Wish Upon A Christmas Cake

I was about to start the engine when it dawned on me that I’d forgotten something. I chewed my lip, wondering what I hadn’t packed. Then I realized and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I flung open the car door and ran back into the shop with Ann hot on my heels. I skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree and my heart hammered as I spotted the tiny pink bear. I couldn’t believe that I’d nearly forgotten it. I unhooked the gold string from the branch and cradled the bear in my palm. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without it. The well-worn toy had always been important to me but this year it was even more so because it had been a gift from my Granny the Christmas I’d been pregnant. She’d told me to hang it on the tree that year because I’d found out at my second scan that I was expecting a girl. She’d been just as excited as I was. My throat ached as I pictured her grin when I’d confided in her that Sam and I were expecting. She’d been the first person I’d told after we found out.

I was going to miss that little old lady deeply.

So this year, having the bear with me was even more important as it would remind me of my baby and my Granny. I absolutely had to take it.

Ann had been silent and still behind me, but she now placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘You okay?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Yeah. Just…’

‘I know, Katie. It’s important that you take the bear with you.’

‘It’s silly, isn’t it?’ I squeaked.

Ann rubbed my back. ‘Not at all. Whatever helps us to deal with the pain is never silly. Are you all right to drive?’

I nodded. ‘Now I am.’

She walked back to the car with me and watched as I tucked the bear in my handbag.

‘Drive carefully, Katie. Love you!’

I blew her a kiss then watched her waving in the rear-view mirror before I pulled out into the traffic and set off.

My sat nav claimed that the journey from West Hampstead to Penshurst should take about an hour and twenty minutes. The manor house we would be staying in belonged to a film director friend of Karl. The director, whose name Karl had dropped during a recent phone call but which I couldn’t recall, was apparently famous for making those teen slasher movies. I probably didn’t know who he was because I wasn’t fussed on said films, preferring a rom-com any day. I’ve always been a sucker for a happy ending and can’t stand to watch anything that involves limbs being sawn off or men in masks chasing ridiculously naïve characters around crumbling old houses. But the generous American director had kindly invited Karl to use his English residence over the holidays, so I wasn’t going to complain. Apparently, the listed building was rarely used by the owner himself, but had featured in a variety of movies from Jane Austen remakes to World War Two epics, to a recent box office hit about an English family who all went mad during the zombie apocalypse and ended up killing each other before the zombies even started hammering on the front door. The thought of the last one made me shudder. I just hoped that Christmas wouldn’t be too crazy for the Warhams and that none of us would be forced into the insanity of murder or munching on brains.

Driving along, I peered at the sky. For weeks we’d had miserable grey drizzle that made the air heavy and damp and chilled me to the bone. Despite the bookies’ predictions, there had been no signs of snow, other than the sweet crisp frosting on our bestselling homemade Christmas cakes. Ann and I had made them using my Granny’s old recipe that she’d had from her own grandmother. Using Granny’s recipes – for puddings, cakes and mincemeat – had also made me feel closer to her, as if in baking the same things that she’d once done, I could conjure up her spirit like a medieval sorceress and feel her comforting presence in the Crumbtious kitchen. Inevitably, I’d cried a few times as I’d pored through the handwritten recipes that she’d glued into a scrapbook many years before, but I’d told myself it was okay to do so as I’d been treasuring memories not wallowing in pain.

We’d sold so many cakes that we’d had to whip up several more batches in the run-up to Christmas, which wasn’t easy when they were supposed to rest and mature, soaked in brandy, for as long as possible. But supply and demand had spurred us into frenzied action. Once the cakes had been iced, I’d enjoyed placing the tiny decorations on top of them; the fat little snowmen with their hats and scarves, the green Christmas trees and the holly wreaths. There was so much to enjoy about baking cakes then decorating them, it was an art in itself, and I got to do it on a daily basis.

Since yesterday, I’d noticed a drop in the temperature and the clouds seemed to have that heavy appearance, as if they were filled with the white stuff. The MET office forecast had remained rather vague over recent days, as they were reluctant to commit to a weather warning with so many people about to travel home, or away, for the holidays. But it definitely looked like a white Christmas was a possibility. My stomach flipped and I let out a giggle. Ridiculous to be excited at the thought of snow at my age, but it always takes me back to my childhood when we seemed to have heavy white falls that lasted for weeks and gave us countless fun-filled days off school. How I used to love extra days off, especially when I was in high school and we were overloaded with homework by grumpy teachers who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than we did. They had been good times, the white winters. Even my mother had loosened up a bit and gotten into the Christmas spirit.

I’d grown up in a comfortable five bed in a quiet cul-de-sac in Sevenoaks, Kent. Dad was the provider and Mum stayed home to keep house and raise the kids. Very traditional. Quite old fashioned. But it worked for them. Karl was born four years before me and he was the golden boy. I think I knew the moment I was born – no, make that the moment I was conceived, that I would be a disappointment. The fly in his ointment. The sprout to his roast potato. The penny to his pound. Not for Karl himself. I knew that my older brother adored me. It was my mother who seemed to resent my arrival. And even now, although I brushed it off most days and got on with my life, whenever I actually thought about her attitude, it could still hurt and confuse me.

Esther was, to all appearances, the perfect wife and mother. She kept the house spotlessly clean, kept herself toned and tanned, and ensured that Karl and I washed behind our ears and did our homework every evening before dinner. She attended parents’ evenings and sporting events. She accompanied our father on his law firm nights out, to golf dinners and charity fundraising events. It all appeared to be ideal. But as with all things that seem to be flawless, there was something wrong, something missing. I’d known it as a child but had been too young to understand quite what it was. Plus, as most children do, I’d blamed myself for the lack of maternal affection directed my way. I wasn’t pretty enough, good enough at ballet, I was tone deaf and, try as I might, I just couldn’t get the hang of algebra. Then, in my early twenties, I went and confirmed all of Esther’s suspicions about me by getting pregnant.

I leant forwards and turned up the heat in the car. Yes, there was definitely something cold about my mother and it had made me sad growing up. But reaching my thirties, I’d decided to try to accept her as she was. I only had one mother and she’d been consistent at least. Not everyone has a mother who loves them. I’d watched enough Oprah and Jeremy Kyle to know that. It’s a very sad fact of life and it happens in the animal kingdom all the time; I can’t bear to watch a nature documentary where the female abandons the weakest of her young. However, I also reminded myself how lucky I was because I’d had Karl, my father and Granny offering me love and support throughout my life.

As if on cue, my bag started buzzing on the passenger seat. I reached for it and felt around, making sure that I kept my eyes on the road. I brought my mobile in front of the wheel and glanced at it. I had a text from Karl but I couldn’t check it now. He was probably just asking what time I’d arrive. As if catching me out, the tinny female voice of my sat nav suddenly spoke, making me jump and drop my phone into the foot well.

‘There are long-term roadworks on the M25 between junction thirty and junction two. Expect delays.’

‘Dammit! You stupid machine – look what you made me do.’ I scowled at the device as I moved my left foot around, trying to locate my phone through the thick sole of my boot. The journey would take twice as long now and it was already five-thirty. Esther wouldn’t be happy at all if I was later than expected. The car in front of me suddenly braked, so I followed suit. Then waited. And waited. The traffic wasn’t going anywhere.

I leant forwards to locate my mobile and hit my head on the steering wheel which caused the horn to beep. My cheeks burned instantly. I kept my head down just in case any of the other drivers thought I’d been signalling my impatience with the wait and fumbled around until I found my mobile then popped it back in my bag. I rubbed my head where I’d bumped it but it throbbed uncomfortably. Keen for some distraction, I turned the radio on and some irritating dance track boomed through the car making my seat shake and my head hurt even more.

‘Er, no thank you.’ I changed the station and sank into my seat as Adele’s beautiful voice crooned away. I sang through a few of the love songs played on the local radio show before the traffic started moving again. I slipped the gear stick into first, then second, then…Ouch! A sudden shard of ice pierced my chest as Faith Hill’s ‘Breathe’ began. I’d forgotten how much the song made me remember – I usually required wine, cake and ice cream to survive it. ‘Breathe’ was one of my favourite songs in the early days of my relationship with Sam. It perfectly summed up how I felt about him and how whenever I was with him, everything else just seemed to fade away. I’d spent hours just lying with my head on his chest listening to him breathe and to the steady comforting sound of his heart. He’d been my first in more ways than one: my first proper kiss, my first love and my first lover. It had been nine years since we broke up but, deep down, I knew that I’d never feel that way about anyone else and, to be honest, I didn’t want to. Letting go of him and of what we had hurt so badly that I’d truly believed I would die. I never, ever wanted to go through that amount of pain again.

I quickly pressed the CD button. Yes, there we are, Seasick Steve would have to do for the rest of the journey. His gravelly voice would drag me from memories that were best not dwelt on.

The remainder of the drive passed without too much bother, or perhaps I just tuned out and went onto autopilot, because I soon found myself in Penshurst. My tinny-voiced companion – who I’m sure became more and more uptight as the evening wore on – directed me to the country estate and, before I knew it, I was ascending a gravel driveway the width of the M4. This movie director must be seriously minted. The impressive driveway was lit by Victorian-style street lamps on either side and I felt like I was driving into another time. Perhaps I had actually driven into the past and would have a true Dickensian Christmas. Wasn’t it Dickens who idealised the festive season at some point and made us all dream of the perfect white Christmas with a perfect happy family sat around a perfect roast dinner? Dickens, I love you! Really, truly I do because I love Christmas and all the little traditions that we now enjoy. It’s just the best time of the year.

As the driveway curved to the right, I felt the steering wheel lighten under my touch and I gasped as the car skidded on a patch of ice. Within seconds, everything was within my control again and I laughed at my momentary panic, though my heart continued to thud furiously for a while longer. I passed under an archway of ancient elm trees that glistened with frost, then the house came into view and literally stole my breath away. I mean, I had Googled it, but even so, in the flesh – or rather the brick – it was fabulous. The same lamps that had adorned the lower half of the driveway lit up the front of the house, highlighting the warm red of the bricks and the startling white of the sash windows. I could see why they’d chosen this location for the remakes of Pride and Prejudice and Emma. I pictured myself in a high-waisted white morning gown with a lilac satin spencer, my wavy brown hair loosely pinned, Mr Knightley running towards me, his muscular arms outstretched as I skipped along…

I couldn’t see any cars so I followed the gravel path around the left of the house until I came to some outbuildings. There, in what looked like a large open barn, I spotted my family’s cars. All of them. It looked like I was the last one to arrive. My stomach churned. Great. Now I’d have to make an entrance and seeing as how it was nearly seven, they’d probably have started on pre-dinner drinks too. I stopped the car outside the barn. I could avoid all this, just drive straight back to the flat, step into my onesie and open a tub of mint choc chip. The idea was appealing but then the thought of ruining Ann’s romantic Christmas made me start the engine again. I must be brave and stalwart. I must go onwards. I must make this a good Christmas for everyone.

I parked, climbed out and hitched my stretchy jeans up over my tummy, wriggling from side to side as I did so, then I opened the boot. As I reached over to lift out the box of cakes, I heard footsteps behind me.

‘Hi there. Need a hand?’

The voice was deep, soft and knee-tremblingly sexy. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, it sparked a memory. Sensations. Emotions. Tummy butterflies. Then I realised that whoever it was would be getting a good view of my butt and I did a mental sigh.

I turned slowly – taking care not to bump my already tender head, as I brought the box from the boot – and saw the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. I could have ironed a king-sized duvet cover on it. I gripped the box tighter, suddenly afraid that my wanton fingers would release it in their hurry to caress those gorgeous pecs so obvious beneath the tight-fitting grey polo shirt.

‘Are you okay?’ That voice again like melted chocolate, running through my fingers, over my tongue. My legs started shaking. Get a grip, Katie. Look up. See who it is. Although I already knew. I raised my eyes slowly, memorizing every muscle beneath the clothing that I didn’t want to be there and saw…

‘Sam? Is that really you?’ My stomach dropped to my boots.

‘Let me take that box before you drop it.’ He went to remove it from my hands but my fingers stubbornly held on. He tried again and I willed myself to release it, but my hands just refused to comply. Sam smiled as a flush spread over his face. Suddenly, as he tugged again, I let go and the box jolted into the air, only stopped from going over Sam’s shoulder by his quick reactions. Baked goods, however, escaped in all directions and I stared, open-mouthed, as cinnamon and cranberry muffins, mince pies and white chocolate Florentines rolled off into the darkness.

Sam carefully lowered the box and checked its contents. I ground my teeth together, overwhelmed by disbelief at how I failed to have control over my own body at the most crucial of moments. It was as if I went into useless mode whenever I really, really, really wanted to be at my calmest and coolest.

Stupid hands!Stupid brain!Stupid heart!

‘Still quite a few cakes in there so you didn’t lose everything.’ Sam nodded at the box that was now much less of a peace offering for my mother than it had been five minutes ago. ‘Sorry about that. I was just trying to help because it looked heavy. And…uh…yeah it’s me. Been a while eh, Katie?’

I gazed at his huge frame and tree-trunk thick arms that made the box I’d had to stretch to hold look like a shoe box. Sam hadn’t been this big when we were younger. I mean, he was Karl’s slightly geeky, funny friend. Always up to mischief, always making us laugh. He’d been a good-looking teenager, in spite of braces up and down, no doubt about it. I’d harboured a crush on him and been convinced that I loved him for the best part of my adolescence then that had developed into more, but now… ‘You’re a man.’

‘What?’ He grinned and his chocolate brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

Did I say that out loud?

‘Uh…what I mean is…you’re all grown up.’ No better!

I tugged my jumper down over my jeans as my cheeks burnt with heat. Why did some people just get better with age but some got softer and more dimpled?

‘Yes, Katie, that tends to happen as the years pass. I’m thirty-six now, same as Karl. I guess that’s quite grown up.’ He shifted the box to one side. ‘Do you need help with your bags?’

‘No I can manage, thank you. I’ll just grab my holdall.’ I pulled it from the boot, glad to have a moment to hide my face which I knew would be all red and blotchy by now, then retrieved my handbag. What was Sam Fairfax doing here at the Warham family Christmas? Other than making me all jittery, throwing my cakes around a barn and stoking a flame in my belly that I hadn’t felt in quite some time.

Oh those shoulders, that chest, those eyes… It had been such a long time since I’d seen him.

Sam…

Could I cope being near him again? Would he still hate me for leaving him? Would this all be too much on top of losing Granny or would it be some kind of welcome distraction? My stomach churned as I realized that I had no idea how this would affect Christmas.

Realising that I was just standing in the middle of a cold barn staring at my former lover – rather rudely he must think – I slung my bag over my shoulder then locked the car. The ceiling of the open barn was lit with those harsh tube lights and I became suddenly conscious of the fact that it was probably showing up the roots of my hair where the random whites were fast emerging from the dye. If I’d known that we were having attractive friends over for Christmas, then I’d have made more of an effort, maybe tried to resist the mince pies we’d been selling for the past six weeks. But they were so yummy and I had to test our produce before we sold it. Besides, I’d been convinced that there was no point in denying myself some comfort foods in the run up to Christmas. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see me naked anyway.

‘Everyone else is inside but I was just taking some air,’ Sam explained. ‘There’s quite a crowd of Warhams here.’ I watched his breath emerge like white smoke as it hit the chilly air of the barn.