The Christmas Spirit (8 page)

11th December

The more clement weather meant that those who had stayed
tucked up indoors now ventured out. A light drizzle was still falling but the
snow had melted, leaving behind only clumps of brown slush here and there. The
relief of it being once again above zero degrees was almost palpable.

As a result the bakery was swamped. Both Jacob and Natalie
had been rushed off their feet all morning. Since she checked the forecast
every night, Natalie had anticipated they might be busier and had come in even
earlier that morning to start whipping up her creations. They’d already sold
out of that day’s Christmas special – mouth-watering cupcakes, emblazoned with
tiny Christmas trees, robins, presents and carol singers. Jacob had remarked
wryly that they were going like hot cakes. Natalie had groaned at him. She put
batch after batch in the oven, but still she couldn’t keep up. Eventually she
decided not to try, as she wanted to ensure they could sell the rest of the
day’s stock. She would make more the next day.

The Christmas tree, which she had expected to be delivered
yesterday, arrived only today, amid much apologising by the garden centre. A
mix up with labels had meant it had been sent to someone else before they
noticed their mistake. They would give it to her for half price because of the
inconvenience. Natalie accepted and thanked them. She would get around to
putting it up later.

Things calmed down a little around three o’clock, and Jacob
and Natalie decided to take a break.

‘Let’s have a cup of tea before we do anything else,’
Natalie suggested, ‘I’m going to dress the tree shortly. Do you want to help?’

‘I don’t really know much about putting up a tree, but I’ll
do what I can,’ Jacob said, although really he meant he would put the fairy or
angel or star at the top. He didn’t really expect Natalie to need his opinion
on much else, but Natalie had other ideas.

‘I think this is the best spot, don’t you?’

‘Hmm,’ Jacob said, noncommittally.

‘Right, have a rummage through those baubles there and take
out five you like.’

‘I’m not really a bauble kind of person. I don’t know
anything about them.’

‘Trust me, everyone’s a bauble person. Go on, what have you
got to lose?’

Reluctantly Jacob delved into the bag and discovered that it
was full of lots of individual boxes. He took one out; it looked very unusual,
then he saw it was made of wood. Opening it, he pulled out a glass heart; it
was pretty heavy.

‘This is really nice,’ he turned to Natalie, weighing it in
his hand.

‘Ah, the Kiev heart. Did you know that Ukrainians celebrate
Christmas on 7th January, but they decorate their Christmas trees on the 6th?’

Admitting his ignorance on the subject, Jacob stuck his hand
into the bag once more. Another box, this time a miniature glass Christmas
tree, and so it went on, with Natalie explaining the history behind each one.

Jacob had shown a genuine interest in decorating the tree
when it became clear that Natalie viewed doing so with such reverence and had
gone to painstaking lengths to ensure that the tree was spectacular. And all
this just for a tree for the bakery. Jacob wavered between mystified and
impressed.

Just as he passed the last bauble to Natalie, his mobile
rang. ‘Back in a sec,’ he said, heading through the back to take his phone out
of his winter jacket. The screen flashed at him as he picked it up,
Tabitha.

‘Hey, sis, how you doing?’ His voice was warm and the depth
of affection for Tabitha obvious.

He listened to her and then said, ‘Really? Of course you can
come for Christmas. Stay as long as you want. I can’t believe it!’

Tabitha continued to give him details and it transpired that
she wanted to come the following day. Jacob was delighted. 

‘Everything OK?’ Natalie asked when he returned to the task
of decorating the tree, after first serving a customer who had come in for a
Chai latte, only to be told they didn’t have them, and who chose a skinny decaf
latte instead, and was tempted into a piece of nougat, too.

‘More than OK,’ Jacob grinned. ‘My sister’s coming for
Christmas. Actually, she’s coming tomorrow and staying right through
Christmas.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m not surprised you look like the
cat who got the cream,’ Natalie smiled at him.  ‘There, what do you think of
the tree?’

Jacob stood back and admired it: the amazing baubles, no
tinsel and the white fairy lights; it glowed in an almost otherworldly fashion.
What was he like? His good news had made him go soft in the head, he thought. ‘It
looks fantastic, very Christmassy.’

‘Perfect, exactly the desired effect. The garden centre had
them at such a good price and the trees there really are lovely, not the sad
specimens some of these cowboys try to pass off at full price which barely last
until Christmas.’

Jacob nodded his agreement. Yes, he’d seen some scrawny
Christmas trees come Christmas Day, too. Perhaps that’s why some people only
bought theirs during Christmas week.

As they closed up the bakery and said goodnight, Jacob
walked home happier than he had felt in a long time. Maybe Christmas wouldn’t
be so bad after all.

On the other side of town, Stanley had had a great day, his
third at the club. Not only had he made some new friends, both male and female,
but he liked the ambiance, the staff and the camaraderie. He looked forward to
the days when he would be going to the club and knowing he had a busier
schedule meant he felt more content being at home, pottering around, doing the
occasional bits and pieces of housework, or watching telly, on the days he
wasn’t at the club.

He hadn’t been into the bakery for a few days. He’d need to
go and try some of their Christmas cakes. Word was that the new woman, Natalie,
was doing a different Christmas cake every day; so one of his cronies at the
club had told him.

Today he’d played dominoes and won, a first for him in a
long time. Edie hadn’t much liked playing dominoes. Lunch had been good, too:
pea and ham soup followed by chicken and bacon parcels with roast potatoes,
gravy, and baby carrots. At this time of year and especially when the
temperatures were so low, having a hot meal prepared for him made all the
difference. He’d never had to think about it before; Edie had done all the
cooking. Oh, how he missed her. He talked to her over their cups of tea,
telling her all about the new people he was meeting and how she would have
liked them. He’d enjoyed a lively debate about the latest news items, and the
members of the club had been divided over certain issues. But there was no
hostility - it was all in good fun and everyone seemed nice and relaxed. He was
glad to have found the club and could no longer imagine how he had got through
the days before going there.

There had been much talk of Christmas, and Cathy and a few
other women who ran the club, had been decorating the rooms for them whilst
they had lunch. Stanley wouldn’t be getting a tree this year. What was the
point? Who would see it? And what was he going to do, put a present to himself
under it? No, far better not to have the hassle when there was only himself to
think about. His gifts from his grandson usually arrived sometime between
Christmas and New Year, occasionally even after New Year, depending on the
postal services. Christmas was the worst time of year to send gifts abroad. They
took an age to reach the recipient, arrived damaged or not at all. He would
have to start thinking about his grandson’s gift. Edie dealt with all of that,
usually. He had no idea what to buy. He had heard someone mention last postal
dates, though, and he had the impression that he had missed it. Oh well, like
everything else the gifts would arrive late. He really must put some thought
into what Thomas would like.

The high point of the day, though, was that he had been
invited to the pub the following night. The pub! He hadn’t been to a pub in
about fifteen years. Edie wasn’t much of a drinker and he’d either lost touch
with his drinking buddies or they had died. When you got to his age, he
thought, it really was that simple, sad but true. So, he was looking forward to
going to Corrigans the following evening, with a few of his new pals from the
club. What did you wear to the pub these days, he wondered? Would a dress
jacket over a shirt and tie be too formal? That’s what he liked to wear
normally when he went out. Decisions, decisions.

12th December

The bakery and café had been chock-a-block since they opened
their doors. The first customers commented on the beautiful tree with its
highly original decorations. A young mother had to stop her toddler from
dismantling it, whilst a sheepish-looking young man just managed to stop his
dog weeing on it. Customers continued to ask how Mrs Williams’ recovery was
going, and for Natalie to pass on their regards to her.
What
a time of year to be laid up
, they said.
Poor thing
.
Natalie had gone over the books again the night before and felt pleased that
the owner could hardly fail to be happy with the takings since her arrival. And
so far she didn’t seem to have lost her any customers...on the contrary.

It was difficult to say whether the tree was the hot
discussion topic of the day, or that day’s Christmas cake special -
torta negra de Navidad
- a traditional Venezuelan Christmas
cake, which didn’t originate in Venezuela, Natalie told those who asked about
the recipe.

Rushed off his feet all morning, Jacob didn’t notice Rebecca
come in. She had gone to lay her coat and hat over a vacant chair, since there
were few left. As she turned to come back to the counter, he shot her a huge
smile. He was elated to see her and thought she looked even more beautiful than
last time, despite her hair being a little mussed from the wind outside; her
flushed cheeks only adding to her attractiveness. She was like a goddess, but
seemed oblivious to how pretty she was. Fortunately he had stopped becoming
tongue-tied when she was around. He made some small talk with her as he took
her order, then told her he would bring it over.

As Natalie cleared the tables, she also picked up the
newspapers which were lying on various tables and put them back on their rack;
all but one. Just then the bell tinkled, indicating someone entering the
bakery. Sophie breezed in, a gust of wind closing the door behind her.
Gathering the crockery and plates containing only a few cake crumbs - it would
be almost blasphemous to leave a piece of cake here - Natalie headed towards
the counter.

‘Good afternoon, Sophie, how are you?’

‘I’m good, thanks. You? Busy?’

‘Oh yes, this is it quiet,’ she indicated the still full
bakery café. ‘And how’s your boss?’

‘Getting better, although she needs to take it easy; all
going well she might be out tomorrow,’ Sophie said, as she tugged at a loose
thread on her coat, glancing every now and then to her left.

Natalie followed her gaze and saw Jacob chatting to Rebecca,
handing her a hot chocolate and a piece of Christmas cake.

‘That’s good,’ she said, thoughts whirring around inside her
head. ‘So, are you staying for a bit today, or do you need to rush back?’

After sneaking a peek at table two, Sophie said, ‘No, I
really must get back. Things are pretty hectic. I’m barely keeping everything
afloat. It’s just as well I’m so organised and in tune with Meredith’s ways and
appointments, or we really would be in trouble. Maybe tomorrow.’

‘No problem. What are you having then?’

Sophie opted for Natalie’s recommendation of the cake of the
day and a skinny latte. As Sophie left the bakery, Natalie smiled to herself
and thought,
all in good time
.

Jacob returned to the counter and left Rebecca in peace to
drink her hot chocolate.

‘You missed Sophie. She came in to update us on Meredith and
get some things to take away.’

‘Really?’ Jacob looked crestfallen. ‘How’s she doing?’

‘Sophie or Meredith?’ Natalie asked, trying not to smirk.

‘Erm, both,’ said Jacob, blinking rapidly.

The corners of Natalie’s mouth twitched as she said, ‘All
going well, Meredith will be out tomorrow, and Sophie’s frazzled, poor dear.
She could do with a good night out, I think.’

‘Yes, she does have a lot on her plate,’ Jacob agreed, as he
stacked the dishwasher and wiped the counter with a cloth.

The newspaper which had been left on the table wasn’t one
Rebecca would usually read, but she’d gone into her bag to take out her
e-reader and then realised she had left it charging at home.
Damn!
Oh well, at least she could read the paper. She took
a tentative sip of her hot chocolate, as steam was still rising from it.
Mmm - lovely
.

She leafed through the usual tales of backstabbing
politicians, policies various parties were at odds over, and skipped over who
was blowing up who this week. She also flipped past the celebrity gossip pages
and headed straight for an article about how Royal Mail shares were doing. She nibbled at her cake every now and then,
enjoying a bit of quiet time, although the scene around her was a frenzied one,
with frantic shoppers popping into the bakery for a sit down and a rest, after
hours of trawling the shops, before getting back to it.

As Rebecca turned the page, the first thing she noticed was
The Melbourne Gallery - Assistant Manager - wanted for immediate
start. Closing date 20th December
. She read the full job description,
her heart beating faster with every word. This was her dream job. This was what
she’d been waiting for; these kinds of jobs never came up, or seldom. The
salary band was rare, although it did say dependent on experience, but she had
the experience. She couldn’t pass up the chance. She loved working for her
boss, but she needed to be challenged more, never mind that the extra cash
would come in handy. Taking a pen from her bag, Rebecca noted down the number
and made a brief note of the details.

With a sense of mounting excitement, Rebecca downed her hot
chocolate and finished the remainder of her cake. Grabbing her bag, and with
her mobile in her hand, Rebecca waved goodbye to Natalie and Jacob and set off
at a brisk pace down the street. She didn’t want everyone knowing her business
and she had to make this call now before she talked herself out of it. Rebecca
identified a quiet side street, where there were no carol singers belting out
Silent Night
, and dialled the number she had written down.

‘The Melbourne Gallery, how may I help you?’ a polite,
well-educated voice enquired of her.

‘Good afternoon.’ Rebecca tried for equally polite,
dispensing with her habitual
Hi
, 'May I speak with
Dominic Melbourne, please?’

‘May I ask what it’s in connection with?’

‘Yes. It’s regarding the advert in
The
Scotsman
.’

‘I see, let me see if he’s available.’

Rebecca thanked the girl, then hung on as she was subjected
to yet another rendition of Handel’s Water Music. Why didn’t firms vary their
hold music more? she wondered. She had begun to loathe that particular piece of
music after having to endure it when on hold to the bank, her insurance
company, even her hairdresser.

‘Dominic Melbourne speaking,’ a deep, sexy voice came down
the line.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Melbourne. My name’s Rebecca Cowan. I
saw your advert for Assistant Manager in
The Scotsman
.
I’m very interested in the role and was wondering if you’d consider me for the
post.’

‘Well, I’ll need your CV, first of all, but why don’t we do
a little on-the-spot interview now?’ Mr Melbourne said.

Now?
thought Rebecca.
Now!
Jeez - she wasn’t ready. 
Right,
c’mon, you can do this,
she told herself, mentally giving herself a
shake.

‘That would be great,’ she said, more confidently than she
felt. Exuding self-assurance, she felt, would be crucial to being chosen for
the role.

Dominic Melbourne then proceeded to grill Rebecca on certain
aspects of her work history, her current position, her knowledge of the art
world, and her contacts, before finally declaring twenty minutes later, ‘OK,
I’m happy enough to consider you as a candidate. How’s Monday for you?’

Monday would be her first day back at work after her week
long holiday, but Rebecca had a good feeling about this job, so she said Monday
was fine. They agreed a time and Dominic told her to speak to his receptionist
for directions, should she need any. When she came off the phone, Rebecca clapped
her hands together in glee.

Finally, a possibility to advance her career. She’d
certainly waited long enough. But what should she wear? To her knowledge, she
had nothing art gallery assistant manager-ish in her wardrobe. Still, it would
give her and Hannah a good excuse to go shopping on Saturday - not that they
ever needed an excuse and even less so at Christmas, well most Christmases.
With an unmistakable spring in her step, Rebecca bounced along to her next port
of call - the pub - it wasn’t every day you secured an interview for your dream
job.