Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Well I’m not surprised.’ She smiled. ‘Why don’t you go back up to bed?’

  ‘Best not. I left my car at the pub. I should go and get it really. I think you’re right about last night, Dad. I’m sure people will remember it for a long time, and that was actually just the start. This is certainly going to be one Christmas the town won’t forget in a hurry.’

  I hoped that by making the suggestion he might say something that would give me a clue as to whether or not the market still had a future or whether perhaps he would instead acknowledge that what Tom and I were trying to achieve was a fitting swansong, but he didn’t bite.

  ‘Oh goodie!’ said Mum.

  ‘What do you mean “just the start”?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, it would be silly not to capitalise on the situation and offer some more entertainment, wouldn’t it?’ I added.

  ‘Well, there’s the tree auction on the tenth,’ he reminded me. ‘That always pulls a decent crowd. Do you remember when you were growing up we used to go together? You always managed to have the final word over which tree we’d be bidding for.’

  ‘I do remember, Dad,’ I nodded, my already fragile emotional state taking another knock courtesy of his happy reminiscing, ‘but I think we can do even better than the auction this year,’ I told him. ‘In fact, we’ve already been making plans.’

  OK, so that was a bit of a fabrication, but I didn’t want him to be in any doubt that I was going to carry on helping out with the town events between now and when I left in the New Year.

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s no bad thing,’ he shrugged amiably. ‘And I hope the success of last night and all these extra plans has made you have a good, long think about everything,’ he added.

  ‘What things?’

  ‘This market stall business for a start,’ he began, ‘you only have to think about what a triumph last night was, Ruby, to know that your talents and skills are being wasted.’

  ‘Oh Dad!’ I groaned. I had really begun to think that we were going to make it through an entire conversation without him twisting the situation to suit him, but my reckoning was obviously a little premature.

  ‘Well I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but you’re wasting your time working these ridiculous hours and standing about in the freezing cold catching your death. Surely all your hard work at university means more to you than that.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ sighed Mum.

  ‘We’ve had this conversation a hundred times already,’ I reminded him. ‘I’m helping Lizzie and Jemma out for just a few weeks. It isn’t a career strategy!’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘I’m going for a shower.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ Dad said wearily, ‘but just wait, Ruby. Hear me out.’

  ‘I’ve heard it all before, Dad!’

  Unfortunately he was still determined to have his say.

  ‘How about you come and volunteer at the council as the Christmas events co-ordinator perhaps? You could work in the office next to Tom and I’d pay you, out of my own pocket, twenty per cent more than you’d expect to earn on the market, just to make sure you don’t end up missing out on adding to your travel funds.’

  ‘Because she doesn’t want to . . .’ Mum tried to explain.

  ‘Office hours,’ Dad cajoled, ‘central heating, no surly traders to deal with or heavy stock to lug about.’

  As hard as I tried not to be, I was almost tempted. The thought of warm toes and a working day that didn’t involve thermal vests, frostbite and the continual risk of running into the Dempster clan at every turn was seriously seductive, but there at the back of my mind was the niggling thought that Dad seemed suddenly even more keen to get me away from the market. He was now actually offering to pay me to leave.

  ‘Look,’ I sighed, ‘thanks, Dad, but I can find my own way. It’s fun doing something a bit different and I wouldn’t dream of letting Jemma and Lizzie down.’

  Dad shrugged his shoulders in what I hoped was resignation.

  ‘Oh, and if by any chance,’ I added to hammer home my point, ‘your suggestion has anything to do with keeping me away from Steve Dempster then I can tell you right here and now that you needn’t worry.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘because the further I can keep away from him from now on, the better.’

  I couldn’t read Dad’s expression but Mum looked genuinely upset. I could easily imagine that she and Marie had been bustling about in the background secretly hoping that we would get back together and planning mother-of-the-bride and groom outfits that wouldn’t clash.

  ‘So,’ said Dad. ‘You’re sticking with the stall.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’m sticking with the stall and nothing you can say or do will make me change my mind.’

  ‘I can’t believe you turned down your mum’s Sunday lunch,’ sighed Bea from the cosy confines of the snuggly cushion nest she had made for herself on her sofa. ‘Things with your dad must have been really bad.’

  ‘They were somewhat strained,’ I said, as I felt yet another wave of disappointment wash over me. The conversation that had started so well had soon begun to freefall downhill. ‘By the time I’d had a shower he’d upped his offer to twenty-five per cent and poor Mum was practically frantic. Lunch or no lunch, I had to get out.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you knew you’d be welcome here,’ Bea smiled, ‘and I’m even gladder that you came with supplies!’

  The floor of her little sitting room was littered with packets, crumbs and empty plates and even just the thought of how much sugar we had ingested in the last hour was enough to make me feel queasy, and that was before my mind played over Steve’s unsavoury insinuations again. I hadn’t breathed a word about what he’d said to Bea. My request to use her place as a bolthole was being solely blamed on Dad’s nagging and I was in no hurry to tell her any different.

  ‘There’s one Oreo left,’ she said, shaking out the packet. ‘Want to split it?’

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ I tutted, ‘you’ve twisted my arm, and while you’re at it, pass me the remote, will you? It’s like living on the set of Jeremy Kyle at home right now so I certainly don’t need to be watching a Sunday marathon of it!’

  ‘But it’s a DNA special,’ she pouted, reluctantly nudging the remote towards me with her foot so she didn’t have to get up. ‘I only watch it to make me feel better about my own life.’

  ‘You live a charmed life,’ I reminded her. ‘You’re just sulking because Sam’s holding out on you. You know full well he’s going to propose one day.’

  ‘I don’t actually,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Oh you do,’

  ‘No,’ she said doubtfully, ‘I’m really not so sure any more, I know he loves me, but—’

  ‘Well, you should think yourself lucky,’ I scolded, flicking through the channels and feeling uncharacteristically unsympathetic, ‘if I were you I’d give him a break. Let him do things in his own time otherwise you’ll end up pushing him away, and believe me, it’s no fun being a singleton at this time of year.’

  ‘I thought you still had your eye on Steve.’

  ‘Oh that’s worn off,’ I said, purposefully focusing on the TV. ‘I thought I had feelings for him when I first came back, but now he’s with Mia all the time and I’ve got my travel plans to figure out, I can’t say I’m fussed.’

  ‘Well that figures,’ said Bea, fortunately none the wiser. ‘It had been a while since you’d seen him and the way the relationship ended meant there were bound to be loose ends.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  We sat in silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Sam wouldn’t dare dump me,’ she said eventually, her tone militant. ‘Not after all the effort I’ve put into this relationship but perhaps you’re right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to back off a bit.’

  ‘A bit!’ I snorted. ‘If I were you I’d dial it right down. Go out and have a bit of fun like you used to when you were first going out and do
not, under any circumstances, keep manipulating every conversation so you end up talking about bridal favours and babies!’

  Bea did at least have the grace to blush.

  ‘I suppose I have been a bit OTT lately, haven’t I?’

  I thought it best not to answer and threw the remote back over to her.

  ‘Here we go,’ I said, snuggling back down, ‘perfect.’

  Bea glanced up at the screen.

  ‘The cheesy Christmas channel,’ she groaned in disgust. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me? Haven’t we had enough sugar-coated crap for one day?’

  ‘Look,’ I told her, ‘I have no relationship, a father who can’t stop nagging and no Sunday lunch. The least you can do is let me wallow on your sofa and lose myself in a sickly seasonal made-for-TV shocker!’

  ‘OK, OK,’ she said, holding up her hands in surrender. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot.’ She sat up and threw off the cushions she had surrounded herself with. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and you never know. If you’re really lucky, your mum might have put a plate in the microwave!’

  As luck would have it, vegging out on Bea’s sofa that afternoon turned out to be highly productive. Not that anyone would have believed it, had they been watching me consume my bodyweight in chocolate biscuits.

  However, by the time I wandered to the pub to collect my car I had phase two of the Wynbridge Christmas festivities all planned out in my head and hopefully, if I could convince Tom and the rest of the stallholders that I wasn’t one of the baddies and that it was a good idea, I’d have enough on my plate to stop me brooding over Steve Dempster and his offensive accusations almost up until Christmas Day.

  Chapter 15

  On Monday morning I was back at the market earlier than ever with a spring in my step and a steely determination to ignore Steve and start looking forward rather than back.

  ‘What have you got there?’ asked Gwen, as she wandered over to see what I was pinning up on the back of the stall. ‘It isn’t something cut out of the papers about the switch-on, is it?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘afraid not. I don’t think we even made it into the papers, Gwen, but Simon has just popped over to the newsagent’s to check.’

  ‘And there was I hoping to be front page news again,’ she sighed wistfully.

  ‘Again!’ I pounced, quickly turning around to see if she was pulling my leg. Given the impish grin she flashed me I knew instantly that she wasn’t. ‘When exactly were you front page news?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ she giggled. ‘Fortunately there aren’t many folk left who can remember now, so my secret’s reasonably safe.’

  ‘Oh Gwen, you tease!’

  ‘We made it into three!’ yelled Simon as he raced back to the square with an armful of papers. ‘All red tops and all more interested in Paul than Wynbridge, but two of them actually managed to spell the town name right and they’ve included some cracking photos of the lights.’

  Everyone crowded around to have a closer look at the photographs as Simon read out what had been written. All of the reports suggested the set-up was a publicity stunt but on the whole they were complimentary and none of them contained anything damaging.

  ‘Not bad at all,’ nodded Chris, winking at me. ‘Well done, Ruby.’

  ‘Well done everyone,’ I said quickly, ‘we all played a part.’

  ‘But it was you who had the sense to pin down Paul Thompson when you saw him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind pinning him down!’ shouted Shirley.

  ‘Well, I’m just pleased the evening was a success,’ I said, building myself up to say something more. I took a deep breath and dived in before they all went back to their own stalls. ‘I know some of you doubted me when I first showed up,’ I began, my face feeling a good ten degrees warmer already, ‘but I had hoped that by helping out last week you’d see that I am every bit as determined as you lot to see the market thriving again.’

  I could just about make out the top of Steve’s head above everyone else, but I didn’t care. I needed to have my say if I was going to carry on working on the market and helping out in the run up to Christmas.

  ‘You can’t choose your family,’ laughed Chris, no doubt trying to lighten the mood and make everyone else feel less awkward.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you can’t, which is actually more of a shame for some of you than it is for me.’

  No one was laughing now.

  ‘What did she mean by that?’ muttered Jude.

  ‘We all know you picked a side, Ruby,’ said Gwen, laying a hand on my arm, ‘and the town is very grateful that you did, as are we all. Aren’t we, folks?’

  ‘Yes!’ shouted some. ‘Not half!’ joined in the others.

  ‘Well, I appreciate that,’ I nodded, ‘I really do, but I have also discovered that there are rumours running roughshod through the town and they are all suggesting that there’s much more going on here than I originally thought and I have to admit that I’m a little sad, not to say embarrassed, that no one saw fit to tell me the truth sooner.’

  An awkward hush descended.

  ‘All I can say is,’ I sighed, ‘that I don’t know anything about the market being closed or the site being up for sale. This time next year, next month even, I’ll be long gone, but I promise you that in the meantime I will do everything I can to make this a very merry Christmas for everyone and I would be really grateful if you could all find it in your hearts to see me as myself, Ruby Smith, Wynbridge stallholder, and not just the daughter of Robert Smith, the council planning manager.’

  All I could do now was hope that at least some of my words had hit their mark and given the chastened expressions on some of the faces looking back at me I was reasonably hopeful. Steve, of course, had kept his distance, so I had no chance to gauge how he had taken my little speech, but really it was about time I stopped caring about whether or not anything I said or did had any impact on him.

  ‘There’s another meeting in the pub tomorrow night,’ said Bob. ‘It’s about the tree auction. I only mention it because I wasn’t sure if anyone else had. It would be good if you could come.’

  ‘Thanks, Bob,’ I smiled, ‘I’ll be there. In fact, I’ve already had a bit of a think about that particular event and I might just have a new idea to bring to the table.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ he chuckled, ‘I had a feeling you might. We’ll see you there then. The more the merrier, as always! Oh and by the way,’ he added, ‘Shirley and I had a think about what you said about selling seasonal stuff.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘And we’ve decided to give some new festive stock a try.’

  ‘What have you found?’

  ‘Christmas stockings for cats and dogs,’ he said shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe such things existed. ‘Some are already filled with treats and others are empty. We’re going to offer an extra deal if customers fill them with stock from the stall.’

  ‘Well, that’s great,’ I told him. ‘Just the sort of thing I had in mind. People really love to pamper their pets.’

  ‘Shirley has even found some Christmas jumpers for dogs online, but I’ve drawn the line at those.’

  ‘I’ve ordered three!’ Shirley shouted, much to her husband’s consternation. ‘All on sale or return. We’ll see how they go.’

  ‘If they go, you mean,’ tutted Bob.

  ‘Well good luck with it all,’ I said, ‘I’ll mention the cat stockings to Bea. She would probably love one of those for her mum’s pampered puss!’

  Everyone had gone back to their stalls except Gwen who I found having another closer look at the picture I had been pinning up before Simon arrived back with the papers.

  ‘What’s all this about then?’ she frowned. ‘Are you trying to keep warm by taking a crafty glance at somewhere hot and exotic every now and then?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, ‘of course not.’

  ‘Well, that is a relief,’ she sighed. ‘I thought for a minute there that you were losing your m
arbles. The cold can do funny things to the brain if you aren’t used to it. So where is that place then?’ she said, pointing at the pristine beach in the photograph with her sheepskin-clad fingers.

  ‘It’s in India,’ I told her, smoothing down the paper and imagining the hot sand between my toes. ‘I’ve put it up as a little reminder as to why I’m out in the cold all day and trying to earn a bit extra.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘are you saving for a holiday, my dear?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I explained. ‘All the money I earn from running the stall is going into funding my travel plans.’

  ‘How exciting!’ she gasped, her eyes lighting up at the ‘T’ word. ‘And when are you planning on setting off?’

  ‘In the New Year,’ I said, rubbing my hands together and stamping my feet to stave off the cold, ‘possibly even before that if I can manage it. I’ve had all my jabs and my passport’s poised for action, so as soon as I’ve banked some funds I’ll be off!’

  ‘Oh,’ she frowned, ‘I had no idea we were going to lose you, and so soon!’

  ‘If I do go before Christmas the stall will stay, assuming Jemma and Lizzie can find someone else to run it,’ I reassured her, ‘so you’ll only be losing me really, not another stall.’

  ‘I know,’ she said sadly, ‘I realise that, but what a pity for us. The market will miss you sorely, Ruby, as well as all your wonderful ideas, but I do understand. When the old wanderlust strikes, it’s best to answer the siren call.’

  ‘Have you travelled much, Gwen?’ I asked, suddenly curious to know more about the life she had led before she bowled through her seventies.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she smiled, ‘when I was a young thing I travelled all over the globe. Footloose and fancy free!’

  ‘And was that when you made headline news?’ I asked, hoping to catch her off guard.

  ‘Never you mind about that,’ she said again with a giggle, ‘never you mind!’

  For a Monday, the market certainly seemed busier and plenty of customers told me how much they had enjoyed the switch-on and that they were hoping the council and traders were planning more events in the run up to the big day. I was encouraged by their enthusiasm but couldn’t help wishing a few more mentioned Tom by name, rather than just lumping him in with the council crowd. He was working ridiculously hard to manage his extra workload and improve the Wynbridge festivities, and in turn I was determined that before I left town I would see his efforts properly acknowledged.