by Sue Watson
There were a few people already waiting, and I waved to Maxine and we chatted for a little while before I joined my fellow travellers. There were some older ladies, a few couples and a family with two kids who were loud and kept fighting. In between their yells, the mother piped up with, ‘JOSH, that will DO,’ and when the father started with, ‘THAT’S IT, we’re going home if you keep doing that,’ I wondered if I should have brought earplugs. Then all of a sudden, one of the children hugged their mum and said he wanted to whisper ‘a secret’ in her ear. It stopped me in my tracks for a few seconds, and an unspoken wave of emotion washed over me, reminding me I’d missed out on something very special along the way.
I batted the feelings out onto the snowy mountains and began a conversation with one of the older ladies about thermal underwear. She was just enlightening me about the joys of ‘the liberty bodice’ for ‘us older girls’ when I spotted him out of the corner of my eye. It was Jon. I tried to ignore the flutter in my chest, and suddenly felt incredibly nervous about approaching him, but at the same time had this urge to talk to him. I wanted to thank him for the flowers and to ask where he’d been for the past few days – I’d missed seeing him. I also wanted him to realise that I wore ‘normal’ clothes and there was nothing strange about me. Until now, the only times he’d seen me I’d been sporting a see-through shirt and miniskirt in deep snow, a costume with udders on a mountain or a top with an invitation to ‘Come and get it – it’s HOT!’ in sequins across the chest – not to mention the bobble hat.
Being with the girls had given me confidence, and I was more sure of myself now. There was nothing wrong with going over to someone you knew and liked and just saying hi, was there?
So I made my excuses to my thermal-underwear friend and rushed over to him. Seeing him again, I knew I liked him and was keen to make a good impression and dispel any ‘weirdo’ or ‘walking-human-disaster’ vibe he may have picked up. So in my keenness to reassure him I wasn’t half naked or wearing udders, I opened the fur coat and said, ‘Hello, Jon, haven’t seen you for a while – look, I’m normal!’ Which probably wasn’t necessary and implied the very opposite. I was holding open the fur coat like a flasher while insisting I was ‘normal’, and his face just opened up into a huge smile as my heart jammed into my chest.
‘Ah yes, so you are,’ he said teasingly.
‘Thank you so much for the flowers,’ I said. ‘I was really touched.’
‘I was feeling the guilt. You always fall or take on the illness around me.’ He laughed. ‘And now, here you are again, you are a glutton!’
My fellow tourists turned around at this to see ‘the glutton’ and I quickly added, for their benefit as much as Jon’s, ‘For punishment.’
‘Ah, I think so. I worry you will have the accident on this trip… or we will lose you in an avalanche.’
We laughed and he gently touched my back as he escorted everyone out of the coffee shop and on to the waiting mountain bus. I’m not sure if he arranged it this way, but he suggested as I was the only single passenger I would need to sit at the front of the bus, and when he climbed on last, I was delighted to see him take the seat next to me.
I had hoped we could bond on the bus, but unfortunately he spent most of the hour-long journey dealing with various questions from the rest of the party. Once or twice he stood up at the front of the bus and pointed out a mountain or a glacier in his lovely Swiss-German accent. I was impressed by his knowledge, and he talked about local history, latitude, ski spots and climate. I liked listening to his voice and the way he described the snowy picks (peaks). I also warmed to the cute way he said ‘wisitor centre’.
Our destination was a small village called Saas Fee, described by Jon as ‘the pearl of the Alps’, and stepping off the bus, I had to catch my breath. This was the beautiful little chocolate-box village I’d longed for when I’d first thought of coming to Switzerland. Nestled in a white, snowy valley surrounded by high mountains and glaciers, the village was the twinkliest, most Christmassy place I’d ever seen.
We had to walk into the village, and I walked alongside Jon, imagining what it would be like to be alone with him. Unfortunately ‘liberty-bodice’ woman had now latched on to me and was trying to engage me in more discussions on the joy of thermal underwear. By the time I’d managed to shake her off Jon was involved in some bloody drama regarding an older couple’s flushing toilet in their chalet. Really? Couldn’t they wait until they got back?
‘Wow,’ I sighed as I gazed out at the little streets dotted with wooden chalets, shops and cafés, all like fairy lights in the snow. It felt even more authentic and old-fashioned because there were no cars.
Jon gave us a talk about Saas Fee’s fresh mountain air and how ‘vonderful’ it was to just enjoy the peace and quiet here. He told us it was home to the world’s largest ice grotto, the highest funicular railway and a list of various measurements in metres about the surrounding peaks. I didn’t care about the statistics – I just loved the fact that everything here seemed to be covered in Christmas glitter.
‘It was also the setting for Wham!’s big hit “Last Christmas”, in 1984,’ he said, which caught my attention. No one but me seemed interested in this particular piece of pop history, but as an eight-year-old I’d loved the Wham! video that Christmas. I remember being obsessed with the video of George Michael’s doomed love in the ski lodge among soft-focussed snowflakes and trendy young things at Christmas time. I suppose it was one of the last Christmases we’d shared happily as a family. Mum and Dad’s marriage probably started to disintegrate the following year.
Jon explained that we were now free to wander until 5 p.m. when we had to meet the mountain bus back here. I was rather hoping he might suggest we spend some time together – I’d felt all the signals were there and I’d caught him looking at me a couple of times, and even when dealing with the various ‘guest problems’ he would sometimes catch my eye. I felt we definitely had some unfinished business, and I was excited – what a lovely setting to spend the afternoon with a good-looking, fun and knowledgeable man.
But just as we all split up and I was pretending to look for something in my bag in case he approached me, he announced that he wouldn’t be walking through the village with us. ‘I have to call the resort and tell them about someone’s toilet problem,’ he said, which caused a snigger from a couple of the kids. As much as I liked him, this was my day, doing my stuff, and standing on the snow-sugared street, a wave of something came over me, and – I know it sounds strange – but I felt like I was home. The Wham! video must have left such an impression on me that I think it’s what I’d been looking for all my life without realising it. Each Christmas when real life let me down, I’d bake a big Christmas cake, some mince pies and I’d escape to this stunning winter wonderland nestled in my brain for over thirty years. And here I was – finally home for Christmas.
As it was winter there was little light in the village and all the shops and chalets were lit from the inside, often strung with fairy lights and mistletoe, with sprigs of holly and wreathes on the doors. Despite the village being busy with Christmas-seeking tourists, there was a tranquillity about it that appealed to me as I walked slowly past the shops and cafés, allowing the Christmas tingle to run through my veins, warming me in the sub-zero temperatures. Popping into a couple of boutiques I was a little horrified at the prices but managed to buy myself a few things to wear. I also bought three beautiful gingerbreads for the girls – I didn’t have Christmas gifts for them yet, and Jody’s was still in my suitcase – but at least I’d have something to give them on Christmas morning. There was a Christmas tree, a bauble covered in glittery icing and an angel with feathery iced white wings. They looked and smelled so delicious, I just hoped I’d be able to resist them myself before Christmas.
After a couple of hours wandering the beautiful streets, it was late afternoon and quite dark. This only added to the magic of the place as the lights twinkled and Christmas music played – I
felt alive and happy for no reason, just pure happiness. All the walking had made me hungry so I wandered uphill towards a sign saying ‘The Cake Café’, which said it all for me. It was in the distance, snuggled under the towering white-topped mountains, and even though it meant walking a little further than I’d anticipated, I couldn’t help myself – I was drawn there. When I arrived outside the café, I knew it had been worth the walk.
Looking just like a gingerbread house iced with snow, the café glowed in the winter dusk, welcoming me in with the smell of hot chocolate and freshly baked gingerbread. This was just like the café in my childhood book, The Christmas Cake Café, and I felt a little catch of excitement in my breath. The window was a huge display of the village created in gingerbread and icing, with the ice rink in the middle of the village green, children playing snowballs, a snowman – and even a sugar Father Christmas climbing down a chimney, his sack filled with real candy canes. There was the funicular railway, the snowy summits made from enormous peaked meringues, and strung through this little confectionery village were a million tiny fairy lights. The window was like something from an old fairy tale, a vision of Christmas as it used to be – as it should be – and I was transfixed. I don’t know how long I stared into that window – there was so much detail, so many things to see – but when someone tapped me on the shoulder, it made me jump. When I turned around I saw Jon, smiling.
‘Jon!’ I said, fighting the urge to throw myself into his arms, and as we embraced politely, I was aware we held each other a little too long and a little too tight for acquaintances. Was it possible he liked me too?
‘You okay?’ he asked as we released each other. ‘I’ve been looking for you, and then I give up and it’s strange, but I come to my favourite place – and here you are!’
I nodded. ‘Oh yes, this would be my favourite place too if I lived here – I’d spend all day every day just gazing into this delicious window. I’m mesmerised by this lovely gingerbread town,’ I said, gesturing to the confectionery-iced buildings. ‘It’s so clever. It reminds me of a book I used to read as a child… it was mostly pictures, but they’ve stayed with me and this place is just like it. Uncanny really.’
’Do you bake?’
‘No.’ I smiled. ‘I’m a librarian, but who knows? One day?’
‘Ah yes, don’t give up your dream to bake. I dream of baking the cakes all day.’
‘Ah, I enjoy baking too, but I wouldn’t know where to begin to create something like this.’
‘Ah yes, this coffee shop she is very famous. Very sad though…’
‘Oh why?’
‘The lady who owns it is old and this might be her last winter here – she is moving away to live with family. I always loved looking at this window as a little child. Every December my parents bring me here and like you I gaze for hours at the gingerbread houses and the sugar snow.’
He was looking into the window, and I glanced up to see his face soften as his eyes took in the sweet winter wonderland before us. I could see from his face that underneath his rather detached exterior, there was something softer, capable of warmth and humour.
‘I thought I might go inside and have something to eat,’ I said, suddenly feeling rather cold and longing to enter the cosy café.
‘Yes… I recommend the Sachertorte,’ he said. ‘It’s Austrian, but they don’t mind.’ And then he laughed; it was presumably a Swiss joke, so I laughed along.
He was standing by the window as I walked towards the door and I felt rude just leaving him there, but what else could I do?
‘I will take your advice and order the Sachertorte,’ I said, smiling.
‘Ah… erm, Jenny?’ he said and I turned, my heart lifted, the door half open, one step in. ‘Also the Brunsli… you must taste them… you call them the chocolate brownies, I think?’
‘Oh yes… great. Thank you. I will.’ I was now standing awkwardly half inside and half outside the café. I wanted to ask him to join me. He was clearly a Swiss cake connoisseur, which would be handy – especially if they didn’t speak English. But I still lacked basic confidence with men and was rusty in the art of flirting, so I still wasn’t sure if he was just being nice or if he really wanted to join me. There was also the issue of recent injuries I’d incurred in his company, for which he seemed to have taken on the blame. He’d sent the flowers and come to see me in the coffee shop and was being very friendly now, but perhaps he was just hoping I wouldn’t sue him?
We both stood awkwardly in the doorway and one of us had to make a move. ‘Okay… erm, I’ll go and try those Brunsli…’ I muttered, reluctantly walking away from him. I closed the door behind me, giving him a little wave but leaving him standing there. I entered the café and straightaway the warmth and the smell of Christmas engulfed me. Several people were sitting at rustic little wooden tables and benches, which had little heart shapes cut into the wood, drinking steaming chocolates and coffees. Two toddlers played with wooden toys, and their mothers chatted, watching them, loving them. I was stung again by the envy of motherhood, how I wanted to complain of sleepless nights, nappy changing and relentless nursery rhymes. My biological clock was a bitch.
I wandered over to a table, sat down and reminded myself there was more to life than being a mum, allowing the smell of vanilla and the shimmer of Christmas to soothe my heart. This place was so restorative; like Storm’s comforting chamomile tea, it had almost magical qualities that calmed my head and my bones. I picked up the menu, and just as I was trying to decipher the German words, remembering some from school and wishing Jon had come in with me – if only to translate – the door opened, bringing in a blast of icy cold – and Jon.
‘Jenny… I have to tell you…’
He seemed anxious and I was alarmed, worried he was talking about an avalanche or something.
I looked up, alarmed, dropping my menu onto the table and bracing myself for what he had to say.
‘I have to tell you about the Schwabenbrötli.’
‘Oh no? Is everyone okay?’ I asked, assuming this was some kind of mountain disaster that had just happened since I’d walked in.
‘Yes, everyone is fine. It’s a cookie…’ He looked at me like I was mad. ‘And the Zimtsterne… oh and Lebkuchen, and you must try the Schokoladenkuchen.’
‘Oh,’ I smiled, relieved. ‘I’m not sure I can remember, or even say, those things. Perhaps you’d like to join me and help me order my cake?’ I said, hoping I’d got this right and he didn’t think I was coming on to him. I was keen to talk cake… my favourite subject.
‘Oh thank you, yes I would,’ he said, making my knees go weak as he smiled and took the seat opposite me at the wooden table, which looked like something Heidi might have in her Alpine home.
He took charge and made a long and eloquent order of various cakes and cookies in Swiss German. He could have been ordering anything, but from his lips it sounded delicious. He was so animated, his hands waving around, his eyes smiling.
‘You seem very happy here, very much at home…’ I said as I watched him go forensically through the cake menu. I’d meant he was ‘at home’ in the metaphorical sense, choosing cakes, but he thought I meant it literally.
‘Yes, I am at home here in Saas Fee – it’s my home town. My family still live in the village and, to me, it is the most beautiful place on earth.’
‘I agree,’ I said as our steaming hot chocolates arrived with mountain peaks of fluffy cream dusted with cocoa powder and sprinkled with tiny mallows.
‘Famous Swiss hot chocolate, like nothing else,’ he sighed, breathing in the warm chocolate aroma from his mug.
I took a spoon and nibbled some mallow and cream before settling down into my chair. As it was so lovely and warm in the café and I felt so relaxed in his company, I decided to take Jody’s big fur coat off.
I placed it on the back of the chair and continued to attend to the delicious hot chocolate. I was aware Jon was looking at me, perhaps admiringly, and I tried not to blush a
s I looked up and into his eyes.
‘You very pretty, but you wear the strange clothes,’ he said, which wasn’t the comment I’d been expecting.
‘Why do you say that?’ I asked, smiling quizzically and leaning forward, which seemed to cause him some discomfort; he was looking around the café like he was embarrassed to be with me for some reason. I’m no body-language expert but I suspect this was textbook rejection and he clearly had problems, but I felt a little hurt. I wasn’t trying to force myself upon him for God’s sake – I just wanted to be friends.