by Linda Finlay
‘I’ll not be going out on Sundays between now and Christmas, so I’ll be pleased to help with the extra preparations,’ she told him. When he didn’t reply, she added: ‘If you want me, that is.’
‘Oh, I do,’ she thought he murmured but he’d buried his head in his mug and she couldn’t be sure.
✳
The days leading up to Christmas passed in a blur of making and selling sweets, and Colenso was able to keep her thoughts of Kitto at bay. It was during the long nights that she lay in bed thinking of him, rehearsing what she would say to him. She couldn’t believe she’d been so insensitive. Sorry just didn’t seem enough somehow. Love is a precious thing, Colenso, so think hard before you throw it away on perceived grievances. She heard Mara’s words as clearly if she was standing right beside her. How could she have been so stupid as to worry that he hadn’t come after her quickly enough? Surely the important thing was that he’d cared enough to come at all?
She remembered the red serpentine heart he’d polished and engraved with their initials. It must have taken him ages to do and proved he loved her, didn’t it? What if she were to make him a similar token in order to prove her love for him? They were bound to be making more fondant and she was sure Garren would let her have some. She could fashion a heart, colour it red, then carve their initials into it. Happy with her idea, she fell asleep at last.
Just as Garren had predicted, the nearer it got to the big day, the busier the shop became. Even the windy, wet weather didn’t deter the customers, and an air of excitement and anticipation hung in the air.
‘Could I please buy a portion of that?’ she asked Garren as he prepared the fondant to make their last batch of sugar mice.
‘You can certainly have some but there’s no need to buy it. Cut off what you need.’
‘Thank you but I’d feel better if I paid,’ she told him.
‘Still the proud woman, I see,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What do you want it for, if I might ask?’
‘To make a present and if I may also use a drop of red colouring, I’d be grateful.’ This time Garren threw back his head and laughed.
‘You hear that, Father? Colenso, who’s been serving in the shop by day and helping us in here each evening, would be grateful for a drop of red colouring.’
‘Don’t mock, Garren,’ the old man remonstrated. ‘It’s nice to see a young girl with manners.’
‘It is. Sorry, Father,’ he replied, looking so chastened that Colenso had to stifle a giggle. ‘We are truly obliged for all your help, Colenso. I was going to give you something for Boxing Day but you can have the fondant and colouring with our compliments instead,’ he quipped, a gleam of mischief sparking in his hazel eyes. It was then she realized he’d been quiet of late and that she’d missed his teasing.
‘Why, thank you, kind sir,’ she replied.
‘You’d better cover that fondant to work on later because while Father shapes the mice, we need to make more rock,’ he said, nodding towards the piece she’d set aside.
‘You know I told you we shaped the rock into canes at the Panam?’ she said, duly wrapping her fondant in a cloth.
‘I remember, and I explained why we kept them straight here,’ Garren nodded, looking up from the sugar syrup he was now stirring.
‘Well, why don’t we colour this batch green and red then shape them into canes or crooks, just for Christmas Eve,’ she added quickly when he frowned.
‘That’s a good idea, girl,’ Mr Goss nodded. ‘We could capitalize on the nativity and sell them as shepherd’s crooks. Shame we didn’t think to do it earlier,’ he said, darting his son a look.
They spent the rest of the evening kneading, pulling, colouring and shaping, and by the time they collapsed with their cups of tea, the cooling trays were lined with red and green canes and white sugar mice.
‘Brilliant,’ Garren pronounced, finishing his tea. ‘Now I’ll just fill the jars with the jellied sweets, ready for the orphanage and workhouse. Being Christmas Eve tomorrow, the children will be excited and we mustn’t let them down.’
‘I’ll take them, Garren. I know you’ll be busy with the centrepiece for the window,’ Mr Goss said.
‘Oh, what’s that?’ Colenso asked, looking up from the fondant she was carefully shaping into a heart. The red colouring made it glisten and all she needed to do was carve out their initials. She was sure this would show Kitto how she felt, better than words ever could.
‘Ah ha, you’ll have to wait and see,’ Garren teased. ‘All I’ll say is, prepare to be surprised.’
✳
Colenso woke early the next morning and, knowing they’d be extra busy, she quickly dressed and pulled on her big white apron. She could hear Garren moving around in the workshop and so, honouring her promise not to go in there until he said she could, she let herself into the shop. It was her favourite time of day and, humming a carol softly, she set about getting the shop ready for opening. The tantalizing smell of peppermint, fruits and nuts filled the air and she bustled around making sure the displays looked enticing. Garren had told her to leave the middle window empty and, although he didn’t say why, she knew it must be for his centrepiece.
Seeing one of the jars half-empty, she refilled it with the jewel-like boiled sweets. A rare ray of sunlight shone on one of the red ones, making it glow. Reminded of the garnet Kitto had offered her, she snatched it up and held it against her finger, smiling as she imagined wearing his ring. Would it be today he returned, she wondered, excitement fizzing up inside?
‘Ta-da.’ She jumped as Garren came through bearing a platter high in the air. Hastily she returned the sweet to the jar.
‘The pièce de résistance,’ Mr Goss grinned, following his son into the shop.
‘Oh my,’ Colenso gasped, staring in astonishment as Garren carefully placed what looked like a boar’s head in the centre window. Glazed with chocolate, glacé fruit for eyes, and holly in its pricked-up ears, it was truly magnificent. She watched as Mr Goss carefully arranged truffles around the base while Garren stuck spears studded with marzipanned fruits into the sides.
‘It is a replica of what our dear Queen will be having, only hers will be a real one, of course,’ he explained, standing back to study the effect. Mr Goss meanwhile was out on the pavement, giving the thumbs-up. ‘That should draw in the customers,’ he grinned.
Immediately a crowd gathered, pointing excitedly at the centrepiece and all the other confections. Then the little bell tinkled, and amid much exclaiming the day got off to a good start.
‘We’ve not even had time for a cup of tea,’ Garren moaned, but she could see he was pleased. The boar’s head certainly proved a draw and they were so busy it took all three of them to keep up with the incessant flow of customers.
‘Good idea, that,’ Mr Goss said later as he put the last of the candy crooks into a bag. ‘There you go, my lovely,’ he said, handing it to a little girl whose eyes were shining with delight. ‘Don’t forget to think of the shepherds who visited baby Jesus, will you?’ He turned to Garren. ‘Which reminds me, I must get those jellied sweets over to the workhouse and orphanage or there’ll be some very disappointed children. I’ll pick up some bread and ham on my way back and expect a cuppa ready when I return.’
‘Goodness, it’s almost noon,’ Garren exclaimed, looking at the clock above the door. ‘No wonder I’m parched. You must be starving, Colenso, we didn’t even get to break our fast this morning.’ She was about to offer to put the kettle on to heat when the door opened and another group of excited children descended, their harassed parents following behind. They stood looking at all the sweets, trying to decide what to choose while the adults tried to hurry them along. Once they’d finally departed, bags clutched eagerly in their hands, Garren hurried to lock the door, declaring it was definitely time for a break. Snatching up the cash tin, he led the way through to the workshop where he began counting up the money while Colenso went outside to the pump.
The kettle wa
s boiling, the mugs and plates set ready on the table when Mr Goss finally returned.
‘At last, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,’ Garren sighed then he took a closer look at his father and frowned. ‘Whatever is the matter? You haven’t overdone it, have you?’ he asked, his voice rising as his father slumped into a chair. The old man shook his head.
‘I think you’d better sit down, Colenso,’ he said, pulling out her chair. ‘After I delivered the sweets for the children, I felt in need of a breath of air and went for a stroll. There were a group of men from the Wherrytown works gathered on the harbour. It would appear their barge got caught up in a storm and, I’m sorry, dear,’ he said, taking hold of Colenso’s hand. ‘It’s believed it went down, with all lives lost.’
‘What? But that can’t be right,’ she gasped, shaking her head. ‘I haven’t given Kitto his present yet.’
Chapter 32
The grey, swirling fog that had engulfed Colenso stayed and wouldn’t lift. It was as if she was on the outside of life looking in as she routinely went about her work. She couldn’t believe Kitto was dead, didn’t feel he was, and yet everyone assured her that he couldn’t have survived the terrible storm that sank the barge. The pentacle stabbed relentlessly at her neck, until finally, with hot tears coursing down her cheeks, she wrenched it off and put it away in her basket.
Christmas had passed in a blur and, unable to sleep, she’d taken to walking down to the harbour early each morning in the hope of hearing something, anything. She’d expected a group of men to be waiting and looking, like the fishermen’s wives did when their men were late back. There was never anyone from the works there though and, exhausted and dejected, she eventually gave up going, gave up going out at all.
‘I can’t believe he’s dead,’ Colenso muttered one morning as she helped Mr Goss make a new batch of barley sugar. As she couldn’t bring herself to smile, Garren had agreed to serve the customers in the shop.
‘I know how exactly you feel, my dear,’ he replied. ‘Even now, I wake up some mornings expecting Meggie to appear, but of course she never does. I’m told it is part of the grieving process. Best get twisting that mixture before it sets too hard,’ he urged gently as she stood staring into space.
‘If only I’d said yes,’ she sighed.
‘If only we’d done a lot of things,’ he agreed, a wistful look on his face. ‘Shall we sneak an extra break, I could murder a cup of tea, oh …’ he paused, looking embarrassed.
‘I know what you mean,’ she assured him. Snatching up the kettle she went out to the pump. Snowflakes were falling from a leaden January sky, coating everything in crisp white powder. The air was as icy as her heart, although thankfully the water hadn’t frozen yet. Oh, why hadn’t she accepted Kitto’s ring? The thought that plagued her day and night, surfaced once again. As she stood there wondering what had possessed her to do such a stupid thing, her attention was caught by a cluster of snowdrops in the corner of the yard. Pearlescent fragility belying their toughness, they stoically stood, taking all the weather winter threw at them, and Colenso knew she would need to summon that same strength if she were to get through the coming months.
As was often the case in this more temperate part of the country, the snow didn’t settle for long, and by the end of February it had thawed, although Colenso’s feelings remained frozen, suspended in her last meeting with Kitto.
‘Come along,’ Garren urged late one afternoon. Business had been slow since the Christmas rush, and he’d closed the shop early ready to try out another of Jago’s grandmother’s recipes. ‘We need something new to entice the customers in.’
‘What are we going to make?’ she asked, trying to show an interest. Although life held no joy for her now, Garren and Mr Goss had been good to her, and she owed it to them to help keep their business going.
‘As you’ve probably noticed, many of our customers have been sneezing and coughing, so I thought we’d try this receipt for aniseed humbugs,’ he said, pointing to an illustration of little black and white cushions. ‘These are larger and stronger than the ones I’ve done previously, so we can sell them as a remedy,’ he grinned.
Once the sugar syrup was poured out onto the cooling tables, Garren cut it into two portions, one twice the size of the other. To the smaller portion he added a tiny amount of black colouring, to the other the aniseed flavouring he’d purchased earlier.
‘Right, we’d better oil our hands or they’ll be black for days,’ he told her. ‘I’ll knead the black portion while you do the other one until it satinizes, then we’ll press them together.’ They pummelled them until the mixture turned from clear to satiny and then rolled them into a sausage and strand, ensuring both were the same size. Garren placed the black strand over the white and rolled the two colours together until twice their original length. The smell was heady by now and she began to feel lightheaded.
‘Remedy working already, is it?’ he grinned, seeing her expression. ‘That’s a good sign.’ As he so often did these days, he took no offence when she didn’t reply, merely answering his own question. ‘Right, now we need to snip them into lozenges,’ he said, passing her a pair of scissors. But she worked too slowly and the mixture cooled so that she was no longer able to cut it.
‘It’s too brittle, the rotten, stupid stuff,’ she shouted, throwing it down on the table, where it shattered into shards. Horrified by her outburst of temper, she covered her eyes with her hands.
‘It’s all right, Colenso,’ Garren said softly, leading her over to the table and easing her gently into the chair. ‘Anger is the next stage of the grieving process,’ he murmured, handing her his kerchief. ‘I bought some angelica on the market and thought we might crystallize it tomorrow. It’ll soon be Mothering Sunday and it would make a good cake decoration. Of course, the whole place will reek like a distillery for a week, for the stems smell like gin when you boil them. He chatted on without expecting her to answer, and before long she felt the rage that had bubbled up from nowhere, subsiding.
With the new remedies proving popular, Colenso found herself working alongside Garren as they spent most evenings and Sundays trialling both the receipts in the journal and developing some of their own. He never asked questions yet was always ready if she wanted to talk. Although she still felt guilty at the way she’d refused Kitto’s ring, as February turned to March, she found the numbness easing slightly, leaving a heavy weight in its wake. She still couldn’t believe he was dead; yet, as there’d been no news from Wherrytown, she slowly began to accept the inevitable.
‘You need feeding up, my girl,’ Mr Goss said, placing a boiled egg in front of her. ‘Mrs Heava’s hens is laying well so there’s plenty more where they came from.’
‘And I’ve even cut a slice of bread into soldiers for you,’ Garren grinned.
‘Really, boys, I’m not a child, you know,’ she replied, a smile hovering tentatively on her lips as she saw them watching like mother hens themselves.
‘No, but you do need to eat a bit more,’ Mr Goss pointed out. Colenso nodded, for it was true her clothes were hanging off her. Even when she’d retrieved her pentacle, it had felt too heavy to wear. ‘Can’t have a scrawny scarecrow serving in my confectioners,’ he added, a twinkle in his eye.
‘You’re going to need the energy, for being Mothering Sunday tomorrow, I’m expecting a run on the last of those angelica stems. I’m pleased at just how popular they’ve proven to be.’
‘What about you, Colenso? Do you have a mother to think of tomorrow?’ Mr Goss asked.
‘Mamm has made a new life for herself,’ she replied, obediently tucking into her egg. It was enjoyable and the first thing she’d really tasted since hearing the news about Kitto. ‘And we buried Mammwynn more than a year ago.’
‘We shall be going to visit Meggie’s grave tomorrow,’ Mr Goss said. He looked so sad and, wanting to make him feel better, Colenso held up her empty egg cup.
‘Thank you, that was delicious.’ Both men sm
iled. ‘Perhaps I could return the favour by cooking a meal for you tomorrow,’ she offered. After exchanging a look, they nodded.
✳
As spring flowers bloomed in the yard, so Colenso found herself slowly coming back to life. She’d never get over Kitto but, with Garren and his father’s help, she found herself taking an interest in things again.
One Sunday morning as she took herself into the workshop for breakfast, she found Garren opening a present.
‘Thank you, Father,’ he said, shaking out a moss-green jumper. ‘Just what I need,’ he grinned.
‘Happy birthday, Garren,’ Colenso said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realize or I would have bought you something.’
‘Well, as it’s my birthday and the weather’s warm and sunny, why don’t we pack a picnic and walk along the beach until we find a sheltered spot? We’ve all been working hard and you haven’t been out anywhere in ages, Colenso. It will give me an opportunity to wear my new jumper,’ he added as she opened her mouth to protest.
‘That would be nice,’ she found herself saying.
‘What do you think, Father?’ Garren asked.
‘As you say, we’ve all been working hard and I’m feeling rather tired,’ he replied, yawning for good effect. ‘Think I’ll rest my eyes a while. You two go, though.’
The day was indeed sunny, although there was a breeze blowing so that Colenso was glad of her shawl, and Garren his smart new jumper. Taking a different street than she had before, they strolled down towards the seafront. The birds were singing, camellias and primroses bloomed, a tulip tree was in full bud, and Colenso found herself feeling if not happy, then almost content. Her heart wobbled as they passed the boats in the harbour but Garren quickly guided her through a little tunnel opposite the smelting works and onto the beach.
‘Shall we go barefoot?’ he asked, grinning mischievously. ‘We might even risk a paddle later if you want, although the sea will be perishing, oh …’ his voice trailed off.