Page 48 of The Gingerbread Cafe
They were back at Lukas’s cottage, Starry Knight, after what had been a pretty odd first date at his friend’s restaurant. Gretel was glad to get away before dessert, especially after Francesca Whimple had shown her interfering face. Gretel was trying not to get too hung up on what she’d overheard about Lukas being unsure of the café’s future. It was normal that he was still mulling things over, and at least he’d shrugged off the Whimple’s encroaching hand. She could trust him.
‘A whirlpool in what way?’ Gretel asked, cosying up in the soft cream loveseat in the corner of Lukas’s kitchen, a knittedblanket she’d swiped from the front room covering her legs. The whole cottage had a warm and charming feel, with its low, oak-beamed ceilings and the orange glow of lamps. Now Lukas had lit the open fire and the logs were beginning to crackle and smell like a bonfire, Gretel could imagine herself here toasting marshmallows through the winter.
‘Like when two worlds crash together and send everything into a spin.’ He poured milk into a pan, broke off some rich cooking chocolate and began stirring over the heat. ‘It took me by surprise. I hadn’t realised quite how much I don’t fit with my old crowd any more.’
Gretel felt herself releasing a quiet sigh of relief. She hadn’t felt comfortable there either.
‘Some of the things I used to worry about, like impressing my pretentious peers with the perfect lobster bisque, just seem pointless. I’m not even sure I want to cook the kind of food that would get the seal of approval from people like Marcus Spooning or …’
‘Your dad?’ She said the words gently, remembering what he’d told her before about the mean cordon bleu chef.
Lukas nodded. ‘Always so many rules with him. In his own eyes he’d failed as a chef and he was damned if he was going to let me embarrass him and do the same. But he’d forgotten what it was to cook for the sheer joy of it. To create the sorts of things that would put smiles on people’s faces or bring families together. And in trying to please him, and my ex-wife Mirabelle, I forgot how to bake for the joy of it too.’ He sprinkled grated chilli and cinnamon into the hot chocolate as he stirred. Gretel went to protest about adding too much heat, but then decided, once again, to trust him.
‘Do you still speak to him? Your dad, I mean.’
Lukas scoffed. ‘No. Can you believe I’m still trying to impress a man I don’t even like and no longer speak to?’
She watched as he poured out two mugs of thick hot chocolate and accepted hers with a small smile.
‘I guess he was the root of my Christmas hating too,’ he said, perching on the edge of the loveseat next to her.
She moved along to make space and patted the seat to let him know it was OK. He shuffled up slightly, but she could tell he wasn’t ready to relax just yet. Something was playing on his mind.
‘You don’t have to say any more, but you’re welcome to offload if it will make you feel lighter.’ She blew the top of her hot drink, watching the flecks of red chilli dance. ‘I’m beginning to find that a problem shared …’
He exhaled sharply. ‘I don’t want to dump my past onto you, but it doesn’t feel right to hide it from you either. Especially when you’ve been so open about yours and mine probably sounds stupid in comparison.’
‘It’s not a competition.’ She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘As much as you love one of those.’ His body felt nearly as warm as her drink, even though he was just wearing his smart trousers and a white shirt with his black cooking apron over the top. Not wanting to break the bond, she let her hand slide down and rest at the bottom of his back. His muscles were firm and inviting and she tried her best to resist the urge to start squeezing the poor guy when he needed a friendly ear.
‘Christmases were hard when I was growing up.’ His shoulders dropped a little. ‘Dad took it as his cue to drink even more than usual, and he could get nasty. Mum and I were always creeping around him, like he was an untamed beast that might fly into a rage at any minute. He had an evil tongue and sometimes he could get violent. Though, of course, in public we had to smile and pretend Christmas was just fantastic. Couldn’t let the successful crowd get wind of it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Gretel again, the words somehow feeling woefully inadequate.
‘Don’t be. These things just become part of our stitching, don’t they?’ He turned to her and rearranged the blanket so it fitted more snugly around her lower body. It was a thick grey cable-knit pattern and she wondered if he’d knitted it himself. She could guess what his mean andmanlydad would have said about that. Not that a real man, or any decent human, would behave like that.
‘The worst thing was, Mum stayed with him for all those years out of a misguided sense of responsibility to me. She thought a strained family was better than a broken one. She left him as soon as I went off to culinary school. Took herself to live in the Scottish Highlands – pretty much as far away as she could without crossing water. She rarely keeps in touch, although maybe she just has too many bad memories of those years.’
‘Hmm. That’s tough.’ Gretel rubbed his back. She hadn’t seen her mum at all since her teens, and yet was it somehow worse to have a mum who was still living but chose not to return? Lukas’s mum was Nell’s sister, although she couldn’t remember ever meeting her.
‘So Christmas never felt like a thing to be celebrated. It was a pressure cooker of life’s worst emotions and each year I couldn’t wait for it to bugger off. Mum used to try so hard to make everything jolly, with her homemade Christmas puddings and her collection of gaudy flashing decorations. But it was like the harder she tried, the harder he threw her efforts back in her face. And the more it hurt her.’ He put his hot drink down on the wooden farmhouse-style kitchen table next to him. She hadn’t seen him take a sip.
‘Was Nell there for you?’
‘Nell had no idea what was going on, but she always welcomed me in with open arms and gingerbread whenever Ineeded her. No questions, just comfort. It was cathartic to just turn up and bake with her in my younger years, before Dad began mocking too much.’
‘And when you married?’
He raised his eyebrows as though asking whether she wanted to hear all this. She squeezed his arm and nodded.
‘Mirabelle got completely fed up of me trying to avoid Christmas. She’d dress the house up like a Harrods shop window in the hope she could turn me around, and I’d slink off to work just to avoid the place – not that a restaurant full of festive drunks was much better. It was one Christmas when she finally gave up and left, although we’d been growing apart for far too long. We’d been suited once and I’d enjoyed the challenge of living up to her ideals for a while, but people change.’
He seemed matter-of-fact about it, as though he was over any sadness. Then his head jerked up, as though he’d thought of something. ‘Actually, can I share something else with you, while we wait for the strudel to cook? I’d really value your opinion, and you deserve a break from me waffling on.’
When he looked at her, that cheeky glint was back in his eyes. Who was she to refuse?
Chapter 40
‘They’re only leftovers, really.’ Lukas looked almost bashful as he pulled a selection of storage boxes from his fridge and arranged them on a coffee table near the loveseat where Gretel was sitting. He’d said the word like it held a certain melancholy. ‘Nice to share them for once. They’re just a few recipes I’ve been experimenting with. Want to try?’
