Page 21 of The Gingerbread Cafe
Itwasa simple step, other than the trusting bit.
Ordinarily, his mini-lectures made her want to roll her eyes. But today she sensed it was more like gentle coaching, and she could tell it came from a genuine place. Leading people in a kitchen was what he was trained to do – and it suited him.
From somewhere in the darkened café the errant jukebox whirred to life and the sound of ‘Silent Night’ poured through. It was the carol she used to sing with her mum, and then Rosa too, on Christmas Eve when they lit the Christmas tree. It was an Austrian tradition, and her mum used to say soldiers had sung it in the trenches. Opposing sides, letting their guards down for one sacred moment. A single night of calm, amidst the conflict. Perhaps this was theirs.
Chapter 19
Whilst Lukas tidied some of his equipment, Gretel sat on the worktop, her legs swinging. She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, letting the blissful ringing entrance her. The sound made her feel like something inside her was peacefully unfurling. Or maybe that was all theGlühweinshe wasn’t used to.
‘You know, I haven’t always been a Christmas freak,’ she found herself saying.
Lukas turned to look at her. That tight black apron he’d pulled out from his backpack suited him. ‘I know. The Christmas thing started with …’ He stopped, suddenly looking unsure of himself. It was sweet.
‘My mum,’ she finished.
‘I’m sorry. I heard about the accident. But don’t feel you have to talk about it.’ He gently put down the cloth he was using, as though she was an animal that might bolt.
‘And Rosa.’ The name just popped out, even though she rarely let it. ‘She was my little sister. I don’t …’ She gulped down a sob and groped across the counter for a tissue. ‘Urgh.’ She blinked a few times and dabbed the corners of her eyes, the mascara soaking onto the tissue in ashy smudges. ‘I don’t mention her much. Easier not to.’
The loss of little Rosa had almost hit her harder than losing her mother, but that too was a guilt she didn’t share. How could she? There’d been a horrific van accident with Rosa and her mum. Gretel hadn’t even been there. Her mother had died at the scene.On impact.Those were the words. They’d been keen to reassure Gretel that she hadn’t felt a thing. But how could animpactnot hurt? Wasn’t that the point in the word?
It had all been so instant, and her soul would have floated off somewhere lovely, with clouds and twinkly starlight. That’s what Nell had promised her. Dear Nell.
But Rosa. For a few days they’d thought she had the tiniest fighting chance. But they were wrong. It had been like losing everything twice. And worst of all, the heaviness of it had collapsed onto Gretel’s chest like it was all her fault. Her mum had floated away and entrusted her precious sibling toherand she hadn’t been able to save her. In that stark, beeping hospital room, Gretel had promised Rosa this. That she’d live every day for her, with the childlike joy and wonder that Rosa had taught her. It had been just before Christmas – Rosa’s favourite time of year. The time when her eyes were even brighter and her glee simply radiated.
Somehow that promise had morphed into this surreal world where she couldn’t let go of cute penguin jumpers and the promise of Christmas. She was stuck here, unable to pack her memories away and move on. How had it got so out of hand? Yet how could she wave off her innocent wonder when dear Rosa had never even got to finish her childhood?
She shook her head and looked up, realising Lukas’s arm was around her shoulder and she was shivering. ‘I’m sorry, I … got lost for a moment. That’s why it’s better not to talk about it. And other people find it hard to deal with too. The death of a child. They don’t have the words and they back away, frightened they’ll say the wrong thing. Worried you’ll cry. But people needto cry, don’t they? It’s only for themselves that others don’t want you sobbing.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But I understand that. I’m rubbish with people too and I don’t want to burden anyone. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to be the Christmas weirdo and keep people at bay. Can you pass more mulled wine?’
Lukas gave her a doubtful look and gently took her glass. ‘Maybe you need a mug of hot chocolate.’ He moved away and filled the kettle, keeping an eye on her as though she might break now he’d let her go. ‘And please don’t apologise or feel like you’re a burden. You’re not. If anything, you’re the opposite. You’re the most light-hearted, joy-loving pixie of a creature I’ve ever met. Disconcertingly so, deely boppers and all.’ He gave her a cautious grin. ‘This poor Christmas hater can barely work it out.’ He fixed her with one of his pensive looks which seemed to last an age. Why was it so hard to breathe when he did that? Then he turned away and busied himself with the kettle. ‘But it’s OK not to be OK, as the saying goes. And I mean that. If you ever want to talk …’
‘Thank you.’ His kindness was disconcerting too. She blew her nose loudly into a fresh tissue. It felt strangely OK to be herself whilst he was in this rare mood of his, even if them spending time together was only going to be temporary. He had bigger, Michelin-sized stars to chase, and she was no more than a blubbering mess when she spent too much time with humans.
‘I’ve had my fair share ofnotbeing OK, if that makes you feel any better; but that’s a story for another night.’
What was his story? Something inside her danced at the thought of there beinganother night, even though she tried to ignore it. Then suddenly, she felt like she did want to talk; about the good things, at least. Christmas Day wasn’t meant to be a soggy tissue pity party. She had some happy memories that were wriggling to be shared. It had been so long since she’d had the chance to let them out … so why not?
She jumped down from the worktop and together they began to create order, chatting as they went.
‘We loved Christmas, the three of us.’ Gretel smiled as she remembered her little family, as tight knit as their festive winter woollens. ‘We lived it. Mum’s main income was from working the Christmas markets around Europe, so we spent a large chunk of our year making Christmas decorations in preparation.’
‘Stained glass?’
‘No, actually. The stained glass was something I picked up later. Learning a new craft and getting lost in it helped me escape, after …’ She shook her head. ‘Anyway, Mum was into less fragile crafts. Creations that were built to last, ironically.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘Knitting, hand-stitching, felting. Things that wouldn’t break on our travels in that crappy old van. We travelled a lot and we didn’t really settle until we came here when Rosa was born. I think Mum found it too hard to bounce from place to place with two of us.’ Neither of them had ever met their fathers. ‘So when Mum discovered Mistleton during one of those wintery February fairs they used to hold here, we stayed and rented. She said the ever-present Christmas tree outside on the lane was a sign that this was our place. Our lives were so interwoven with that time of year, and as an Austrian, Christmas trees were always extra special to her. They’re such a huge part of the Christmas tradition, even if we weren’t often in Austria to embrace it. Then we met Nell. And how could Nell not be your person? Her spice-infused hugs and warm gingerbread. She was like Mother Christmas every day of the week.’
‘Wasn’t she just.’ The skin around Lukas’s eyes creased as he grinned. ‘She certainly became a safe space for me when I was younger. Hell knows there were times when I needed one.’
She looked at him, her eyebrows raised in question, but he shook his head and waved her to continue.
‘Then after the accident … I was justlost. Like my flock had disappeared and I was destined to be the stray one. As if I wasn’t already gawped at enough. The girl from the Austrian family who’d made Christmas decs all year round and whose mum had knitted her jumpers.’ She smiled to let him know she was OK with that. ‘The only person I really had left was Nell. The few college friends I had became distant. They didn’t know what to say and I didn’t want to be a pain. I soon realised the only place I felt warm and safe was in Nell’s Gingerbread Café, where it was always Christmas. I could wear festive woollens and eat Christmassy treats without any awkward questions. And I kept the Christmas decorations up in our old flat too, long after winter was done. Life just felt cosier that way, like I’d created my own sanctuary.’
The warmth of his eyes told her he understood, even though Christmas was probably never going to be his thing. ‘And you’ve lived in Christmas ever since?’
She laughed. ‘No! Even I know that would be pretty weird. I’ve had plenty of phases where I’ve tried to snap out of it. I’ve packed it all away and attempted to get on with things. I even started counselling a few times, and then made my excuses and bolted. Every time I pack the festive things away it feels like Mum and Rosa are slipping away from me. Andtalking it outseems like a terrifying pathway to wiping out their memory for good.’
‘Wow, it must have been tough for you. Especially these last few weeks after losing Nell too.’ She could sense him treading carefully. It was sweet, but she didn’t want to be an eggshell.
She dropped her cleaning cloth into the sink. She’d already said too much and she didn’t want to bethat person. The one who weighed people down with sad stories and talked too much. ‘Anyway! Your dough must be nicely chilled by now. Shall we?’
