16
Could a sourdough starter be the closest thing you had to a family? Was it weird to think that way? It probably wasn’t fair to Bea, her best friend. Nora’s mind was whirling as she fed her beloved starter with flour and water. She stopped for a moment, inhaled the smell, allowed herself to simply be in the moment.
It was the morning after that horrible panic attack. She felt exhausted but calm, as though a violent storm had passed through her. And yet she couldn’t relax.
The production team had rushed to help her, and she had come around with her head on Henrik’s lap and Elnaz looking down at her. It was so humiliating! Thank goodness Hassan had been sitting beside her. He had held her hand, and it had been good to see a familiar face. They had led her into the changing room, where she had sunk down onto a bench. Elnaz and Hassan had eventually helped her up to her apartment. They had tried to persuade her to call someone to come and stay with her, but Nora just wanted to be left in peace.
She had slept deeply but had vivid dreams. She was woken by a text from Elnaz, wondering how she was feeling and telling her she didn’t need to come in for filming until lunchtime, and then only if she was up to it. They would spend the morning filming material around the town, plus a couple of scenes with Henrik on his own, so none of the team would be in the patisserie.
Henrik sent a message too: Hope you’re feeling better! Henrik
Was she feeling better? She didn’t know. It was as if she had been sedated.
After a quiet morning at home, she stood holding the sourdough starter in its jar. The glass beneath her fingertips was reassuring, but she decided she had too many other things to do, so she put it down. She really ought to call the bank and ask about her overdraft protection. She owed Hassan money, but she couldn’t face it. Instead she logged on and transferred the money to Hassan from her own personal account, which she could just about afford to do. Then she sent him a text to let him know that the payment had gone through.
She then got to work, doing a lot of preparation for the week ahead, which meant she wouldn’t have to call in the extra baker she sometimes used, which would save on expenses.
The afternoon’s filming was a lot less dramatic than the day before. They discussed the renovations for the café, and then she and Henrik baked some cookies. They didn’t talk much—the team was mainly looking for footage that could be used in montages at a later stage. Even Ted kept quiet, and fortunately Don wasn’t there.
Elnaz took her aside when they’d finished filming, asked how she was feeling, and informed her that the production company was happy to arrange for her to see a counselor if that would be helpful, but Nora smoothed the whole thing over. She couldn’t open up to these people—they weren’t her friends and didn’t want what was best for her. They would always put the show first.
There was to be a break in filming for a few days so that the renovations could be done. Henrik and Elnaz would head out to record Christmas with the Eklunds during that time. The thought of a break made everything seem a little easier, and there wouldn’t be much more filming after that. The thought of having to close for the renovations made her feel slightly panic-stricken again—that was the last thing the business needed—but she had no choice.
Although Nora was still exhausted when the workday ended, she showered and changed; packed her bike basket with cheese, marmalade, and crispbread; and cycled over to Bea’s, who had invited her to dinner. They were going to dig out the patisserie’s Christmas decorations, which she stored there after having an issue with dampness at the patisserie.
Nora let herself in when she arrived and stepped into the hallway, littered with muddy Wellingtons, winter boots, hats and gloves, and padded dungarees. The others were seated at the table, where dinner was already loudly underway. Max hurtled over to Nora and gave her a hug. Svea was in her high chair, and Nora ruffled her dark curls before she sat down.
Ahmat, Bea’s husband, served Nora a generous portion of lentil stew. Nora took the plate and inhaled the aroma of the spices.
She usually joined them for dinner at least once a week. She was immensely grateful that there was always room for her; they were the nearest thing she had to a family. She adored the children, and had liked Ahmat from the moment she met him, even though they rarely agreed when it came to politics. They often had heated discussions—the kind you can only have with someone you’re very close to.
However—and this was hard for her to admit, even to herself—sometimes the gratitude stuck in her throat. She knew Bea felt that she belonged there, but the constant sense of having to feel grateful could be wearing. Since she had no plans to build a family of her own, she was very glad that she could borrow theirs, so to speak.
After dinner, Nora produced the goodies she had brought. Bea made tea, they put everything on a tray, and then they pulled on their jackets and headed out to the shed to find the decorations.
“It feels so weird to be doing this in November,” Nora said. “I mean ... what’s everyone going to think?”
“Stop sounding like my anxious granny,” Bea replied. “Nobody’s going to think anything—everyone knows it’s for the TV show.”
“But the leaves have only just fallen from the trees.”
Bea gave her a reproachful look. “For God’s sake, Nora—it’s for TV! Let it go.” Her tone was teasing, but she looked concerned as she unlocked the door of the shed. Nora set the tray down, and they started to take down and go through the boxes. Nora pulled down a box with an audible sigh.
“Are you okay? You look a little ... pale.”
“I’m fine, it’s just a bit much with all the filming and keeping the business going at the same time.”
“You’re not yourself. You don’t usually care what people think, not like that.”
“It’s hard to be myself when there are cameras in my face all day every day.” Nora couldn’t bring herself to tell Bea what had happened, even though she knew she should. She put some marmalade on a piece of crispbread and took a bite.
“How’s filming going?”
Nora shook her head. “That Henrik Eklund is such a pompous asshole. That incident at the hotel was kind of embarrassing, but everything I said was true. When he starts criticizing me, I just want to slash my throat with a bread knife and put an end to my suffering.”
“Surely it can’t be that bad?” Bea said with a wry smile.
“He always takes it too far. He seems to be doing his best to make me look incompetent.” Nora took a sip of her tea, then opened the box to discover the brass Advent candleholders.
“How so?” Bea asked, helping herself to some crispbread.
“Something ...” Nora took a deep breath. She knew Bea wouldn’t give up until she knew what was going on, and she was incapable of keeping secrets from her friend. “Something happened yesterday. The producers are very good at getting me to open up, and I started talking about Mom and Dad ... All the old memories came flooding back, I’d hardly slept, and then Henrik launched into an attack on my finances, said I’d run the business into the ground, and I ... broke down.”
“In what way?”
Nora said nothing. She just looked at Bea.
“Oh, Nora.” Bea gave her a hug, held her close. “And what did they do? Did they help you?”
“Yes, they did.” She had no intention of revealing how traumatic it had been to find herself surrounded by strangers when she was at her most vulnerable.
“So what happens now?” Bea let go of her.
Nora shrugged. “The plan is to carry on filming. They offered me counseling, but I’ve had my share of therapy, so I said no.”
“But they were the ones who provoked this reaction?”
“Yes. Although there’s other stuff going on too. Financial pressures, lack of sleep, too much work ...”
“I’m so sorry I applied on your behalf,” Bea said quietly. “I didn’t know ...” She broke off. “I didn’t realize it would be like this.”
“It’s not your fault,” Nora said, placing a hand on Bea’s arm. “I’ve got a few days’ break from filming, and hopefully things will feel better after that.”
The fact was that she needed Let’s Get Baking . Her daily earnings had broken record after record since filming began, and if that continued for even a little while longer, she might be able to save the business. She pushed aside her worries about her overdraft situation. She would call the bank tomorrow—no doubt it was some kind of technical glitch. She looked at Bea. “Can’t we talk about something else? Something more fun? For example, who had the bad taste to buy this bauble?” Nora held up a gigantic neon-green ornament depicting female bikini-clad Santas.
Bea laughed. “What can I say in my defense? It cost a fortune! I was in London, young and in love, on my first trip with Ahmat. I wanted to show him that I was edgy and cool, but a thoughtful friend at the same time, so I bought you a ridiculously expensive and kitschy ornament.”
Nora laughed and put it back. She couldn’t put it up in the café, but it always had pride of place on her Christmas tree at home.
Bea sipped her tea and opened another box. “Speaking of Christmas, we’re going to my sister’s place this year.”
“Are you sure it’s okay if I come along?” Nora had asked the same question every year since her mother died, and Bea always said yes. She still had to ask, though, and there it was again, that persistent gratitude. She was afraid of coming across as ungrateful if she didn’t ask and simply took it for granted.
Bea looked at her. “Don’t be silly—you’re as much a part of our Christmas celebrations as Donald Duck on TV.”
Nora smiled and hoped it was true. Maybe it was, but it didn’t stop her feeling like a fifth wheel.
Bea handed Nora a box. “Could that be a contributing factor to yesterday’s panic attack?”
“What do you mean?”
“The theme for the show—Christmas. And the fact that Christmas is getting closer,” Bea said as she tried to untangle a string of fairy lights.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—you know I love Christmas.” Nora cut a piece of Brie and put it on some crispbread, then popped the whole lot in her mouth.
Bea’s expression was skeptical. “I know you love the idea of Christmas, but not necessarily the day itself.” She picked away at a stubborn knot.
“The idea of Christmas? You mean the birth of Jesus? That’s the idea of Christmas, isn’t it?”
“Stop it—you know exactly what I mean.” Bea opened a box filled with tinsel and garlands and passed it to Nora. “I should never have applied for you to take part in the Christmas special.”
“Yes, you should have. And despite what you think, I have absolutely no problem with Christmas.”
It had always been her favorite holiday. She and her parents made their own gingerbread cookie dough, chocolate cookies, and other specialties. They also made their own candy—marzipan, mint kisses, chocolate truffles, and more. Her parents baked gingerbread cookies day and night since Nymans was known for having the best in town. They decorated the entire café. They set out angel chimes, and placed Advent candleholders in the windows. A huge Advent star hung in the window by the door, and bags of gingerbread cookies were on display to tempt customers inside.
On the second Sunday of Advent, they held a gingerbread house competition and attended a Christmas buffet at the beautiful Gr?ns? castle. On the third Sunday, they drank mulled wine and bought their Christmas trees: one for the patisserie and one for the apartment. In the evening they made marzipan pigs, which they dipped in chocolate.
They celebrated Christmas Eve as traditionally as possible, with ham and all the trimmings, and Donald Duck on TV.
That last Christmas had been pure agony. Her mother had been in palliative care for a couple of months and moved into hospice shortly before Christmas. Nora couldn’t do much to re-create any of their Christmas traditions, but she took samples of all the goodies she baked nonetheless. She couldn’t take the Christmas tree to the hospice, so it was standing in Nora’s rented apartment, scrawny and bare, when she got home hours after her mother had passed away.
These days she did most of the Christmas preparations herself, although she usually invited the girls over one evening in the last week before Advent. They would celebrate with mulled wine and put up the last of the decorations in the patisserie. She would have to invite them over a little earlier this year. Everything was going to be different.
Since her mother’s death, she hadn’t felt the same sense of anticipation before Christmas; instead, she became increasingly anxious as the holiday approached. Maybe Bea was right—she loved the idea of Christmas. She loved the lights and candles brightening the winter darkness, the music, the glitter, the mulled wine, the sense of togetherness. But the pain of her mother’s death was a constant presence, and of course she became increasingly aware that she lacked a family of her own.
Nora looked at her friend. “I love Christmas,” she said firmly.