He couldn’t stop looking at the light, by God, thelight.You only get light like that with big skies.
Could it be a home to him?It felt as if it could be.
His friends seemed to think so, too.
Before he could overthink it, he’d put in an offer for as much as he could afford, and he’d put his flat in London on the market too.Somehow, his offer was accepted, his flat sold, and before he could really blink or breathe or think about what the hell he’d done, his friends were loading up a moving van to drive him to Wales.
It had been a trial, not necessarily one by fire, but certainly something painful and tricky to navigate.Perhaps trial-by-swamp, if that was a thing.For the first few weeks, he worried every night that he’d made a terrible decision, but all his friends seemed so on board with it that he hoped they were right.They usually were.His brain often got the better of him, after all.
And now, he is happy.
Heis.
It’s just been ...harder than he thought it would be.Thinking about what he could sell had been great, but now he has to think about things like overheads, profit, turnover...keeping the lights on.And that buzz, that spark he felt at cookery school, seems to have just dulled, or perhaps burned down.
And he’s barely made any friends here.It’s hard to be so far from everyone he loves.
Needless to say, he hasn’t hung up any mistletoe in here this Christmas.Call him superstitious, but he doesn’t want to tempt fate.There’s been enough chaos in his life for one year.
* * *
When Christopher glances up attheclock, somehow only a few more minutes have passed.What torture is this?When he was procrastinating in his old job, he would dream up new things to bake, but, well, that creative spark hasn’t really been burning quite the way it used to.The little creative energy he has left has gone on the aesthetics of the café and the few reliable if basic things he can regularly make and sell.
At least the Christmas puddings look nice, wrapped in coloured paper and tied up in ribbons – a touch his mother had insisted on, because if he was going to sell things for a special occasion, they should lookspecial.She was right, of course.Turns out a bit of ribbon goes a long way.Perhaps it was Esther who had all the business sense.His father, Otto, might have been the businessman, but she ran the house, and half the town, based on all the committees she was on.
It wasn’t just the puddings he’d made look special, either.Ever since he opened the bakery, Christopher had made sure there was an intricate window display.Yes, they took time and a lot of effort, but people did stop and stare and even very occasionally come in to buy something.In truth, he did it more for himself than his customers.When he couldn’t sleep, he would sketch out plans for seasonal themes.Currently, he was working on a romantic set piece to be in thewindow from St Dwynwen’s Day to Valentine’s Day – a riot of reds and pinks and flowers, both real and sugar.
The Christmas window was probably his favourite one so far.Jewel-colour-wrapped presents – empty boxes of course – nestled in leftover white packing peanuts that looked like snow if you didn’t get too close, sailed over by gingerbread reindeer and angels and stars, suspended from the ceiling on wire.Around them he’d placed empty Christmas pudding bowls wrapped in bright paper, and an upturned cake tin that he’d decorated with icing and marzipan to look like a real Christmas cake.
Thanks to the fact that the bakery sat on the main road that ran through Pen-y-Môr, the displays always drew looks from people heading down to the beach or train station, and the other way, up into the town, towards the other shops.It wasn’t a roaring trade, but he was getting by ...just about, despite his extravagant taste for window displays (which admittedly he’d partly paid for out of his own pocket a few times).But he had a few loyal customers, and he’d started to recognise the faces peering into the window, even if they didn’t come in very often.
A little sprucing goes a long way, Esther had said.
Before he can ruminate on the inevitability of becoming his parents, the bell over the door jingles.Shaz stalks in, dressed in an enormous knee-length puffy coat, complete with woolly hat and mittens, all in various lurid shades of yellow.
‘It’s pure witches’ tits out there,’ she says, flinging herself into a chair right in front of the counter.As she pulls her woolly hat off her head, her thick, almost-silver-blond hair sticks up with static.
‘Afternoon to you too, Shaz,’ Christopher says, resisting the urge to wipe the counter down once more.
She groans.‘Don’t remind me.If it’s afternoon, then I’m officially behind on my to-do list, and I’d rather live in ignorance if that’s all right with you.’
‘Good ...day?’Christopher offers.
‘Better.I’ve come to get the pud, but if it’s peachy with you, can I just sit here with my eyes closed for a few minutes?’
‘That bad?’
Eyes firmly closed, Shaz makes a noise that Christopher takes to meanabsolutely.
Not only was she the first friend he made here, Shaz is also his first friend with kids.It turns out that having multiple children of indeterminate age – somehow he’s never managed to work that out and now it’s absolutely too late for him to ask – means you live with a permanent look of confused fear etched onto your face.
When Christopher had opened the bakery in September after a furious month of redecorating, Shaz was the first customer who walked in.Loud, brash, Scouse, and determined to get him talking, Shaz was like a hurricane in Christopher’s absolutely dead bakery.At first, he was worried she was a competitor or just trying to get the gossip on why he, an arguably plummy Englishman, was in this little Welsh town.But he quickly realised that, for some reason, she liked him, and she showed up every single day the bakery was open.Since then, she occasionally will literally drag other people in with her and heavily insist they buy something, especially towards the end of the month when the frown lines get deeper.
From what Christopher can gather, Shaz used to work at the primary school doing slightly too many jobs for one person.A bit of admin and finance, some teaching assistance.But then the school budget shrank, and she was out of a job (or five).Perhaps that’s why she’s in here basically every day – he’s her water cooler.
No matter the reason, Shaz brought life to the café – and to Christopher – when he most needed it.
Plus, the gingerbread reindeer biscuits he’d started making in November had become the talk of the town thanksto her.And luckily for her, he’d decided to make one last-minute batch that morning.
