The Cosy Christmas Teashop

by Caroline Roberts

  It was so lovely when a wedding came together like this, and Ellie could feel proud that she had played her part in the hopes and plans for their big day coming true. All the wedding couples who had come to the castle for their big day were unique, and in love in their own special way. That promise they were making for life, that commitment to their relationship should be celebrated, and though the world was sometimes cynical, and yes, some relationships did break down, where would we be without that hope, that bond, that love.

  With only a few weeks remaining until the ‘Christmas in the Castle Fayre’, as Joe had aptly named it, (the catch-phrase seemed to be working well on the posters and adverts they had started putting out, and there had been a lot of interest locally), the next Monday meeting was focussing on planning the details of the event.

  ‘Right then, what have we all got to bring to the table on the Christmas Fayre so far?’ Joe started.

  They were sat at the large, oval, table of the meeting room, which had originally been the old dairy. The walls were now whitewashed over the old stone, one wall still having the original white dairy tiles, the ancient beams above them painted a soft grey. Ellie could almost imagine the original dairymaids here, with their milk urns and butter churns, working hard. Perhaps it wouldn’t have felt so very different from her dashing around in the kitchens at times.

  Ellie looked around the members of staff assembled, for a fleeting moment she had a flashback to a Vicar of Dibley scenario, scarily familiar with a host of quirky characters, who were all rather noncommittal, and not responding to Joe’s question about the Christmas Fayre at this point.

  She thought she may as well set the ball rolling, ‘We’re organising Christmas Hampers full of goodies from the Teashop, made to order for pre-Christmas delivery, locally and further afield if they cover postage. I’ve already got a quote with Parcel First for £10, which considers the average weight and size of the filled box, and we can deliver in the local area ourselves for just a small fee. We’ll also be making lots of shortbread, spiced cookies, brownies and fudge and chocolate truffles to make up into small gift bags for sale at the Fayre. I’m going to make loads of mince pies for the day, along with snowy topped iced-coconut cupcakes which will look really festive. We could also offer mulled wine as well as the usual tea and coffee type options.’

  ‘Thanks, Ellie. Sounds good.’ Joe commented.

  ‘What about baking some plain biscuits or gingerbread and having the children ice them on the day?’ Deana suggested. ‘We could hold a competition and see who makes the best design, have a small prize or something. They could pay 50p to enter? We could put the money from that to charity. My grandchildren would love doing something like that.’

  ‘Well, that’s bound to make a fine mess everywhere. Marvellous idea, Deana.’ Lord Henry was frowning, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘I actually think it’s a really good idea,’ Doris spoke up. ‘My grandchildren would love that too. Fits with the idea of a Craft Fayre, making things and all that. If we are doing something for charity, what about helping that chap who had the motorbike accident. The one who had to cancel his wedding here.’

  ‘That does sound a nice idea Doris. But, it’d be better to give the money to a verified charity rather than an individual, but yes, a cause that’s helped Daniel, maybe the ward in the hospital he’s in, or the physiotherapy unit he’ll be using. In fact, the air ambulance might be a good one – he was airlifted from the scene of the accident. They help so many people, especially in this type of rural community.’ Joe was thinking practically.

  ‘Yes, some charity fundraising would be great. The air ambulance sounds a fabulous cause,’ Ellie agreed. ‘We could hold a raffle on the day; we could ask local businesses for donations of prizes, if they didn’t mind. Maybe each stallholder might give something too, just something small. I’d gladly put in a hamper from the Teashop.’

  ‘Yes, that does sound a decent idea.’ Lord Henry was warming to the concept, despite the thought of sticky fingers all over his antique furnishings.

  ‘Which stallholders have confirmed so far then? Doris, you were taking names weren’t you?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Yes, I have a list, hang on.’ She dug around in her immense handbag. ‘Right, candles, the card lady, a handmade soap company, jams and chutneys, Doggie Delights – pet gifts. Wendy’s coming along to make Christmas wreaths on the day and to take orders for festive flowers. There’s a micro-brewery selling bottled beers from the Kirk Valley. Oh, and my friend who does the knitted animal toys; she’s already made some really cute Christmas mice.’

  ‘We’ll probably need a few more stalls for variety. Anybody else know of anyone who might be interested?’

  Silence descended on the group.

  ‘Well, does anyone want to pop to Kirkton market next week and take a look at what type of things are there? Ask any of the stallholders if they might be interested?’

  ‘Oh yes, we’ll do that. We quite like browsing market stalls, don’t we Derek,’ Malcolm piped up.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine with that,’ Derek agreed.

  ‘Well, it’ll take you all of ten minutes at Kirkton market. There’s only about a half dozen or so stalls left, nowadays,’ Deana said.

  ‘It’s worth a try.’ The gents were not put off. ‘We’ll see if we can charm them to come along. Variety is the spice of life, so they say. So, we’ll see who we can get on board. If the market’s a bit thin on the ground, we might have some other contacts we can call on too. There’s a lot of creative talent in this area. I was once a member of the Kirkton Art Society, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know you painted, Malcolm,’ Doris commented.

  Derek was pulling a wry face, saying nothing.

  ‘Not painting so much as sculpture, Doris. Well, I tried. I wasn’t that good. I gave up after my work went on display in the summer exhibition. I heard one woman saying what a lovely sculpture of a dog I’d done. It was a self-portrait, head and shoulders in clay, and it wasn’t even meant to be modern art or anything. I had a bit of trouble with the eyes, very tricky, and the hair. Suppose it did look a bit shaggy. Lost my creative confidence then.’

  Derek was holding back a snigger.

  ‘Thanks for the support, you.’ He gave his partner a terse look.

  ‘Right, back to the Christmas Fayre. We’ve still a lot too plan.’ Joe tried to get back on track.

  ‘Are we charging a fee per stall? Just so we know when we’re trying to recruit people,’ Derek asked.

  ‘Yes, I think we should. It seems to be the done thing, nothing too expensive, don’t want to be putting stallholders off, but we need to make some revenue. I’d thought £20 per stall. They’ll get a trestle table and an area each for that. The main event will be held in the Great Hall, and depending on numbers, we could overflow into the Drawing Room. Actually, that reminds me,’ Joe added. ‘We’ll need to borrow the trestle tables from the village hall.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Deana replied, ‘Landlord Alan’s on the village committee. He’ll get them organized for us, for sure.’

  Colin, the gardener, who’d been sat quietly up to this point spoke up, ‘Do you need a Christmas tree for the Hall that day?’

  ‘Oh yes, good idea, that’ll look lovely. We need to make the event as festive as we can.’ Ellie could picture a gorgeous pine tree all decorated with tinsel and baubles, and lit with fairy lights.

  ‘Yes, Colin, you can go ahead and take a fir from the estate grounds. There’ll be something suitable out there in the woods for certain,’ Lord Henry offered.

  Ellie could picture it all then, the Great Hall looking festive, with a touch of sparkle, the twinkle of lights, it would be a wonderful room to have a Christmas makeover. They had lots of tree lights and decorations up in their apartment. Ellie loved Christmas, and it had been extra magical since she had lived here at the castle. It was just such an amazing setting, old stone walls, latticed-leaded windows. Wendy could display some ivy
and holly in the windowsills of the Hall, as they had loads spare in the grounds, Ellie had spotted it on a recent walk. And there could be storm lanterns and tealights –actually they might have to buy some of those battery-operated fake ones for safety. She was extra-cautious now after the devastating fire in the tearoom kitchens. That still made her heart sink when she thought of it … what she might have lost.

  ‘Are we having a Father Christmas? My husband, Clifford, has offered to dress up if you’d like. He loves kids, and he’s even got the Santa outfit stored at home from last year’s Rotary event. Loves it, the fake white beard and everything. We could wrap up gifts, and put them in sawdust in some old bran tubs, like the good old days.’ Doris was getting quite animated.

  And so the plans were well afoot. The Christmas Fayre was taking shape, and it would hopefully be a rather lovely event, as well as bringing in some extra revenue. Ellie realized she had a stack of baking and sweet-making to do in the coming weeks that way, but she’d have help from Irene, and to be fair it was so much quieter in the Teashop just now, it should mostly get done in normal working hours. She noticed she’d been feeling more tired these days, early pregnancy stuff no doubt, but on the whole she felt well, full of hope and happy. She’d get on fine.

  The next day, she woke up feeling pretty shattered even after a good night’s sleep. It might well be the end-of-season thing, she mused, when you’d worked like crazy all summer, kept going on a mix of adrenalin and coffee; actually she’d cut the coffee right back since finding out she was expecting. Then boomph, often in October, the minute you had time to relax, you got floored by some cold virus or fatigue. She hoped that wouldn’t happen this year. In fact, she’d better start listening to her body and pacing herself, making sure she took a few more breaks here and there. Joe kept checking up on her too, asking if she was feeling okay. Mind you, she wasn’t ill was she, just pregnant, but maybe the mix-up of hormones might be a factor too.

  Oh well, she had too much to do to dwell on it – with the Christmas Fayre coming up there was more baking than usual this time of year. The mornings were darker now, autumn creeping steadily on, which made it more of an effort to get up at the six-thirty start she needed, to make headway with the day’s baking before the teashop opened.

  She headed for the shower. As the hot water splashed her body, she started on her mental to-do list: she needed to bake several batches of plain and chocolate-chip shortbread for the gift bags she was going to make up for the Craft Fayre, gingerbread stars too – yes, they’d look pretty and would keep well. She could ice them nearer the event, but they’d keep well sealed in airtight containers up until then. She could picture batches of her bakes in pretty cellophane bags, with red, gold and silver strings curled at the ends, which would look so festive yet could be reasonably priced, so a child could buy a pack for their granny, or the like.

  Today’s baking for the teashop would include a carrot cake, and two lemon drizzles. Irene was in, so she’d make the scones, some nice cheese ones would go down well. It was the weather for the ‘Winter Warmers’ now. Soups, scones, toasted tea cakes, hot paninis, jacket potatoes. After wandering the castle, where the ancient heating system was dodgy at the best of times, along with the fact that Lord Henry kept the boiler on budget mode – it would cost a small fortune otherwise – the visitors often needed warming up, literally. The teashop had its huge stone fireplace, where logs burned (the size of small tree trunks, honestly) all day. Ellie thought her teashop looked even cosier in the colder months, with the wrought iron chandeliers lit above them, the cosy crackle of the fire and the warming, rich smell of coffee and just-baked cake.

  Okay, time to have a quick wash. She rubbed the shower gel over her torso, felt the gentle rise of her tummy under her fingertips, firming now, sheltering that new life. She smiled. Might be time to tell the family soon, and then the castle staff – she’d been thinking that Deana would make a lovely godmother. She couldn’t wait to ask her. She shampooed, rubbed in some conditioner, and gave her hair a quick blast with the dryer, before kissing a sleepy Joe – who was still in bed – on the cheek, and heading down to the teashop, where she’d grab some tea and toast before making a start.

  ‘When do you think it will be a good time to share our news?’ Joe asked her that evening.

  ‘Just a few more days. Maybe next week. I should be about eight weeks by then … I suppose we’ll need to tell everybody on the same day, within the same hour ideally. Your mam, my mum and dad, Henry. You know what the grapevine’s like, even between here and Newcastle. It’ll spread like wildfire, especially once my mother gets hold of baby news.’

  ‘It’ll be exciting telling them, mind.’

  ‘Yeah …’ Ellie felt emotional just thinking about it. ‘Makes it seem really real.’

  ‘Right then, young lady. In your condition, I need to make sure you’re eating well and getting plenty of rest. So, after such a busy day, I will concoct a supper of chicken curry and rice. Okay, so it might only be a jar of cooking sauce over some fresh chicken cubes, but it will prepared by my very own hands.’

  ‘Do we have any naan breads? I’m feeling famished.’

  ‘Indeed we do, I picked some up yesterday at the Co-op.’

  ‘Perfect, you’re coming on, Joe Ward.’

  ‘Anything else I can get for you, madam?’

  ‘Don’t think so, I’m fine now I’m finally sitting down … oh, actually, can I book a foot rub for later, ple-ease?’ She grinned hopefully.

  ‘Okay, how can I resist … Used to be requests for rampant sex, now it’s foot rubs. It’s all going downhill fast.’ But he was smiling as he spoke.

  He ducked to avoid the rolled-up magazine that Ellie had launched at him.

  19

  Ellie spent the next day baking shortbread, brownies and gingerbread stars for her gift packs for the Craft Fayre. It was a Sunday. There were a few visitors in, and when Mavis and Jim called through for a spot of light lunch, Ellie had a chat with them, but generally it was quiet. So at four o’clock, she sent Doris home early and she decided to have a good tidy up without interruptions.

  She made sure the kitchen and the tearooms had a thorough disinfectant-spray wipe down. She then felt a sudden burst of energy so scrubbed the two big ovens, which she hadn’t had chance to do for a while, then carefully mopped the floors right through. By five o’clock, her back was beginning to nag. Maybe her cleaning efforts hadn’t been quite as leisurely as she’d imagined. She sat herself down on a stool in the kitchen for a moment.

  She decided to call it a day and head up and find Joe. Hopefully he’d get an early finish too. They could chill out – bliss. She had some salmon defrosting, ready to pan fry for a cosy supper later.

  Her stomach started grumbling, along with a dull ache in her lower back. Damn, maybe she’d got some kind of tummy bug coming on. She tried to think if she’d eaten anything unusual. But she’d been extra careful lately to be fair, making sure her eggs were well-cooked, avoiding pâté and soft cheeses.

  She stood up, suddenly feeling like she’d better head for the loo; a warm wetness starting between her legs. What the hell was going on? Jeez, this was some bad tummy upset. She’d never lost control like that before. She had no time to get to the apartment, so she headed for the ladies toilets that were down the corridor next to the teashop.

  Outside the door of the teashop she started to feel a bit giddy, held on to the stone wall to steady herself for a second, then carried on walking. She entered the ladies, found a compartment, where she sat down still feeling a little woozy.

  ‘Oh, no, no, no, no, no.’ She wasn’t sure if she said the words aloud, or if it was all in her head.

  There was blood. Bright red blood, all over the tissue paper.

  This was no stomach bug.

  She sat a while, afraid to move, afraid of what was happening within her body. Though deep inside she already knew. The flow was heavy, like a bad period. A couple of big cramps, that snatched her b
reath, and then a clot or two.

  Her baby. She was losing her baby.

  She should try and get some help, but what could anyone do? She’d left her phone on the counter in the teashop, anyhow. She just had to try and stay calm, sit it out, the last thing she needed to do was to get up, and faint or something. She’d sent Doris home, the lads and Deana had probably gone by now too. There was no one left working in the castle at this time of day in the autumn other than Joe, and Lord Henry would be no doubt be tucked away on his rooms upstairs. She couldn’t imagine asking him for help in this state, anyhow.

  Tears began pricking her eyes, as the reality of what was happening began to hit home. She was miscarrying. A terrible sinking feeling took over her. Then, a sense of devastation that felt like a lead weight in her soul.

  ‘Joe?’

  She’d heard the apartment door go, the sound of his footsteps.

  ‘Hey, where are you? What’s up? I’ve just seen the missed calls – I was out on the estate, out of signal.’

  ‘Here … in the bathroom.’ Her voice sounded weak, weary. She’d managed to get herself upstairs to the security of their apartment, but had had to stay on the loo since.

  ‘Shall I come in?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She didn’t want to have to say it.

  Joe poked his head cautiously around the door. ‘Are you okay?’

  She shook her head. The tears forming, catching on her words. ‘No … I-I think I’m having a miscarriage.’

  ‘Oh Jesus, Ellie, no … Is there anything I can do?’ He rushed over, knelt down at the side of the loo, and held her gently.

  She sobbed into his arms.

  ‘Are you losing blood, are you in pain?’