Christmas At The Cupcake Cafe

by Jenny Colgan

This seems remarkably easy, thought Caroline. Perhaps I should write a book on the subject and become an international guru, like that woman in France. Then she looked around the sitting room, which was now an utterly disgusting mess, and burped those noodles she really oughtn’t to have eaten, and wondered if Perdita would mind coming in on Christmas Day, and realised perhaps she couldn’t be a parenting guru.

  But she could do her best.

  Richard arrived in the evening, expecting the usual litany of bitter complaints and sullen children and shining resentment, all fermented in the immaculate house whose mortgage he kept up and whose cleaning he paid for.

  Instead, the house was a terrible tip, and the children were – were they laughing? Were they all laughing? Was Caroline wearing pyjamas? Pyjamas must have come back in fashion, then; they must be Stella McCartney and had probably cost him a fortune.

  ‘Daddy!’ the children had yelled. ‘Come and see what we got! And what we’ve been doing.’

  Richard half smiled nervously at Caroline. Kate, as it turned out, was being just as difficult as Caroline – particularly about money, attention and general attitude. He cursed, yet again, his taste in aerobicised blondes. But Caroline seemed in a mellow mood.

  ‘Well, I have a bottle of champagne open,’ she said. ‘If you want to come in for five minutes?’

  He had. And they had managed to sit and talk, civilly, whilst the children played in the wreckage of the Christmas paper, about finishing off the divorce and finding a way to move forward, and Caroline might have mentioned that she had heard Kate wanted a huge second wedding party, incredibly luxurious, just for the pleasure of seeing him blanch a little, but on the whole she was on her best behaviour and they managed to toast the day like adults.

  And for the first time, Caroline on Christmas morning, sitting up in bed looking at the gifts from the children, which she would open when she saw them that evening, didn’t feel vengeful, or lonely, or angry. She felt, tentatively … OK.

  Then she remembered the disgusting mess she was going to have to clean up in the kitchen, and sighed.

  Issy woke with Chadani Imelda clambering on her face. Fair enough, she was in her room, although Chadani had insisted on sleeping with her mother since she was born (Ashok pretended he didn’t mind; Helena told a barefaced lie to anyone who asked her about it). It was rather nice, actually, the toddler sleigh bed with its brand-new mattress and pristine White Company sheets.

  For a second, she almost forgot what was happening.

  ‘GAHAHABAGAGA!’ said Chadani Imelda, her little face right up to Issy’s, drool dripping from her mouth on to Issy’s nose.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Issy out loud. ‘My life is over and yours is just beginning, I remember. Good morning, Chadani Imelda! Merry Christmas!’ And she kissed her.

  Then she had to stand, clutching her coffee cup, for forty-five minutes whilst Helena and Ashok and Chadani, all dressed in matching red outfits, opened their gifts. They had presents for Issy too, of course, but mostly she took family photographs. Finally, the acres of wrapping paper were cleared away and Chadani Imelda had completely ignored her first computer, her first beauty bag, her miniature car and her new spotty Dalmatian fur coat in favour of trying to consume large quantities of bubble wrap. Then the door rang, and it was Ashok’s family, all of them carrying vast tupperware boxes full of fragrant-smelling food and gigantic gifts for Chadani. Issy slipped off and got changed quietly, glancing outside at the grey sky. There was snow coming down; not much, but enough to powder the streets and chimney tops of Stoke Newington; the Victorian terraces and grand villas and occasional tower blocks and big mish-mash of lovely London all silent in the Christmas-morning hush. Issy leaned her head against the window pane.

  ‘I miss you, Gramps,’ she said softly. Then she put on the plain navy blue dress she’d bought that looked smart, though also, she realised, not really very festive. Well, that didn’t matter, she’d be in a pinny all day. Which was the best way. She glanced out at the quiet city again and didn’t voice who else she missed. Love was not a choice. But work was. She rolled up her sleeves.

  ‘OK you lot,’ she said to Ashok’s family; Chadani’s four aunties were cooing vigorously over her, whilst discussing competitively at the top of their lungs the most recent achievements of their own children. It was going to be a noisy day. She could do with a couple of hours to clear her head. ‘I’ll see you down at the café after you’ve had breakfast.’

  Austin was dreaming. In his dream he was back there, back at the Cupcake Café. Then he woke up with a horrible start, his head throbbing. What had happened last night? Oh God, he remembered. Darny had been staying at Marian’s, and Merv had taken Austin out for a couple of drinks, then he’d had a couple more on his own, which was stupid, because American drinks as far as he could tell were made from pure alcohol, then, unsteady on his feet, he’d tried to get back to his hotel and he’d run into that girl from the cupcake shop, almost as if she’d been hanging around waiting for him, and she’d helped him stagger on a little bit, then pushed him backwards in the snow and made what he supposed was meant to be a sexy face at him, then tried to snog him! And he had pushed her away and explained that he had a girlfriend and she’d just laughed and said, well, she didn’t appear to be here, and had tried to snog him again. He’d got quite cross with her then, and she’d got really really annoyed and started yelling at him about how nobody understood her problems.

  It got quite blurry after that, but he’d made it back to the hotel in one piece. It wasn’t an evening he was particularly proud of. Great. Happy Christmas. And here he was, awake at an ungodly hour of the morning and all by himself. Brilliant. Well done, Austin, with your great new successful life and new successful career. It’s all working out brilliantly. Well done.

  He guessed he’d better go and get Darny. His PA hated him, it was clear; fortunately this was fine by him and he’d already put in for an urgent transfer for Janet, whose only son lived in Buffalo. Still, MacKenzie had asked him if he wanted any Christmas shopping done; apparently this was normal behaviour from support staff. So he’d asked her to get what she thought a fourteen-year-old boy would like (Darny wasn’t even twelve yet, but Austin figured this would probably suit him) and she had come back with a pile of gift-wrapped shapes that she had thrown on his desk, so he didn’t actually have the faintest clue what Darny was getting for Christmas. But the subways were running all day, so he was heading out to Queens to see Marian. It seemed on the one hand absolutely ludicrous that he was spending Christmas Day with his ex’s mother. On the other, she’d assured him that they didn’t do Christmas, that they would be eating Chinese food in a restaurant and they were quite welcome to sit on the sofa watching movies in their pyjamas all afternoon, which compared to Merv’s exhausting schedule of party games and family in-jokes sounded just the tonic. He hauled himself out of bed and took a very, very long bath.

  It was definitely droplets of steam on his face, he told himself. He absolutely and positively wasn’t crying.

  ‘Only to bring you peace …’

  The song was playing again on the radio. Issy had peeled four thousand potatoes and was about to start on three thousand carrots. But she didn’t mind really. There was something about the repetition of the work, and the forced bonhomie of the DJ, who was, presumably, at work on Christmas Day all by himself, and the sweet familiarity of the songs – ones you liked (Sufjan) and ones you didn’t (Issy was done with travelling spacemen). Then she switched channels and listened to the boys singing carols from King’s, even though listening to the boys made her think of Darny and even though Darny actually hated to sing anyway.

  The turkey was glistening and turning golden in the oven, along with a beautiful glazed ham; the Brussels sprouts were ready to go, as was the red cabbage. She had tins of goose fat to make the best roast potatoes, and was planning on whipping up a fabulous pavlova for dessert; she liked to get the meringue just right. So everything was ticking over perfectly. F
ine. Lovely.

  At eleven, everyone started to file in; first Pearl, who had been up for a long time, and who immediately put on her pinny and wanted to clean. Issy tried to stop her. Louis was dancing along in her wake, full of chatter about church and the sweets the minister had given him and the singing and how Caroline had come to pick them up in her BIG CAR (‘I like you more now I saw your car,’ he had announced, to Pearl’s utter horror, but Caroline had, amazingly, laughed it off and rumpled Louis’ tight curls); then all Ashok’s family had piled in, and Issy regretted immediately making all the vegetarian food, or indeed any food at all given the sheer heft that they had brought, and everything in the kitchen downstairs took on a spicier, more unusual tang and Caroline opened the first bottle of champagne.

  Then, first things first, everyone scuffled around quickly under the tree so they could put out each other’s gifts. Then everyone went very shy and said you first, no, you first, but actually it was totally obvious that it should be Louis first, so Issy went in and found his packages and hauled them out.

  ‘Well, that’s odd,’ said Helena.

  And it was. Because there were five large square packages, all exactly the same size and shape. Louis’ eyes were like saucers.

  ‘I said Santa would pass by here,’ said Pearl, sending him forward. He ripped into the first one – Pearl’s, with the beautiful silver wrapping and the huge red ribbon.

  There was an enormously long pause. Then Louis turned round to his mother, his eyes huge, shining with unspilt tears, his mouth hanging open in shock and amazement.

  ‘SANTA BWOUGHT ME A MONSTER GARAGE!’

  Then everyone looked at the four other, identically shaped parcels, and realised immediately what had happened.

  There was one from Issy, who had spent her lunch hour running down to Hamleys and paying a fortune for it. There was one from Ashok and Helena, who had ordered theirs online months ago. One from Caroline, beautifully wrapped. Pearl’s, of course. And the last one Pearl couldn’t figure out at all. Then it dawned on her. It was from Doti. She shook her head in disbelief. She thought it was because everyone loved Louis so much. She didn’t realise that it wasn’t only Louis.

  ‘Santa’s made a mistake,’ she said, cuddling him. ‘I’m sure we can take the others back.’ She waggled her eyebrows furiously at the others.

  ‘I believe Santa trades things in for other toys,’ said Issy loudly, digging in her wallet for the receipt. ‘No wonder there was such a shortage.’

  Louis didn’t say anything at all. He was lying down right across the shop, oblivious to everyone else, making all the different monster noises and car noises and monster truck noises and talking to each monster in turn. He was completely in everybody’s way. Nobody minded at all.

  Pearl slipped off to text Doti. Then she added at the end, ‘pop round if you’re free xx’. Just as she was about to send it, a movement at the window caught her eye. She glanced up. It was Ben, whom she hadn’t seen since that fight. He was looking apologetic, with his hands open.

  She went to the door.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, looking at the ground.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You were right. I shouldn’t have had that damn garage. I bought it off a bloke in the pub.’

  ‘Ben,’ said Pearl, bitterly disappointed.

  ‘But I took it back, all right? I knew it was dodgy. I’m sorry. I’ve been working late shifts. It’s only as a security guard, but it’s work, right? Look, I’m still in my uniform.’

  She looked at him. He was.

  ‘It suits you, that uniform.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said, running his eyes up and down the curves of Pearl’s soft old wool dress, the best thing she owned. It still suited her.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, handing over a package. ‘It’s not the garage, right. It’s what I could afford. Properly.’

  ‘Come in,’ said Pearl. She deleted, quickly, the message on her phone. ‘Come on in.’

  Everyone greeted him cheerily, and Caroline immediately handed him a glass. Louis jumped up, his grin so wide he looked like he could burst.

  ‘SANTA BROUGHT ME A MONSTER GARAGE,’ he said.

  ‘And I brought you this,’ said Ben.

  Louis ripped the package open. Inside was a pair of pyjamas, covered in monster garage characters. They were fluffy and warm and the right size and exactly what Louis actually needed.

  ‘MONSTER GARAGE JAMAS!’ said Louis. He started pulling off his clothes. Pearl thought about stopping him – he was wearing a lovely smart shirt and a new pullover – but at the last minute decided against it.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said to the room, raising her glass.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ said everyone back.

  After that, it was a present free-for-all. Caroline did her best not to wrinkle her nose at the tasteless candles and knick-knacks that headed her way. Chadani Imelda managed to eat an entire rosette. Louis didn’t look up from his garage. Issy, hanging back near the kitchen, noticed that she didn’t get any presents, but didn’t think much of it.

  They had lined up all the tables in a row to make one long table with space for everyone, and Ashok’s sisters jostled Issy for space in the kitchen, chatting and laughing and sharing jokes and handing out crackers, and Issy felt herself coasting along and letting the shared comfort of happiness and ease carry her with it. Chester from the ironmonger’s shop was there, of course, and Mrs Hanowitz, whose children lived in Australia, and all in all they were a very long table by the time they sat down to eat, slightly drunk, carols playing loudly in the background.

  The meal was magnificent. Bhajis and ginger beet curry nestled next to the perfectly cooked turkey, acres of chipolatas and the crunchiest roast potatoes, all delicious. Everyone ate and drank themselves to bursting, except Issy, who didn’t feel like it, and Caroline, who couldn’t, but did her best with the red cabbage.

  At the end of the meal, Ashok stood up.

  ‘Now, I just want to say a few words,’ he said, swaying a little bit. ‘First of all, thank you to Issy for throwing open her shop – her home – for all of us waifs and strays at Christmas time.’

  At this there was much stamping of feet and cheering.

  ‘That was a wonderful meal – thanks to everyone who contributed …’

  ‘Hear hear,’ said Caroline.

  ‘… and Caroline.’

  There was a great deal of laughter and banging of forks.

  ‘OK, I have two orders of business. Firstly, Issy, you may have noticed that you didn’t get any Christmas presents?’

  Issy shrugged, to say it didn’t matter.

  ‘Well, aha! That is not the case!’ said Ashok. He lifted up an envelope. ‘Here is a small token of our esteem. Of all of our esteem. Oh, and we’ve hired Maya back.’

  ‘Who’s Maya?’ Ben asked Pearl. His large hand was squeezing her thigh under the table.

  ‘No one,’ said Pearl quickly.

  Issy, her hands shaking, opened the envelope. Inside was a return ticket to New York.

  ‘Everyone put in,’ said Ashok. ‘Because …’

  ‘Because you’re an idiot!’ hooted Caroline. ‘And you can’t borrow my coat again.’

  Issy looked at Helena, eyes glistening.

  ‘But I’ve been … I tried …’

  ‘Well, you try again, you bloody idiot,’ said Helena. ‘Are you nuts? I bet he is totally bloody miserable. Your mum said he is.’

  ‘I like the way everyone gets to chat with my mum except me,’ said Issy. She glanced down at the date on the ticket.

  ‘You have to be joking.’

  ‘Nope,’ said Caroline. ‘Cheapest date to fly. And no time like the present; we’ve got Maya all of next week.’

  ‘I can’t even get to the airport.’

  ‘Fortunately I treated a cabbie with renal failure,’ said Ashok. ‘He asked if there was anything he could do. I said could he drive my friend to Heathrow on Christmas Day. He sighed
a lot and looked really grumpy, but he’s on his way over.’

  ‘And I packed for you!’ said Helena. ‘Proper clothes this time you’ll be pleased to hear.’

  Issy didn’t know where to look. Her hand flickered to her mouth, shaking.

  ‘Come on,’ said Helena. ‘Do you really have anything to lose?’

  Issy bit her lip. Her pride? Her self-respect? Well, maybe they didn’t mean so much. But she had to know. She had to know.

  ‘Th … th … thanks,’ she stammered. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

  ‘I’ll make you up a sandwich for the plane,’ said Pearl. ‘It’s not business class this time.’

  Caroline had managed to convince Pearl, when she realised how much Pearl needed the money, that the amount everyone was putting in the pot for the ticket was ten pounds. Pearl had only the fuzziest idea of how much flights cost and had chosen to believe her.

  There came a honking outside.

  ‘That’s your cab,’ said Ashok.

  Helena handed her her bag and her passport. Issy had no words. They hugged, then Pearl joined in, then Caroline too, and they were all one big ball.

  ‘Do it,’ said Helena. ‘Or sort it. Or whatever. OK?’

  Issy swallowed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK.’

  And the table watched her go out into the snow.

  ‘Now,’ said Ashok, swallowing very hard, and taking out a small jeweller’s box from his pocket. ‘Ahem. I have another order of business.’

  But there was a cry from Caroline. Coming out of the snow was the tiny figure of Donald, and directly behind him, chasing after him, were Hermia and Achilles. The baby headed straight for the Cupcake Café and everyone crowded round to welcome him.

  ‘He ran away!’ said Hermia.

  ‘We ran away too,’ said Achilles. ‘It’s really boring in there.’

  Pearl winked at Caroline.

  ‘Well, I’ll put on some hot chocolate and then you’re heading straight back,’ Caroline said.

  Caroline called Richard and he agreed that they could stay for afternoon games. Then there was a pause. ‘Actually, could we all come over?’ said Richard. ‘It’s dead boring here.’