Page 59 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Carla raised her eyebrows at Kate.
“You just caved and said you’d help him, didn’t you,” she said.
“Maybe,” said Kate.
Carla shook her head laughing.
“You are such a sucker.”
Kate was about to argue when the door chime jangled and continued to do so incessantly, as the café filled up with early-bird Christmas shoppers needing a fix before hitting the mall in Great Blexley. The noise level rose instantly from quiet to carnival.
“Oh my God!” Carla paled. “Petula’s not in till half ten!”
Kate sighed.
“Give me a check pad and pen,” she said.
Carla grinned and kissed her on the cheek.
“I wouldn’t want you thinking I was only a sucker for Matt,” said Kate.
Kate ran around taking orders and serving, while Carla worked up a head of steam at the coffee machine and doled out cakes. An hour passed by and they still hadn’t stopped.
Christmas tunes belted out of the stereo, kids drew pictures on the steamy windows, and the Christmas tree jangled as friends jostled past it, greeting one another. Woolen hats and gloves were strewn across every table and the backs of chairs bulged with parkas and puffers and wax jackets.
At ten o’clock there was a short lull as the regulars left for their day of shopping mayhem. Kate and Carla attacked the clearing up; the dishwasher pushed out great clouds of steam.
At ten fifteen the café was besieged again, this time with townies dropping in for a pit stop on their way to the manor, having walked up the hill from Great Blexley. It was bedlam, but good-humored bedlam. Many remarked how they’d never been to the Pear Tree Café but that they’d definitely be back.
By eleven o’clock the Pear Tree was quiet again and Petula had arrived with a homemade roulade, a mincemeat tart, and a batch of spice biscuits, which was just as well as the chiller had been almost cleaned out already.
Petula whipped a tape measure out of her pocket and quick as a flash wrapped it around Kate’s chest.
“I want to make sure these haven’t grown since last year,” she said, nodding at Kate’s boobs. “I’ve come up with something this year that will blow your socks off!”
Kate laughed.
“I’m intrigued,” she said. She genuinely was.
“It’ll be ready in a couple of days,” said Petula. “I had to order in more sequins.”
Kate left just as the first snowflakes began to flurry around the green and squeezed herself through a hole in the fence behind the Duke’s Head that led out near her dad’s cottage.
“What’ll you do if I ever get that fence fixed?” shouted Barry. Kate looked up. Barry was leaning over the top of the fire escape, with a steaming mug in one hand that readThe Bossand a fat cigar in the other. Kate grinned and waved.
“Hi, Barry,” she called.
“You’re not too old for me to put you across my knee,” he said.
“You’ll have to catch me first!” she shouted back, and disappeared through the hole and into the alley on the other side.
“Say hello to Mac for me!” Barry bellowed after her. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head with his cigar hand. “Some things never change,” he said to himself.
•••••
Kate knocked three times on her dad’s front door and then let herself in with her key. His cottage was what she’d call chintzy; she never really understood why he didn’t change it, but he said he didn’t want it to lose its essence. William Morris wallpaper covered most of the walls and the furniture was Laura Ashley floral, as were the curtains. The carpet was a most luxurious weave with underlay so soft, your feet sank as you walked.
He rented it from Evelyn, who’d inherited it from her aunt, but Evelyn had always lived in the large flat above the shop and was determined to stay there. She liked being at the heart of everything that happened in the village, in mind, spirit, and body.
