When she got back to her street, she saw two men with a cherry picker hanging up Christmas decorations. Farther along, the lights were already on. Thick fir garlands adorned with red silk ribbon and tiny lights were draped between the buildings, with a gold-colored bell in thecenter. She put down her bags by the door leading up to her apartment and quickly checked on the patisserie. The production team seemed to have left, but Emil and Hassan were busy serving a long line of customers.
As she walked into her apartment, her phone pinged with a message.
Sorry, but I’ve been called into work this evening—it sucks! I don’t suppose you can postpone? It’s our tradition!Bea wrote.
A second later she received a message from Maryam.Arvid has picked up some kind of bug and Stefan has it too. So sorry but won’t make it.Please can we do it another day?
Nora felt deflated. Then she took a deep breath; she’d coped with far worse.
No problem. I’d love to postpone, but in TV world it’s Christmas tomorrow. I’ll pour myself some wine and get those decorations up in record time!she replied.
Take the bottle I gave you, Tess wrote.
I drank that weeks ago, Nora answered with a dancing emoji.
She grabbed the cheeses, one bottle of mulled wine, and the bottle of red and went downstairs. When she walked into the café, Emil’s face lit up. “We’ve had a fantastic day—it might be a record! And this place looks amazing!”
“Brilliant renovation,” Hassan said as he swept beneath the tables and chairs.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Nora agreed.
“And the new rolls are a hit—we sold out in no time.”
The boys helped Nora carry the boxes of decorations into the café. Then she checked the day’s take.
“Best day of the year,” she said with a big smile. “Well done, both of you.”
After the boys left, she locked the door, poured some mulled wine into a pan, and gently warmed it. She put some gingerbread cookies on a plate, the cheeses on another, then carried everything through to the café.
She put on her favorite Christmas playlist and got to work untangling lights and extension cords.
She put a piece of creamy blue cheese on a cookie, popped it in her mouth, and closed her eyes. It reminded her of her mother and that last Christmas. She hadn’t been able to eat much by that stage, but Nora had taken this very same cheese and gingerbread cookies to her mother in hospice. Nora had spent those final days keeping vigil. When her mother seemed to be listening, Nora had reminisced about Christmases past. One evening when her mother was sleeping, Nora had felt a surge of rage. She was suddenly furious that her mother wasn’t going to be around anymore. Angry that she was going to be left behind. The same feeling overwhelmed her again as she sat in the newly renovated café, but this time her anger was tempered with grief.
“It’s all so empty, Mom,” she said out loud.
Her eyes filled with tears. Tommy Körberg and Sissel Kyrkjebø sangChristmas Is Here, and she let the tears flow. She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept on coming. She’d loved this song ever since she was a little girl. It reminded her of the sense of anticipation she had experienced back then and the wonderful sense of security that her mom and dad gave her. Why had it all been taken away?
25
1945
High summer had come to Bergslagen. The bakery was almost unbearably hot, even though it was still morning. Nils removed a tray from the large oven, puffing and blowing as the heat surged toward him, but then he inhaled the smell of the freshly baked bread. He had spent the last month experimenting with Tuula’s sourdough. The Finnish rye bread was wildly popular, and he could see great potential with the sourdough. He had been thinking about what his father had said about frozen food in the future, and had worked out that a small, flat loaf would freeze well. They could freeze the bread immediately after baking and deliver it as a frozen product; when it defrosted, it should taste almost as good as fresh bread.
He gazed at the perfectly golden-brown loaves on the tray. He had used both rye and wheat flour along with Tuula’s sourdough, making it a mixture of Tuula’s bread and the kind that Nils often baked at home.
The first rays of the sun found their way through the windows. He slid in a tray of bread and rolls; he was happy to help out the bakers, and they would have fresh rolls for breakfast when they arrived.
When the loaves had cooled a little, he tore off a chunk and tasted it. Perfect. The rye had a strong, rich flavor, but there was also a smooth sweetness thanks to a bit of syrup he had added. He let it cool for a bit,then wrapped two of the loaves in a cloth with some butter, and biked over to his father’s office.
His father was already hard at work when Nils knocked on the door.
“Come in!” His face lit up when he saw Nils in the doorway. “Is that freshly baked bread I smell?”
“It is. I’ve been experimenting withfruAnttila’s sourdough.”
“I see.” His father’s expression darkened. Nils knew he’d heard about him and Tuula, but he hadn’t said a word. Yet.
He unpacked the bread, cut a slice, spread it with butter, and passed it to his father.
