Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall by Kate Forster
14
The next day Christa swung open the garden gate outside Petey’s house with her foot, while carrying some potato and leek soup from Bill’s harvest and some fresh soft white rolls she had made that afternoon.
She knocked at the door of the plain little house and waited.
Zane had given her Petey’s address somewhat reluctantly but she promised she wasn’t up to anything more sinister than trying to give the older man something nourishing to eat while he was ill.
The door opened a little and she saw Petey’s face.
‘Christa,’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Zane said you were sick, so I have some soup and bread and maybe a slice of chocolate cake. If you’re hungry, of course, or you have it later when you’re feeling better.’
Petey opened the door wider. ‘Come in, come in. I could eat an oven door if it were buttered,’ he said, his lilting accent making her smile.
Christa followed him into the warm house and down to the kitchen, which was neat as a pin.
There were signs of a female’s touch in the house, with tea towels and oven mitts matching the yellow gingham curtains on the window above the sink.
‘What a pretty kitchen,’ she said, as she placed the bag of food onto the table.
‘Oh, that’s my Annie’s doing, she was always good at the things to make a house a home,’ he said as she sat down at the table with a sigh. His head still sounded as though it was filled with cold and he had a slight rasp to his voice.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Christa said quietly.
‘She’s been gone a few years now. Cancer, terrible thing. She started making the fudge and did so well. All her recipes are the ones I still use today.’
He shook his head as though trying to remove the memories. ‘Want a brew? I can make a pot.’
‘Only if I make it. Now let me get this soup warmed for you and the bread buttered so the oven door is safe and then we can chat.’
Christa busied herself and soon Petey was eating his soup, giving a running commentary on the taste, the flavour, the viscosity. He raptured over the softness of the rolls and then finished his symphony of compliments with a rondo about the chocolate cake with the strong tea.
‘You must have been a very good cook in London,’ said Petey. ‘Your little place must have been the place for everyone to go.’
Christa smiled. Usually she corrected people when they called her a cook because it was meant as a put-down but Petey’s comment couldn’t be further from that.
‘I did okay,’ she said. ‘I ran it with my ex-husband, although he got most of the glory.’ She scoffed thinking of Simon’s excitement every time he was mentioned in a review.
‘Men always do,’ Petey replied. ‘Even with my Annie’s recipes, and her name on the label, people still think it’s all me. I stopped correcting them because then I have to tell them she died and that just makes me sad.’
Christa nodded.
‘I understand. My dad didn’t like to talk to people about my mum after she died.’
‘So what are you going to do when you’ve finished cooking for the fancy man on the hill?’
Christa was surprised he cared but they had connected when they worked at the food van and at the market the way old souls do. Seeing the same values in one another about food, and compassion and doing what you can with what you have.
She thought for a moment. ‘I think I want to open a place for people to come and eat for nothing. A free restaurant.’ She laughed. ‘Which goes against everything I worked for in London.’
Petey thought for a moment. ‘So they don’t pay nowt?’
‘Nowt, nothing, nada,’ confirmed Christa. ‘But with good food. Nourishing food to help people’s bodies and minds, not just sugary stuff donated, you know? I mean it’s nice of companies and businesses to give it away but there’s nothing in it to help the body. You need to balance it, you know?’
Petey nodded. ‘Like this meal you make. Who wouldn’t be happy after such a feast?’
‘You are too sweet, Petey. Honestly, all these compliments will go to my head.’
She washed up the dishes and put them away according to Petey’s instructions.
‘Who is making the fudge for you, Petey?’ she asked. ‘Are you having a market stall this weekend?’
‘I haven’t made any,’ he said. ‘I might not head down this weekend – a bit cold. The air makes me cough.’
‘You don’t have anyone to help?’ she asked, wondering if he had children or grandchildren.
‘No, it’s just me. Annie and I weren’t blessed with littluns. Shame, too, would have been nice to have a bit of company now and then as I get on.’
Christa nodded sympathetically. ‘Who do you spend Christmas with, Petey?’
‘I help out with the van,’ he said. ‘It’s fine. I like to help out, keeps me mind off my worries.’
Christa wished she could ease his loneliness and the loneliness of every other isolated person in the world. She knew what it was like to be lonely even when in a marriage.
‘I would love to do a big Christmas lunch for families or people without families who were struggling or needed company. I would make beautiful turkeys and hams and vegetables and salads. And delicious fruits with puddings and cakes for a treat.’
Christa closed her eyes. ‘I can see the space. Tall ceilings with individual tables of different sizes. I would have tablecloths, because we all deserve tablecloths and nice cutlery. And there would be Christmas crackers and presents for the children and little packs of sensible things for people like toothbrushes and toothpaste and some vouchers and things people need and use. I think about giving cooking lessons for people, teaching them how to shop and buy smart at the supermarket, making things go further and make them healthy.’
She opened her eyes to see Petey grinning at her.
‘You know, you should look at the old pub on The Street. It’s a grand place and hasn’t had anyone in it for a year or so now. Pop by when you’re on your way back today. I’ll draw you a map.’
Petey pulled out a pad of paper and pen from a drawer behind her and drew a map of the streets from his house to the empty pub, describing each turn carefully and drawing little arrows on the paper. Finally, he finished and he pushed it over to Christa.
‘Go on, have a look and let me know.’
‘Even if it’s perfect, I can’t make something like that happen on my own. I’m not a social worker and haven’t ever run a charity. I wouldn’t know what to do. It’s just a dream really.’
Petey crossed his arms, his face worn, but with a warm expression.
‘Everything is a dream to start with. When Annie started making fudge she never imagined she would one day have a stall at Shambles, and yet we did. You can do if you think about it the right way.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘By thinking about why you want to do it. Annie wanted to sell fudge because she said everyone deserved a little treat. It wasn’t about making money. I used to be a delivery man but eventually I gave up my job to help her. And that worked because I wanted to help her. If the reason is the right one, then it will happen. I’m not a rich man but Annie’s and my success means I don’t have to work but I like to. I like to meet people, people like you.’
Christa held his hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re a lovely man, Petey, really. You remind me of all the good parts of my dad.’
‘Then he must have been a fine fella to have a lass like you.’ She saw his blue eyes glisten a little as he spoke. ‘Now get out of here and let an old man have a nap. Don’t you have a pub to inspect?’