Christmas at the Marshmallow Cafe (Delightful Christmas Book 4)

by CP Ward

  ‘A pint of Murphy’s,’ Debbie said to the landlord, a tall, balding man wearing a crisp blue shirt.

  The man frowned. ‘Don’t have that, I’m afraid. Got a solid local version, Water Brown. That do?’

  Debbie grinned. ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘Got it. And for your mother?’

  Debbie sniggered. ‘She’ll have a glass of red. Large. Actually, she’s my next-door neighbour. She abducted me.’

  Bonnie smiled. ‘And forced her to dress like a vampire. And I probably shouldn’t drink, in case I need to drive later.’

  ‘Car got stuck,’ Debbie explained. ‘Couple of miles out of the village. You know anyone who could give us a tug?’

  ‘Stuck?’

  Bonnie nodded. ‘We encountered a herd of cattle and had to pull into the verge. I couldn’t get the car back out.’

  ‘Oh dear. And you don’t have breakdown coverage? Although, no one would ever find you down here. We’re in a GPS blackspot.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘No phone signals, nothing. It’s why it’s popular with older folk, and why young people hate it.’

  Debbie pulled her smartphone out of her pocket. ‘Oh, man. This is going to suck.’

  ‘Where are you ladies heading?’ the landlord said. ‘Up to Derwent? Or over to Beatrix Potter country?’

  Debbie scowled. ‘Do I look like I’m into Peter Rabbit?’

  ‘Actually, we’re looking for Christmas Land,’ Bonnie said. ‘The signs all pointed this way, but I’m afraid we seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.’

  At the mention of Christmas Land, the landlord’s countenance darkened. Forcing a smile, he said, ‘Well, why don’t you ladies take a seat and I’ll bring your drinks over. Then we’ll come up with a plan of action to get your car out. I’m pretty sure we can figure something out. And after that, I’ll see if I can talk you out of going to Christmas Land.’

  7

  Quimbeck

  The landlord, who introduced himself as Len Connelly, brought over their drinks. Bonnie lifted an eyebrow at the sight of a large glass of red. The landlord smiled. ‘It might take some time to get your car down, but luckily we had a cancellation upstairs for a twin room. Since you were so inconvenienced, I’d be happy to offer you a steep discount.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Bonnie said. ‘We really must be pressing on to Christmas Land, though. I have to be back at work in a few days.’

  The landlord grimaced. ‘Well, if you really must go to that hideous place, you can catch a train in the station is at the end of the village. It’s the third stop, the one labelled Ings Forest.’

  ‘There’s a train?’ Debbie asked.

  ‘It’s part of the Lake District Heritage Line. Although, the whole line is only five stops, from here in Quim up to Ings Water. The environmentalists shut down any chance of expansion. It’s a pretty little thing, although Christmas Land is something we don’t like to advertise.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Len grimaced. ‘It’s … unsavoury. Okay, that’s putting it lightly. In an area of outstanding natural beauty it’s an abomination, everything we’re not about: tacky, touristy rubbish. When it opened in the sixties it had a bit of sparkle, but over the years it’s fallen nearly to ruin. It only caters to cheap package holiday tourists these days. Stag parties, that kind of thing. The sooner they bulldoze it, the better.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like you’re a fan,’ Debbie said. Poking a thumb at Bonnie she added, ‘You’re looking at the proprietor of Mervin’s Marshmallow Café.’

  Bonnie grimaced. ‘An uncle I barely knew left me a hundred year lease in his will. We’re going up to take a look.’

  ‘Oh, you’re actually staff?’

  Bonnie sighed. ‘It’s more a case of curiosity than anything else. I can’t afford to move up here. I imagine this area is pretty exclusive.’

  Len nodded. ‘There aren’t many locals left, and those that are, like myself, are forced into the tourism industry. In here we serve the locals, but all the rest is for the tourists.’

  ‘Well, you have a nice place here.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a walk around the village after you’ve finished your drinks?’ Len said. ‘Just so you can understand why we all dislike Christmas Land so much.’

  As Len headed back to the bar, Debbie leaned in to Bonnie. ‘Bitter old sod, eh?’

  ‘He seemed very nice.’

  Debbie shook his head. ‘Nah. Stag parties and all that? Know what they do? Drink beer. And if they’re going up to Christmas Land, they’re not drinking his.’

  ‘It also means you can get beer up there.’

  Debbie grinned. ‘A definite plus.’

  They took Len’s advice and headed out for a walk around the village. Quimbeck was picture-book quaint, all cobble streets, narrow alleyways and tightly clustered stone-walled houses. Among them the river flowed, fish darting about in the clear water, ducks and swans gliding across the surface. They passed several tourists, mostly hikers or elderly couples. A few baulked at the sight of Debbie, but most were quietly polite in their passing greetings, smiling kindly at Bonnie as though sympathetic towards a mother travelling with her rebellious daughter.

  They had walked up through the village and had just caught sight of a small train station when Debbie put out a hand, stopping Bonnie in her tracks.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Shh. I hear something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  They stood in silence for a few seconds. Bonnie was about to interject again when a voice piped up from inside the station building: ‘So, gov’nor, we’ve got a half hour wait? Anywhere we can get a pint in the meantime?’

  Bonnie couldn’t hear the reply, but she glanced at Debbie, lifting an eyebrow.

  ‘Is that them?’

  As though on cue, three lads appeared out of the station building and strode across the cobblestoned square. The one at the front strutted like something out of a fifties beatnik gang, with the other two hurrying to catch up. Bonnie saw their destination: a newsagent across the street.

  ‘The chavs,’ Debbie said. ‘This has got to be a bad joke.’

  They waited until the three guys had gone into the shop before heading up to the station. From the entrance they could see why Christmas Land was so unpopular in Quimbeck: behind the station was a large car park carefully hidden among trees. A sign announced CHRISTMAS LAND PARKING.

  At present there were no more than a dozen cars parked under the trees, but Bonnie guessed that at peak times it could be quite a strain on the local roads to have so many people coming into the village.

  Assuming there was a peak time, of course.

  Bonnie was still lingering in the waiting area while Debbie went to talk to the station master. Despite the huge car park, there seemed to be little fanfare about Christmas Land here. The decoration inside the station was lots of posters and paintings of various lakes, with a rack of pamphlets advertising local museums, nature walks, boat tours. Christmas Land was conspicuous by its absence.

  ‘Next train is in thirty minutes,’ Debbie said. ‘Last one of the day. You want to go up?’

  Bonnie hesitated, then shook her head. ‘We’ll wait until the morning,’ she said. ‘We need to get the car, and anyway … I don’t know.’

  ‘Scared of what we’re going to find?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Yeah, doesn’t sound appealing, does it?’

  They turned for the exit, just as the three lads came in.

  At first, all swigging from cans of Carlsberg, they didn’t notice the two women. Then the first looked up, stopping so abruptly that the other two knocked into his back.

  ‘Hey guy,’ one said, ‘Watch your step.’

  ‘Bros, it’s the head girl.’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ Debbie said. ‘Have you punks been naughty or nice this year?’

  The three lads backed
up. The first two looked genuinely scared, but the third had a small smile on his lips as though this were part of the entertainment. He was the handsome one, Bonnie decided. The other two were his joker school friends.

  ‘Gonna miss our train,’ the first said, backing away onto the platform. ‘Come on, lads.’

  ‘Make sure the train misses you too,’ Debbie said. ‘I haven’t eaten yet today.’

  As they headed out of sight up the platform, Bonnie laughed. ‘You’re a natural at this man-eating vampire stuff.’

  ‘Got to keep them in their place.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get back to the pub. I’m getting hungry too.’

  They headed back down into the village. It was already getting dark, the shadows lengthening across the fells, the first streetlights blinking on. Quimbeck looked even more delightful in twilight, the shadows stretching across the streets, pools of light spilling from bay windows. Even though they had barely been here a couple of hours, Bonnie felt an urge to never leave.

  Then, of course, she remembered her mortgage, her rubbish job and even worse salary, and the fact that probably her most valuable possession was a rundown Metro currently stuck in the mud a mile outside the village.

  The reality check was like a big, fat slap across the face. People like Debbie and Bonnie didn’t live in towns like this. Rich people, people retired on bankers’ salaries, stockbrokers with second homes, lawyers seeking a respite from the smoke, they were the people who lived in places like this, not divorced fifty-something checkout staff who had to decide of a month whether she had enough money left out of her salary to buy a new pair of tights.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Bonnie looked up. ‘Huh?’

  ‘You look like the singer of your favourite band just died on the eve of a reunion tour. You know what it feels like, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To be completely out of place. Sucks, doesn’t it?’

  Bonnie sighed. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, you know what I’ve learned from experience? The longer you feel it, the less you care. Let’s go get your car then find a Benz to park next to.’ Debbie grinned. ‘And let’s not even wash it.’

  8

  First Impressions

  The sun peaking over the fells to the east was quite a sight to behold as Quimbeck awakened. With Debbie still sleeping, Bonnie made a cup of tea from the complementary set and sat by the second floor window, watching the dawn sunlight stretching across the town. With the pub set on a slope, she had a view over the village’s rooftops to the fells beyond, and the windy lane down which they had come.

  Back up the valley, though, was where the most mystery lay. Hidden among the largest stretch of forest in the Lake District, was the semi-mythical Christmas Land.

  Today, she would discover her destiny.

  On cold winter evenings you can take a sleigh ride through pristine forests, lights back in the trees winking at you, fairies and pixies come out to play. If you’re lucky you might see one close up as you journey through the forest to your destination, a simple log cabin in which you’ll find a roaring fire, and hot chocolate with marshmallows waiting for you. And there, you can sing Christmas songs as you sit around the fire, and if you’re very, very lucky, the door might creak open and a man dressed in red and white might enter, arms laden with gifts for all.

  Or she would see her dreams crushed into the dirt.

  Leaving Debbie asleep, Bonnie showered, dressed, and ventured downstairs. She found Len waiting for her in the bar, alongside a man who looked vaguely familiar. He introduced himself as Reg Coldsworth, a local farmer.

  ‘Was me cows run you girls off the road yesterday,’ he said. ‘Least I could do to tow your car. It’s outside. Even gave it a hose down.’

  Bonnie thanked Reg profusely then hurried outside to check on her Metro. It appeared to have suffered no damage from its night stuck in the mud, so she drove it up to the car park outside the station, then walked back down through the village.

  Debbie was up and ready when she got back to the pub, already tucking into a buffet breakfast at a window seat. Bonnie slid in opposite and told her about the car.

  ‘So, we have no more excuses,’ Debbie said. ‘We’re going up to Christmas Land this morning.’

  ‘We are,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘Nervous?’

  ‘Terrified.’

  Debbie lifted a cup. ‘Have a coffee. It’s good. Get me a refill on your way up, too, would you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Shortly afterwards, having settled up with Len, who wished them a good trip and told them he expected them back sooner rather than later, they headed for the train station. A chilling November breeze was whipping down through the valley, buffeting Bonnie’s hair. Debbie, whose braids were weighed down by ball-bearings, was as unflustered as a ghost marching through the centre of town.

  ‘Still nervous?’ Debbie said, as they bought tickets and climbed aboard a quaint steam train waiting at the platform.

  ‘My teeth are practically chattering,’ Bonnie said. ‘I don’t think you understand. I’m realising a childhood dream.’

  ‘To finally find out that Father Christmas is a cardboard cutout, the elves are all drunks, and the reindeer have rabies?’

  ‘It’s better than always wondering.’

  A whistle blew, and the train chugged out of the station. They were the only passengers. Bonnie looked back wistfully at Quimbeck with its pretty streets and shops. It felt like they were heading off to war.

  The valley began to steepen around them, in places the grassy fells becoming craggy and mountainous. The train followed the river, the gurgling waters slowly widening until they crossed over a wooden trestle bridge and then rounded a small lake on their left. To the right, a small hamlet opened out, the stone houses clustered along the lake’s edge.

  ‘Merryweather,’ called the driver over a loud speaker, and the train came to a stop, a handful of people getting on.

  ‘These villages look all the same after a while,’ Debbie said. ‘I hope this Christmas Land is going to be a bit different.’

  ‘I could handle living here,’ Bonnie said. ‘It’s the perfect place to meet rich old gentlemen.’

  ‘Nah, you’re thinking of the internet,’ Debbie said. ‘Seriously, if you want to ruin your life with some man we should get you onto some dating sites. I’ll vet each potential match, of course.’

  ‘Like a good guardian angel.’

  ‘And anyone who messes you about will get turned into a frog and eaten.’

  ‘I’d hope for nothing less.’

  The train pulled away. The next stop, Upwater, appeared to be little more than a jetty with a number of rowing boats moored along its length as it poked out into the water.

  ‘We’re next,’ Debbie said. ‘God, I can hear the sleigh bells already.’

  ‘That’s your hair,’ Bonnie said.

  The train took a sharp right turn, leaving the lake behind and heading into the trees. Thick pine forest rose around them, shutting out most of the light, turning the train line into a virtual tunnel.

  ‘Okay, even I’m getting freaked out,’ Debbie said. ‘Do you think there are bats?’

  ‘Planning to make friends already?’

  Debbie clutched Bonnie’s arm. ‘Look, I’ll let you into a secret. I hate bats. They scare the hell out of me. Don’t you know they carry bubonic plague?’

  ‘I hadn’t heard that,’ Bonnie said. ‘But don’t worry, it’s technically day, so they’ll be asleep.’

  ‘But what if the train breaks down?’

  ‘We’ll close the window.’

  Debbie looked about to hyperventilate. Just as Bonnie was beginning to get worried, the trees opened out. They passed through a boggy section of marshland filled with pretty flowering plants and then pulled into a little station, standing, to all intents and purposes, on its own in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Ings Forest,’ called the driver. ‘Passengers f
or Christmas Land should get off here.’

  Bonnie and Debbie climbed off as the train’s doors opened. They found themselves standing on a platform lacking even a ticket office. As the train pulled away, chugging across the marsh and then vanishing back into the forest, they looked at each other, both shrugging.

  ‘Well, we’re here,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘What an awesome place. Like, how long do we have to wait for the next train back?’

  ‘There’s a road over there, through the trees. And a sign. Look.’

  Carrying their suitcases, they climbed down a set of steps and made their way across the clearing to where a forest trail led into the trees. A faded wooden sign with an arrow said CHRISTMAS LAND THIS WAY.

  They headed down the trail, the trees closing in to block out the sky overhead. Debbie clutched Bonnie’s arm, squeezing so tightly that Bonnie had to repeatedly prise her fingers free in order to allow the blood to resume flowing.

  The trail kept up a winding meander which didn’t allow them to see too far ahead, as though holding back its secrets until the last moment. Bonnie was fully expecting to turn a corner and find a sign telling them they’d been duped, when Debbie jerked to a stop, pulling Bonnie with her.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Can’t you hear it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Music.’

  Bonnie listened. Debbie was right. A faint tinkle of music came through the trees. It was too indistinct to make out any kind of a tune, but she felt sure it was familiar.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Debbie said. ‘Jingle Bells. Don’t they know it’s November?’

  They started walking again. As they closed on the source of the music, Bonnie was able to pick up the tune. Jingle Bells, played on a loop.

  ‘It’s so weird,’ Bonnie said. ‘Standing in a pine forest in November, hearing the most famous Christmas Song of all played over a speaker.’

  ‘Look,’ Debbie said. ‘Here it is.’

  They stepped out from behind a large pine leaning across the path and found Christmas Land standing in front of them.