by Jo Thomas
I watch William looking about for me, but I move quickly away. His son and wife are encouraging him towards the market, pulling him into the heart of the community where he is being embraced, engulfed and congratulated, people patting him on the back and hugging him, thanking him for bringing the cup home and the spirit of Christmas back to the Old Town.
My eyes sting as the snow meets the tears. It’s time to pack and get ready to leave. First thing in the morning, at first light, we’ll be gone from here and it will be just another memory.
FORTY-FIVE
I walk back towards the guesthouse, in the shadows of the tall half-timbered buildings, watching the market as it comes to life. As I near the covered terrace with the gingerbread town, everyone is there, apart from William and Noah, who wants to go on every ride, even the ones he wouldn’t have been seen dead on before his dad became his hero again. I watch as the two throw their heads back in laughter on the merry-go-round. Suddenly the scales have fallen from Noah’s eyes and he can see the glamour and shine of the New Town for what they are, just like I realize I have spent my adult life looking for a man like the one I thought had left me behind, instead of grasping that I was seeing things wrongly. There’s no shortcut to finding love. Love happens when and where it wants, whether it’s right or wrong at the time. I see Marta watching her son, and his father, smiling, and my heart twists. Is this it? Has she understood what the shop and the bakery mean to William or is he still going to give it up for the sake of his family?
I walk through the market and stop at a distance from the gingerbread town. There is Joseph, and next to him is Heinrich’s father. There is a gap between them. They say nothing, just stare as the little railway chugs its way from the village, through the mountain, over the bridge and back again. The choir are still singing and a band is setting up in the bar area next to them.
‘Those were the days,’ says Joseph, with a crack in his voice, ‘when we were boys …’
‘With a shared dream,’ Heinrich’s father joins in, with a matching crack.
‘Before …’
‘Yes. Before we lost Maurice. Before I took out my grief on you.’
‘It all seems a very long time ago now,’ says Joseph.
‘And somewhere in all that time, this, the memories …’ Heinrich’s father waves a hand ‘… the spirit of Christmas …’
‘… has been lost,’ Joseph finishes.
They stare at the gingerbread town, letting the memories wash over them. Wave after wave.
‘We were so busy fighting over who had the right vision for the business and the shop that we forgot what really mattered.’
They gaze at the two figures in the centre of the gingerbread scene.
‘We forgot the magic of Christmas,’ says Joseph, as his grandson and son come and stand by him.
Heinrich, too, has joined the group, with the beautiful Klara, who runs his factory floor like clockwork. She’s smiling radiantly at him, as is he at her. Alchemy!
FORTY-SIX
I join Pearl, and she knows from looking at me and at Heinrich. I shake my head and she hugs me to her.
‘It wasn’t right, Pearl,’ I say.
‘He asked you to marry him?’
I nod.
‘And if it wasn’t right, you did the right thing in turning him down,’ she says, hugging me to her. Her eyes flick to William, as do mine, and his to me, but I quickly look down at the gingerbread town.
‘Looks like everyone got what they wanted most for Christmas, their Christmas memory.’ I sniff, lift my head and smile. ‘Old memories and new ones.’
‘Well, nearly …’ says Pearl, as the choir comes to an end. Anja and the bar staff at the far end of the terrace hand around huge jugs of beer.
A group of schoolchildren come forward to the microphone where the choir have just been singing, and sing ‘Silent Night’ beautifully, then Pearl insists on trying to teach them ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ in English, getting muddled between her pipers piping and her lords a-leaping, and we all smile as our beer glasses are topped up, and laugh as, behind them, the band sets up.
Pearl rejoins the group around the table by the fire, laughing, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes and out of breath. She steps over the bench to sit at the wooden table and takes a swig of the beer that’s been poured for her there. She looks totally happy and alive.
‘Where’s Norman?’ she says suddenly, and we all shake our heads.
‘No idea,’ I say. ‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He won’t want to miss this.’
Out comes a band, all dressed in Bavarian costume, with long shorts, white socks with tassels to hold them up, white shirts, braces and hats, many carrying their brass instruments. There’s a tuba and a trumpet, someone sits at the keyboard and there’s an accordion, played by Joseph.
‘An oompah band!’ Alice claps her hands in delight. Di beams as she picks up a glass of beer and helps Graham take a sip.
‘Oh, where’s Norman? He’d love this! He’ll be gutted if he misses it,’ says Pearl, her eyes darting around. I daren’t look in case I spot William with Marta, and right now I can’t bear to see that. In any case, the rest of the group and I are staring at the band in disbelief.
‘Pearl.’ I nudge her. She turns, and I point at the little stage.
‘Norman!’ she exclaims, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘In lederhosen!’ Norman takes centre stage with the band and looks at her, uncomfortable at first, but then, seeing her expression, he begins to enjoy himself as the band starts to play, the audience swaying. Norman plays the bells he’s holding, and Pearl is transfixed, as if she’s seeing him for the very first time, with different eyes, and I’m guessing that’s alchemy too.
We all sway, drink and clap along to the oompah band and eventually everyone is dancing too. Di, encouraged by Graham, is on her feet, beaming, and I can tell Graham wishes he was up there too. Maeve is on the dance floor, wheeling back and forth like she has new dancing shoes on. And Norman leaves the band, grabs Pearl and swings her around. Then, much to my protests, he grabs me, too, and despite my wretchedness, I join in with them, my dear friends. When we’re all exhausted, the band slows the music down and couples take to the dance floor. I can’t look up. I don’t want to see if William and Marta are dancing together. But despite my best efforts, I glance occasionally at the dancers, but I don’t see them. Instead, Noah comes to dance with me and, once again, I can’t say no.
Di returns to her seat by Graham, patting his knee and smiling. He looks at her and tries to struggle to his feet. Di stands to help him but he puts up his hand and tells her to stay where she is.
‘Sorry, Noah, there’s something I need to do,’ I say, and he follows me towards Graham, who looks at me, no words needed. I put my arm under his. Noah helps, as does Ron.
Graham stands stiffly and says to Di slowly, ‘Would you like to dance?’, putting out a hand. Her eyes sparkle as she sees the Graham she fell in love with standing in front of her, not the friends supporting him to his feet. She takes his hand and lets him guide her to the floor, as we support his elbows until Di is in his arms, her body against his. She kisses him, then rests her head on his chest, holding one of his hands, her other arm around him, and they gently sway to the music as if it was their first and maybe their last dance together. Whatever it is, it’s a special moment for them both. No thoughts of the illness that has worn them down, no Kindles to hide their worries, just the two of them in love, right now. That’s love. That is real for-better-or-for-worse love. And if I can’t have that, I’d rather spend my life remembering what it looked like than chasing something that isn’t really there.
The snow has stopped and the sky is clearing. The moon shines, and a shooting star arcs across the inky blue. Di rests her head next to Graham’s and takes the memory to her heart.
The band is still playing as Di and Graham finally leave the dance floor, her leading him, back to how life is today, but having for just a few minut
es remembered how it used to be. More jugs of beer are being served but I decide it’s time to slip away. Everyone else is dancing. Joseph has put down the accordion and is dancing with Anja, Pearl and Norman. William is with Noah and Marta, pulled onto the dance floor by their son. Every now and again William catches my eye but I just smile. It’s time to leave them to it. It’s time to get ready to leave for good.
William looked around. He still hadn’t had the chance to see her and talk to her. What with Noah turning up, with Marta, she’d told him she’d see him later. But when? Was it that she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, which he’d realized he’d wanted to say right from the start? That she was exactly the sort of person he would choose if he was searching for the right person online. That he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather be with, and she should think again before accepting Heinrich’s offer, because if it didn’t feel right … Well, she should listen to her instincts, just as she’d taught him to listen to his. And now he was listening, and despite the promise he’d made to himself, not to come between her and Heinrich, he needed to tell her, somehow. But had he left it too late? He needed to get Pearl to help him, but Pearl seemed blissfully preoccupied, drinking and dancing with Norman.
There was only one thing he could do, one last chance to tell her what he was feeling. He left the crowd and walked to the guesthouse, pushed open the door and looked at all the cases lined up there, ready for an early departure in the morning. Now all he needed to do was find the right one.
FORTY-SEVEN
At barely first light, I’m up and keen to get going. I turn to Pearl to wake her, but her bed is empty. I smile. At least someone found their perfect date on this trip.
I get dressed and make my way downstairs to where the rest of the group is gathering. We hug and thank Anja for all she’s done and make our way in the early-morning light towards the minibus. Norman helps with the cases and everyone helps everyone else onto the bus. John is still humming the carols he sang so beautifully yesterday, enjoying the memories they’re bringing back for him. Maeve has stopped complaining about being helped onto the minibus as I load in her customized and decorated wheelchair, memories of her time here and her skating trip. She’s sporting a new sparkly bobble hat and, by the look of it, feeling like Baby from Dirty Dancing still.
I turn on the engine and get the heaters going as I brush off the snow and de-ice the windscreen.
Norman and Pearl are cuddled up together, holding hands, as if to keep warm, but their smiles and the fact they can’t stop looking at each other say something different, I think, as I climb into the driver’s seat and adjust my rear-view mirror.
I turn the engine on. It stutters and cuts out. Is this it? Is the minibus going to break down and, by some twist of Fate, I’ll have to stay here? I turn the key. It starts first time. No twist of Fate, then. I look around, one last time, towards the market square. Anja is still there, waving us off, and I know she and Joseph have a new start to look forward to … just like William, it would appear, with Marta. I can’t stand in the way of that. I have to leave and let him try to get his life back to how it was. Just like he wanted.
I push the minibus into first gear, hoping against hope that William will appear and tell me not to leave, that it was me all along. But he doesn’t. Even if he thought it, and Marta wasn’t asking him back, he promised he wouldn’t interfere between me and Heinrich. And I have a feeling he’s going to keep his word. He said he wouldn’t say anything to influence me about Heinrich. He kept his promise … but I wish he hadn’t.
FORTY-EIGHT
The following morning, I’m up early. There is no market outside setting up, no snow falling. It’s Christmas Eve and it couldn’t feel less like Christmas. The house is cold and empty, or maybe that’s just how I’m feeling inside. But I can’t lie here in bed. There is something I have to do, no matter how much I don’t want to. I can’t put it off any longer. I promised myself I would do this as soon as I got back, and I have to keep that promise to myself. I get up, pull on my Christmas jumper and head over to the retirement flats with my Christmas presents, the lebkuchen hearts I made, sharply reminding me of the morning I spent with William in the shop, one of my all-time favourite memories, along with making the gingerbread town. And when it’s less painful, I will look back on it time and time again and smile.
As I approach the block, something looks different. It’s not just that the building work has stopped. Lights are coming from the unused day room. I push open the door and stop. It’s different, nothing like it was a month ago when I turned up to see the ambulance doors closing and the door to Elsie’s flat wide open with no one there. I was holding her order of vegetable soup and steak and kidney pudding. This feels very different, very different indeed. The first thing I hear is music. There is never music at the flats. Then I notice decorations, homemade paper chains and cut-out snowflakes, hanging everywhere, from the ceiling in Reception and along the corridors. Even po-faced Penny, the receptionist, is wearing a Christmas hat and a smile. A big sheet of brown paper, with potato-printed holly leaves on it, is covering the contents of the vending machine, and finally there’s the smell. No longer cheap disinfectant, it’s lovely, drawing me in and leading me down to the day room and the kitchen there.
‘Wow!’ is all I can say, as I stand and stare. ‘This is beautiful!’ Tears spring to my eyes, not for the first time over these last few days, and I’m surprised there are any left. Probably a combination of tiredness and sadness at what, or rather who, I found and had to leave behind in Germany.
‘Ah, Connie, there you are!’ says Pearl, poking her head out from the kitchen. ‘Come and check our gingerbread, will you?’
I follow the smell into the kitchen, now warm and full of life. The oven there is humming away.
‘Maeve used to be a school cook,’ says Pearl, pointing to Maeve, in a sequinned top, tinsel covering her wheelchair. ‘We’ve decided,’ she says, ‘that we’re not going anywhere this Christmas.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes! Anyone who wants to see us can come and join us. We’re having Christmas dinner here. Just as we like it.’ She beams.
‘Roast turkey, with bread sauce,’ says Maeve.
‘And decent red wine,’ says John, then goes back to humming along to the carols as he cuts out more paper snowflakes. ‘And carols,’ he says, pointing to the radio. ‘They’re very good, this lot. It’s a dementia choir, based in Scotland, and they’re going on tour next year. Going to try and see them. Their album is called Gin-gle Bells.’ He holds it up. ‘Present to myself at the ferry port.’
‘Talking of opening presents …’ says Pearl, clapping her hands together.
‘Er, Pearl.’ I catch her elbow and pull her to one side.
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Talking of opening things.’ I give her a firm look. She says nothing. I take a deep breath. I have to say something. I can’t put this off. ‘Isn’t it time you opened the letter that’s been in your coat pocket since we left home?’
‘Letter?’ She feigns innocence and I can tell she wants to distract me from the subject.
‘The one from the hospital I gave you when we left for Germany,’ I say quietly but firmly.
‘Oh, I …’ She waves a hand, trying to dismiss it.
‘Pearl.’ She looks at Norman, hanging paper chains from the windows, and Ron, decorating the artificial tree they found at the back of the cleaning cupboard with foil-covered chocolates. ‘Do it for Norman. Now you’ve found each other, you can’t ignore it any more,’ I say. ‘You have to know, whatever it is, so you can face it together.’ A minute passes. Finally she nods and walks towards her coat. The letter hasn’t moved from its pocket since she shoved it in there as we left.
She pulls it out and glances at Norman, who smiles and goes back to pinning up paper chains, the carols playing in the background, the smell of gingerbread and the warming aroma of turkey stock on the stove wafting to us. It feels a lot like home used
to feel, filled with love. I think about Maeve and her family Christmas where she felt unwanted and unloved, and Alice only there to buy the expensive presents. Here, they’re sharing the time because they want to be together. And I can’t help but wonder what William’s Christmas Eve is looking like. I try to push it out of my mind. I haven’t opened my phone to check my messages and, right now, I don’t intend to. I can’t bear the thought of checking for messages. It’s not the messages that count. I used to get hundreds from Heinrich and it filled my evenings, but that was all. They filled a void. A void that was left by Sam’s departure and a space in my heart I’d ignored for a long time. A place for love. I thought I’d found love with Heinrich until I tasted the real thing, and now I have, I can’t settle for anything less.
Pearl holds out the letter in front of her, hand shaking.
‘Do you want me to?’ I ask her.
She nods. I take it from her and squeeze her hand. ‘Whatever it is, we’re here for each other,’ I tell her, and mean it. Because that’s what love is. Being there through thick and thin.
I open the letter, my hand shaking too, and read it carefully, then reread it just to check. A smile spreads across my face as I pass the letter to Pearl and take her hand.
‘It’s all okay, Pearl. You’re clear. No need to go back to the hospital. They didn’t find anything wrong. Nothing unusual. The screening is clear.’
She looks at me in utter disbelief, and now I know why she was happy to share a room. I don’t think Pearl has slept properly for weeks with worry.
‘You should have told me!’ I scold.
‘Clear? Nothing wrong?’ she repeats.
‘Nothing wrong,’ I confirm again. The letter is scrunched up as she grabs both my hands and tears of relief fall down her lined cheeks.
‘Nothing wrong,’ she says, a huge smile spreading across her face. ‘I’ve been so worried. Thought Elsie’s wake would take my mind off things.’