Finding Love at the Christmas Market Page 19

  ‘We will,’ I say, turning to the door, ‘with all of us helping.’

  The bell rings out brightly. There in the doorway are Pearl, Norman, Maeve, Ron, Alice, Graham with Di, Anja and, at the back, Joseph, looking less like Father Christmas now.

  ‘Our way of saying thank you for all you’ve done this week to help make our stay so special,’ says Pearl.

  ‘Especially mine.’ Maeve beams.

  ‘What do you say?’ I ask quietly.

  He says nothing, staring at the group in front of him, standing in the sugar-dusted shop.

  ‘We’re all going to add our Christmas memories,’ says Pearl.

  ‘The merry-go-round!’ says Ron.

  ‘The ice rink!’ joins in Maeve.

  ‘The stall selling hot chocolate,’ says Alice, dreamy-eyed.

  ‘The Nativity,’ adds Norman.

  ‘The shop,’ I say. Our eyes meet and lock as I think about the morning I came here to meet Heinrich.

  ‘We’ll make the gingerbread, you design and assemble it,’ I say quietly, thinking I’ve messed up again. Maybe it is a ridiculous idea. Maybe I’ve got it wrong again. ‘I just thought, if we all want to remember Christmases gone by and our loved ones, if you recreated yours, before you left and your mum died, well, I can’t think of anything more perfect for a Christmas baking competition. This place, the square, here, all of us with our memories.’

  ‘It’s worked for us!’ says Norman, smiling.

  William sighs. ‘You’re suggesting we make a gingerbread town – not just a house, a town, a Christmas market, with our Christmas memories in it. Overnight!’

  ‘Connie can help us make the gingerbread. You tell us what to do and we’ll have a go,’ says Norman, cheerful as ever.

  ‘I can help,’ says Joseph, stepping forward. ‘I’d love to be part of remembering your mum and our Christmases here when she was alive. I want to remember the love we felt.’

  William has tears in his eyes.

  ‘And me,’ says a voice, and a smaller version of Joseph pushes himself forward through the small crowd standing there.

  ‘Noah!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ He flings himself into his father’s arms. William hugs him, hard, his eyes screwed up tight. ‘I just felt so angry. I thought you loved baking more than me.’

  ‘Never,’ says William. ‘Never. I love baking because of you. Because I thought it was a way to be a family, like it was for me as a child, growing up here. But your mum, well, she thought it was just a job. But baking isn’t.’

  ‘It’s a passion, and once it’s in your blood, there’s no getting rid of it,’ says Joseph, and Noah looks up at his grandfather.

  ‘I’d like to help,’ says the boy. ‘To say sorry. Connie told me it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘Connie?’

  He nods. ‘I was at the ice-skating rink. She saw me and told me she hadn’t said it was me. But that I should. Being honest with yourself is the best way to be happy in life, she said.’

  He looks straight at me and I blush. Am I being honest with myself? Do I want to commit to Heinrich? Do I believe that we have a future, based on our suitability on paper? Or should I trust the alchemy? Do I want a life that ticks all the boxes, or one that doesn’t tick any but feels just right? Here and now, in this bakery, with him.

  For a moment no one speaks.

  ‘Then, yes, we should all put our Christmas memories into a gingerbread town. Not for the competition, but to remember the ones we love and why Christmas is the time to do that. It’s not about being the biggest or the best. It’s about how loved we feel and how much we love,’ says William. Then he claps his hands together. ‘Okay, let’s get to work. Noah? You can sweep up the workshop. We’re going to need all the space we can find!’

  ‘On it!’ Noah says, with a grin, grabs a broom and heads to the workshop.

  ‘The rest of you, get your hands washed, aprons are by the door. Connie, you can start weighing the ingredients for the gingerbread, while I make a quick sketch.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, as the bakery comes alive with chatter, ideas for what they want to make, everyone putting on aprons and sorting themselves into pairs. Once again William and I lock eyes, unable to drag ourselves away from each other’s gaze as the shop busies into life.

  ‘Would anyone like a Fox’s Glacier Mint?’ Ron asks.

  ‘This watch hasn’t kept time all week, I swear it’s Aunt Lucy’s!’ Norman says.

  ‘At least we have plenty of time in the morning. We wouldn’t have done if we’d flown,’ says Alice.

  The shop, the back room and the kitchen come to life and begin to warm up as the ovens come up to temperature. Noah and Ron are clearing the ruined sculpture into big black bins. Pearl, Norman and Maeve are ready to make gingerbread.

  ‘Di. You and Graham can make the icing to stick the buildings together.’

  ‘We’re the glue!’ Graham smiles, resting on the stool.

  ‘Start thinking what you want to make,’ says William. ‘Maeve, an ice rink in front of the town like this?’ He makes a quick sketch, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, then shows her.

  ‘Perfect!’ she says, and gives an approving nod to Fritz, who is sitting happily in his bed, watching everyone, his pink tongue lolling out.

  ‘And a merry-go-round.’

  ‘And the bakery!’ says Noah.

  William sketches on his notepad as everyone calls out their ideas. He finishes and holds up the result. Everyone nods their approval.

  ‘Okay, Norman, take the flour,’ I say, as I climb the little ladder at the back of the shop, reaching for a big glass jar, remembering where all the ingredients are from my day baking with William. A day that will stay in my Christmas memories for ever.

  In no time, the gingerbread is in the ovens and the temperature is rising. The whole place smells of cinnamon, ginger, and sweet golden syrup.

  ‘Once the gingerbread is out of the ovens, we need to turn them off and bring the temperature in the room down,’ William instructs, as he starts to cut out the templates for the buildings and Noah and Ron source the sweets for decorating.

  ‘I’ll cut the shapes and you can all start to assemble your buildings and memories,’ he said. ‘Who’s on the living Nativity?’

  ‘That’s me!’

  ‘Hope you’ve got room for one more,’ says someone coming into the shop. ‘Anja told me where I’d find you.’

  ‘John!’ we all say at once.

  ‘Hope you’re up for helping to build a church!’ calls William.

  ‘Indeed. With choir!’ says John, rolling up his sleeves.

  With that, Noah puts on some music on his phone, Christmas carols. His dad smiles at him and ruffles his hair, as Noah gets to work with Joseph creating a gingerbread bakery, with upstairs living room, dressed for Christmas with a tree and a laden Christmas table.

  ‘My icing’s gone hard,’ says Norman.

  ‘You have to keep it covered,’ Pearl scolds. ‘Like Connie showed us. Use mine.’

  ‘Connie, can you do the icicles?’ William asks, as he hovers over the busy work stations. Ron’s attempt at icicles looks more like sausages but the gingerbread Old Town is starting to come to life. ‘Like this.’ He shows me how to use the piping bag to create the little icicles all around the gingerbread roofs.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ I say.

  ‘Thank you,’ he mouths, and I smile.

  ‘This donkey looks more like a moose,’ says Ron, standing back to scrutinize his modelling, and William steps in to tweak it.

  ‘There’s no way we’ll get all this done by morning,’ says Maeve. ‘Not without a bit of magic.’

  ‘Who’s for hot chocolate?’ Joseph asks, and they all smile. He winks at me.

  Right now, I have no idea if we can do this. Right now it looks like organized chaos. All we can do is take the risk and go for it.

  FORTY

  We work through the night, fuelled by brandy-laced hot
chocolate and stollen. Flour and gingerbread offcuts lie everywhere. Royal icing and food colouring streak our aprons, but as dawn creeps over the market square, the snow like a soft white blanket thrown over the huts, lamps, merry-go-round and Christmas tree, we open the front door to the bakery and the morning. The bell tinkles as we begin to carry the gingerbread town to the covered pavilion in the middle. Like the shepherds and Wise Men arriving, carrying their most precious gifts, to celebrate a new beginning.

  William works to place each piece and set the scene. By the time the gingerbread houses and figures are all in place, everyone is tired but happy, really happy. William covers the whole construction in big sheets to hide it.

  ‘Right, everyone. Let’s get some sleep. Be back here for Christmas-tree light-up and we’ll light the candles in our little town.’

  ‘And then it’s the judging,’ says Joseph, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  ‘Whatever happens, we did the town proud here today, Paps.’ He slings an arm around his father. His son comes to stand beside him and he puts the other arm around him.

  Joseph pats the hand on his shoulder. ‘We did, son. And I don’t think you leaving for Cologne had anything to do with us losing our way in this competition.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I think it had to do with Mutti dying and us missing her so much we forgot to celebrate the things we really loved, the people and the place, because we were just hurting too much.’

  I can see William’s eyes welling.

  ‘She’s here with us, son. Right here in this gingerbread town. I can feel her love.’

  And they hug each other, tightly.

  ‘I think so too, Paps,’ says William, his voice cracking. Then he sniffs, pats his father’s shoulder again and straightens. ‘Now, come on, let’s all get some sleep.’

  ‘And …’ I say slowly ‘… we need to pack. We’ll be leaving soon.’

  ‘Stay one more night,’ Anja says quickly. ‘As my guests. My friends. You can’t drive on no sleep. Stay for the judging, the drinks and the band afterwards.’

  ‘Besides, we still have to scatter Elsie’s ashes,’ says Pearl, looking at me. ‘I thought at the bridge would be nice.’

  We all nod in agreement.

  ‘We’ll be home just in time for Christmas Eve,’ says Alice. But no one seems happy about the prospect. In fact, everyone’s spirits dip.

  ‘But we still have tonight,’ I say, trying to brighten them. ‘We’ll stay for the drinks and the band. Elsie’s wake!’

  ‘There’ll be a bierkeller, a choir first, then a traditional band and entertainment,’ says William.

  ‘It sounds perfect. Elsie would have loved it!’ says Pearl.

  ‘Time to make some more new memories to take home,’ I say, suddenly feeling as sad as the others. I have to see Heinrich and finally come to a decision about us. Are we going to come out as an official couple, plan our next few dates and a future together?

  I lie on my bed but, even though I’m exhausted, I can’t sleep. I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, hoping for the answer to appear in front of my eyes, running through each of the qualities I was looking for in my perfect match, wishing I hadn’t left my notebook at the bakery. Now is when I really need it. I try to visualize the page. Attractiveness, tick, timekeeping, double tick, financially secure, tick, thoughtful and kind. I think of our date at his apartment, triple tick. Tick, tick, tick. Heinrich’s everything I’ve been looking for. This is my time to take the plunge, isn’t it? They don’t come more perfect than Heinrich.

  But how will he feel when he knows I helped William? Will he still want me? Or will he think I’ve betrayed him? He may not even want to know me.

  William’s words keep coming back to haunt me. I keep trying to push them out. ‘What about love?’ This wasn’t about love, it was about finding contentment with someone. But is it enough? Now I have a taste of what else there may be. Is it that I’ve fallen for someone else, someone totally unsuitable, who may not even want me? My head is saying, ‘Pick Heinrich,’ but my heart is saying something else. I can’t hear either of them clearly. This is my chance to change my life, to start again and be content. To be a part of this place, which I’ve come to love. But is that enough for me now?

  William lay on his bed, stroking Fritz’s ear. No matter how exhausted he felt, he couldn’t sleep. They’d done it. They’d made the gingerbread town. Connie had done it. She’d brought all their Christmas memories back for him and her friends. It was not just a work of art, it was a work of love. And, right now, that was how he was feeling about her too, that she was someone he’d come to love. But what about Marta and their son? He’d told her he was going to sell to Heinrich. She’d suggested they could try again. Would it work? Is that what they both really wanted? Could they be happy? Did he have a choice?

  FORTY-ONE

  Ping!

  My heart leaps into my mouth. I look at the sleeping Pearl. It’s mid-morning and outside the market is starting to open up. I can’t believe that tomorrow we’ll have left before it opens and then I’ll be back home, in my bed, waiting for Christmas to pass.

  I open my phone slowly. My heart leaps again as I see the message is from William. Can we meet?

  My hands shake and I wish I could put it down to tiredness. I go to reply but delete what I’ve written, no idea what to say. No idea what I would say if I met him.

  The little dots bob across the screen. He’s typing. I want to thank you, his message says.

  I want to say yes, but I can’t. I have to talk to Heinrich. I have to explain what I’ve done, helping William.

  Maybe later, after the judging and after we’ve given Elsie her send-off, I type, and hope I’ve given myself enough time to talk to Heinrich and work out what I really want.

  Fine. By the Christmas tree. Six o’clock … ish! he types, and I laugh.

  Ish! See you then. I remember him being late for his meeting with Marta when I took over in the shop, wondering if his unreliability where time is concerned drives her mad and if he’ll be able to change … if he goes back to her. Is that what he wants to tell me, that they’re getting back together? I sit upright, then, sleep avoiding me, climb out of bed and pull out my case, ready to leave the following morning.

  Just before four o’clock, as it’s getting dark and all the lights start to shine in the market square, there’s a buzz of anticipation. The judges, according to Anja, are gathered at the castle and are about to tour the two towns and inspect their creations.

  Norman and the others are in place in the living Nativity and Ron, the Christmas angel, is walking the town. Norman has a plan to keep the donkey from running amok, which involves the gingerbread crumbs in his pocket from our earlier baking.

  I’m on my way to see Heinrich, then to meet Pearl on the bridge with the others. Under the covered terrace, with snow gently falling all around, William is lighting the tealights inside the gingerbread village as I walk past. I’m drawn to it.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, remembering a time when Christmas really was about feeling loved. I can practically feel the love in those windows, behind the doors and on the merry-go-round. The smell, too, of spicy cinnamon and golden syrup fills the air. And on a tiny track, a small train, put together by Ron and Norman, is running around the outside of the town, through the mountain, where the castle sits, and out the other side, just like it once had, according to Joseph, reliving his own happy memories of Christmases gone by.

  William stares at the village as he lights each house, the church and the castle. The stained-glass window of the church, made with melted boiled sweets, shines beautifully, for John’s choir memory. ‘It is,’ he says, then looks up at me as if he’s going to say something.

  ‘I have to see Heinrich,’ I blurt, knowing he has promised to do nothing that would come between me and Heinrich. This is a decision I have to make for myself. To go with my head, and commit to being with Heinrich, or my heart, hoping som
ething else is waiting for me.

  William nods. ‘Help me with these last few tealights,’ he says, ‘and the fairy lights around the market.’ I take them from him as he turns them on and we string them around the gingerbread walls of the Old Town. And as we do, the wandering crowds turn to the gingerbread town, lit by candles and tiny fairy lights, and gasp. We look at each other and smile. All the right ingredients … and alchemy.

  Suddenly everyone is standing around in groups, drinking glühwein. Shoppers, stallholders serving sausages and putting hot chestnuts into paper cones, stop and stare. There is a silence as everyone admires the gingerbread town.

  The choir at the other end of the terrace begins to sing Christmas carols, bringing a tear to my eye. And I’m not alone.

  ‘Look, it’s John,’ says Pearl, who’s come to join me. There in the middle of the choir is John, singing his heart out, as if it’s lifted and so full of joy it might burst out of him.

  ‘So that’s where he’s been all week! Practising with the choir!’ I manage, despite a tight throat.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ says Pearl, sniffing into a hanky. ‘It’s Christmas. It’s just everything we could have wanted to remember.’

  ‘There’s the Nativity.’ I point to the gingerbread town.

  ‘And the donkey!’ Pearl laughs.

  ‘And that reminds me of sitting with my mother as she knitted,’ says Norman, pointing at a pair of figures at a fireside, knitting.

  ‘And the church.’ Pearl looks up again at John, singing.

  ‘And the ice rink!’ Maeve joins us. ‘It’s everything we wanted to remember, bringing back the spirit of Christmas,’ says Maeve.

  ‘Do you know? When I get home I’m not going to my daughter for Boxing Day. I’m fed up of feeling like a nuisance,’ says Alice. ‘And I’m not going to buy my grandchildren all the big presents. They won’t remember me for that. I’m going to send them gingerbread instead.’