Three million ounces of ground ginger are sold every festive season – enough to make 450 million gingerbread men!
Mistletoe Gardens is the busiest I’ve ever seen it. In all the years I’ve stood here on December nights, wrapped up in gloves, and a scarf and hat, selling cakes to happy couples, I can never remember a year when it’s been this crowded on opening night. I’m at the Dancing Cinnamon stall on the path around the bandstand. Beryl is selling her festive creations to my right, and Douglas from the coffee shop has got a hot chocolate stall to my left. All the others are here too, manning their own stalls offering handmade gifts and crafts.
Mum and Saff closed the bakery early to get everything made, and a couple of the ladies hadn’t had enough of the gingerbread making and stayed to help, so I could stay in the park and make sure everything was done.
It’s incredible to see the gingerbread house finished. Multicoloured fairy lights are wrapped around the Rice Krispie cake gumdrops on the roof, making it look like they’re actually lit up, and strings of actual gumdrop lights give off a soft jelly-like glow around every window, and the doorframe is lit up by white snowflake lights. Even the Haribo wreath has got micro lights entwined around it. My last finishing touch today was the icicles hanging from the roof – made of royal icing and finished with a sprinkle of edible glitter. The bandstand itself has tinsel and lights wrapped around every post and red ribbon bows on each railing. The whole park smells of gingerbread and icing sugar, with a hint of peppermint. Lights are glimmering all around me, and the trees are never more beautiful than when their bare boughs are glowing with the ice-white lights that cover each branch like a net and illuminate the bundles of mistletoe growing high above us.
I can’t imagine there being a more romantic place in the world.
Right on cue, something tingles at the back of my neck and I look over my shoulder to see Joss coming towards me. He’s been missing for the past couple of hours, and I’d started to wonder if he wasn’t coming back.
I serve a customer wanting a mini-Yule log, and the instant she’s left, he sidles up and stands next to me.
He smells of solvent-based paint and I realise where he’s been. ‘You went to varnish Santa’s throne, didn’t you?’
‘It would never have been ready for tomorrow morning if I hadn’t.’
‘Didn’t think you’d come back.’
‘Wouldn’t have skipped it for the world.’ I think he intended to sound sarcastic, but it accidentally comes out sounding genuine, and it makes me realise how much I missed him tonight.
He’s been here all day, a constant reassurance, a sparkle in his eyes every time I’ve caught them across the busy park, a warm smile that makes me forget everything else outside of it, but since we finished repairing the walls and gluing new roof tiles in place, Joss and I have been pulled in opposite directions. While I stayed on the scaffolding, icing the new tiles so they blended in with the old ones, Joss went to help with everything from tangled tree lights to wonky-legged stalls to a crying child who was inconsolable that Santa doesn’t arrive until tomorrow.
This might be the first time I’ve breathed all day. My hair is still up in the messy bun I put it in in Joss’s living room this morning, and that feels like a lifetime ago, not less than twelve hours. I’m not sure my feet have ever ached this much in my life and my lower back is protesting every movement, but I also feel magical and sparkly. This is all because of something I said – and something we did. The park is teeming with people, and I’m serving so many customers that we’re going to sell out earlier than ever before at this rate.
‘Aww,’ Joss says at the sight of an elderly couple clinging onto each other as they totter from one tree to the next and stop for a kiss underneath each one. ‘So sweet.’
‘They’ve just told me this is the twenty-first year they’ve kissed under our mistletoe, and they credit it with keeping their marriage going.’
He’s quiet as he watches them, his expression something close to wistful.
‘How do you ever let someone in again? How do you ever be that open with someone who can hurt you?’ he murmurs, sounding more like he’s talking to himself than to me. ‘Look at them, they’re so in love. You can tell they’re each other’s whole world. How do you ever trust someone that much? How do you ever know they won’t chuck in the towel when things get difficult?’
‘I think you know when you’ve found someone who lights up your world, someone who will always be worth fighting for because your life would be infinitely darker without them in it.’ I shouldn’t have said it out loud. It’s too close to the bone of what I’m feeling for Joss, and I can sense his eyes on me. I look steadfastly ahead, refusing to look over at him, and after a few moments, he moves away and busies himself with straightening up the baskets of gingerbread men displayed on the table.
Customers fill the awkward silence.
This is it now for the gingerbread house. Once Santa is installed in the morning, we’re done. There will undoubtedly be patch-ups to do – because I can’t imagine many children or adults walking around a life-size gingerbread house without having a nibble – but I can cover those. Joss has taken on jobs from the locals and has to go and measure up and give quotes for them before Christmas.
That’s the pervading sense of sadness tonight. It should be a happy night. I don’t know if we’ve done enough to save Mistletoe Gardens, but I can’t imagine Mervyn seeing this amount of people and still thinking it’s a good idea to tear it down, but the gingerbread house is complete, and therefore so is my time with Joss.
For tonight, though, he stays by my side, helping me serve customers until the stall is empty. He makes himself invaluable to others too, and by the end of the evening, every shopkeeper in Folkhornton is wishing he was a regular fixture every year.
By ten o’clock, the visitors have trailed off, the stalls are completely empty, and most of the villagers have taken their frozen toes and frostbitten fingers home for a warming cuppa.
The gingerbread house has elicited gasps of delight, promises to bring their children to see it at the weekend, and I can almost hear the internet groaning under the weight of the photos being posted. It has to be a good thing. It has to have made our voice loud enough to be heard over the clanging of money from apartment blocks or whatever the council are planning on doing with this beautiful space.
Joss is sitting on the front of the Dancing Cinnamon table and I’m leaning over it from behind, trying to stretch out my lower back which is making it abundantly clear that I haven’t been off my feet for the past fourteen hours, and if I stay still for much longer, I could easily fall asleep.
‘What would you say if I had a plan?’ Maybe I was half-asleep already because Joss’s voice makes me jump in the quiet night. ‘A not-totally-above-board plan? That might involve a bit of, ahem, covert persuasion of your mum and Mervyn?’
‘I’d say your plans have been excellent until now, and I trust you in all your underhanded glory. I’m listening…’
He goes to speak, but Lynette bustles up before he has a chance. ‘Oh, look at you two. You haven’t stopped all day. Why don’t you go for a wander, maybe steal a little of that mistletoe magic for yourselves?’ Her pointed look leaves no doubt about exactly what she’s implying, but I’m too tired to correct her, and Joss pushes himself off the table and holds out a hand to pull me upright.
‘How d’you feel about breakfast?’ he asks once we’re out of earshot and wandering around the gardens. The weather has cleared and left a sky sparkling with stars and a crescent moon hiding behind the tops of distant trees.
‘Well, it’s not my favourite meal but still highly recommended. You need something to soak up the caffeine.’
He laughs. ‘No, I meant making it. I’m thinking a romantic meal for two in the gingerbread house, with just the teeny tiny issue of not being allowed out until they’ve thought about their actions and made up. They’re never going to get anywhere if they keep avoiding each other. Mervyn saw your mum earlier but was too nervous to speak to her. And when she saw him, she scarpered. They just need a little… nudge, and the only time it’ll be unoccupied is before Santa arrives in the morning, so a romantic candlelit breakfast. We’ve just got to lure them both here at the same time. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re a genius, Joss Hallissey. Cupid should have you on his payroll,’ I say smoothly to cover my surprise at Joss coming up with something so romantic. Joss who is the sworn enemy of all things love. A little bit of annoyance prickles at me too. He is a romantic at heart – he’s just too determined not to let himself feel anything again. It connects to something I’ve thought a few times lately – Joss could be so happy here, if he’d just let himself.
The conversation slips into easy silence. The gentle sound of ‘O Holy Night’ fills the gardens from a speaker in the bandstand, and we’re walking so close that if I tilted my head slightly, it would rest on his shoulder. For some inexplicable reason, he hasn’t let go of my hand and I haven’t let go of his. It has to mean something, doesn’t it? Joss and I are way closer than just friends, I know that even if I don’t want to admit it… does he know it too?
Something feels different tonight. I can feel something thrumming between us. Every inch of my body is alive and goosebumps are racing up my arm from the way his fingers are softly rubbing my hand. If Christmas magic was real, it feels like this would be the night it would make itself known.
‘As sickeningly romantic as you imagined it?’ It’s an attempt to ease the tension and confront the awkwardness of wandering around the most romantic place in Wales with someone you’re not actually romantic with.
‘Worse, but somehow, I don’t mind. I can see how people fall in love here – why so many make a point of coming every year. A way of reaffirming your love for each other and letting the other person know they’re important enough to make that effort every year.’
‘This is exactly why Mistletoe Gardens is so important to so many people. That’s what I’ve been wanting you to see all along.’ I knock my shoulder against his arm. ‘You’ll be telling me you like Christmas next.’
He fixes me with a piercing stare. ‘Everything about Christmas has been appealing lately.’
The happy dance inside me is cut off by a wolf-whistle from behind us and Lynette pointing frantically upwards. We’re standing directly under the biggest cluster of mistletoe in the branches above our heads.
‘We appear to have wandered into the path of some magic mistletoe.’
I expect him to yank me away faster than one of Santa’s reindeer on a Christmas Eve flight, but he stops. ‘Isn’t it bad luck not to?’
‘Yeah, but you don’t—’
‘What if I want to?’ His tongue wets his lips and somehow I’ve turned around to face him, and my hand has fallen out of his. I reach up and brush my fingers through his hair, and his eyes drift closed.
Desire for him is pulling in me, warring with the practical side of things, like the ‘for sale’ sign outside his house. He hasn’t said anything to suggest he isn’t leaving, and I’m so attached to him in such a short space of time. I can’t imagine never looking into his eyes again. Never running my fingers through his hair again. Never cwtching him again. Never getting to kiss him at all.
It’s like I’m outside of us, looking on from afar, watching myself let something wonderful slip away because I’m not brave enough to admit how much I like him.
And I know I’ll regret this moment for the rest of my life if I don’t do something.
Somehow his arm has slid around my back and pulled me closer so our bodies are pressed against each other, and for the first time, I really believe in the magic of Mistletoe Gardens because I can feel the air zinging around me as our bodies move against each other’s, burning heat in the chilly night, and everything about this moment feels right.
This is it. Every flirtatious smile has been leading up to this. Every lingering touch, every longing look. I didn’t realise they’d been longing looks until this moment, but pure longing is what zips through every part of my body, and my fingertips curl into Joss’s shoulder while my other hand brushes his hair back.
I don’t remember closing my eyes, but my other senses take over. The gingery smell of his aftershave. The softness of his jumper where my hand has slid under his coat. The grabbable texture of his hair now most of the product has been washed out by the earlier rain. His forehead touches mine as his hand cups my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, the tip of his nose brushing against mine, his lips millimetres away. I can feel his every breath, and how each one matches the way I’m barely breathing. It’s the kind of kiss I’ve always dreamed of happening to me under the mistletoe one day. And then…
He’s gone.
He jumps back so quickly that he hits the tree trunk with such force, I’m surprised he doesn’t leave a dent in it. He swears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
We blink at each other for a few moments, my brain still trying to catch up with the sudden shift in atmosphere.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, not at all.’ He flicks his head like he’s trying to clear it.
I was leaning heavily on Joss and his sudden departure leaves me flailing on the damp grass, struggling for both balance and to get my head around what just happened.
‘That was too close.’ He’s pacing back and forth across the tree roots now, annoyed with someone, although I’m not sure if it’s me or himself.
‘It’s fine. I wanted to.’
‘I wanted to, but I can’t. I can’t kiss you, Ess.’
‘Why not?’ The sudden switch has left me reeling. I’m still feeling unbalanced, and… annoyed. Annoyed that he would let things get that far and then pull back.
‘Honestly? Really, truly, honestly?’
I nod.
‘Because the moment I kiss you, I’m going to fall in love with you, and I can’t do that. I can’t do it again, Ess. I want to be alone. I need to be alone in this life.’ He looks up and meets my eyes, and his are hard, cold, closed-off, and… scared.
‘What if you don’t?’ I stutter, struggling to make sense of it.
He tries to respond, but scrubs a hand over his face when no words come out.
Anger takes over. ‘Do you even realise what you just said? Don’t tell me you’re going to fall in love with me, so the solution is just not to kiss me. You can’t say something like that, Joss!’
‘You knew what you were getting in to,’ he mutters. ‘You know I’m messed up when it comes to relationships. Everyone told you to stay away from me, and this is why.’
I really don’t think this is the exact reason they had in mind.
‘I’m sorry. This has all got too much. We’re too close. I never meant…’
‘You never meant to let someone in again? You never meant to let your guard down? Or you never meant to let yourself live again?’
He stares at me for a few moments. ‘All of the above. I’m sorry. Goodnight.’
I’m open-mouthed and staring after him as he stalks away.
How dare he? We’ve got so close and he’s been so open with me. He wanted that tonight. And I wanted him to know how much I like him. I go to shout after him, but he’s moved so fast that I’d need to scream, and making a public scene won’t help matters. I direct a noise of frustration upwards towards the mistletoe and kick at an innocent tree root and then feel guilty and apologise to it. It’s not the tree’s fault, nor the mistletoe’s. It’s our fault. I knew better than to let myself fall for someone who wasn’t open to a relationship, and Joss should’ve known better than to let himself get close to me when he knew there was no chance of anything really happening between us.
Anger gives way to sadness and acceptance.
Maybe he’s right. We’ve been caught up in a bubble here. Spending every day and most evenings together. I can’t get enough of Joss. And he is leaving. He’s never pretended otherwise. It’s my desire for him to stay that’s convinced me there’s a chance for us, but maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe he was right to stop it before it went any further.
I’ve always thought love was the most powerful emotion of all and that Christmas magic would overcome all obstacles, but maybe there’s not enough magic in this mistletoe to heal all scars.