Chapter One #2
When Christopher glances up at the clock, 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 look special.
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 the window 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-M?r, 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 mean absolutely.
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 thanks to her. And luckily for her, he’d decided to make one last-minute batch that morning.
‘Would a gingerbread reindeer help?’
One eye opens and fixes on him. ‘A biscuit I don’t have to share with piranhas masquerading as children? You’re offering me a Christmas miracle.’
Christopher slips two reindeer into a paper bag. ‘And one to hide in the car, for later.’
‘You’re a good man.’ She violently bites the head off. Her eyes close again, this time with the joy of eating. Christopher will never get tired of that look.
Without another word, he makes her usual frothy latte with many packets of sugar on the side and deposits it in front of her.
‘Oh, you absolute beaut.’ Shaz dunks a bit of leg into the hot froth.
‘Must you close for Christmas? How will I get by without this every day? I’m too used to it.
And you. You’ve ruined me. Plus, I heard the pub had a burst pipe and the whole place is wrecked so that’ll be shut too.
Where am I going to hide from my children if you leave? ’
‘You’d have to buy a lot more coffees for me to stay open over the holidays.’
She snorts. ‘I’m already metaphorically shitting myself over Gar’s mum coming for the holidays. I don’t need to be literally shitting myself too.’
‘A truly delightful image. Is it that bad? Now I feel bad for leaving.’
The tiredness must show on his face because she adds, ‘I’ll put my big pants on. Just this once, mind, don’t you get cosy with all this leaving business. But I suppose you’ll need to recharge your energy so you can come up with a new seasonal biccie for me.’
‘I could keep doing gingerbread out of season.’
‘Just for me?’
‘Just for you. And hopefully some other customers.’
‘Yeah, but they matter less than me. Are you all ready for your trip?’
‘I think so. Just the last of these to get out the door,’ he says, indicating the Christmas puddings. He passes hers over and sets it just far enough away from her that it won’t get splattered with coffee or gingerbread.
‘Diolch bab. Have you downloaded any films for the train?’
‘If you mean, am I still working through your several-pages-long list of essential Christmas romcoms, then yes.’
The other thing that Shaz brought into his life was an appreciation for Christmas romcoms. Back in September when he started making the Christmas puddings, she insisted he needed festive inspiration, and sent a list of seasonal romcoms to watch.
Determined to nurture their new friendship, he decided to watch one, just to say that he had.
Over that week, he’d watched five. One each evening, with two repeats.
And he had opinions about them. He was absolutely completely and utterly hooked.
He wasn’t sure if it was the guaranteed happy endings or the high ratio of bakers to literally any other profession, but he couldn’t stop watching.
The only thing Christopher had ever felt that invested in before was baking.
He hadn’t even heard of most of them, but then festive romcoms hadn’t been something he’d sought out.
At Christmas, he normally just passively watched whatever was put on.
Maybe he should have been paying better attention.
Apart from the few queer film titles he vaguely recognised, Shaz’s list skewed to heterosexual romances, and of those, most featured one particular actor, Nash Nadeau – a blond-haired, perfectly stubbled, slightly hench American man on the cusp of thirty who, well, Christopher found rather handsome.
There was just something so charismatic and warm about him. Or perhaps his characters. But still.
At first, he kept this new obsession all to himself, but eventually, once he had completed Nash Nadeau’s infamous Christmas at the Clinic series (casually known by fans as the ‘Christmas Vet’ films), it all came tumbling out.
The last movie in the series, unless there were more unannounced to come, ended on a cliffhanger – a cliffhanger, for Christ’s sake!
Would the veterinarian played by Nash Nadeau ever get back together with the witty and brilliant schoolteacher played by Barbie Glynn?
The films had been teasing it all the way through the series.
And now, they’d left the final movie on a cliffhanger.
When Shaz walked into the bakery the next day, Christopher had yelled, ‘They can’t just end a film on a cliffhanger!’ With one throaty chuckle from Shaz, their friendship was officially cemented.
‘I’ve rinsed all the new ones for this year already,’ she sighs now, sadly, swirling the coffee in its cup. ‘I’m going to have to rewatch some.’