The Christmas Spirit (5 page)

They both laughed and the door chimed as Sophie left.

Once the lunchtime rush had died down, Jacob cleared
tables and stacked the dishwasher. The girl was still there. As he cleared away
Sophie’s things, he lingered more than was necessary near the back of the
girl’s chair. He saw she was reading the property section of the newspaper;
probably checking for houses to buy with her boyfriend
, he
thought despondently.

Natalie, looking on, saw the change of expression on Jacob’s
face and allowed herself a slight smile. All was progressing nicely.

Rebecca had soon figured out, once she had started totting up
the outgoings on her and Ethan’s flat: mortgage, house insurance, council tax,
utilities, as well as food and travel, that there was no way she could afford
it on her own. Even if she lived the life of a nun and became teetotal, she
would never manage it. And that wasn’t including things like holidays or buying
people presents, parking, haircuts, and all the other things that made up her
budget. Ethan, having a more highly paid job than her, she knew, would buy her
out and although she wasn’t best pleased with him at the moment - the
understatement of the century - she knew he’d give her a fair deal. But she
knew she couldn’t stay in the flat indefinitely, although he hadn’t pressed her
yet. She didn’t know where he was staying, as their rare communication was
either by text or e-mail. At some point they would have to sit down and talk to
each other about the flat. She was dreading dividing up the items they had
bought together. She remembered that, unfairly, Ethan had made her sell some of
her furniture when they had moved in together as he preferred his; his fridge
freezer, his sofa, his king-size bed. Now she would have the added cost of
having to replace those items. The sums she had received for her stuff had been
paltry compared with what she had paid for them and what they would cost to buy
again. At least renting she wouldn’t have that outlay for a while. If things
weren’t so bad at work, she would have brazened it out and asked for a raise.
It’s not as if she wasn’t due one; she hadn’t had a raise in three years. Cuts.
Yes, always cuts.

She’d been Art Assistant to the Art Director at Feathers
Gallery in Aberfoyle for three years now; her first job after university. The
pay was poor, although she enjoyed the work, most of the time. She loved the
exhibitions and took great pride in her part in arranging them, creating the
buzz for them, even down to writing the invitations. She knew her boss felt she
was indispensable, but wasn’t in a position to offer her any more money, as the
recession was making itself felt right now. Henry, her boss, was a dear, sweet
man, who many often mistook for being gay, due to the timbre of his voice and
his eclectic wardrobe, but the truth was, he was on his third marriage and had
six children. So she quite understood that when times were tough, the purse
strings had to be tightened. She did wonder sometimes how he afforded an
assistant at all. She knew she did much more than a normal assistant did; she
was Henry’s right-hand woman and he told her often enough, but it didn’t put
any extra pennies in her pay packet, which didn’t help her current financial
situation one bit.

Rebecca took out her phone and texted her best friend,
Hannah.
‘Hi. How u? Up for a bit of flat hunting with me at
the weekend?’

Deciding that she’d had enough of perusing information on
flats, Rebecca embarked upon another task which couldn’t be put off. Usually
she loved making a list of the Christmas presents she needed to buy, but this
year she took no delight in it. At least she would have one less person to buy
for, she thought with a pang.

She’d have to cut back on presents, too. Hopefully her
family and friends would understand. Hannah, thankfully, was already taken care
of. She’d bought her tickets to see Rainy Parade, back in August, when they’d
first gone on sale.
Phew!
They’d set her back sixty
quid, so she breathed a sigh of relief she wasn’t having to pay for them now.
Carefully she wrote her list in the little notebook she carried everywhere with
her. She liked to sketch ideas or jot down notes for exhibitions, so always
having a notebook to hand was a prerequisite for her.

Mum - pyjamas
; her mum was easy to
buy for as she liked to have new Christmas PJs.

Dad - DVDs, latest blockbusters
.
Her parents didn’t have satellite TV, nor did they go to the cinema, so DVDs
were always a good bet. Her dad loved action and disaster films. He was never
happier than when watching a good film featuring an earthquake or an avalanche.

Grampa - jumper
- preferably from
The Woollen Mill. He loved those.

As Rebecca wrote her list, she found herself feeling
lighter; even though it would affect her bank balance and not improve her
finances, she allowed herself to revel a little in the season of the year.

By the time she left the café an hour later, she felt
happier. When the guy who had served her earlier said, ‘Hope to see you again
soon,’ she’d smiled at him and said without hesitation, ‘You will.’

5th December

‘Oh for God’s sake, I feel like crap, too, and I’m here!’
Meredith coughed into her mobile phone.

‘I’m sorry, Meredith, but I can’t stop throwing up and...’

‘I don’t want to hear the details. Just make sure you’re in
here tomorrow. We have the Xanders presentation in the afternoon and I have a
huge list of things I need you to do. Make sure you’re on e-mail later,’ and
with that Meredith hung up.

Sophie pulled the bucket closer to her bed, grabbed some
tissues from a box on her bedside table and wiped her brow, which was soaked in
sweat. She had a fever, she was sure of it. She’d check her temperature
shortly, but right now, she needed to rest. Within two minutes, she was fast
asleep again.

Bloody girl
, thought Meredith.
Today of all days
. Meredith’s talons flew across her
keyboard, bringing up her schedule. Something would need to be cancelled. She
couldn’t do everything planned for today without Sophie here to do the donkey
work. Meredith would never admit it to Sophie, but she depended on her - a lot.
There, Pritchards, a small engineering company in Glasgow. They would do -
repeat business. She would sweet-talk them and rearrange for next week. She sifted
through the rest of her diary and accessed Sophie’s computer for files she knew
she would need for the day’s meetings. Glancing at her watch, she saw she had
only ten minutes before her first video conference call with the US.
Bloody girl!

At Sugar and Spice Natalie was baking Christmas cakes. She
thought she’d introduce Christmas gradually. Some people didn’t like Christmas
shoved in their face until the traditional twelve days before, but others, like
herself, would happily have Christmas music playing and Christmas decorations
up all over the place from the beginning of the month. In the past Natalie had
done just that in her own home. Today she’d chosen a chocolate and cinnamon
Bundt cake and sliced it up into generous, but not off-putting slices. Already
she had formulated a list in her head of how her Christmas cakes would roll out
right up until Christmas Eve. She hoped they would be a hit with the bakery’s
clientele and was sure Mrs Williams wouldn’t mind, as long as the bakery was
making money. Natalie had also brought a holly wreath with her for the shop. As
she’d passed the garden centre on the way home the night before, she’d seen a
sign saying
‘Holly wreaths £10’
, so she had decided
that would be Sugar and Spice’s first Christmas decoration.

The doorbell chimed and a woman came in, shaking snow off
her boots. There had been a light dusting overnight which had turned heavier
that morning. As a result, the bakery had had few customers, although it was
still early. Natalie vowed if it continued like this, her Bundt cake wouldn’t
go to waste. She would give it to the homeless, or those selling that magazine,
The Big Issue
.

‘Morning,’ the woman greeted Natalie. She seemed the hearty
type, and the fact that she had braved the weather conditions when most
wouldn’t bore testimony to that.

‘Good morning. What can I get you?’ Natalie asked. Jacob was
out of the bakery for a few minutes, as Natalie had asked him to go and buy
some newspapers since their delivery hadn’t arrived. Mrs Williams always
displayed the newspapers on a rack, so that patrons could pass the time reading
whilst they ate and drank their purchases.

‘I was wondering if I might ask a favour? We’re selling
raffle tickets for the old folks’ home and pensioners’ club. Would you be
interested in buying some?’

‘Sure,’ said Natalie. ‘How much are they?’

‘A pound each for a book of five.’

Natalie took three pound coins from her purse and gave them
to the woman, a well-meaning sort.

‘Thanks ever so much. Could I impose a little more and ask
if you’d mind trying to sell them in the bakery? It would mean ever so much to
the old folks if they could have a Christmas party. There was no money in the
budget this year, hence the fundraiser.’

‘Sure. How many do you have? I can take fifty books of five
to start. Do you have a contact number and I’ll let you know if I need more,’
Natalie said.

The woman, who then introduced herself as Cathy, was
delighted and readily handed over the requested number of raffle tickets. ‘That
really is marvellous. You’ve been such a help. Here’s my number.’

Natalie took the piece of paper offered her and then said,
‘Just out of interest, what do they do at the pensioners’ club?’

‘Well,’ said Cathy, ‘they play dominoes, cards and bingo,
they read and do the crossword, and they have lunch there, as well as being
read to from that day’s newspaper and using the headlines as talking points.’

‘Hmm,’ Natalie said. ‘Do you have any leaflets on it?’

‘Yes, I do, somewhere.’ Cathy rooted around inside the
voluminous pockets of her Barbour jacket and brought out a small sheaf of pale
green flyers. She passed one to Natalie, who quickly read it. It reiterated
everything Cathy had just said.

‘Perhaps your raffle will do better if I put a leaflet up
inside the café, too. The club sounds very good. We get quite a few elderly
people in here. It could be right up their street.’

‘Let’s hope so. I’m terribly sorry,’ Cathy glanced at her
watch, ‘But I’m late for picking up my granddaughter. It’s been nice talking to
you, and good luck with the tickets.’

‘Thanks, and I think we’ll manage to sell all the tickets,’
Natalie confided to her.

‘Good, good, well, must crack on,’ and she was gone.

Jacob returned just then with a selection of newspapers. He
asked Natalie if she wanted to read one whilst it was quiet, but she said no,
she was off to work on another idea for a Christmas cake. Jacob just shook his
head. He couldn’t work out what all the fuss was over Christmas.

‘Nice holly wreath, by the way,’ Jacob noted.

‘Oh, I saw them for sale near my cottage last night, so
thought it might help spur us on with the start of the season.’

‘Hmm,’ Jacob replied, unconvinced. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Putting up a leaflet about the pensioners’ club and old
folks’ home. We’re going to be selling raffle tickets for them.’

‘Well, I’ll have a book of five,’ Jacob said, when Natalie
had finished explaining to him how it worked. ‘I’m a bit low on cash right now
to buy any more, but I’ll do my best to shift the others.’

‘That’s the spirit. Right, what do you think?’ Natalie asked,
as she stood back to admire the green leaflet she’d just put up.

‘Prominent, no-one will miss it there.’

‘Good, that was the plan. Oh, here’s another customer.’

Interestingly, it was Stanley.

‘Good morning, Stanley, come in and sit yourself down. You must
be frozen.’

Jacob observed the old man; he did look very stiff, and
moved with some difficulty.

‘I needed some essentials, bread, milk, that kind of thing.
I’d completely run out.’ What he didn’t add was that whilst he was out and
about, his heating could be on low and save him some money. The fuel bills were
becoming increasingly more difficult to manage and he’d begun wearing two
jumpers on a day like this, over his thermals.

Natalie helped him off with his coat, which she hung up for
him.

‘Here, sit at this table, next to the radiator,’ she
suggested.

Slowly, Stanley lowered himself into the chair.

‘Now, what can we get you?’

‘I’d love some tea, please, and what cakes have you today?
You had so many different ones the other day when I was in.’

‘Jacob, could you make Mr Winters some tea, please?’

‘Coming right up.’ Jacob hopped to it.
Poor
old man
. Jacob dreaded the thought of getting old. Mr Winters looked as
if everything was a real effort.

Natalie never forgot a name. Jacob didn’t know how she did
it, but he found it quite charming, caring, and he envied her a little. He
tried his best to remember everyone’s name, but without meaning to be rude,
many of the elderly people looked the same to him. They all tended to wear the
same type of clothes and the women often had similar haircuts and even colours.

Replying to Stanley’s question about the cakes, Natalie
beamed at him and said, ‘I’ve just made a cinnamon and chocolate Bundt cake.
Would you like to try it? It’s the first of my Christmas themed cakes,’ she
explained.

‘Well, yes, that sounds very nice, thank you.’

‘Would you like a newspaper over?’ Natalie asked.

‘Yes, thanks. Which ones do you have?’

Natalie explained the choices and Stanley chose a well-known
broadsheet which covered most of the table.

Happy that he appeared warm enough and content, Natalie
returned to behind the counter to prepare his cake. She passed Jacob, who was
bringing out his tea on a tray.

‘There you go, Mr Winters.’ Jacob set the tea in front of
him, complete with silver sugar bowl and a ceramic milk jug.

‘Thanks, son. So, are you enjoying your job, then?’

‘I am, thanks. Everyone’s been really nice and Natalie,’ he
winked at him, ‘is a sweetheart.’

‘Yes, she has a lovely way about her.’

‘She does, doesn’t she? Well, I’ll leave you to your paper.
Oh, would you like to buy a raffle ticket for the pensioners’ club?’

‘What’s that, son?’

Jacob pointed to the leaflet behind Stanley’s head.

Stanley turned, ‘Oh, I don’t have my reading glasses on.
What does it say?’

So Jacob read it out to him and noticed the expression
change on Stanley’s face.

‘I didn’t know we had such a thing in Winstanton,’ Stanley
said. ‘It sounds very good and what a pity they aren’t going to have a
Christmas party. Of course I’ll buy a raffle ticket.’

Stanley was too proud to admit that he didn’t really have
the money. He bought two books of tickets.

‘So you don’t go to the club, Mr Winters,’ Jacob stated.

‘No.’

‘It sounds quite good, though, good place to meet people and
they have lots of activities by the sounds of it,’ said Jacob, taking an
interest in the old man.
He’s lonely
, Jacob thought.
He wondered, as he had begun to do about people since working at Sugar and
Spice, what the old man’s story was.

‘Yes, it does. Does it say which days they meet?’ he asked
Jacob.

‘Erm, let me see. Yes, every day, by the looks of it.’

‘What about how much it costs?’ Stanley asked next.

‘Doesn’t say,’ Jacob confirmed after scanning the leaflet,
then rereading it thoroughly. ‘I’m sure we could find out for you.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any bother, son.’

‘It’s no problem. We’re hardly rushed off our feet today,
are we?’

Stanley glanced around the almost empty café; he was their
only customer.

‘Well, that’s true. I suppose no-one wants to come out in
this foul weather if they don’t have to.’

‘And who can blame them?’ Jacob said, as he put away some
cutlery. ‘Let me just ask Natalie if she knows.’

He returned a few minutes later.

‘Natalie says she doesn’t know but she has the phone number
of the lady who was fundraising for them. She’s going to give her a call.’

‘Oh, I’m being such a nuisance.’

‘Not at all. How’s your cake?’

‘Delicious,’ Stanley said after devouring another mouthful.
‘I’ve never had this bun cake before.’

‘Bundt cake,’ Natalie corrected him gently as she came into
the café. ‘I’ve just spoken to the organiser and she says it’s every day and
it’s free if you’re over seventy-five.’

‘Well, I definitely qualify for that,’ joked Stanley.

‘It’s next to the old folks’ home. They have a separate wing
which houses some rooms where the club is set up.’

‘Well, that gives me something to look forward to, then,’
Stanley said between mouthfuls of cake. ‘This really is lovely, hen.’

‘Thank you, I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. It means I’m
doing something right,’ Natalie smiled at him.

Stanley drank his tea, deep in thought. Maybe he would try
out the club. Nothing to lose really. He hadn’t really had many friends of his
own, by the time Edie died. Most of his friends had preceded Edie to the grave;
it was terrible to be one of only a few left. Maybe he would have something in
common with the people there. Edie would have urged him to go, if she was still
here.

By the time Stanley was leaving, the bakery had only had a
sprinkling of customers. He asked for his bill and then called Jacob back, as
he said it was incorrect.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, let me check with Natalie.’

‘No, son, I mean you’ve charged me too little. You haven’t
charged me for the cake.’

‘Oh right, give me a minute.’

Jacob came back and said, ‘Natalie says you’re the first to
taste her Bundt cake and guinea pigs get it free, so it’s just the tea you’re
paying for today.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind.’ The old man’s face lit up. Sometimes
people’s kindness made him a little emotional.

Stanley left the bakery feeling so much brighter, stronger
and full of purpose than when he had woken up that morning. He’d never liked
winter much anyway, despite his surname, but as he aged he liked it even less,
and now with his Edie gone, he downright loathed the season. He didn’t even
have her little warm body to cuddle into at night.

He made up his mind to check out the club the next day,
unless he was snowed in. Edie would be proud of him.

There was still the usual mad rush at lunchtime, as workers
came in to get some cake and takeaway coffee, but Natalie saw a definite
dropping off in the café clientele, presumably due to the weather. No matter,
they’d recoup any downturn later, she knew. For now, she simply had to allow
her plan to gain momentum.

At two fifteen, after the lunchtime rush had come and gone,
the door chimed to reveal an immaculately dressed woman with knee-high black
leather boots with what Natalie presumed to be a four inch heel, and a sable
coloured coat which if Natalie hadn’t known better, she would have thought was
the real thing. The woman, whose alabaster skin tone almost matched the snow
outside, regarded the empty café with disdain and gave an audible sniff, as she
pulled off her leather gloves.