In the fourteenth century, people believed that eating gingerbread in the shape of letters would improve their intelligence.
Nutcrackers make everything better, which is why I’m in the bakery kitchen the next day, making two of them out of Rice Krispies and marshmallow. Generally, you don’t need to over-mix puffed rice cereal and marshmallow for it to hold its shape, but this particular mixture is the bakery equivalent of a punching bag.
Saff has given me a hug and left me to it, but Mum stands in the doorway, looking on. ‘I don’t even want to know what you’re doing.’
‘I’m making two giant nutcrackers – one for either side of the gingerbread house door to give it that extra “wow factor”. I’ve got a ton of leftover Rice Krispies and marshmallows from making the gumdrops, I may as well use them, and then fondant icing can give them their colours and features.’
I’m huffing and puffing over the worktop, growling occasionally when thoughts of Joss enter my head every zero-point-two of a second. There’s a huge bowl rolling around in front of me, and I’m up to my elbows in a mixture of cereal and marshmallow. I must look more than marginally deranged, and before long the cereal is going to be less ‘puffed rice’ and more ‘powdered rice’ as I knead it like I’m wringing someone’s neck.
‘It’s a good job no one’s going to be eating that, it’ll be as tough as old boots.’
‘That’s not the point. The point is…’ All right, I don’t actually know what the point is, but two life-size edible nutcrackers will make a good photo opportunity and I have to do something. I’m not giving up on Mistletoe Gardens because of Joss. In fact, I’m even more determined to make the council see things from the residents’ point of view now. ‘The point is for there to be something at the gingerbread house that Joss isn’t involved in. Something that isn’t touched by his lies. He touched my heart and a part of my soul that I haven’t let go for a very long time and now that feels tainted too.’
I’ve got a couple of wooden blocks as a base with dowels in them to hold each of the nutcracker’s legs straight, and I take a handful of mixture and start moulding it around both dowels.
It’s five days before Christmas, it’s not like we have any orders until the inevitable rush of catering for New Year’s parties next week. Most people have finished their Christmas shopping so town is quiet, and Mistletoe Gardens is bustling with people looking around the gingerbread house, visiting Santa, buying goods, and stopping to kiss their loved ones under definitely-not-magical mistletoe. So I’m told, anyway. I haven’t been brave enough to venture up there in case Joss is around. Not that I think he will be. Now the truth is out, he has no reason to carry on this ridiculous ruse.
‘You were right.’ I slap another handful of sticky marshmallow mixture on and use my hands to mould it into a vague figure-eight shape that will be built up until it becomes his legs.
‘I’m sorry, Essie, I know it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.’
‘Just another failure, isn’t it? Another place in my life where I should have listened to you. Another thing you told me would go wrong, and lo and behold, it did.’
‘You did something amazing with that gingerbread house. Both of you. It was an ambitious project and I’ve got to admit I didn’t think you could do it, but you’ve proved me totally wrong. I should have believed in you from the start.’
I’m trying to find a way of saying that this is about Joss, not the gingerbread house, when Mum pushes herself off the doorframe and walks across the kitchen to stand on the opposite side of the unit. ‘But I know this is about much more than that.’
My eyes are welling up again and I have to bite the inside of my lip to stop it wobbling.
‘You really liked him.’ She doesn’t phrase it as a question.
I nod because I’m going to cry if I speak.
She seems softer today. With bare feet instead of her trademark heels and her face free of pristine make-up, she’s almost like the mum I remember from when I was little, before my dad died and she filled her life with fighting the fights of Folkhornton residents.
‘Why?’ I say, feeling the familiar despondency set in. ‘Why did you see it when I didn’t?’
‘I didn’t, Ess. I wanted to see you two together at first – it was only when I heard about his plans to move away that I tried to dissuade you from getting any closer. I didn’t want you to fall for another man who’s not staying in Folkhornton. I couldn’t bear a repeat of last time.’
‘Last time? With France?’ I tilt my head as I think about it. ‘You thought I was going to leave with Joss?’
‘After last time… I don’t want to lose you again, and if you got close to someone who was leaving, I thought you might too.’ She focuses on a mark on the unit instead of looking at me.
‘Mum.’ Now I’m nearly crying for a different reason. ‘Paris was the worst time of my life. I was so homesick that it was like a physical pain. No one should be that unhappy in such a beautiful city, but I was, because there’s nowhere I love more in the world than this daft little Welsh town with its gossiping residents and cranky crochet creations and dinosaur suits, and you and Saff. I feel like I’ve only just got back – the last thing I want to do is go anywhere else. Joss was… is… leaving to get away from everyone and everything about this place. I love everyone and everything about this place. There was never any question of me going with him. I don’t even want to leave Folkhornton long enough for a holiday at this point.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Is that really what your dislike of Joss has been about?’
She nods. It’s such a rare thing for my mum to be on mute.
‘I knew it didn’t make sense. I knew you’d usually have been all over him as a potential match. It only changed when you found out he was leaving.’
‘I wanted you to meet someone local. I thought if you met someone here and settled down with a nice homely chap, you wouldn’t have any reason to go anywhere.’
‘That’s what the dating desperation has been about?’ I make a noise of frustration. ‘Mum, why didn’t you just say? I don’t want to date anyone – from here, there, or anywhere. I wanted to be on my own for a while and get back on my feet. I didn’t mean to feel anything for Joss, it just happened.’
‘He gave you what we all should have given you from the start – support.’
‘You’ve never believed in me,’ I say quietly, trying to focus on squeezing and smooshing the nutcracker’s legs into shape rather than overthink what I’ve needed to say for a while. ‘You don’t want me to leave, but you give me no responsibility with the bakery. You don’t listen to my ideas. You think I’m going to fail at everything.’
‘I think your ideas are often too big for a small town like this.’ She sounds like she’s been expecting this conversation for a long while too. ‘Or needless, like introducing vegan or gluten-free options when most of our customers are perfectly happy with things as they are.’
‘Like a life-size gingerbread house? Like two five-foot-tall nutcrackers? And maybe some customers are happy, but maybe some people never come in here because Dancing Cinnamon is so set in its ways that we don’t cater for their dietary needs.’ I round the top of the nutcracker’s legs and start piling on Rice Krispie mixture for the wider torso. Things can’t get much worse than what happened with Joss – I may as well confront the other problems in my life too. In for a penny and all that. ‘And it’s not just that. I want to be able to do more things like this. Things that are big. Things that matter. Things that make people gasp in awe. Things that get people talking. Things for a good cause. I feel like sometimes you don’t want to be here, you’d rather be doing resident committee work, and that’s fine because I’m here to pick up the slack, but it doesn’t work both ways. You do nothing but complain if I ask you to cover for me so I can go and do other things. I’ve worked here since I was ten years old. I love it, but I don’t want this to be the only thing I do for the rest of my life. I want to do something outside of Folkhornton without leaving Folkhornton.’
‘The internet again?’
‘I don’t know. But there’s a market for big pieces like this to be commissioned. It wouldn’t be a full-time job, but I don’t want to keep working until three o’clock in the morning, doing batch after batch of the same thing, over and over again until I die.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’ I blink in surprise, my hands stuck in a very unbecoming position in what will be the nutcracker’s crotch area. ‘Okay to what?’
‘You’re right. You’ve more than proved you’re capable of everything I throw at you and anything you dream up yourself. Maybe it is time I stepped back a little and gave more responsibility to you and Saff. Do you think we need extra staff?’
‘The only time we haven’t been chasing our tails lately is when our neighbours helped us out on Friday. Yes, we need more staff!’
‘I’m not eavesdropping, but I agree!’ Saff calls from the shop floor.
I look at Mum and we both burst out laughing.
‘There’s something else.’ For the first time since Saturday morning, I think of the two business cards that are on the table inside the door in the flat, silently preparing me to pluck up the courage to pick up the phone in January. ‘Joss and I were offered a contract to build gingerbread houses in all Presto Hotel Group lobbies.’ I tell her about the idea of Easter and summer gingerbread houses too. ‘At first I couldn’t contemplate it without Joss, but doing this…’ I use my fingers to carve out a groove in the nutcracker’s torso where his candyfloss beard will go. ‘I love it. It brings me to life. I want to do it. Even if it’s just me.’
She’s quiet for so long that she might be getting ready to explode, and I duck behind the Rice Krispie nutcracker, using it as a shield.
‘The Easter one should be shortbread. Much more fitting for springtime.’
Just when I think I can’t cry any more, my eyes fill up again. ‘You’d be okay with that?’
‘Make sure they put up a sign advertising Dancing Cinnamon so we can benefit from the exposure as well, but yes. Of course. If it’s what you want to do, I’m behind you all the way. I’ve tried to pile responsibility on you here so you’d see how much I need you, but seeing you in Mistletoe Gardens with Joss… I’m pushing you away by not supporting your vision for the bakery and expecting you to blindly carry on as I did when I took over from your nan.’
‘I just want some recognition that I’m a valid part of the team here, not just a dogsbody when you don’t fancy doing three hundred millionaire’s shortbreads in an hour.’
‘I actually like the mindless batches of biscuit after biscuit. It’s a bit of quiet time. I like to get away from being the resident leader once in a while. It’s too much sometimes.’
My mum is human under her perfectly poised demeanour. I go around the worktop and give her a hug while keeping my sticky, marshmallowy hands out of the way.
‘Come on then.’ I’ve never seen my mum cry before, but she’s patting her eyes as she pulls away. ‘Let’s get these nutcrackers made. If you want my help, that is.’
‘I’d love it.’
Maybe some good can come out of this. Maybe a new understanding between me and my mum. Even if she drives me barmy sometimes, Joss’s situation with his mum has made me realise that one day, it might be too late to tell her how much I love her.
She’s not usually a very hands-on baker, but she washes her hands and then plunges them straight into the sticky mixture. She starts on the legs of the second nutcracker while I round off the torso of the first one and start forming the head.
I nudge my arm into hers as I knead another batch of the mixture. ‘How did your date with Mervyn go?’
‘It was… nice. I wanted to be angry at you two for tricking us, but once he got me to sit down and start eating, I forgot all about it and enjoyed the time with nothing else on the agenda. Usually Mervyn and I have business meetings, there’s always something to discuss, usually something we disagree on, but this time, it was nice just to catch up and talk about each other’s lives.’
‘Are you going to do it again sometime?’ I waggle my eyebrows.
‘I don’t know. It’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?’
‘At least he was honest. If he hadn’t told you, when would I have found out about Joss? When the first JCB pitched up in January?’
‘He could’ve told us weeks ago and none of this would have happened.’
‘He probably didn’t think it was his place.’ Look at me, defending Mervyn Prichard. Never a stranger thing has happened. ‘I think he was good friends with Joss’s father and he looks out for Joss now. He was probably walking a thin line between that and letting the secret slip.’
‘Hmm.’ She thinks it over. ‘I’ve promised to save a waltz for him at the Mistletoe Dance, but I’m not sure if I should now. And what about Mistletoe Gardens? I don’t want to tango with someone who’s going to destroy a place that means so much to our family and this town.’
‘Mervyn’s not solely responsible. It’s the whole council who make the decisions, he’s just the frontman for this area. He might not always behave the way you want him to, but I think he’s a decent man at heart. He deserves a chance. And he likes you. You kissed him once.’
‘Many moons ago.’ Mum’s cheeks have gone a shade of red that I’ve never seen before given that her skin is usually hidden underneath porcelain-like foundation. ‘I know what will cheer you up!’ she exclaims, trying to change the subject. ‘How about a date for the Mistletoe Dance?’
‘Oh my God, will you stop? It’s not funny now. No more. Cancel that subscription to the dating site because I never was interested and now I’m even less interested.’
‘It might make you feel better to walk in with a gorgeous man on your arm.’
‘Okay, firstly, I’m not going. Secondly, I’m not going. And thirdly, there are escort services for that, which is irrelevant because, oh yes, I’m not going.’
‘Essie! You can’t miss the Mistletoe Dance!’
‘I agree!’ Saff shouts. ‘Still not eavesdropping, mind.’
‘I’m not in a very Mistletoe Dance-y mood.’
‘I need you there. You’re my wingwoman with Mervyn. I haven’t dated in decades. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Just be yourself. You haven’t scared him off yet and he’s been on the spiky end of your dragon tongue many times. Besides, I’m not the right person to ask. We’ve proved once and for all that I know nothing about relationships.’
‘You bought your dress months ago!’ Saff calls through. ‘You can’t let it sit in its garment bag unworn.’
‘It’ll still be there next year. Maybe I’ll have got over Joss by then and feel like celebrating Christmas. For this year, I’m going to hibernate until January, maybe catch up on my to-read list and my Netflix watch list.’
Both of them fall silent. At the moment, it feels like I won’t ever get over Joss, and no amount of reading, watching, and hiding in the flat will change that.
‘Santa will be there, you owe him an apology,’ Mum says.
‘Oh, God, did you have to remind me? I can’t believe I told Santa to piss off. Talk about putting myself on the naughty list.’
‘At least you didn’t tell him to insert his “ho ho ho” into any unpleasant orifices!’ Saff calls. Hopefully not in front of any customers.
‘I’ll do a reconnaissance mission beforehand to make sure he isn’t there.’
Oh, great, I hadn’t even thought of that. The possibility of Joss being there makes it an even less appealing prospect.
Mum watches my face fall. ‘He’s never come to one before, it’s not like he’s going to start now after all that’s happened between you.’
‘It’s not just that. Everyone knows.’
‘Not everyone.’ She clearly means everyone including their dog, their cat, their uncle, and the Koi carp in their great-aunt’s garden pond.
‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Essie, he did. This was on him, not you.’
‘I trusted him. I let myself fall head-over-heels for him.’ My emotions are hanging on by a thread today and as I punch, push, and pull Rice Krispie cake mixture into a vague top-hat shape for the nutcracker’s headdress, I feel the familiar sting of tears yet again. ‘I want to wallow. I don’t want to pretend to be happy and festive. I’ve done enough Christmassing this year.’
Saff appears in the doorway. ‘There’s a rumour going around that Mr Arkins is going to take his dino costume off.’
‘No way. It’d be a cold day in hell before that happens.’
‘Isn’t that worth it? Don’t you want to go just a teeny little bit for the prospect of our favourite dinosaur being unmasked?’
‘Never going to happen.’ I roll out red fondant icing for the nutcracker’s jacket. ‘Not the dino unmasking, and definitely not me going to the Mistletoe Dance. End of story.’