Finding Love at the Christmas Market

by Jo Thomas

  I nod, watching him work.

  ‘Like this,’ he says, taking the rolling pin from me and showing me, so close I can feel his body heat, his breath. Goosebumps appear on my arms, and I think I should move away, but I don’t. He smells of cinnamon and baking bread. Now possibly one of my favourite Christmas fragrances to join that of the early-morning mist and the Christmas tree.

  Outside soft flakes of snow are falling.

  ‘Now you.’ He hands me the rolling pin and I begin to roll out the dough.

  ‘Good.’ He begins to work on his own piece of dough.

  ‘So,’ he says, ‘you and Heinrich, have you known each other long? How did you actually meet?’

  I give a little cough. ‘We, er … we’ve been talking for a few months now,’ I say, hoping to leave the conversation there.

  ‘Really? So how does a girl from the UK end up talking to Heinrich in Germany?’

  I suddenly feel quite warm. Very warm, in fact. I stand up and run the back of my hand across my forehead. I don’t know why I’m feeling flustered. Everybody meets online, these days. ‘We met online,’ I say quickly, and go back to rolling my dough, ready to be shaped, baked and decorated.

  ‘Online? This is the first time you’ve actually met?’

  I bite my bottom lip. ‘Uh-huh,’ I confirm, not looking up.

  ‘But how can you get to know each other from the other side of a computer screen?’ He stands away from the counter, holding his rolling pin.

  ‘You find out if you like the same things and want the same things in life.’

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘I think so.’ I carry on rolling.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, obviously, you start with looks. As you said, I’d be the last person you’d be looking at.’

  ‘I didn’t actually say that.’ He comes over, leans around me and adjusts the pressure on my rolling pin. Butterflies dance in my stomach. ‘And after looks?’

  ‘He has to be trustworthy,’ I say. I bite my lip again.

  ‘How do you know what you’re looking for? Doesn’t it come down to how you feel?’

  ‘Well, I keep a list of all the things I’m looking for. Most people do.’

  ‘A list!’ He laughs.

  ‘Yes, a list. To see if you have all the right … qualities. Ingredients, if you like.’

  ‘And what’s on this list?’

  ‘Well, like I said, definitely trustworthy. And single. Always ensure they’re single. Financially secure …’

  ‘That counts me out,’ says William, and I stop mid-flow.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean …’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m well aware that I wouldn’t make anyone’s tick list. I’m unreliable, not entirely divorced and practically broke. So you’re saying it’s like following a recipe, as simple as that.’

  ‘Somehow it feels safer that way.’

  ‘Safer than trusting your instinct? So, if the recipe said bake for fourteen minutes but you thought it was burning, would you follow the recipe or go with gut instinct?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it was that simple. You can get caught out. That’s why you have to stick to the list.’

  ‘And have you been caught out?’

  I breathe in, then out. ‘Yes.’ I increase the pressure on my gingerbread dough. ‘Yes. I was very stupid once.’

  ‘Stupid?’

  I nod. ‘I didn’t follow the list. I didn’t follow the rules of meeting and dating. I thought I’d met someone who really liked me. We got on and we made plans, but we never actually met.’

  ‘So,’ he frowns, ‘how does that make you stupid?’

  ‘Phffff.’ I have no idea whether to say any more or not. But it’s not like I’m going to be seeing William again. And there’s something so warm and safe about being here in the early morning, making the day’s gingerbread, that I just talk.

  ‘He needed money,’ I say, finding myself opening the lid of the box I try to keep this painful memory tucked away in.

  ‘And you sent him some?’

  ‘Said he needed it for his business, and once he had that sorted, we’d meet and start planning our life together. I didn’t send the money at first. We talked about it. I mean, I’m not totally stupid. But somehow I felt I was in a relationship with this man and believed him when he said he could pay me back.’

  ‘And he didn’t.’

  A single tear escapes from my eye. ‘I never heard from him again.’ Another tear falls and I step back from the work bench. ‘He had every penny.’

  William puts down his rolling pin.

  ‘After my husband left me, and I really didn’t see that coming, I thought I was doing the sensible thing, talking online first, building the relationship and trust. But I didn’t keep to the list. I got carried away. Phffff!’ I let out a long sigh.

  ‘And he took everything?’

  ‘All my savings. I was so stupid. And now my boss is selling his business and offered me first refusal, but I’ve had to turn it down because …’

  ‘… all your money is gone,’ he finishes.

  ‘Like I say, stupid.’

  ‘Not stupid,’ he says, and puts his hand over mine, leaning into me ever so slightly. I don’t move, smelling the cinnamon and baking. I feel I could stay there for ever. Only I can’t. I really, really can’t.

  ‘We all do things that, at the time, we think are for the right reasons. It doesn’t make us stupid. It makes us kind and considerate. Just because it didn’t have the right outcome doesn’t make it the wrong choice at the time. That’s a chance we take to find happiness.’

  I step away from him, reluctantly, and look at him.

  He takes a deep breath. ‘I went to Cologne to work, to better myself and make my family proud. My mother died a year after I left. Since then, we have never won the baking competition.’

  ‘The Cologne curse,’ I say quietly.

  He nods. ‘Like I say, you can have all the right ingredients, but if the alchemy isn’t right, it’s a disaster.’

  He looks at me and I look at him, and a frisson passes between us. Maybe it’s the setting, the sharing of stories, the fact that I’m off-limits …

  His eyes are the colour of hot chocolate, dark, warm and spicy. I feel alive, on fire.

  ‘I’m here with Heinrich,’ I say, for some reason.

  ‘I know. He’s a lucky man.’ He looks away, and I feel ridiculously disappointed. ‘I hope he realizes it.’

  My heart is pitter-pattering like the snow falling outside. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here,’ I say.

  ‘I know,’ he says again. ‘And I give you my word, I will do nothing to come between you two. I may not like him, but I won’t do anything that will come between you. Unless you want me to, of course.’ He laughs and I do too. A soft laugh, with the occasional sniff of a lasting tear. ‘We all deserve a chance at happiness, however we find it. And, Connie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry if I came across as rude when you first arrived. I—’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I wave a floury hand.

  ‘I was having a bad day. I think I’d just realized how financially unstable I’d become. Heinrich’s made the right steps in life. Maybe I’m a bit jealous of him,’ he jokes. Then, more seriously, he says, ‘No wonder my wife left … I wonder if she had a list.’

  There’s a moment’s silence and I don’t know what to say. Then he claps his hands together. ‘Come on, let’s get these hearts made. We’ll bake them and decorate them. What would you like to write on yours? These gifts mean a lot to people.’

  I’d like to take some back for Pearl and the others, as Christmas presents.

  ‘People can say how they really feel on them and give them from their heart. They’re used a lot by people to tell the ones they love how they feel.’

  I decide to do pictures on mine, an angel for Ron, a star for Maeve. I did think about doing a skater, but I decide not to in case it never happens. We work side b
y side as he prepares the morning’s bakes and starts to hang out the gingerbread hearts on curly strings under the awning for passers-by to read and buy. And then he puts a small gingerbread house in the window, with a tealight candle inside it. It’s getting lighter outside, slowly but surely.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed and happy in a stranger’s company, just being me.

  ‘And now you have completed your Christmas memory,’ he says, and I smile.

  ‘I have. Thank you. If you had a Christmas memory, what would it be?’ I ask.

  He lets out a long, slow breath. ‘To be back at the Christmas dinner table,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘I’d give anything to have Christmas with my mother again, just one last Christmas meal, to tell her how much she meant to me.’

  ‘And who would be round your Christmas table?’ I ask, warming to the theme.

  ‘The ones I love, of course.’ He looks down at my work and frowns. ‘If that is meant to be a choirboy, it looks more like a seagull.’ He chuckles. So do I, looking at my icing effort. I cannot wait for these to be a surprise for Pearl and the gang.

  William looks up at the shop window and his face drops. A boy is staring in, a rucksack on his back, possibly on his way to school. Or perhaps he’s glaring. He looks down at the little gingerbread house, lit with a candle, then up again. He and William stare at each other until the boy turns and runs.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Wait! Stop!’ William runs around the counter and he launches himself towards the door. A cold chill sweeps in, making me shiver.

  He throws himself out into the snowy cobbled street, the dog following. He looks down the road, then back towards the alley I hid in on that first morning. He puts his hands around his mouth and calls, as the snow falls around him, then throws them into the air in frustration.

  His head covered with snowflakes, he comes back into the shop, guiding Fritz by his collar to his bed. The warm baking bubble has gone.

  ‘Who was that?’ I ask, wondering if it was a shop-lifter.

  He raises his head and looks at me with sad dark brown eyes. ‘That,’ he takes a deep breath, ‘was my son.’

  We finish making the gingerbread hearts and he shows me how to finish my piping and wrap my gifts. But the happy, carefree atmosphere we enjoyed earlier is gone. There is sadness in the air.

  ‘I have a son too,’ I say, as we’re clearing up.

  He nods, as if he’s slowly processing the information. ‘He lives with you?’

  ‘He did, until he went to university. Now he has a girlfriend and they’re snowboarding together, for Christmas, with her family.’

  ‘Ah,’ he says, and I’m hoping that means he knows I understand something of how it feels to be separated from the boy he loves.

  There’s a silence and I think that’s the end of the conversation. He pipes another gingerbread heart. My mouth is watering.

  ‘My son lives with his mother. My wife.’ He doesn’t look up, his piping as steady as anything. There’s just a twitch in his cheek.

  ‘Your wife,’ I repeat.

  ‘My ex-wife,’ he says slowly, ‘soon to be. She left a year ago now. Just before Christmas. Just after we’d lost the baking competition for the ninth year in a row and she told me to choose between her and my work. I didn’t expect my whole world to come crashing down around my ears, for her to take my son and for him to hate everything I stand for.’

  And suddenly the date from the other night makes sense. It was his son who stood him up, not a woman. I feel my heart twist.

  He straightens. ‘Like I say, all the right ingredients, but … I came back after my mother died. Settled. Married a girl from the New Town and had my son. All the right decisions at the time, even if they haven’t turned out well.’

  ‘So, you’re not together?’ I ask dumbly, feeling daft, just filling in the silence.

  ‘No,’ he says flatly.

  I can see the hurt and regret on his face, in his eyes, in the lines around them. ‘She thought I chose baking over my family. That I was never there. Always baking.’

  ‘And you?’ I say quietly.

  ‘She stole my dreams and my future when she left with my son.’

  He stares at the window, and I turn to look at the little gingerbread house, its warm glow flickering as dawn and daylight finally arrive.

  The door opens and the bell rings. Fritz jumps up happily to greet the new arrival.

  ‘Ah! Good morning!’ says the old man in German, pulling off his hat. ‘What’s this? A new member of staff?’

  The moment of confidence between us is broken. The painful memories are pushed back to where they came from as we draw our eyes from the gingerbread house to the old man.

  ‘Ah, Paps!’ William reverts to his confident self. ‘Yes, what do you think of my new apprentice and her work?’ He indicates my handmade hearts.

  ‘Apprentice?’ the old man replies in English.

  ‘Just for today.’ I giggle.

  ‘This is my father, Joseph,’ says William.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Joseph.’ Joseph’s look of interest makes me explain: ‘I’m just learning about gingerbread, to tell my baking group about it and create some Christmas memories.’

  ‘She tried to learn how to make it when she visited Heinrich’s factory.’

  I catch my breath. That was supposed to be between us. My cheeks burn.

  ‘Heinrich?’ His father’s bushy grey eyebrows shoot up. ‘You can’t learn to make anything there. It’s all manufactured crap.’

  I wonder how to respond.

  ‘Connie is Heinrich’s new girlfriend,’ William says, with the teasing smile that infuriates me. We’re back again to how he was when we first met. ‘They met online,’ he tells his father.

  ‘Online!’ His eyebrows rise even higher.

  ‘Um, yes, we’ve been messaging for a few months. I’ve come to visit.’

  ‘On a date.’ William gives me the slightest of playful winks, letting me know he’s only teasing, but still irritating me, just making me smile at the same time … I roll my eyes, letting him know his teasing doesn’t touch me, even if it does. We both know we’re keeping up appearances and distracting ourselves from the ones we’re missing in our lives right now. Is that what Christmas is about? Being with the ones we love, missing the ones we can’t be with. Maybe finding new love.

  ‘Yes,’ I retort haughtily. ‘On a date.’ I feel we have the beginnings of a friendship that goes beyond his teasing and my irritation. ‘And talking of dates, I really should be going. I have a lot to do before I meet Heinrich’s family this evening.’

  ‘Ah, his family. Yes, they’ll be keen to meet you,’ says Joseph. I want to ask what he means, but can’t quite find the words. Maybe it’s nothing, but something tells me there’s more to it.

  ‘Right, I must go.’ I pick up my coat and bag.

  ‘Don’t forget these,’ says William. I turn to him, not sure what he means. He’s putting the gingerbread hearts in a paper bag with handles.

  ‘Oh, of course! How much do I owe you?’ I ask, rummaging for my purse.

  He waves a hand. ‘Call it a thank-you to Pearl and everyone for their help with the living Nativity and the film. I hear it was a great success.’

  ‘It was.’ We’re transported back to that moment, me with Heinrich, William waiting for his son, and I want to say something, but there’s nothing I can say. Hopefully today has built some bridges. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Oh, before I go, could you take a photograph of us with the gingerbread?’ I ask Joseph.

  ‘Of course, my dear. Just show me and I’ll try.’

  I set it up on my phone for him and pass it to him. ‘Just press here,’ I say, and go to stand beside William. He puts one arm around my shoulders and holds up a heart in front of us. ‘My heart,’ he says, and we laugh as we wait … and wait.

  Finally, ‘I think I’ve done it!’ I let myself breathe again, as does William when he drops his hand from my shoulder
.

  His father hands me my phone back.

  I head for the door, telling William how much I’ve enjoyed today. I hope he realizes how much it’s meant to me and I hope he gets his Christmas wish too. ‘I wish things were how they were,’ I remember him saying. I pull back the door, glimpsing the little gingerbread house that seems so warm and inviting in the window, a house full of hopes and dreams, pull my scarf tight and hold my hearts, with their Christmas memories iced on them, as I head for the guesthouse in the snow, with a glow inside, keeping me warm.

  ‘Heinrich’s girlfriend?’ William’s father said, as the door shut and the woman in the red coat disappeared down the lane towards the market square.

  ‘That’s right.’ William didn’t catch his father’s eye as he rolled out more gingerbread dough to make hearts for the oven and the morning visitors to the town.

  ‘Be careful, my boy. Be careful. There is enough bad feeling between our families. The last thing we want is for anything to spoil our chance at the weekend.’

  ‘I know, Paps! It was just a favour. Nothing more. I won’t be seeing her again.’

  ‘Do you think Heinrich knows she was here?’

  ‘No.’ William shook his head. ‘And he won’t like it if he does find out. I’ve given my word I won’t cause any problems there.’ He gives his father a warning look.

  Joseph shrugs. ‘Now, show me the masterpiece. How’s it coming on? All ready for Sunday?’

  ‘Nearly finished. Come and see.’ William and his father walk to the back room and William pushes open the door. His father smiles.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  At 6.53 p.m. sharp, Heinrich meets me at the end of the cobbled street where I’ve parked the minibus. He jumps out of the car, kisses my lips and opens the passenger door for me. I slide into the warm car – with heated seats!

  ‘I switched it on for you Hope it’s the right temperature.’

  ‘It’s lovely. That’s so thoughtful.’ I snuggle into the warmth. It’s bliss.

  Heinrich gets in beside me. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes, lovely.’ My body feels as if it’s just got into a warm bath and my eyelids are heavy.