Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Well,’ I swallowed again, ‘I wouldn’t perhaps go that far . . .’

  ‘Then you’d be right.’

  ‘What?’ Mum and I chorused.

  ‘I was,’ he said, carefully laying down his cutlery.

  ‘Robert!’ gasped Mum, her fork frozen in mid-air. ‘Whatever are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying,’ said Dad, turning redder than Santa’s suit, ‘that it was me. I was the one responsible, I told Steve to end the relationship before Ruby went to university.’

  ‘But when?’ I said, numb with shock. ‘Why?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ he said, sounding almost impatient. As if we were going over old ground rather than a brand new discovery. ‘Does any of it matter now?’

  ‘Of course it does!’ I bawled, slamming down my knife and fork.

  ‘Ruby, love,’ said Mum, reaching for my hand.

  ‘No!’ I shouted, snatching it away. ‘Before you even say it, Mum, I will not calm down. I need to hear this. I want to know the whole truth!’

  For a split second I couldn’t make out the expression on Dad’s face and then I realised, it was shock.

  ‘Do you still love him?’ he asked incredulously, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  ‘Of course I do,’ I yelled, surprising myself that I hadn’t even taken a moment to think about it. ‘I always will.’

  I pushed back my chair ready to see through the threat forming in my muddled mind.

  ‘If you don’t tell me the truth then I will pack my bags,’ I told him as calmly as I could, ‘leave this house and never set foot in it again.’

  Mum sobbed into her napkin, but Dad didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘Don’t think I won’t do it,’ I seethed, ‘don’t think for one second that I’m bluffing.’

  I put my hands on the edge of the table and levered myself upright out of the chair.

  ‘Robert!’ cried Mum. ‘For pity’s sake.’

  Dad took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, then took off his glasses and began to clean them on his napkin. I registered the tell-tale sign that he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and stood my ground.

  ‘It was right after his brother’s funeral,’ he finally began, ‘that very afternoon actually. He came here looking for you, Ruby, but you’d gone back to his parents’ house. You’d come here for your overnight bag and gone back. You must have missed one another by seconds.’

  I flopped back down in my chair again.

  ‘He didn’t want to come in,’ Dad continued, ‘but I insisted. For once.’

  ‘You never made him welcome,’ I whispered, my voice catching in my throat in a way that had nothing to do with my retreating cold, ‘you never made any of them welcome.’

  ‘He came into the kitchen,’ Dad went on, ‘and I poured us both a brandy. Given the circumstances,’ he swallowed, ‘I thought we both deserved one. It had been a long time since the town had buried such a young lad. I hope I never have to live through such a day again. I hope none of us do.’

  He shuddered at the thought and I tried to push the memory of the horrid time we had all been forced to live through away.

  ‘But what does this have to do with what happened to us?’ I urged, ignoring the compassionate way he spoke of that despicable day. ‘What does any of this have to do with Steve dumping me?’

  ‘I asked him what his plans were, whether he’d even had time to consider what he was going to do?’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Well, he already had it all worked out,’ Dad explained, with an approving nod, ‘a lad like that with a strong sense of duty and an understanding of what being part of a family actually meant wouldn’t do anything else. He said he was going to stay and support his mum and dad.’

  I couldn’t make any sense of what Dad was saying. The way he was talking about Steve and the decision he had made, made him sound in awe, impressed even, when actually he was always anything but when he spoke about any of the Dempster family as a rule.

  ‘But surely you supported his decision then?’ sniffed Mum. ‘He’d done exactly what you would have considered the right thing, hadn’t he?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Dad, ‘totally the right thing. The only thing he could have done, given the terrible circumstances.’

  ‘But then I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘When I asked him if he’d talked to you about his decision, Ruby, he said no, he hadn’t known how to. He said he couldn’t face it until after the funeral. He planned to talk to you that very weekend and work out how you could juggle things, the physical distance there was going to be between you, for a start. He was still determined to make the relationship work, even though he knew you were going to be disappointed to go alone.’

  ‘We did talk that weekend,’ I said numbly, ‘but that was when he told me he was breaking it off. I was the one who suggested juggling things,’ I added, ‘but he said it would be too much of a strain. He said he was worried that a long-distance relationship would hold me back and stop me getting stuck into life away from Wynbridge. I told him I didn’t want to get stuck into anything without him, but he was adamant. I really don’t think you were the problem, Dad.’

  ‘I was,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I was, love. It was me who put all that in his head. I was the one who said he’d be holding you back. I told him that if he loved you, he should let you go.’

  ‘But why did you do that?’ Mum burst out, before I had a chance to ask the question myself and making me jump. ‘What right did you think you had to interfere?’

  Dad ignored her and kept his eyes firmly fixed on me.

  ‘I was only thinking of you, Ruby, and how hard you’d worked to secure that university offer. You had every opportunity to do what I had never managed; to rise above the mediocre and really make something of your life. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you throw away the best opportunity you were ever likely to have because you were tethered to a boy who would never be able to equal your academic aspirations.’

  ‘But it was my life, Dad,’ I reminded him, ‘my hard work, my choices and ultimately it should have been my decision, mine and Steve’s. You put those ideas in his head when he was vulnerable; you manipulated the situation to suit your own twisted ends. Have you ever actually stopped for a second and thought just how wrong that was?’

  Dad didn’t say anything.

  ‘But you must be able to see now just how much Steve loved you, Ruby?’ Mum said, desperately trying to smooth over the cracks.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He loved you enough to let you go,’ she tried to say. ‘He saw what was for the best—’

  ‘No,’ I interrupted, ‘no. If he had really loved me he never would have done this. He would have fought for me, for us. He would have done anything to keep us together.’

  Mum was having none of it.

  ‘He just did what he thought was for the best, what he thought would help everyone in the long run.’

  Given the way my knees had buckled when he kissed me in the pub, given the way my body yielded and moulded to fit his, I couldn’t believe that any of what had happened had been ‘for the best’.

  ‘And as for you,’ said Mum, turning to face Dad. ‘I don’t think I even know who you are any more. When I was working on that stall yesterday, Robert—’

  I saw Dad flinch, but he didn’t comment.

  ‘You’d be amazed by the things I heard. The rumours that are circulating through town about the future of our little market and how they all revolved around you, was unbelievable. Or so I thought.’

  Still Dad sat in silence.

  ‘And I defended you,’ said Mum. ‘I stood amongst those people and defended every decision you have ever made. I just hope to God that you haven’t made as big a fool of me as you have of yourself.’

  As shocked as I was by everything I had just discovered, I have to admit that the ball of pain twisting in the pit of my gut had just as much to do with the fact tha
t the stallholders had opened up to Mum when they had never said anything to me as it did with Dad’s shocking revelation.

  Needless to say I couldn’t possibly stay at home after that. To be honest, had it not been for the stall and the thought of letting down Lizzie, Jemma and everyone else who was working so hard to turn around the fortunes of the market, I probably wouldn’t have even stayed in the country.

  ‘Can I crash at yours tonight?’ I had asked Bea when she fortuitously phoned just a couple of minutes after Mum’s aborted Sunday dinner.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘I could just do with a change of scene,’ I added, feeling obliged to offer some sort of explanation for the unexpected request. We were, after all, getting a little long in the tooth for girly sleepovers.

  ‘No problem,’ she said, no doubt catching on that life at home was getting to me, even though she didn’t know the reason why. ‘I already happen to have a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge,’ then she added, ‘and you really are in luck because tubs of Ben and Jerry’s were on offer this week!’

  I decided to walk round and in the process grab myself some mind-clearing fresh air. And if that didn’t work I could always tot up the alcohol units in an attempt to blot out the unpalatable details of what I had just been told. I packed my warmest market apparel for Monday and a spare pair of pants in case I still couldn’t face going home the day after.

  ‘You know why I’m going, don’t you, Mum?’ I sniffed as she gave me a hug as I was about to leave. ‘You do understand.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she smiled grimly. ‘Given half the chance I’d be gone myself. Let him stew for a couple of days and think about what he’s done. You do know that I didn’t know anything about all this, don’t you?’

  I couldn’t believe she’d asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘absolutely.’

  ‘I still can’t get my head around the fact that Marie never told me,’ she tutted, shaking her head. ‘I’m not altogether sure I’m going to be able to forgive her for that.’

  ‘Oh, now don’t you two go falling out as well,’ I told her sternly and really meaning it. ‘What would be the point in that?’

  The weather reports were all warning of snow in the East for the forthcoming week and ordinarily I wouldn’t have minded a spot of Christmas shopping in the town when the white stuff was on the ground, but I wasn’t sure my lingering head cold would be too impressed with the further downturn in working conditions. Eight hours outside in the bleak midwinter working next to someone who should by rights still have been mine, suddenly seemed far less appealing than when I had accepted the job.

  As I set off towards Bea’s wrapped in my winter coat and with my overnight bag flung over my shoulder, my thoughts turned naturally enough to how my life would have panned out had Dad not seen fit to interfere in it.

  Had I been privy to everything that had happened during my last few weeks before I left for university, I might well have been more inclined to agree with Steve and his idea that fate had blown us back together and that we should pick up the pieces and start again. Had I known that the only reason he’d let me go in the first place was because Dad had manipulated him into believing it was the right thing to do, then I would have been far more willing to admit how I felt after that kiss under the mistletoe, how I still felt. Unfortunately I hadn’t of course, and now Steve had apologised for the kiss, admitted that he had made a mistake and reiterated in no uncertain terms that he had got the message that we were well and truly over. Talk about shitty timing.

  I pulled my coat tighter around me in a feeble attempt to dismiss the wind, bent my head low and carried on towards where Bea was waiting with the vital components which would, I hoped, go some way to soothing my sore heart, for a little while at least.

  I had just passed the rugby ground when I heard someone hollering my name.

  ‘Hey, Ruby! Wait up. I want to talk to you!’

  ‘Steve,’ I whispered.

  For a second I thought I’d dreamt him up but no, there he was, suddenly in front of me, bent double and panting, having just run what I guessed was the length of the pitch to reach me.

  ‘Just give me a minute,’ he said, cradling his side.

  His face was glowing and his hair was plastered to his head. His thighs looked red raw and I could imagine how cold the taut skin would feel to the touch. I stuffed my hands in my pockets out of harm’s way just in case they were tempted to test out the theory.

  ‘Jesus,’ he puffed, still panting, ‘I’m built for strength not speed.’

  ‘So why have you just sprinted across the pitch?’ I frowned. ‘And what are you doing here today anyway?’

  ‘Extra training,’ he wheezed, finally standing upright. ‘But never mind that. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘What about?’ I swallowed.

  ‘Yesterday,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘At the town hall wreath making thingy.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘What about it?’ he laughed. ‘What the hell happened? Mum’s been like a bear with a sore head ever since she came back, but everyone I’ve talked to has said the day was a resounding success.’

  ‘It was,’ I confirmed, feeling my face go red, ‘everyone had a great time. Your mum was amazing.’

  ‘But something must have happened,’ he went relentlessly on, ‘I can’t believe it was the short journey home that put her in such a foul mood.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I shrugged. ‘Why are you asking me anyway?’

  ‘Because you were there,’ he said. ‘You must have noticed something.’

  It was suddenly right on the tip of my tongue to tell him, to let it all come spilling out but really, what would have been the point? The calendar back in my bedroom was proof enough that it was almost time for me to begin planning my travels in earnest. I’d be gone soon and this whole sorry muddle could be put to bed once and for all.

  ‘Have you asked her?’ I suggested.

  ‘What do you think?’ he laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare. She snapped Dad’s head off this morning when he asked if there was any chance of a roast dinner.’

  ‘You should send him round to my mum,’ I said, thinking of the leftovers filling the fridge.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Never mind,’ I muttered, hoisting my bag higher on to my shoulder. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m staying with Bea for a couple of days,’ I explained, thinking I’d told enough half-truths in the last ninety seconds.

  ‘God help us,’ said Steve, shaking his head. ‘A girls’ night in, hey. No man will be safe from scrutiny.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about it,’ I said with a shrug, ‘we aren’t fifteen. We do have better things to talk about than you lot, you know.’

  He looked at me and wriggled his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh all right,’ I admitted, willing myself not to smile and rolling my eyes, ‘you should probably expect your ears to be burning in an hour or so.’

  ‘Interesting,’ he quipped, eyeing me with an expression that in no way suggested we were completely finished business. ‘If you can hang on five minutes I’ll give you a lift if you like.’

  ‘No,’ I said, stepping around him, ‘thanks, but no. I could do with the walk.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘Surely it’s only fair that you give me a chance to do you a good turn before you start gossiping about me with your best friend.’

  ‘No, honestly,’ I said, turning away and thinking I’d still like him to do me a good something. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he smiled, ‘but if you do happen to think of what might be up with Mum let me know, would you?’ he called after me.

  ‘Yes,’ I shouted over my shoulder, ‘of course, I’ll text you!’ I added, knowing I never would.

  Chapter 25

  ‘You have got to be kidding me?’ gasped Bea, her mouth hanging open and
her eyes wide. ‘Ruby, please tell me you’re having me on.’

  ‘No,’ I said shaking my head and plunging the spoon back into the tub of cookie dough she had presented me with at the front door. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Your dad is the reason why Steve dumped you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said again, ‘I told you. Now can you please stop saying it? I’m struggling to keep my ice cream down.’

  ‘And you really think that there’s a chance the market is going to close?’ she carried on, ignoring my request.

  ‘There could be,’ I said carefully. ‘Dad’s definitely up to something and if I could find a way of breaking into the office at home I bet I could find out what.’

  Bea whistled under her breath and topped up my half-empty glass with more fizz.

  ‘Does anyone else know?’ she ventured. ‘About the market, I mean.’

  I thought about what Mum had said earlier.

  ‘I think everyone has their suspicions, but no one other than Steve has spoken to me about them directly.’

  I still felt rather upset by the thought that even after I’d said my bit in the pub some of the traders still viewed me with what I thought was suspicion rather than as part of the team.

  ‘Poor Steve,’ said Bea sadly, ‘I do feel for him, you know.’

  ‘Poor Steve,’ I spluttered, choking on the bubbles from my Prosecco, ‘what do you mean, poor Steve?’

  Bea looked at me and bit her lip. The reaction was a dead giveaway. I’d known her long enough to recognise when she was holding something back and chewing on her lip was her trademark way of trying to keep quiet.

  ‘What?’ I demanded.

  She plonked herself down on the chair opposite and reached for her own half-empty tub of ice cream.

  ‘What?’ I said again, more sharply this time.

  ‘When you left,’ she began, her eyes firmly focused on the chunks of chocolate chip.

  ‘What about when I left?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, abandoning the tub again and picking up her glass, ‘I just always thought there was more to the situation than met the eye, but it was so hard to tell.’