The Christmas Spirit

by Susan Buchanan

  No matter how many interviews he was invited to, and there weren’t that many in comparison with how many applications he had made, he had never been offered a job. Four years of university and no job. He had struggled through university, working in bars and even as a bingo caller at one point, but he couldn’t even find that kind of work now. And for what, he had a 2:1 degree in Politics and Sociology. What use was it to him? He couldn’t even get a second interview at a call centre. What kind of failure did that make him? He was well turned-out, had a nice manner, and he thought he was relatively charming, yet the job offers were unforthcoming. To top it all, there was the not so small matter of twenty thousand pounds of student loans to pay back in the future.

  Jacob’s family were rich, not just well off, but properly, stinking rich. You would think that would mean money wouldn’t worry him, but his parents were of the belief that you had to earn everything in life. So, no, they hadn’t paid his way through university. When he’d asked for help, they’d reminded him that they’d parted with enough money in the years when he had attended Gordonstoun. If they told him one more time that not everyone was lucky enough to go to the famous school attended by Prince Charles and Prince Philip, he’d do them a serious injury. So, Jacob had found himself jobs whilst at university and paid his own way. Why he ever thought his family would help him, was beyond him. Hadn’t they shipped him off to Scotland at the first possible opportunity? His parents lived in rural Bedfordshire, with apartments in London, Hong Kong, New York and Dublin, as well as condos in North Carolina and Santa Monica. His father had worked for the diplomatic service and his mother, although a trained lawyer, had chosen to travel around the world with her husband, doing some freelance work when she got bored, but mainly playing the part of diplomat’s wife, hosting dinner parties and attending tennis club events. A pity, then, that they didn’t see fit to include their son in their plans.

  In the beginning Jacob had loathed boarding school. He hated being away from home, but over time he had felt more at home at Gordonstoun and when on holiday at his friends’ houses than he did in his own house. When he had then gone on to study at the University of Glasgow, some of those alliances had been broken, or perhaps not upheld as well as they had all expected. Life sent them in different directions. Many of his peers had parents who employed them in their firms; some owned their own companies at the forefront of technology, were inventors, or had made canny investment choices long ago. Others came from old money, so had no need to work, enabling them to pick and choose their role.

  Jacob was an exception. His father could have put a word in for him at the civil service, although Jacob wasn’t sure he was cut out for officialdom, it was too stuffy for him, but he didn’t. Jacob was to carve his own path and his own luck. His father had worked for everything all his life and he expected his son to do the same. Nothing would be handed to him on a plate. Jacob didn’t expect that. He wanted to make his own mark. What he hadn’t foreseen was his father’s coldness, or rather indifference. He had presumed he would review his decision not to help him get ahead, due to the current difficulties in finding a job, as a result of the recession. Surely it was better for him to have a job, than for his father to be embarrassed by his son being on the dole? Being jobless was another reason Jacob didn’t keep in touch with many of his fellow alumni. He was ashamed. He knew it wasn’t his fault. He was doing everything humanly possible to get a job, but he just wasn’t having any luck. Even working for free hadn’t earned him a job. Employers had just taken the free time he’d given them and when he’d enquired about some paid work, even if temporary, he had been met with a resounding no. It was seriously demoralising.

  At least he had his flat. His parents paid for that, an investment of course, Jacob thought bitterly. His father probably wrote it off against tax. He was so sick of having no money, not being able to go out with the friends he had who lived in the area, not having a girlfriend, as how would he take her out on a date with no cash? The utilities were paid, as well as the council tax and the flat itself, but apart from that, he was on his own. His father was a proponent of tough love. Sometimes Jacob wondered why his mother didn’t intervene on his behalf, but then, his mother was weak. She followed his father blindly like a puppy. Maybe he didn’t want to be in love after all, if it turned you into someone who asked no questions.

  Jacob felt his failure to gain employment all the more keenly as his sister, Tabitha, ran her own digital communications agency. Only two years older than him, she was very successful. She had excelled at St George’s School for Girls in Edinburgh and gone on to set up her own company. It would have been handy if she could have gone to St Margaret’s in Aberdeen, to be close to her brother, but they didn’t accept boarders. Likewise the top-rated school, for that’s where their father wanted to send her, Wellington School in Ayr, accepted only day pupils; not a possibility when your father was a diplomat in Qatar. Again, Jacob wondered for the nth time why his parents had bothered having children at all. He and Tabitha had been reared by nannies since they were babies. His parents had never had time to care for them.

  Until they reached secondary school age they had travelled to wherever their father was posted. Jacob’s formative years had seen him at English schools in Hong Kong, Yemen, Peru and Zimbabwe. He had enjoyed his education, in more than one sense of the word. He had experienced so much and was a better person for having lived the life he had, but when he was eleven he had been sent to Gordonstoun and saw his parents only a few times a year; hard for a young boy about to go through puberty. Initially he had been scared, then apprehensive, and finally accepting. Since he had gone to boarding school he had only spent Christmas with his parents twice. The Caribbean or the Indian Ocean had always held more appeal for them at that time of year, and a teenage boy or girl would only get in the way. The few times per year he did see his parents were invariably when they were in the UK for business and took it upon themselves to visit their children. How noble of them, he thought. Jacob vowed either never to have children, or if his partner (should he be lucky enough ever to have one, and present times weren’t indicative of a positive outcome in that respect), absolutely wanted them, then he would be the best father there had ever been. There would be no boarding school for his children.

  ‘Mr Carruthers?’

  Glancing up, Jacob saw a middle-aged, balding man with his tie askew and his sleeves rolled up, checking to see if he was in the waiting area. Jacob made his way over to the desk to sign on.

  Chapter Five

  2nd December - NATALIE

  Next morning dawned bright and clear, the previous night’s rain dried up, so you would never have known it had been torrential less than twelve hours previously. Birds chirping in the trees outside her bedroom woke Natalie. She checked her watch and saw it was already nine o’clock. Goodness, she really had been tired. Well, she had better get up, as she had an awful lot to do. It was by sheer chance that the appointment she had with the bakery owner wasn’t until eleven o’clock, so Natalie availed herself of the wet room, ate one of the delicious croissants her landlady had left for her, and drank some coffee. She took her To Do list out of her bag and double-checked it. Yep, she thought she could get through all of that today, but first to open up shop.

  Natalie stood and admired the shop front before going in. The Sugar and Spice sign was made up of pink iced cakes, on a cream background, with a cherry on the top of the i of Spice. The writing sloped to the right as if italicised. Natalie had a good feeling about this year’s secondment. She admired the sign one more time and then opened the door, causing the bell to jangle. Before her were a few mismatched wooden tables and chairs which lent the bakery a homely feel. She could imagine the townspeople enjoying a scone with clotted cream and a good pot of Scottish Breakfast or Earl Grey here. At the back of the shop stood the cash register and glass fronted cases showcasing the day’s wares. Natalie had barely time to glance round at the sugar pink décor and pictures adorning the walls
of speciality cakes which the bakery had made in the past, before a woman entered from the back of the shop carrying a tray of pastries.

  ‘Good morning, dear. Let me just put these down and I’ll be right with you.’

  The woman laid the cakes on the counter and then turned to Natalie. ‘Right, dear, what can I get you?’

  ‘Are you Mrs Williams?’

  ‘That’s right, dear.’

  ‘I’m Natalie Hope, Mrs Williams, pleased to meet you.’ She extended her hand to the wizened old lady in front of her, who now untied her apron with a sense of finality.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, dear. Welcome to Sugar and Spice. I’m sure you’ll do a grand job.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll try to keep it up to your high standards and not disappoint any of your regulars.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be a problem. You came highly recommended and have such a lot of experience. I’m honoured you want to work in my little bakery. I’m just surprised you don’t have one or a chain of your own.’

  ‘Oh, I’m between premises right now.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Williams, seemingly happy with that answer. ‘Anyway, let me show you the ropes.’

  Mrs Williams then spent a good half hour showing Natalie the ins and outs of the bakery: how to work the ovens, where the water turned off, the alarm system, as well as information on contacting the suppliers. She had no computer. Everything was written down by hand and archived in lever arch folders.

  ‘So do you have any questions?’ Mrs Williams asked, wringing her hands.

  Natalie reassured Mrs Williams by telling her everything seemed straightforward, and invited her to stay and observe how she handled the customers for an hour or so, just to give her peace of mind.

  Mrs Williams was convinced by Natalie handing her a cup of tea and a scone with clotted cream.

  Sugar and Spice didn’t have the newfangled pieces of kit some other bakeries had, but Mrs Williams had something special which many of them didn’t have - knowledge and years of experience. She knew what tasted good and what her customers wanted. For her part, she couldn’t help but be a tad worried about handing over her business, albeit temporarily, to someone she barely knew, no matter how great their credentials. It was such a shame she had to go into hospital; pesky gall bladder. But she knew she’d already put it off enough, too long in fact. Now her recovery period would be longer. The doctor had said she should be OK to go back to work in January, if she behaved. Six weeks rest, he had said firmly. The operation was planned for nine o’clock the following morning.

  First to arrive after Mrs Williams had seated herself at one of the few tables the bakery boasted was Mr Green, who worked at the post office opposite. As she sat there, she knew he would be in for his usual custard slice and a mug of coffee. She watched as Natalie greeted him warmly, prepared his coffee and popped his cake onto a plate, before telling him that would be two pounds ninety-five. Mr Green then took himself off to one of the unoccupied tables and sat down to read his newspaper. Engrossed in his reading, he didn’t notice the flaky pastry landing on his jumper, as he bit into it. Men, thought Mrs Williams. So messy. But she was pleased. Mr Green always ate her cakes with such relish.

  Miss Leather, a retired schoolteacher, was next to arrive. She said hello to Mrs Williams and introduced herself to Natalie. She’d heard all about her in the run-up to Mrs Williams’ operation. She’d be fine, though. Nothing to worry about; just routine. Miss Leather ordered two chocolate éclairs for her and her elder sister, who lived with her now; better than her being put in a nursing home, she said. Poor dear didn’t get out much, but how she enjoyed her chocolate éclairs. Oh, and a couple of Empire biscuits for teatime.

  Miss Leather was just relating to Mrs Williams how a friend of hers had recently had her gall bladder removed and was back to normal in a month, when Stanley arrived. Stanley had been coming to Sugar and Spice for two decades. Edie had loved their Eccles cake, whilst macaroon was Stanley’s favourite. He didn’t know what Mrs Williams put in it, but it was delicious, far superior to those shop-bought ones.

  There was nothing physically wrong with Stanley, he just didn’t see the point of doing much anymore, without Edie. But even he had to venture out from time to time and when he did, he liked to retain the habits he had shared with Edie when she was alive. A weekly visit to the bakery had been part of that ritual.

  ‘Good morning, how are you today?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘Not bad, dear. How are you? New, are you? Taking over whilst Jessie’s in hospital?’ said Stanley, nodding hello to Mrs Williams, before extracting a handkerchief and blowing his nose. ‘Sorry, dear, it’s this weather. Thank goodness we’re getting a break from it today.’

  ‘Yes, it has been pretty cold and wet recently, hasn’t it? Nice to see a bit of sun for a change,’ Natalie agreed. ‘So what can I get you?’

  ‘A macaroon, please.’ Stanley inclined his head to the coconut-covered treat.

  ‘Coming right up. So any plans for the day?’

  Caught off guard, Stanley stammered, then surprised himself by saying, ‘I might go for a walk in the park, since it’s so nice.’

  ‘Sounds lovely. That’s exactly what I would do if I wasn’t working today. Where’s the park, then?’

  ‘Oh,’ Stanley said, thinking, unaccustomed to being asked much these days. Edie was forever asking him questions, sometimes more than he would have liked, but what he wouldn’t give now to have her back, bombarding him with questions. ‘If you turn left when you go out of here and walk along to the stone bridge, turn right and the park is in front of you.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll check it out.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ asked Stanley, enjoying passing on some information to this pleasant young woman. She would be a good stand-in for Jessie.

  ‘I’m at Rose Cottage,’ Natalie informed him, as she put his cake in a bag.

  ‘Lovely place. Used to visit it as a boy. It belonged to my grandfather originally.’

  ‘Oh, is that so? Well, you must tell me some stories about it sometime.’

  ‘I’ll do that, hen. I’ll do that. Well, nice to meet you,’ he said, as Natalie put the exact money he had left on the counter in the till. ‘I hope you enjoy working here.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. Enjoy your walk.’

  ‘Thanks,’ and Stanley left, the door chiming his departure.

  Mrs Williams continued to watch Natalie’s interaction with a few other customers. The hour was soon up and Mrs Williams told Natalie she was more than happy to leave her business in her capable hands.

  ‘Why don’t you stay to sample some of my cakes?’ Natalie asked. ‘I was just about to make a batch of Empire biscuits. We’re already running low. Is Tuesday Empire biscuit day or something?’ she joked.

  ‘No, I don’t know what it is today. I don’t need to stick around, though, to taste your cakes, dear. I’m sure they’ll be lovely. I’m just glad to see that you have the right personality to run the bakery. You have good manners and a nice way with the customers. You show an interest in them.’

  ‘Well, I do love spending time with people. I find them fascinating. I love nothing better than sitting in a pavement café watching the world go by with a latte and a pain au chocolat.’

  ‘Well, if that’s all, dear, I think I’ll head home, get some rest before tomorrow. I’m so sorry about leaving you in the lurch working alone, what with Nuala breaking her foot. The agency did say they would ensure they got someone to cover by the end of the week.’ Mrs Williams couldn’t apologise enough.

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll be fine.’

  The early part of the afternoon saw the café full of schoolchildren and young mothers who came in with their prams and buggies, picking up a treat either for themselves to devour before their other children got home, or for the children to have after dinner. Around two thirty, the door opened and a boy and a girl came in. The girl was well-dressed, city chic, with a purple and pink scarf
around her neck, effortlessly glam. The boy, by contrast, wore jeans which were hanging off him and Natalie didn’t think he was trying to be fashionable. He could do with putting on a bit of weight.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve never brought me here,’ the girl said to her companion.

  ‘I don’t exactly have the cash for extras at the moment, sis,’ the boy said, turning red.

  ‘No problem, my treat. Did I tell you I just signed another contract? UK-wide retailer, sixty stores, can’t tell you the name yet. It’s all under non-disclosure agreement,’ said the girl, whilst she eyed up the mouth-watering array of cakes.

  Meanwhile the boy was scanning the busy café. A queue had formed behind them and he saw that only one person appeared to be working. Dare he ask?

  The girl turned around just then and said, ‘Jacob, what would you like? I’m having some Rocky Road, caramel shortcake for later, and chocolate fudge cake for tomorrow.’ With that list, it would be easy to imagine that the girl was the size of a house but she, unfairly, resembled a rake.

  Without turning around, the boy said, ‘Fudge doughnut for me, Tabs, if they have them.’

  It was soon ascertained that fudge doughnuts were available and his sister, Tabitha, paid for them.

  As Tabitha turned to leave, Jacob addressed the woman behind the counter.

  ‘Excuse me, I can’t help noticing you’re on your own. Are there any openings for staff, by any chance?’

  Natalie smiled at him and said, ‘I’m just filling in for the owner for a month, but we are a little short-staffed as her assistant has just broken her leg. I can’t make any promises, but why don’t I give her a call and see if she’d give you a trial? Do you have any experience?’

  ‘Not in a bakery, but I’ve worked in pubs, if that helps, and I’m good with the public.’

  ‘Let me see what I can do,’ said Natalie, as she lifted a tray of cakes out of the oven behind her.