans, but I was still concerned for everyone who would be living through what I imagined would be a tumultuous few months.

  Again I smoothed down the picture of the beach I had pinned to the stall and tried to imagine myself there, thousands of miles away from the market and those ridiculously soft yet firm lips of Steve’s that had sent my resolve flying out of the door on the coat tails of the Wynbridge wind.

  ‘Not long now,’ said a voice behind me, ‘have you booked your ticket yet?’

  It was Tom.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘not yet. I’m waiting to see how far I can get on the money I’ve saved before I decide where I’m heading for first.’

  He took a step closer and sighed wistfully as he took in the pristine beach and cerulean sky.

  ‘That looks like a pretty good starting point to me,’ he said with another sigh. ‘What I wouldn’t give for a week or two somewhere like that with Jemma.’

  ‘Still no plans for a break just yet then?’

  ‘We can probably stretch to a wet weekend in Maidstone,’ he said, ‘with the kids, of course, but t
here’s always date night,’ he added stoically.

  ‘I’m pleased you’re keeping up with it,’ I smiled. ‘You and Jemma deserve some time alone together. You both work so hard.’

  ‘We do,’ he sighed, ‘you’re right, but,’ he added, waving around the clipboard he had tucked under his arm, ‘I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere this week. Not with Santa visiting town on Thursday night.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ I said, ‘I’d forgotten about that. It’s late night shopping on Thursday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Tom, ‘it’s yet another new venture for the town and we’re only trying it for a couple of weeks, but if it’s popular then next year we’ll encourage the stallholders and shopkeepers to stay open late every Thursday from the switch-on. Not everyone can or wants to get into the cities, but they still like to have a look at some lights while they fill their stockings with their festive haul so I’m hopeful it’ll work.’

  ‘Well everything has so far,’ I reminded him, ‘although I have to say I’m rather looking forward to taking a back seat on this one. You never know, I might even get a bit of my own Christmas shopping done instead of helping everyone else with theirs!’

  ‘But what about the stall?’ said Tom, looking dismayed. ‘Jemma and Lizzie said it would be open along with everyone else’s. You will be able to run it, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I reassured him. ‘Don’t panic. My mum and Angela have agreed to juggle it after Jemma closes the café, leaving you two free to take Ella and Noah to see Father Christmas. So there will be plenty of time for me to get the few things I need. I’ve done most of it anyway, thanks to Lizzie’s clever crafting!’

  ‘What’s your dad going to say about that?’

  ‘What, Mum running the stall, you mean?’

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘No idea,’ I shrugged, thinking of Dad’s apparent distance to everything that was going on around him, ‘but if last weekend is anything to go by, I don’t think he’ll be saying anything to be honest.’