Christmas at the Marshmallow Cafe (Delightful Christmas Book 4)

by CP Ward

  Huge ornate gates held a sign.

  WELCOME TO CHRISTMAS LAND

  WHERE THE MAGIC NEVER ENDS

  On either side, gatehouse towers rose, all fake stonework and plastic snow. Electric candles flickered in windows, illuminating the silhouettes of reindeer and elves.

  One gate stood open. As they approached, Bonnie saw how it was now open forever, the upper hinge broken off, leaving the front corner buried in the ground. Bushes had grown up to claim it, the roots of saplings rooting it into the earth.

  Inside the gates were lines of pretty chalets and a visitor centre. The roofs were loaded with pine needles and she could see even from this distance that several windows had plywood boards where glass should have been. A Ferris wheel standing in the centre of a main square had a sycamore growing eight feet high through the window of the closest car to the ground, clearly indicating that it hadn’t turned in some years.

  ‘It’s derelict,’ Debbie said. ‘Abandoned. Wow, this is way more awesome than I was expecting. Man, if only I had a metal band, this would be amazing for some press photos. An abandoned Christmas theme park in the middle of the forest—’

  ‘We prefer to simply say neglected,’ came a voice from inside one of the gatehouse towers, and a lower window opened to reveal a ruddy-cheeked man wearing a top hat and a green suit. Large sideburns made Bonnie immediately think of the bankers in Mary Poppins.

  ‘While it might look in a little disrepair, I can assure you that there is still plenty of fun to be had in Christmas Land, three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. Do you have a reservation? If not, don’t worry. We have plenty of chalets available.’ Then, breaking kayfabe for the first time, he looked down at the red gloves covering his hands and grimaced. ‘Most of them, actually.’

  9

  Around the Park

  With Bonnie and Debbie looking on, the man emerged from the gatehouse tower and walked over towards them, nearly tripping once on a piece of cobblestone that had come loose. He paused a few feet away, composed himself, and then performed an elaborate bow, one arm bent across his stomach, the other flailing out behind him.

  ‘Welcome, one and all,’ he said, standing up straight again, looking a little flustered as though it wasn’t an action he performed very often these days. ‘Welcome to Christmas Land, where the magic of Christmas is all year round. My name is Archibald Glockenspiel, but you can just call me Mr. Archie. Mr. Archie, always ready with a song when one is absent. Oh, we wish you a merry Christmas—’

  Debbie put up a hand. ‘Please stop.’

  The man huffed out a sigh and then sagged, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. ‘I’m getting a little old for this, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I thought you did it great,’ Bonnie said. ‘However, I find it hard to believe that’s your real name.’

  Archie Glockenspiel laughed. ‘Well, aren’t you an astute one? You’re quite right. My real name is Brendon Jones. Mr. Glockenspiel is for the kids. He turned around, indicating a woodwind instrument pattern on his back. ‘If you tap it with a stick it plays a song,’ he said, trying to hit himself on the back but finding the costume too restrictive. Debbie stepped up and gave him a tap, wrinkling her nose as an out-of-tune version of Ding Dong Merrily on High played for a few notes before petering out.

  ‘I’d better change the batteries,’ Brendon said. ‘Although these days, the only back slaps I get are from louts on package holidays.’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have a reservation,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘Oh, not to worry, I’ll just—’

  Bonnie put up a hand. ‘I’m Mervin Green’s niece,’ she said. ‘I was sent a letter by his lawyer to inform me that I had been left a lease on his property in his will.’

  Brendon’s jaw dropped. Beside Bonnie, Debbie sniggered. Brendon looked either about to sink to his knees or break into song.

  ‘Mervin’s niece,’ he said. ‘You came. And even better, you brought your daughter.’

  ‘I’m not her daughter, I’m her best friend,’ Debbie said, at the same time that Bonnie said, ‘She’s not my daughter, she’s my best friend.’

  ‘Things will be different now,’ Brendon said, his eyes glazing over. ‘The Marshmallow Café was always the centre of our park. Without it, things were never the same.’ He sighed. ‘Mervin … he was such a character.’ Then, with a beaming smile, he added, ‘And I’m sure you’re a chip off the old block. Once the Marshmallow Café is up and running again, I’m certain the park’s fortunes will pick up, the glory days will return, and the threat of the bulldozers will finally be vanquished for good.’

  Bonnie felt a sudden overwhelming sense of doubt. I’m a checkout girl, she wanted to scream. My husband left me for a woman who sold hats and my children blamed me for not being good enough. My best and only real friend is a Goth vampire half my age. At fifty-two years old the good years of my life are all behind me and there’s nothing left to look forward to except getting elderly, sick, and becoming a burden to society—

  ‘Whatever Martin was, Bonnie here is double,’ Debbie said. ‘You have no idea. You’ve just invited a fairy godmother into your midst.’

  ‘As I thought,’ Brendon said, beaming.

  ‘His name was Mervin,’ Bonnie said. ‘Not Martin.’ She smiled. ‘But I appreciate the vote of confidence.’

  ‘Welcome,’ Debbie said. Then, turning to Brendon, she said, ‘Mind showing us around a bit? I want to know if there are any night clubs.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Brendon said, slipping neatly back into character by executing an extravagant bow. ‘Just let me call some elves to take your cases. I’ll have them dropped outside the Marshmallow Café. Would that work?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘Elves?’ Debbie added, frowning.

  Brendon pulled a bell out of a jacket pocket, held it up, and gave it a sharp shake. At once, three green-clad figures came running out of the other gatehouse’s door. Halfway across the gravel, they joined arms, executing a sudden jig somewhere between Riverdance and The Nutcracker, with a heavy dose of pantomime thrown in. One caught his foot on the same loose cobble that Brendon had, muttered an expletive under his breath that made Debbie snigger, before slipping seamlessly back into step as though such a disturbance was commonplace.

  Ending the jig with a neat bow, the three elves rushed forward and picked up the cases Bonnie and Debbie had put down on the ground. At a distance the elves had appeared childlike, but close up, the three were creepily mature, one with a couple of days’ worth of stubble, another with a scar alongside his nose. The third had bloodshot eyes as though he spent most nights on the sherry.

  ‘Are they real elves?’ Debbie asked, as the three ran off, the two carrying the bags struggling to keep up with the third, who skipped and kicked his legs ups every couple of steps. ‘I mean, that’s kind of ridiculous, but so is a tumbledown Christmas theme park in the middle of the forest.’

  ‘Gracious, no,’ Brendon said. ‘Mark, Shaun, and Alan are all aspiring actors, though. They were too old for character parts at Euro Disney, but as you can guess, we’re not exactly overrun with staff applications.’ He shrugged. ‘Talk to any of them in the pub and you’ll realise that they’re not exactly happy about the circumstances. However, they’re professionals, and they do their job as well as could be expected.’

  ‘The middle one looked familiar,’ Debbie said.

  Brendon nodded. ‘Shaun played a car thief on the fourth season of Casualty. That’s probably where you’ve seen him.’

  Debbie shook her head. ‘No, I was thinking he looks like a guy who used to hang around the same job centre as me.’

  ‘Well, he’s only been on the staff a couple of months, and he does come from the southwest, so it’s possible.’

  ‘It’s a small world,’ Debbie said, shrugging.

  Bonnie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Should you be telling us all these insider secrets? After all, we’re customers.’

  Brendon smiled. ‘We
ll, you’re not really customers, are you? You’re the new proprietor of the world famous marshmallow café. And more than that, you’re both now part of the Christmas Land family. Come with me, let me show you around.’ As they started to follow, he added, ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll just slip out of this ridiculous suit into something a little more comfortable. The next train isn’t until the afternoon and all the guests are out on organised excursions, so I don’t think it’ll be necessary. While occasionally we get lost hikers wandering out of the forest, it’s not very common.’ He winked. ‘The bears eat most of them.’

  ‘Is he joking?’ Debbie asked, peering suspiciously at the forest around them.

  ‘I hope so,’ Bonnie said.

  They waited outside the gatehouse while Brendon went inside, emerging a few minutes later in a pair of jeans and a blue jumper.

  ‘Ah, that’s better. Right, follow me.’

  Behind the main gates, the park opened out into a wide square. Brendon explained how in peak periods it was filled with performers, magicians and acrobats. In winter a stage would be built for a Christmas choir and various bands, and it was the start and end of various parades.

  Now it stood empty, populated only by weeds and piles of pine needles blown into clumps and soaked by the rain. Beneath the muck and dirt the remains of a snowflake mosaic was visible, cracked in places, weeds growing through gaps where coloured tiles had broken up.

  Several walkways in similar states of disrepair led away from the square. The first of the rides, a merry-go-round, Christmas-themed with reindeer and sleighs instead of horses, stood nearby, a padlocked chain over its entrance. Debbie wandered over and gave it a shake, then looked up with a frown.

  ‘So, does like, anything run here at all?’

  ‘Oh, there’s plenty of life,’ Brendon said. ‘Several of the shops and bars are open. There is a restaurant forum at the far end of the park, an indoor area where most guests congregate of an evening.’

  Bonnie turned to Brendon as he brushed dust off the closed sign of an empty souvenir shop. ‘Um, how many customers do you currently have?’

  Brendon grimaced. ‘Well, including the three young men who showed up yesterday, and yourselves, of course … thirty-five.’

  Debbie snorted. ‘That’s it? No wonder it looks quiet. How many staff are there?’

  ‘Fifty,’ Brendon said. Debbie started laughing, only getting control of herself when Bonnie patted her arm. ‘At peak periods we used to number around two hundred, but I’m afraid the decline in recent years has meant regular cutbacks. We’re a skeleton staff these days, mostly shop and bar staff, cooks and cleaners. We’ve had to let the maintenance of the place go a little bit, I’m afraid.’

  They passed a line of souvenir shops. Three were closed, but lights shone in the windows of the fourth. It was prettily designed with tall, alpine eaves and a Christmas display in the window. A woman in her mid-fifties came to the door and gave them a wave.

  ‘Welcome,’ she called in a singsong voice.

  ‘This is June, my wife,’ Brendon said. She runs the Wintry Treats Gift Shop, and also Mountain Breeze Snacks and Cakes, across the way there.’ He turned to point at a neat café embedded at the end of a line of abandoned ones.

  ‘We’re not overrun with customers these days, so I flit between the two,’ she said. ‘Have you just arrived? There are some great activities on over the next few days.’

  Brendon introduced them both to June. ‘Bonnie is Mervin’s niece,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, how wonderful that you came,’ June said. ‘Mervin would have been delighted. You will stay with us, won’t you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘She’s pulling a sickie from work,’ Debbie said. ‘We thought we’d come and take a look at this place.’

  ‘Is that a Krampus costume?’ June said, looking Debbie up and down. ‘I mean, you need the horns and a mask, plus the basket on your back for the naughty kids….’

  Debbie grinned. ‘I’m sure it could be adapted.’

  ‘Oh, we’re in desperate need of a good pantomime villain,’ June said. ‘Our last Krampus quit last year. He said there weren’t enough people to scare.’ Then, turning to Brendon, she said, ‘Have you taken them to the marshmallow café yet?’

  ‘Next stop,’ Brendon said.

  June beamed. ‘Wait until you see it,’ she said to Bonnie. ‘It’s wonderful.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘It’s just around the corner,’ June said.

  They said goodbye to Brendon’s wife and made their way down the road, past a stand of trees and another couple of derelict rides, one a water flume ride that currently stood dry, and the other a large warehouse-like building with Snowman’s Adventure Maze written in big, bubbly plastic letters over a closed, padlocked door.

  ‘And here we are,’ Brendon said, stopping next to a circular fountain, water gurgling weakly from the mouth of a stone angel. He lifted his arms. ‘The world famous delight, Mervin’s Marshmallow Café.’

  Bonnie stared at the building across the plaza, breath catching in her throat. It was everything they had seen in the pictures and more, all towering Elizabethan eaves and latticework windows. In the middle of this tacky, rundown theme park, it was something transported forward through time, a reminder that before the days of prefab plastic and lightning fast construction, architecture had once been beautiful.

  She gave a little laugh, like the flutter of a bird. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. ‘It’s delightful.’

  10

  The Marshmallow Café

  The elves had left their cases outside the door. Brendon handed over a key he said Mervin had left with him for safekeeping, then took his leave, promising to stop by later to see how they were getting on.

  ‘Who needs Quimbeck when you’ve got this?’ Debbie said, following Bonnie through the front door into a delightfully antiquated seating area. All around, wooden chairs and tables stood near windows or in partitioned alcoves. Ahead, a serving counter made a gentle arc around the back wall, a wide glass cabinet with metal racks inside, currently empty. An open door behind it led to a kitchen. Through an arch into another seating area that stretched around the side, they found customer toilets and a little play area for children. Unlike the rest of the park, it was spotlessly clean and in immaculate condition.

  ‘What did your uncle die of?’ Debbie asked.

  Bonnie shook her head. ‘The letter didn’t say. Perhaps Brendon knows.’

  ‘Where’s all his stuff? He lived here, I take it.’

  Bonnie shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Let’s go and take a look.’

  To the side of the kitchen was a door marked PRIVATE. Bonnie opened it, revealing a steep wooden staircase leading up. The electricity was working, a light switch on the wall filling the staircase with a dim, orange glow. Bonnie peered up at another closed door at the top.

  She made her way up, Debbie a couple of steps behind. The upper door opened smoothly, revealing a quaint, cottage-like hallway with several closed doors.

  ‘They did take out the corpse, didn’t they?’ Debbie asked. ‘I mean, we don’t want any unpleasant surprises.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Bonnie answered. ‘I think we’re about to find out.’

  The first room was a guest bedroom, neatly made up with a flowery bedspread and some tasteful Yvgeny Lushpin prints on the walls of Venice, Paris, and San Francisco.

  ‘Bagsy my room,’ Debbie said. ‘It’ll look great once I have a couple of Judas Priest posters up.’ At Bonnie’s sharp glare, she winked. ‘Only joking. I’ll do my best to become blandly middle-class for the duration of our stay.’

  They found the signs of Mervin’s occupation in the other rooms. Bonnie’s uncle had lived a sparse life, it seemed. There were a few books and magazines in a bookcase in a pretty living room, and a few personal photographs in frames on a mantelpiece above a fireplace, but Mervin had certainly been no hoarder. Even his kitchen cupboards were m
ostly empty, as though he had spent most days eating downstairs in the café or out at other restaurants across the park.

  The floor above consisted of two more bedrooms, the living room, a small kitchen and a bathroom-toilet. The fixtures and fittings were surprisingly modern compared to the building’s exterior, only the wooden eaves reminding Bonnie that they weren’t in some modern townhouse. Mervin hadn’t been one for clutter, but he had been one for style; nothing was overstated or out of place. Even Bonnie, who didn’t have much of an eye for design, could see how the colours blended and fit, the furniture was appropriate for each room, and the décor was quaint but not imposing. After a long day of hard work, it was the perfect place to sit down and relax with a book.

  Bonnie was just about to take a look in the fridge when she noticed Debbie standing by the door.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Debbie grimaced. ‘I think this is the personal bit,’ she said. ‘I’ll go take a walk around the park, if that’s cool. Leave you to sort through your uncle’s stuff.’

  ‘You don’t have to—’

  ‘Debbie shook her head. ‘It’s cool. I want to have a look around anyway.’

  ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you in a bit then.’

  Debbie smiled. ‘If I’m not back by dark, send a search party. I’ll likely have been eaten by one of Mr. Glockenspiel’s bears.’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘I hope not. You’d give them indigestion.’

  Much as she immediately missed Debbie’s incomparable presence, Bonnie appreciated the space. Everything was so difficult to get her head around. Living in a place like this was beyond her wildest dreams. She had got used to a view of a car-choked road and her neighbours’ overgrown front yards, but now from her living room she had a view of the plaza with its fountain in the centre, and the shops lining the edge. From the kitchen she could see further up the park, towards the curving tracks of a rollercoaster cutting in and out of the trees. And there, rising high out of the forest was a viewing platform.