Finding Love at the Christmas Market Page 16

  ‘I …’ Suddenly tongue-tied. Love. Where does love come into all of this? Is it something that grows, with time?

  ‘Well, he must mean something to you if you came here to find out about my installation for Sunday.’ He laughs.

  I shrug. ‘He … ticks all the boxes on my list,’ I say. ‘We’re a good match, right for each other.’

  ‘Show me,’ he says, half teasing again.

  I sigh, knowing I’m humouring him, and pull out my notebook.

  ‘See?’ I open it to the page with Heinrich’s name and the list.

  William pulls his thin, gold-rimmed glasses from his top pocket and begins to read, his finger stopping at each tick, nodding and agreeing. ‘Yes, I can see what you mean. He does tick all the right boxes. You will make the perfect pair by the look of it.’ He pulls off his glasses. ‘But?’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Nothing.’ The book stays open on the worn counter-top. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

  ‘Go on,’ I persist.

  ‘Well, it’s just … like I say, lots of good ingredients, a great recipe, but what about the alchemy? Do you love him?’

  ‘I … Well, not yet,’ I stutter. ‘But I’m sure … that will come,’ I say, gathering confidence. ‘It’s about finding the right match and then the love will grow.’

  ‘You hope,’ he says, draining his cup. ‘Sometimes what looks perfect can be hollow inside.’

  I take a sip of my brandy-laced hot chocolate. ‘He told me …’ I say slowly.

  ‘What? What did Heinrich tell you?’

  ‘That he’d offered to buy the bakery from you. That you needed the money. That if you sold to him, well, it might give you another chance with your family.’

  There’s a moment’s silence.

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There is silence again. He’s looking at the fresh ingredients on the work bench. Is he thinking about his own marriage? Was that hollow inside?

  ‘He said that was the only reason you’d finally agree to sell.’

  Again he says nothing. Then: ‘Do you know what this place means to me? This place is everything. Who I am. If I’m not baking I’m not sure who I am.’

  ‘And would you do that? Give it up for a chance to be back with your family?’

  He lets out a long breath. ‘Was that what this was all about? When you first contacted me to talk about the gingerbread, was it just so you could help Heinrich win on Sunday?’

  ‘No! It wasn’t. That was a mistake. I mean, I meant to send a message to someone else.’

  ‘But that is what you’re doing here, right?’ He raises both his eyebrows, one higher than the other.

  A hot red rash races up my chest, around my neck, into my cheeks and burns the tips of my ears. ‘Today, yes. But not before, not the gingerbread. That was for Pearl. And me. And today … I thought I was helping, I really did.’

  ‘Well, if I want Heinrich’s help, I’ll ask for it. But no. I’ve told him I’m not selling to him. This isn’t over until Sunday and I’m not intending to lose. It’s time we got that cup back here in the Old Town.’

  I nod. My ears and cheeks are still burning.

  ‘I should go now,’ I say, sliding off the stool. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have come.’

  I turn to leave, just as a crowd of holidaymakers opens the door and starts filing in, taking photographs and picking up handfuls of gingerbread hearts to buy.

  ‘A coach party. Good for the till,’ he says resignedly. He smiles tiredly as they pile into the shop, gathering up gingerbread and stollen. William begins to serve them, with his usual lazy smile and thanks.

  In the background the clock-tower bell chimes. I stand and watch the large party, some coming out and more going in. I can’t move. I see what William means. This place could be a gold mine with more visits like this one. He can’t afford to let these sales pass him by.

  Suddenly William freezes. ‘The bell!’ he says.

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ I agree.

  ‘No, I mean, yes! Oh, God! I have to go! I have to be somewhere. I can’t be late! I am late!’ he says, as the shop fills again, until it’s full to bursting. ‘I’m late! I promised I wouldn’t be – not this time. Sorry, you’ll all have to leave,’ he calls. But no one hears him. The shop is heaving with people picking up gingerbread hearts, taking photos of themselves, selfie sticks waving around.

  ‘I really have to go.’ He glances at me and at the door. ‘My father is coming to mind the shop later. After band practice. I just need help getting everyone out.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Okay, ask them to come back in an hour,’ he says.

  ‘I mean I’ll mind the shop,’ I say, over the buzz.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes!’ I say firmly. ‘I’ll mind the shop. I’ll look after the customers. I’ll work out the till, don’t worry.’

  The clock has long since stopped chiming. He looks anxiously at the door, frozen to the spot, clearly in two minds.

  He looks back at me, and I know exactly what that looks means.

  ‘You can trust me,’ I say, ‘I promise. I won’t look. I owe you, for the lebkuchen lesson.’

  He gives me another long look. ‘I’m late – I’m always late!’

  ‘Then go!’ I say. ‘Now!’

  With just a split second of hesitation, he nods. A nod that says ‘Thank you’ and ‘I trust you. I’m relying on you.’

  ‘I won’t look. I promise. I’ll stay until your father gets here.’

  He dips into the back room, grabs his coat and pushes his arms into it as he struggles to get through the smiling crowd in the shop. Then he’s gone and I’m ringing up sales as hands are thrust at me with gingerbread and notes to fill the till. It’s the least I can do to apologize for turning up to spy on him. I have to show him I understand and I’m not going to let him down.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Finally, the bell over the door tinkles again as the last of the Japanese tourists leave, smiling, thanking me, taking selfies of me with them and wishing me, ‘Fröhliche Weihnachten! Happy Christmas!’

  I’m still smiling as they leave. I loved it, but I’m exhausted. There’s still no sign of William’s father. I decide to see if there is any hot chocolate left to revive me while I wait, without the brandy this time. If another coach party comes in, I want to be ready. The till is looking pretty healthy after that visit. A few more customers would really help things along. And then I check myself. This isn’t my business, any of it, I remind myself. William has made that clear. I need to stay out of it. And that’s what I intend to do. By Sunday I just have to decide if Heinrich and I have a future, not whether William’s business or the Old Town’s market will survive another year. It’s not my business, I repeat, going in search of the hot chocolate, and I’m not going to get involved any more.

  Fritz barks in a friendly way and I bend down to pat him, reassuring him after the busy half-hour in the shop.

  I see a small hotplate with a pan on it and cups hanging on hooks. I head towards it. Then I stop, still. The worn wooden door to his workshop is there on my right, ajar. He can’t have closed it properly when he went to get his coat. I feel guilty even looking at the door. My heart is thumping. Whatever creation he has behind it is the difference between make or break for him. I know it. He deserves every bit of luck. Heinrich has his life planned out already, so he can leave this one to Fate. I put my hand out to the brass doorknob.

  ‘Just one photo,’ I hear Heinrich’s voice. ‘Just to get an idea of what he’s doing.’

  I look at my hand on the doorknob as the bell goes in the shop. I slam the door shut. It’s not my business. Or my battle. Everyone deserves a fair chance on Sunday. I turn to the shop expecting to see William’s father standing there. But it’s not him.

  But he does look very much like him. From beneath the long dark fringe and dark glare, I can see the long straight nose. The wide
jaw, with a twitch in it. He’s not tall, but dark and broad. Just like his dad.

  ‘Hello? Um …’

  ‘Who are you?’ he demands. He has his father’s manners – I’m remembering the first day I met William.

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Are you my dad’s girlfriend?’

  ‘No, no!’ I put up both hands.

  ‘I’m …’ What am I? His nemesis’s girlfriend? Here to spy on him?

  ‘I’m a friend,’ I say hopefully. ‘Just helping out.’ I hold out a hand to the shop. Fritz moves to sit at his feet but the boy doesn’t respond to him. The dog doesn’t move, staying by his side.

  ‘Looks like someone’s missed you,’ I say, but the boy doesn’t respond, doesn’t look down at the dog gazing up at him, wagging his tail. I think ignoring him is maybe taking quite a bit of effort.

  ‘Where’s my grandfather?’ the boy asks abruptly.

  ‘On his way,’ I answer, as economically as he has questioned me. ‘Your dad is out too,’ I tell him.

  ‘Yes. With my mother. Talking. If he remembered,’ he says, with an angry sneer.

  ‘Oh, he did. He was really keen not to be late,’ I try to reassure him.

  ‘But he probably was. He always is. It’s always baking first with him.’

  I don’t respond. I daren’t tell him William was late, but it was because he was distracted. I distracted him, being in the shop, because Heinrich sent me. There is a chill in the air and it’s not coming from outside.

  The boy is looking around, as if it’s been a while since he was here.

  ‘I was, um, just about to have some hot chocolate. Would you like some?’

  At first, I think he’s going to say no. But then he nods, just once.

  I turn to the little stove and wonder if he’s finally greeting Fritz.

  I heat the chocolate, stirring it, then pour it into cups. When I turn he’s sitting on the wooden stool by the counter. He’s so like his father and grandfather. But he’s agitated.

  I hand him the chocolate and take a sip of my own. It’s wonderful. I watch him sip his, and hope this does the job of calming him down.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asks abruptly.

  ‘Connie. What’s yours?’

  ‘Noah.’

  I blow on my hot chocolate and for a moment we say nothing.

  ‘Your dad told me about you.’ I wonder how long it will be before Joseph is here to help out.

  ‘Did he? When? I thought you were just helping out? Where did you come from and why are you here?’

  ‘I’m with some friends.’ I decide not to mention Heinrich. ‘I’ve come to scatter another friend’s ashes.’

  ‘Her what?’

  ‘Her ashes. She grew up in Germany and wanted her ashes scattered here. We’re here to celebrate her life.’

  ‘Ewww!’

  ‘She grew up with the Christmas markets and she loved them. Said Christmas was all about remembering the ones you love, whether you were spending it with them or missing them. It’s a good time to remember we’re lucky to have people who love us.’

  He shakes his head, clearly thinking I’m talking sentimental codswallop. I try a different tack, hoping to keep him talking until Joseph gets here or William is back. He’ll be sad if he misses his son. I know that.

  ‘Your dad is working really hard to win on Sunday. He’s spent hours on his final cake. He won’t let anyone see it.’

  ‘Not surprised. He always preferred spending time baking than being with us. Mum said so.’

  It’s like walking through a minefield: I’m causing a minor explosion with everything I say. I’d forgotten what hard work young people can be. Sam never really gave me too much trouble, but occasionally there was the usual teenage sullenness when he felt the world, including his dad and me, had let him down.

  ‘Well, hopefully they’re talking now. That’s good, isn’t it?’ I try not to take his rudeness personally. I sip the hot chocolate.

  ‘Mum says he chose baking over us. He loved baking more.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. He just … well, we all have to make a living. And baking …’ I remember his words ‘… it just gets under your skin.’

  He puts down the cup. ‘Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom,’ he says, as he slides off the stool.

  At that moment, the bell tinkles and in come some more tourists. It’s obviously the day for coach trips to the town. A smaller group this time, but I’m determined to make sure everyone is served, leaves happy and the till is even fuller. The shop fills again and I’m serving and smiling.

  ‘Hey!’ I call, towards the back of the shop. ‘You could give me a hand out here!’ I smile, hoping that when William gets back it’ll be a nice surprise for him to see his son behind the counter helping out. At least I’ll have done some good here today.

  I strain my neck a little to see if he’s back there. The door to the workshop is ajar again. Didn’t I shut it properly? Or has it opened again? I need to shut it. I’ll just serve these few customers. Looks like the ice rink has done its job in bringing more visitors to the town.

  ‘Noah!’ I call, hoping to get to the door to shut it before William comes back and wonders if I’ve looked in. I need him to believe I haven’t. I need him to believe I gave my word and I intend to stick to it and stay out of this business.

  ‘Thank you. Danke!’ My schoolgirl German comes in handy at last, taking me back to that exchange trip and how I felt then. Happy and with a future ahead of me.

  I strain to catch sight of Noah. But I can’t see him at all. I look around the shop. I even stand on a small wooden stepladder, clearly there for William or anyone else to reach the higher wooden shelves behind the counter. I climb it and look over the heads of the tourists. But I can’t see him. Has he slipped off without saying anything? I’m very disappointed. I really hoped he’d wait to see his dad. It might have made up for my earlier mess. If he’d been here when William had got back, it would have been good for both of them. I climb down the wooden stepladder and breathe out a big sigh. The coach party seems to be filtering out now, wishing me a merry Christmas, clutching lebkuchen hearts. As the last leaves I take my moment to shut the workshop door. I reach for the handle and something or someone moves.

  ‘Noah! No!’ I shout, just as William’s son leans back, lifts his foot high and kicks. I throw the door wide as the huge sugar-crafted, chocolate-carved, painted paste sculpture of a winter wonderland – with huge polar bear, mouth open, showing its sharp teeth as it roars, protecting its two cubs on a melting ice cap behind an icy sea of water, with groups of penguins on ice islands – collapses into a massive cloud of rising sugar. Just as the bell over the door rings, Noah glares at me once more, pushes past me and runs out through the white cloud, past the figure in the middle of the shop. I stand rooted to the spot, waiting, heart thundering, for the dust to settle.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Joseph is standing in the middle of the shop, white powder over his hat, his beard, his glasses and shoulders, like Father Christmas straight from the North Pole. Only he isn’t Father Christmas. I feel sick. A piece of work as amazing as that, highlighting climate change, is now a pile of dust. The irony isn’t lost on me. William had everything riding on his sculpture and now everything is ruined. Not just Christmas, but his business, the future of the market and the other businesses in it. It’s all my fault! What was I doing, inviting the boy in, hoping I could fix things for William? What am I going to tell him? What am I going to tell anyone about anything?

  I look around the shop, white dust covering every surface. Joseph still hasn’t moved. I think he’s in shock.

  And then the bell over the door tinkles, letting in a freezing chill from outside.

  William felt happier than he had in a long time. Marta had wanted to talk, to know his plans. He’d told her that if he won on Sunday, if they won the cup back for the town, he’d rethink. Maybe look at taking on staff, especially in the run-up to the Chris
tmas markets next year. He’d enjoyed having Connie in the shop. It had made him remember how much he loved being there, doing what he did. He didn’t want to sell up if he could help it. He wanted to compromise, make it work for all of them. He wondered if Connie would like to work with him, but of course he couldn’t ask her: she was Heinrich’s girlfriend. Heinrich and his family would never allow that. And if he didn’t win on Sunday, well, everything would change anyway and he would have no shop to worry about.

  He couldn’t help but notice that Marta hadn’t seen that idea as terrible. They could move away, start again, she’d suggested. But to where? To do what? It was a lot to think about. He would be back with his son and his wife. A family again. Back to how they were. But would it be how they were if he no longer had the shop, if he no longer baked? Or would it feel like failure?

  He pulled his scarf tighter as the day grew colder. He passed small groups of people taking to the ice and stopped to watch them, then to talk with the foreman and workmen who were packing up and leaving instructions. He listened, took his receipt and care details and smiled at the skaters. He’d have liked it to be busier, but word would get around …

  He hoped his son would want to come with his friends. He’d make sure they had a good time. He wanted to let Noah know how much he loved and missed him. If he won on Sunday, he’d take time out to show him how he felt, just the two of them. Maybe a trip to Cologne, to the market there. He just needed this win. This year he had a feeling things were going to be different and he hurried to the shop. He thought of Connie. He trusted her. He knew she hadn’t let him down.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The three of us are standing in the shop. No one speaks.

  I clear my throat and open my mouth, but no words come out.

  I feel my blood freezing in my veins.

  He stares at me with a darkness that goes right to his soul and mine.

  There are no words, no words at all. How can I tell him it was his son who did this to him, ruined everything he and the town have worked for?