The Christmas Spirit Read online

  She really would have to go to see a doctor soon, thought Meredith. This wasn’t normal, but first she needed to go through the schedule, check how the salespeople were performing against target for the month and set in place any corrective action plans. After about the thirteenth of December everyone would be in holiday mode, both staff and clients alike, and not much would be achieved. At least Sophie was back now.

  A few hours into her day Meredith decided she had to get out of the office. She’d nip over to Sugar and Spice for a slice of that gorgeous caramel shortcake. Maybe they’d even have some Christmas drinks. What she wouldn’t give for a warming Gluhwein right now, although she guessed they wouldn’t have an alcohol licence. Well, perhaps they would have a cinnamon latte. Meredith stopped short. She didn’t usually buy into all this Christmas claptrap, but right now, the thought of it was quite soothing.

  ‘Hi there, nice to see you again,’ the woman greeted Meredith warmly, as she entered the bakery. The smell of fresh pastries and just brewed coffee assailed her senses and Meredith breathed in deeply, before another coughing fit racked her body.

  ‘Oh dear, that sounds awful. You should get that seen to,’ the woman offered.

  Thanks, Einstein, thought Meredith uncharitably. She gave the woman a tight smile, then said, ‘Do you have any Gluhwein?’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have a licence.’

  ‘Right. I see. Well, do you have any Christmas drinks, any specialties?’

  ‘We do have a cinnamon drink and also a cranberry tea, and I’ve made cranberry and white chocolate muffins in honour of the season,’ Natalie pronounced.

  ‘Yes, cranberry tea sounds good. Cranberry’s good for you when you’re not feeling great, isn’t it?’ Meredith asked.

  ‘That’s right; cranberries are high in antioxidants.’

  ‘Well in that case, I’ll have cranberry tea and the muffin, thanks. In fact, can you make that two muffins? Sophie will probably want one, too, although I don’t know whether she likes them or not,’ Meredith thought out loud.

  Just then another fit of coughing came over Meredith. She withdrew a handkerchief from her coat pocket and coughed violently into it. But she didn’t stop. She kept coughing and coughing and then started wheezing and turned blue. The bakery patrons looked on in horror. She couldn’t seem to get a breath.

  ‘Let’s sit you down, dear,’ Natalie said, but just as she was coming around the counter to help her, Meredith’s legs gave way and she collapsed. A man sitting close by jumped up to try to catch her, but didn’t quite get there in time and Meredith fell, her head grazing a chair on the way down.

  ‘Jacob, get some water, please,’ Natalie called. ‘Stand back, please,’ she said to the customers, ‘I’m a first-aider.’

  The shocked customers cleared a space around Meredith.

  ‘She’s awfully pale,’ one of them remarked.

  Natalie checked Meredith’s airway wasn’t blocked. Her breathing was still raspy, but at least she was breathing. Her pulse was faint.

  ‘Jacob, call an ambulance,’ Natalie said, as she moved Meredith into the recovery position.

  Jacob rushed around the counter and dialled 999.

  The paramedics arrived within ten minutes. There was no change to Meredith’s condition; she was still unconscious. Whilst they were waiting for the ambulance, Natalie had kept an eye on her, but also asked if anyone knew where she worked. No-one in the café knew her and unfortunately they had no way of contacting Sophie. After a few minutes Natalie had the brainwave of checking for an ICE in her phone; hopefully she would have her emergency contact listed. Jacob searched through her bag, until he found an iPhone. Unfortunately it was locked and they had no way of knowing the password. Then Jacob came across a business card wallet. Withdrawing a card, he read Meredith Storm, Storm Communications. He dialled the number on the card and asked for Sophie.

  As the paramedics put Meredith into the ambulance with the café clientele watching them and Natalie filling them in on what had happened, an out of breath Sophie appeared from round the corner.

  ‘Oh God, what happened?’

  ‘Are you her daughter?’ the paramedic asked.

  ‘No, she doesn’t have any children. I’m her assistant. Can I come with her?’

  ‘I suppose that would be all right. Get in.’

  The ambulance set off with its siren blaring. Sophie’s mind was racing. She’d need to contact Amelia, Meredith’s sister. But first she needed to find out what had happened. She talked with the paramedic as the ambulance rushed to Vale of Leven hospital and he relayed what Natalie had told him. Sophie remembered that Meredith had been paler than her usual self and had been coughing a great deal that morning, but then Sophie hadn’t thought much of it - she herself had been ill this week, with no sympathy from Meredith.

  Stanley’s second visit to the club went even better than the first. Now that he had registered, the centre sent a bus to pick him up around ten in the morning, which suited him, particularly in this bad weather, as he was nervous about relying on his stick to keep his balance.

  Angus and George greeted Stanley when he arrived and he chatted with them for a few minutes before heading over to the reading corner. He had noticed it on Friday, but hadn’t had time to sift through the books. It would save him going to the library if there was anything he fancied.

  Ten minutes later, he was seated in a comfy chair, talking to a woman about seaside resorts of yesteryear and the beauty of the Hebrides, a book by Clive Cussler in his lap.

  ‘Would you two like a cup of tea?’ Cathy’s assistant, Betty, asked the pair.

  They both nodded and resumed their conversation. Within a few minutes they had a cup of tea each and a plate of chocolate and plain biscuits beside them to share.

  ‘Right, everyone. I’m going to hand you out some newspapers and I’d like you to have a wee read, and in half an hour we’re going to have a little discussion on today’s headlines,’ said Cathy, as she distributed newspapers to each table.

  ‘That sounds like fun,’ said Stanley, ‘A bit like a debating society.’

  ‘I like it,’ Ruth, the lady he was chatting to, said. ‘We do this every Monday morning, as we get all the news from the weekend, too.’

  They picked up the newspapers and began leafing through them, oohing and aahing at some of the stories.

  ‘Oh, I can’t believe he died! He was one of my favourites,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Stanley asked, interested.

  ‘John Rainier, the actor. He was in that film with Audrey Hepburn. What was the name again?’

  Stanley admitted he didn’t know the film, although he knew the actor.

  ‘He must have been a good age,’ Stanley said.

  ‘In his nineties, I think,’ said Ruth, scanning the article to see if it told her. ‘Yes, here it is here, ninety-five.’

  ‘He had a good innings.’ Stanley thought then of his only son, who had died before his time, abroad, killed in a skiing accident.

  ‘Right, we better get back to these headlines, or we’ll look like a right pair of dummies,’ said Ruth, touching him lightly on the arm.

  Stanley felt the warmth of her fingers. He hadn’t been touched by another human being since Edie’s funeral, except when people bumped into him by accident on the street. That simple action of warmth and camaraderie made him feel human, whole again.

  As she sat in the pub overlooking Loch Lomond, next to the burning log fire, Rebecca was struck by the irony. Trust Ethan to choose a romantic location when they were dividing up their personal possessions. The man had no empathy whatsoever, nor clue. She zoned out temporarily as he ran through the list he had prepared of things which were clearly his and items which they had bought together, but which he thought he was entitled to, and outlined his reasons why.

  How can he be so insensitive? How can it be reduced to this? Incredulously she wondered, how can I have spent three years of my life with this man?

 
When Rebecca had first entered the pub, late as usual, Ethan had been sitting near the fire warming his hands, his jacket still on. She had stood in the doorway watching him and her heart had missed a beat. How was she going to get over him? She fought back the desire to burst into tears and, closing the door behind her, walked up to the sofa where he was sitting.

  ‘Hello, Ethan,’ she’d said. There had been little preamble after the ‘pleasantries’ of asking how they each were and in her case, lying about how she really was. Set adrift, tearful, abandoned, probably weren’t the words he wanted to hear, so she said, ‘I’m fine. Getting on with things, you know.’

  ‘So, are you looking forward to Christmas?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Not exactly.’ She stared at him. What a moron!

  ‘Right, no, I don’t suppose you are.’ He’d had the good grace to study his shoes at that point.

  Now as he inventoried the things he wanted to keep from the flat, leaving Rebecca with virtually nothing and trying to make it sound as if she was getting a good deal, Rebecca couldn’t help but loathe him. How dare he? Does he think I’m totally stupid?

  Ethan must have thought she’d be so resigned to the end of their relationship she’d just roll over and say, ‘Yes, Ethan, no Ethan, three bags full, Ethan,’ but he didn’t know her as well as he thought. From somewhere deep inside came a resolve not to be trodden all over.

  ‘And I’ll need your keys soon, as it wouldn’t really be right, you having access to the flat, when it’s no longer yours.’

  ‘You’ll get the keys, Ethan, once everything’s sorted out and no, I don’t agree that you should keep the wardrobe, or the washing machine, or the bookcases. Can you tell me exactly what you think I should have of our joint purchases, as it seems to me that you don’t think I should have anything much at all.’

  Ethan shrank back. Rebecca had never talked to him like that before; few people did. No, this was a change from her usual compliant self. His dumbstruck reaction amused her; he actually took a few seconds to recover.

  ‘Well...well, I suppose you could keep a few other items,’ he finally managed to blurt out.

  ‘A few other items,’ Rebecca was incensed. ‘What items have you already proposed I keep?’ she said matter-of-factly, folding her arms to clarify she meant business.

  ‘Well...’ began Ethan, ‘I was thinking...what about the microwave and the blender?’

  ‘Really?’ Rebecca’s sarcasm was plain. ‘So we bought a houseful of furniture together, you made me sell my fridge freezer, bed and a few other things, for which I got a pittance, and you think I should get items with a combined value of a hundred quid? Well, you can think again.’

  Taking advantage of the fact that Ethan appeared staggered by this resourceful, belligerent Rebecca, she said, ‘I want the washing machine, wardrobe, bookcases and that’s just to make up for you making me sell my stuff. Remember, you’re the one who wanted to end this, so you can hardly expect to get all the spoils, too.’

  In the face of this new Rebecca, Ethan backed down. They ran through his list again, with Rebecca being fair, but ensuring she had what she was entitled to.

  ‘My lawyer will be in touch with yours about buying you out,’ Ethan said, as they wound things up.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re happy. I’m glad you split up with me, because you’ve revealed your true colours,’ and with that, Rebecca swung her coat over her shoulders, picked up her bag and left, leaving Ethan standing with his jaw almost reaching the floor.

  Chapter Thirteen

  10th December

  As Natalie walked to work that morning, she was inspired by the number of Christmas tree lights she saw in the houses she passed. Several people had decorated the trees outside their homes, whether they were Christmas trees or not, so strings of white lights could be found hanging from ash, beech and elm trees, as well as the expected firs. It made Natalie’s heart soar to see the spirit of the season embraced in this way. Everyone was happier at Christmas, well not everyone, but generally speaking people showed more goodwill towards their fellow men and women.

  On the way back from work yesterday she’d stopped in at the garden centre and ordered a small Christmas tree to be delivered to the bakery the following day. So she carried a large bag containing Christmas lights, an angel, and lastly, an assortment of baubles from all over the world. Some were handmade or bespoke, others were valuable, such as the snowflake with twenty six diamonds inlaid and two ruby encrusted rings circling it, whilst others had sentimental value; the paper angel her great-niece had made for her, a fine example. Natalie had been collecting baubles all her life; some people collected stamps, others Pokemon figures or football stickers, she collected Christmas decorations.

  Natalie spent the early part of the morning mixing and tasting, measuring ingredients and refining flavours. She was also working on her latest Christmas cake of the day - Tronco de Navidad - a firm Spanish favourite. It kind of resembled a yule log - layers of creamy mousse with a thick chocolate frosting. Grooves made it resemble the bark of a tree, and mushrooms, raspberries, and holly leaves all made of marzipan adorned it. Natalie had thought it particularly fitting for today, as the Yule log placed in the hearth was supposed to burn for the twelve days of Christmas and here they were, twelve days before Christmas, by European standards if not by British. She’d always preferred the European custom of making Christmas Eve the big occasion, unlike the British way of only celebrating on the twenty-fifth. It was probably because she wasn’t much good at containing her excitement.

  Jacob hadn’t felt so happy in a long time. Having a job to go to every day, even if it was only working in a bakery, gave him a sense of purpose and belonging. To someone who had often felt unwelcome in his own home, as if he were somehow a nuisance, spending time in this busy but relaxed bakery was balm to his soul. Natalie was a great boss to work for - really kind, a genuinely good person, plus he was getting to know the locals as he had never done in the past. He was amazed at how interesting he found old people and he didn’t mean people in their fifties, but those in their late sixties and above. In retrospect he supposed he should have considered them more exciting in the past - they’d been around a long time, but it simply had never occurred to him that they would have anything in common. He’d heard such stories from friends who had grandparents, of being bored rigid by stories of the war, but he discovered that they didn’t only talk about the war, but politics, too, in which he was very interested. They discussed old movies, from well before his time, but which he enjoyed, with screen greats like Clark Gable, Rita Hayworth and James Stewart. They spoke of how travel had been difficult, life before the internet, before cars were commonplace, before TV, for goodness sake. Jacob couldn’t imagine life without any of these things, so he lapped up their stories.

  Every time the door opened, Jacob wondered if it would be Rebecca. It had been a few days since her last visit and he hoped he hadn’t seen the last of her.

  At twelve thirty, a harassed Sophie entered the bakery, cheeks ruddy with cold, her blonde hair piled on top of her head.

  ‘Hi,’ she spoke first to Natalie, who had walked towards her. ‘I just wanted to thank you both for the other day. And I thought you might want to know how Meredith was doing. Sorry I haven’t been in before, it’s been a bit manic,’ she said, as she unwound her scarf and draped it and her coat over a nearby chair.

  ‘No need to apologise, my dear,’ Natalie told her, ‘So how is she?’

  ‘She’s stable. Still in hospital. She has pneumonia.’

  ‘Pneumonia, eh? That is serious,’ Natalie shook her head. ‘Poor woman.’

  ‘Yes, well, the doctors have said she might be able to get out by the end of the week, as long as she has someone to care for her at home. But she lives alone, so her sister has offered to put her up.’

  ‘That’s what families are for. She’s lucky to have such an accommodating family.’

  ‘You’re not kidding. Amelia’s great, but she has four
kids. I don’t know how she’s going to manage, but she’s assured the doctors she will.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear she’s getting better. And what about you, are you taking care of yourself?’ Natalie asked.

  Sophie was touched. No-one ever asked her how she was doing. They just assumed she would get on with it. She felt tears threaten behind her eyes, and bit her lip to prevent herself from crying. The truth was she felt stressed-out, which was why she had come to the bakery to sit in and have a latte and a piece of cake, before returning to the madhouse which was a dynamic company without its CEO at the helm, with no-one except Sophie to assume responsibility, even though she was only a lowly assistant. Meredith had been so intent on not trusting anyone to do anything, she hadn’t allowed for the eventuality that one day she might not be in a position to manage everything herself.

  Although Sophie was rising to the challenge, she had all but slept at the office the past few days. She’d also been at the hospital twice to see how Meredith was doing; pale and a lesser version of herself, pitiful, were the words which came to mind. Always so strong and well, scary, to see Meredith in a position of weakness didn’t compute.

  ‘I’m surviving, just,’ Sophie replied, ‘Thanks for asking. It hasn’t been easy and I daresay it’ll get worse before it gets better, but I’ll manage somehow.’ Returning to the other reason she was here, Sophie asked if she could have a slice of the cake of the day and a latte. ‘I’m going to sit in today.’

  ‘Quite right, too. You need a little break,’ agreed Natalie. ‘Jacob will bring you your order shortly.’

  Jacob, who had been standing beside Natalie, and had overheard the conversation, but had been serving other customers, smiled warmly at Sophie.

  She looks tired, he thought, although he liked the way she had done her hair today. It didn’t occur to him that Sophie had pinned her hair up in a haphazard fashion that morning, as it was the quickest thing to do.

  Since he had no great plans today, and the weather was miserable, Stanley decided he would go through his photo albums. He’d never got around to cataloguing many of them properly, so today he was going to sort them out. He’d just make himself a nice cup of tea first and read a bit of his book. He was finding it a bit more hard going than some of the author’s previous books, as it was technology related, a subject about which Stanley knew little.