Page 13 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
‘These will be better than supermarket rolls,’ said Christa with a smile. ‘Want to see how I make them?’
‘Yes,’ the boys shouted.
‘Wash your hands and then let’s get baking,’ she instructed.
Every step of the way the boys asked her what she was doing. She let them knead the dough and then punch the air from them, which they took great pleasure in.
And then she set them aside to rise.
‘Is that how bread is made?’ one of the boys asked. ‘I never knew that. Mum doesn’t like carbs. She says they’re bad.’
Christa shook her head. She had no idea what carbs were at ten, let alone calling them bad. She knew it as bread or potato and that was that.
‘How did you learn to make bread?’ asked Seth.
‘I was taught by a lovely Italian man who owned a bakery that I worked at when I was at school,’ she said.
‘Did you just make bread?’ asked Ethan, as she worked.
‘Nope, I made all sorts of yummy things like Italian donuts and biscotti, which is lovely with coffee.’
‘Why did you have a job when you were at school?’ asked Ethan. ‘Is that even allowed?’
Christa smiled at him. ‘Yes it allowed and it’s good to work and earn your own money. The people who owned the bakery gave me a job right through school. I was very lucky. There is nothing like the smell of freshly baked bread,’ she said to the twins.
She remembered that was the scent that stopped her on her way home from school. The smell of bread was hypnotic, causing her to stop and look at the window.
Il Forno, the fancy gold lettering on the sign had read. A handwritten note with Help Wanted on a brown paper bag was taped to the window below the gold writing.
‘Have we been to a bakery?’ Seth asked Ethan.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ethan with a frown.
‘What do they look like?’ asked Seth.
Christa thought about Il Forno. ‘This was an Italian-style bakery, not an American-style, so instead of shelves, there were baskets of bread and rolls and loaves of all shapes and sizes. Some had olives in them. Some had herbs on top. And they were all delicious.’
‘I like olives, but Ethan hates them,’ said Seth.
The boys played with the measuring spoons as Christa told them about the Italian croissants, different types of biscotti and panettone in the prettiest boxes she had ever seen.
The boys listened and watched her intently as she peeled the potatoes.
With the potatoes dried, ready to be turned into pommes frites, she looked inside the refrigerator and thought about Adam and his husband and boss’s dinner.
She picked up a container of eggs complete with feathers attached. Real eggs, she thought.
‘Do you have chickens here?’ she asked the boys who were now warring with their hockey sticks.
‘No idea,’ they said in unison.
Seth added, ‘We’ve only been here a few days and it’s rained every day. And Dad won’t come out walking because he’s busy with work.’ They were back to skating around the kitchen now, which was slightly dizzying for Christa as she tried to spot who was who again.
‘Can you stop skating please? If you’re in the kitchen you have to learn that there are hot liquids, sharp knives and people carrying things. You can’t carry on like this or I will have to let you go and find other twins who can work respectfully.’
The boys stopped skating and came back to the bench.
‘Do you know any other twins?’ they asked, looking at her suspiciously.
