Page 22 of Christmas Ever After
‘I’ll let you know when I think of it, but I’m pretty sure it involves mince pies, gingerbread and Panettone,’ he says with a laugh and then looks around like he’s hunting for something. ‘And Christmas music. Why is there no Christmas music on in this place?’
‘Because…’ I search for an answer, but the truth is, because I’ve let it slide, like most other things around here. The passion I once had for all things Christmas has faded, and I don’t know how things got to be like this. I love Christmas, I’ve always loved Christmas, despite the family politics and massive amount of work in December, but meeting someone who loves it as much as Raff does has made me realise how much I’ve fallen out of love with the festive season.
He holds an arm out in the direction of the back room, silently asking if he can go through, and I make sure the camera is turned on in the shop so I can see anyone coming in without having to worry about hearing the door over the noise of the machinery, and then follow him. My smile reappears when I see he’s already donned his safety goggles and has got the face shield on but pushed up over his head, his hair all smooshed up around it, and now he’s taken his hoodie off, underneath he’s wearing a pair of paint-stained overalls, and he looks so sexy that it makes my mouth go dry. Maybe I’ve accidentally swallowed a mouthful of sawdust because there’s no way I’m thinkingagainabout Raphael Dardenne being attractive. Sawdust, that must be it.
His phone is on the workbench, playing Christmas music, and he’s singing along to ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ even though the noise of the lathe will soon drown it out.
I sent him home with lathe usage instructions, and he must’ve studied last night, because he marks out the centre of awooden blank, puts it onto the spindle, and then secures it with the spur on the tailstock.
I love how eager he is to get started. It makes me realise how long it’s been since I saw this as anything other than a job. I used to be excited to get to work every morning. I used to sit on the bus, mentally planning out what I was going to make that day, thinking about orders and how to bring customers’ nutcracker requests to life. I would have time just to play – to spin the wood and create fancy flourishes for nutcrackers’ arms and pretty patterns for their boots, funny torso indentations or quirky hat shapes, and Ilovedevery second of it. How long has it been since I did that? How long since I had time to do anything other than fulfil orders and make the same old tried-and-tested shape nutcrackers to fill the shop with stock?
When he’s done, I double-check everything and give him an approving nod, and he slides onto the bench and pats the space beside him. He pulls the face shield down, and I slip mine on too and sit next to him.
He positions the tool rest and starts the lathe on a slow speed, nudging his arm against mine when the wood starts turning, and then picks up the gouging chisel and starts shaving it down, removing layer after layer of wood, each one shearing off like the wood is shrugging off a jacket. He hasn’t mentioned what he’s trying to do, but he seems like a man on a mission, and I’m intrigued by what he’s going to come up with.
‘You clearly have a vision.’ I wait as he stops the machine to inspect the now-cylindrical bit of wood before speaking, and the sound of the Christmas music from his phone filters back to my ears. It’s ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ now. You can’t really avoid Christmas music on this street, most shops play it year-round, and I’ve convinced myself I’ve had enough of it by now, but I haven’t heard this song for ages, and I listen to it as I sit there, tapping my foot to the jolly beat, enjoying the change.
‘Yeah. I thought of something last night – something I’ve made in miniature many times out of clay but would be a great way to practise woodturning too,’ he says, before asking me to double-check if the wood is ready to start the more intricate carving.
‘A little more off here, it’s not quite even. You’ll get better at judging it.’ I point out the wonky bits as he starts the machine again.
I’m trying not to watch him as he works, but his overall sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the gloves end at his wrists, so his forearms are covered in the wood dust that’s coming off, and it’s hard not to gawk. I can imagine those arms with a tan in the summer, can imagine him stripping his shirt off, the solid chest I leant against the other day, with a smattering of dark hair, the strong biceps… Is there something about overalls? They’re designed to cover so much that they have the unintentional opposite effect of somehow making you picture the wearer withfewerclothes?
It’s not just about clothes though. I’ve never really looked at Raff before, at least, not well enough to see who he isunderneaththe front he puts on. I still haven’t got my head around how he’s going to all this trouble to help me, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what he said last night. How disillusioned and resigned he sounded, and how I’m pretty sure that no one knows what’s going on behind the wide smile that Raff shows to the other shopkeepers.
‘Who’s looking after your shop today?’ I ask when he stops the machine again, trying to get back onto the topic he unintentionally opened up about last night.
‘My brother-in-law, Quentin. My sister’s having her second child, so him being made redundant is the worst possible timing for them, and there’s not much going in the way of jobs before the Christmas holidays. He’ll have a better chance of finding anew job in January, and he’s more than happy to cover Love Is All A-Round for me in the meantime.’
‘Isn’t Love Is All A-Round kind of a daft name? I mean, snow globes aren’t really round, are they?’
‘No? What would you call them then?’
‘Well, they’re sort of… er… dome-shaped? Sphere-shaped?’
‘Globe-shaped, some might say. The clue tends to be in the name.’ His voice is uneven where he’s trying to hold back a laugh. ‘Love Is All A… Smooth Spherical Shape doesn’t have the same ring to itorwork for a play on the song title though, does it? And what about the world? People don’t say they travel around the world in a sphere-shaped fashion, do they? You goroundthe world and, what do you know, the world is also known as aglobe, hence Love Is All A-Round.’ He gives up on holding back the laugh and it bursts out, making my cheeks flush for bringing it up in the first place, even though I’m trying not to look at the way his eyes crinkle up at the edges.
Raff changed the shop name when he took over eighteen months ago, before that when his grandfather ran it, it was just known by their company name Dardenne Snow Globes, and it’s always aggravated me because now I can’t walk past without getting the Wet Wet Wet song stuck in my head.
‘How about we take a raincheck on this whole arch-nemesis thing?’ He reaches over to pat my knee and leaves a big, sawdusty handprint on my trousers. ‘You don’t have to pick holes in everything I do any more. I’m going to be here every day for the foreseeable future, so it would be easier on us both if we tolerated each other. And don’t worry, if you take leave of your senses and start thinking I’m not that bad after all, I promise I’ll do something horrible and morally corrupt to restore the universe to its natural equilibrium.’
I don’t intend to laugh, but nothing I do when it comes to Raff has been what I’ve intended lately. I’m about to scold himwhen I hear the bell tinkle above the door and spot a customer coming in on the camera feed.
‘Don’t break anything,’ I say instead as I get up and leave him alone with the lathe.
‘I assure you, I’ve broken enough things for one week,’ he calls after me, wiggling his fingers and making me laugh despite myself.
‘Oh, you poor dear.’ The woman who has come into the shop clasps her hands together sympathetically. ‘I thought it was you when I saw the video. How embarrassing!’
My cheeks go instantly red at the thought of the video and how many more people have seen it – well over 30,000 now, according to Mrs Bloom – and how many more of them are likely to recognise me.
The bell in my Santa hat jingles as she looks around, comments about wishing she could both affordandtransport one of the six-foot-tall nutcrackers home, and eventually chooses two nutcrackers from the shelves that she tells me are for her son and daughter. ‘I bet I can’t ask you to gift-wrap these for me, can I?’
I hold up my splint and wince, and then bend down to get a coupon from under the counter. ‘Pop over to All Wrapped Up, they’ll wrap anything for you and make it look so perfect that it could be a Christmas movie prop, and any purchases made on Ever After Street are done for 50 per cent off.’
Since Mandy opened her gift-wrap shop, everyone on Ever After Street and Christmas Ever After has joined in the co-op to have everything gift-wrapped there, because quite frankly, she does it better than anyone else and even the most bulky and awkward-shaped gifts come out in neat ribbon-tied boxes adorned with bows and frills and sparkly bits.
The customer thanks me and leaves, and I go back to the workshop where Raff is shearing his wooden cylinder into threedistinct sections, although I’ve still got no idea what he’s trying to make.
