Christa paused for a moment, as though gathering her thoughts.
‘I remember the presents,’ she said and smiled at the memory. ‘There was one that set my course to sail to where I am now actually.’
‘What was it?’ He was genuinely interested in her story.
‘First I got a pink diary with a lock and key. Oh that was exciting and it came with some glitter pens – even more thrilling.’ She laughed. ‘But the final present was something called The Beginner’s Cooking Set. It came with an apron and a chef’s hat. A cutting board. A set of measuring spoons in different colours. Wooden spoons of different sizes. A recipe book for children. Spatula, tongs, a serving spoon and some kitchen scales. And I was shocked. What a horrible thing, I thought at the time.
‘And then a woman who had served me lunch looked over my shoulder and said, “You and your dad will never want for food again with you cooking up a storm”, and I thought about it and realised she was right. If I could learn how to cook then I could care for Dad. And then he wouldn’t drink because he didn’t have to worry about it anymore.’
Marc sighed and shook his head. ‘The stories we tell ourselves to make sense of chaos, even as kids huh?’
‘Maybe, but he did stop drinking eventually, and I learned to cook and here I am. He went to meetings, got sober and got a job as lorry driver. Then we were okay and Dad spent the rest of his life trying to make up for that time. There were tough times and a few Christmases spent at the dining hall of a charity but I knew he was trying. That helps – when you can see someone is trying to change.’
Marc sighed. ‘I wish I knew. So did he also buy you a present for Christmas?’
Christa laughed gently. ‘He always did. Not expensive ones but always things he thought I might like. I mean he wasn’t some redeemed soul. He was pretty rubbish sometimes. One birthday he gave me a copy of a book from my own bookshelf, as though I wouldn’t notice. That was pretty rough but he tried in his own clumsy and broken way. But when he was sober, he always made an effort. So what if many of the presents were from charity shops? They showed he understood me. That meant more to me than anything expensive.’
Marc listened as she spoke, watching the kindness on her face as she thought about her father.
‘So what happened after The Beginner’s Cooking Set? How did you then decide you wanted to become a chef?’
Christa thought before she spoke.
‘He gave me a book when I was sixteen. He knew I was getting good at baking. I cooked for us every night and I liked it. But then he gave meThe Cake Bible– it’s a famous cookbook for bakers – and that absolutely started me on my path to where I am now. He never got to see me graduate from Le Cordon Bleu but I felt his spirit every moment of the course.’
God she’s so beautiful, he thought,and not bitter at all.
‘Would you have forgiven him if he hadn’t gotten sober?’ he asked.
Christa looked him in the eye. ‘What was there to forgive? He was in so much pain that he dulled it with alcohol. I didn’t need to forgive him, I needed to love and support him, and I knew that even as a child. Was it ideal? No, but no life is. We all get a turn, don’t we? It’s just that some of us have the turn younger than others.’
Marc though about his life. He had grown up trying to keep the family together, trying to get his parents to change so he could have a childhood. All that energy and work and it didn’t stop the outcome.
‘I have a lot of anger towards my parents, still,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t speak to anyone in my family.’
‘Where are your brothers and sisters?’ she asked him, looking confused.
Marc shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We were placed into foster care when I was fifteen. Split up and the younger ones adopted. I was older and angry so I got to live in a group home. I tried to find them years ago but they were all closed adoptions.’
‘Oh that’s awful. I’m so sorry. You must wonder and worry more often than you realise. You’re probably used to living with it but I’m sure it’s always there.’ She sounded so sincere and sad he felt his throat tighten at her kindness. It was true. He did worry. He did look for his siblings in crowds, wondering if they were happy, hoping they had good lives.
He looked ahead, staring at the dark kitchen windows.
‘It was pretty awful but it was still better than home,’ he said.
They sat in silence for a while.
‘Tell me about you getting into Le Cordon Bleu,’ he said.
‘Why do you want to know about that?’ She laughed.
‘Because I like hearing success stories – it fuels me,’ he said with a smile.
She thought for a moment. ‘I found out I got in the day of my father’s funeral actually,’ she said.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he said.
‘That’s life though isn’t it? Endings and beginnings.’
