by Jo Thomas
‘No, not at all,’ I say, realizing the hot chocolate has unlocked some kind of memory for her. From her smile, it’s a good one. Her face looks totally different. Gone are the pinched lips and tight jaw. In its place there’s softness. It’s a glimpse of the young woman she once was.
I breathe in the scent of the hot chocolate, letting the cinnamon, vanilla, dark chocolate and nutmeg work together. No swirly cream or marshmallows, just warm, spiced, rich chocolate. I sip slowly, letting the flavour sit on my tongue before swallowing. ‘It’s wonderful.’
The others agree.
‘It’s made locally and sold here on market days,’ Anja tells us.
‘It …’ Alice tries to speak, but the words don’t come.
‘Go on, Alice,’ Norman says.
She looks up to stop the tears forming. ‘Phffff …’ She exhales, pushing out her lips, her warm breath making curls of steam in the air. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s just this hot chocolate reminds me of when I was newly married. We were stationed here, in Germany. It reminds me of when my husband still looked at me as if I really mattered, before the children came along and, well, we seemed to drift apart. When I became almost an annoyance in his life – at least, that’s how it felt.’ She swallows.
‘Elsie used to say hot chocolate reminded her of her mother and grandmother. She always made this at Christmas time, sitting by the fire. She said hot chocolate was everything that was Christmas,’ Pearl says.
‘She always offered me a cup when I went there,’ I add. ‘She said it told her how much her mother loved her, even when she didn’t always show it. Her mother was a very … practical woman. Not what you might call demonstrative.’
Anja nods and seems to understand.
‘When she came to the UK to work in a hotel, she said it was the first time she’d been offered a day off. She didn’t know what it was.’
‘Same for me,’ says Anja. ‘But this cup … In this cup I knew I was loved.’ Her eyes fill, as do Alice’s. I take another sip.
‘This was what Christmas was all about to me,’ Alice says, her eyes bright.
‘It was the woolly jumper my mum used to knit for us every year,’ says Norman.
‘Stirring the Christmas pudding,’ says Di.
‘I loved singing carols. I’d love to sing carols with a choir one last time,’ says John. ‘I met Violet at the church choir.’
‘I loved the Nativity play. I always wanted to be Mary,’ says Maeve, surprising us.
‘What about you, Connie?’ Anja asks.
‘Me?’
‘What did you love about Christmas?’ Anja smiles.
‘Christmas cake?’ asks Pearl.
‘Mince pies? Yours were brilliant this year,’ says Ron.
I think about the Christmases when Sam was small, the pile of presents, opened in pyjamas by the fire, and before that, when I was young … A memory suddenly comes into sharp focus in my mind, maybe the thing that started my baking obsession, like a security blanket in scary times.
‘Gingerbread,’ I announce. ‘My grandmother always made a gingerbread house with me. Some years it would turn into a whole little village.’ Suddenly tears are in my eyes too, just as they are with Anja and Alice, as they remember Christmases gone by. Where did the magic go? Is it just that we grew up? When did we all start wishing it could be over? Clearly Elsie had known something we don’t.
‘I think we should write a list between us, of something we loved about Christmas and want to do again,’ says Pearl. ‘Our Christmas memory list.’
‘Why would we want to do that?’ says Maeve, back to her more obstructive self.
‘It’s Elsie’s wake, remember? We’re doing it for her. She’d have loved it. And if we want to remember Christmases past, and what made us smile, then that’s what we should do. Something that made us feel special at Christmas or something we’d loved to do. A Christmas wish that money can’t buy. And when we’ve completed the list, we’ll scatter Elsie’s ashes, so she goes with all our happy Christmas memories and thoughts. Agreed?’ Pearl looks around the group.
‘Agreed.’ They nod and smile. Apart from Maeve, who humphs. Persuading her to join in may be hard. I’m not sure Maeve’s Christmas spirit can ever be found again, no matter how fabulous the setting. But we’ll give it a try, for Elsie’s sake.
TWELVE
‘Gah!’ Maeve clutches her bag to her stomach and her hot chocolate to her chest.
‘Maeve?’ Pearl and I spin round to her in surprise. Even the others look up from their drinks and their memories.
Maeve nods several times, her eyes wide. We all turn to see what she’s staring at. From nowhere, a long-legged gangly dog is galumphing towards us at speed. We all hold onto our drinks, waiting for a collision. But, as quickly as he came, the beautiful, silky-smooth dog stops without crashing into us. He comes to Anja first to have his head stroked, then noses his way into the centre of the group and greets us all in turn, gently pushing his head into everyone’s lap and, as he does so, a smile appears on their faces. Mine, too – he says hello in the gentlest way. If a dog can have good manners, he certainly does.
‘Whassat?’ Ron wakes from his power nap, or after-lunch doze. He has a knack of catching forty winks whenever and wherever. He lifts his chin from his wide chest, not having spilled a drop of the hot chocolate he’s still clutching in both hands. ‘Oh, hello, fella.’ He caresses the dog’s ears.
Finally the dog stops at Maeve. When she doesn’t greet him, he nudges her arm and she raises her hands, holding her hot chocolate higher. When he persists, she lets go of her handbag, tentatively puts out a hand and pats his head. He doesn’t move on. He just sits by her and she goes back to ignoring him.
‘Oh, William.’ Anja waves at someone.
I turn. Oh, no. My heart sinks and my cheeks burn. Not him! But he doesn’t hear her, thankfully. He’s on the phone, looking intense. He seems to be pacing around the empty space where the ice rink will be. He finishes his call and runs his hands through his thick dark curly hair. Then he spots Anja and raises a hand. At least he isn’t coming over. I let out a sigh of relief.
‘Isn’t that the man from the bakery?’ asks Pearl.
‘The one I thought had catfished you,’ Norman says.
‘The one you thought was your date, but wasn’t,’ Alice joins in, peering at him.
‘He had quite a look of shock about him.’ Norman laughs.
‘Yes, all right, Norman,’ says Pearl, patting his knee to quieten him as she can see my embarrassment escalating.
Anja waves again and this time he spots the dog. He raises another hand, shoves his phone into his pocket and hurries over. Oh, no! I hunch into my big thick scarf and clutch my hot chocolate to my face.
‘Hi, sorry,’ he says, pointing to the dog. ‘Fritz is deaf. No amount of calling gets him to come back.’
‘Whassat?’ asks Ron.
‘He said he’s deaf,’ says Pearl, loudly.
‘I’m not deaf. Just windy, that’s all.’ Ron looks up and around.
‘You can say that again,’ mutters Pearl, and I can’t help but smile. Ron thinks no one can hear him when he passes wind, which he does frequently. ‘Put your hearing aid in!’ Pearl says loudly.
‘Hearing aid? I don’t need a hearing aid. I’m not deaf, you know.’
Fritz is still sitting by Maeve’s wheelchair and I can see her taking snatched, wary glances at him.
‘William! How are you? Will you join us?’ Anja asks, holding out a hand to the fire and the group. ‘These are guests of mine, from the UK.’
He holds up a hand in greeting. ‘Yes.’ He smiles at everyone, then looks at me. ‘We met this morning. Here on a date, I gather.’ Heat runs up my neck and I sink lower into my scarf.
‘A date?’ Anja twists round to me, her eyebrows shooting up.
‘Not all of us,’ Pearl explains.
‘Just Connie,’ Norman pipes up.
‘You were meeting Heinrich.’ Hi
s smile slowly falls. ‘After his visit to me.’
‘Heinrich? From the New Town bakery?’ Realization slides across Anja’s face.
I swallow. ‘Yes. We’ve been talking for a while.’ I feel the need to explain. ‘We met online.’
‘Online?’ Anja nods. ‘Everything seems to happen online these days,’ she says sadly. ‘No one gets out there and shops any more.’ And I don’t know if she’s talking about dating or the Christmas market.
‘And he came to see you again?’ She turns to look at William, who confirms it with a slow nod.
‘He came to the shop. This morning. To make me an offer I couldn’t afford to refuse, apparently.’
I see the muscles in his jaw clench. For a moment no one says anything, looking between Anja and William, wondering what is being left unsaid between them.
‘Well.’ William breaks the silence. He looks around at the group and then at me, clapping his hands together to keep out the cold. ‘I hope your trip was worthwhile and you found what you were looking for.’
‘I hope so too, thank you,’ I say crisply and politely. Pearl looks at me and I can’t decide if she’s intrigued at how I’m feeling about Heinrich or about why William seems to bring out the worst in me and makes me bristle.
‘I wish you all a happy Christmas,’ he says politely, and turns to leave.
‘And is all okay with the …?’ Anja asks, stopping him before he goes, nodding towards the place where the ice rink is due to go.
‘It will be … As soon as the bank sends over the money, the men will bring it and set it up,’ he replies, gazing down at the phone. ‘Should be all ready for Sunday.’
‘I used to love ice skating,’ says Maeve, letting on that we know what’s coming.
Anja shrugs and smiles apologetically at William, and says, ‘Me too.’
He smiles back. ‘Word will be out soon enough,’ he says. ‘It’ll be too late for the New Town to copy it anyway. They will have made their plans, whatever they may be.’
‘Perhaps you can all try when the ice rink arrives.’ Anja beams, gesturing to where it will be.
‘Not me!’ I say.
‘Scared of falling?’ says William, and I have no idea why his words feel so loaded.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘It hurts. Better not to take the chance.’ And for a moment I hold his stare. I have no idea what made me reply with such bluntness either. There is just something about this man that seems to get under my skin.
‘I loved it as a child,’ says Anja.
‘We were just talking about Christmas memories and what we wish we could do again. What about you, William? What did you love about Christmas? What would you wish for again?’ asks Pearl.
‘For my life to go back to how it was,’ he says. He glances around the market. ‘To break the curse … And who knows? If we win on Sunday,’ he looks straight at me, ‘we’ll bring the cup back to the Old Town, where it belongs. Tell your boyfriend. This time it’s coming home.’
‘Oh, he’s not …’ I stop myself. He’s not my boyfriend, I was going to say.
‘Yet,’ says Pearl, raising an eyebrow.
But he could be! He could be just that, come Sunday. ‘Boyfriend’ seems such a young person’s word. But suddenly I feel torn between wanting a win for Heinrich and celebrating with him on Sunday, and wanting the Old Town and its market to survive. Because if Heinrich wins, this market and its traders will be no more. William’s and Anja’s businesses will suffer. Maybe this market will be just another Christmas memory for people like them. I look around the group. Christmas memories are important, I realize, and I’m determined to help my friends revisit and relive theirs. It’s the least I can do to repay them, especially Pearl, for pushing me into coming here. I’m glad they did, I think, with a warm glow. Because if they hadn’t I wouldn’t have met Heinrich and he deserves to win just as much as William does on Sunday. Maybe more so, who knows? He certainly seems to be putting in the effort.
‘Let’s make this a Christmas to remember for everyone,’ I say, including Anja. ‘To the Christmas memory list!’ I say, and hold up my mug, determined to tick off a memory for each of them.
THIRTEEN
I watch as William summons his dog by getting in his line of sight and waving an arm. Then, as if he’s noticed his owner for the first time and is delighted to see him, the dog leaves Maeve’s side – is that disappointment on her face? – and galumphs back to his owner.
For a moment, we all stare into the fire pit. The sky has darkened and it’s much colder, making my nose tickle as the cold pinches it. I wonder if we should be getting back, but Alice is on her second hot chocolate, staring into it as if it’s showing her an image from her happy time.
‘Life is all about making memories, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘Because that’s really all you’re left with.’
‘You never want to look back at life and think what if …’ says Pearl.
Then I remember my school trip to Germany when I was seventeen. I met someone. It was a week when I fell in love and thought I would never feel the same again. And, to be honest, I’m not sure I have. We vowed to find a way to be together. We wrote all the time. He even came over to stay with my family. But after he went back, his letters began to trail off, with longer and longer periods between them. I’d rush to the postbox to send a reply to one of his by return, then wait and wait for a response. Until, eventually, nothing came. I often wonder what would have happened if he had replied. If we’d gone ahead with those impetuous plans to be together. He was the one I thought was my soulmate. The one who got away. Eventually my family moved house, and I’ll never know if he wrote again or tried to find me. I’ve looked him up on Facebook, but he has a family and seems happy. I just wonder if he ever thinks of me. Then I met Tom, Sam’s dad, and life was straightforward, not the rollercoaster ride it had been, waiting for letters that didn’t come. With Tom, we liked each other, we were friends and got on. It was sensible and steady, and we enjoyed the same things. There were good times, and at first we were happy, but eventually he started wanting other things, and by the time Sam was ready to go to university, he’d moved on too. But I wouldn’t change it for the world because I wouldn’t have Sam, and he is definitely the best thing to happen to me. Sam wants me to meet someone now. He wants to see me happy and not alone.
I think about Heinrich. I have to go for it, if I think it’s right. I can’t be scared. Pearl’s right. We’re making memories, not regrets. I want to look back on my life and smile, like I do when I think of Sam’s dad in the happy times we shared. And like I do when I remember that summer and believing, at seventeen, that anything was possible.
We fall back into our own thoughts as the fire spits and smokes and glows. I try to imagine Heinrich visiting me at home, me coming back here in the summer. I try to imagine him and me at this time next year.
‘We should make that list,’ says Pearl, interrupting our reveries. ‘A proper list.’
‘What sort of a list?’ asks Norman.
‘The one we were just talking about!’ says Pearl, tutting.
‘I’m lost without a list. Can’t remember a thing,’ says Maeve.
‘As long as it’s not a Christmas present list!’ Alice pipes up. ‘Truth is …’ she says, clearly thawed by the hot chocolate ‘… I can’t afford it. I can’t afford all the presents my daughter wants me to buy for her kids. They’ve had it all! I’ve helped them out with houses and holidays so the money’s gone. And what with the pension age for women changing, well, I …’
Alice has always given the impression of being well off. I had no idea of the truth. I don’t know what to say. Instead I take her spare hand and just hold it.
‘No, not a present list. That’s where it’s all gone wrong,’ says Pearl, and I agree.
‘Remember, we were talking about a list of Christmas memories of things we loved or something we dream of doing again. Then when we’ve made all those memories real, we put a candy cane in a mug.’ I
hope they don’t think it sounds ridiculous. I look at Pearl, who smiles widely. ‘One for each memory we tick off.’
There’s a moment’s silence. John is the first to speak. ‘I’d like to sing, like I was back in the choir on Christmas morning. Singing just because it was Christmas, as if Violet was by my side. Because … well, just because it made me feel really happy.’ His voice cracks. ‘I’d like to sing like that again. Just for fun. As if no one is listening.’
‘I never knew you liked singing before now, John, or that that was how you and Violet met,’ says Graham, slowly and slurred, because the stroke had pulled down one corner of his mouth, but everyone listens.
John shrugs sadly. ‘I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it, I suppose.’
‘Singing it is then!’ announces Pearl, her hand in the air. ‘We shall find somewhere to sing carols. Connie, get out that notebook you carry everywhere and make a list. Our very own Christmas list … and not an Xbox or an iPhone in sight! Christmas memories! Who’s next?’
‘I’d like to watch a Christmas movie with other people and eat popcorn. I love Christmas films,’ says Graham, who is always on his Kindle.
‘And I’d like to dance,’ says Di, smiling. ‘Like we used to. Christmas Eve in the local village hall where we met.’ She gives Graham a watery smile and touches his cheek.
‘I don’t think I’m made for dancing now,’ he says slowly and with effort, ‘but we used to cut a rug!’ He chortles.
‘And snow. I miss snow at Christmas. In the winter of sixty-three the snow was so high it reached up to the tops of the hedges,’ Alice says.
‘Connie? What did you love doing at Christmas? What’s your Christmas wish?’
I have no idea how to say I’d like a boyfriend for Christmas, to be part of a couple, to find the one I know is the right one for me. I’d like to fall in love, just once more, like I did when I was seventeen. ‘I … I …’ My grandmother and her gingerbread house pop into my head again. I remember how it made me feel. Loved. Everything about those times did; in that house, with my mother and grandmother, I felt loved. And I hope Sam felt that too. I hope that’s what I passed on to him. No matter what happened between his dad and me, I always wanted him to still feel loved. Like he wants for me now.
