Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall by Kate Forster

18

This time Marc was prepared for the cold with a warmer jacket, a wool cap and gloves, and even thermal underwear on under his clothes.

Still, the wind hit him like a slap when he opened the car door for Christa.

‘Thanks,’ she said, moving around to the back of the car as he opened the boot where they had stored the food containers.

Marc picked up the bags with Christa’s shepherd’s pie, inspired by Peggy, the extra madeleines she had made and some healthy chocolate muesli bar slices.

‘All set?’ he asked and Christa nodded, carrying some extra shopping bags of supplies that she had picked up at the supermarket on the way into town: sanitary items, shower items and packaged food that could be eaten without a stove or an oven.

Marc had paid for everything even though Christa had tried to go halves.

‘It’s the least I can do,’ he’d said, taking her purse from her hands and placing it back in her bag.

The van was setting up when they arrived and Zane met Marc with a firm shake of the hand, setting him to work serving stew and soup inside the van.

They worked for a few hours, occasionally chatting between waves of people coming to the van. Sometimes he saw her glance at him and he smiled at her and she seemed embarrassed to be looking but he knew he was doing the same. When she didn’t notice him, he could watch her talking so easily and kindly to everyone she met. Her laughter with some of the people was like a bell and when she rubbed people’s arms, in sympathy or empathy, he saw in her face her compassion was true.

He saw her hug an older man who kept patting her on the shoulder, and she took his arm in hers and guided him over to the van.

‘Marc, this is Petey, my friend who makes the fudge. Petey this is Marc, who owns Pudding Hall.’

Marc put out his hand to shake and then realised he had a disposable glove on.

‘Don’t worry about it, young fella,’ said Petey. ‘I have been poorly for a few days but started feeling better when Christa brought me soup and cake. She’s a keeper.’

‘She certainly does like to feed people up,’ he said. ‘I’ve put on two kilos since she started.’

Zane called out to Christa and she left Petey with Marc.

‘She’s the most generous girl, and really wants to help people,’ said Petey, smothering a cough.

‘She does,’ agreed Marc. ‘I only found out she was doing this last night.’

Marc served a man some stew while Petey stood to the side of the doorway of the van.

‘Did she show you the old pub I mentioned?’ Petey asked.

‘No, is she planning on going there or buying it?’ he joked.

‘It’s where she should run her dining hall. She has a whole thing planned in her head. I told her about the pub and how it might be the right place, but I don’t know if she’s seen it yet.’

Marc tried to remember if she had mentioned a pub to him when she’d been talking about her dream but he was sure she missed that part.

‘Where is the pub?’ he asked, handing out some soup with a smile to an older woman.

‘Down at the end of The Street, on the banks of the river.’ Petey pointed in the direction of the river. ‘Nowt been in it for a few years. Would be a fine place.’

Before Marc could ask any more, he saw Peggy walking towards the van, rugged up and ignoring everyone but Marc as she came closer.

‘Soup or stew?’ he asked. ‘Or can I tempt you with some shepherd’s pie – not sure where the recipe is from but it’s getting good early press.’

‘Oh you think you’re a laugh don’t you, Mr Ferrier?’ Peggy scoffed. ‘Since you said you and Christa were here, I thought I might be able to help out now and then.’

‘Then you should talk to me,’ said Petey. ‘Peter Chandler, fudge stall owner at Shambles Market, widower, also part-time volunteer here.’

Peggy seemed to assess him from top to toe.

‘Peggy Walker, housekeeper, divorced, and shepherd’s pie maker for tonight’s takeaway contribution.’

Marc wished Christa could see this moment but she was busy talking to Zane. He watched her laughing at something Zane was saying and he wished he could be the one making her laugh right now.

Petey was now showing Peggy the shopping bags of items they were giving out, chatting away while Peggy seemed to inspect everything with an eagle eye.

Christa came back to the van then. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Fine. What were you and Zane chatting about? He seemed to be making you laugh a lot.’ As soon as he said it, he knew he sounded churlish and stupid and tried to fix the sentence.

‘I should chat to him more – he seems like a nice guy.’

But Christa didn’t seem bothered by his comment. ‘He is – he’s lovely. You should definitely get to know him better.’

Christa came into the van and stood by him, helping to serve as the next wave of people came by for supplies and company.

Finally, the people trickled off as rain began to fall. Petey and Peggy had said their goodbyes to each other and to Christa and Marc.

By the time everything was packed up and put away, and Christa and Marc were in the car, he was exhausted.

‘It’s intense work, isn’t it?’ he said as he started the car. ‘And finishes so late.’

Christa took off her gloves and held her hands against the heater vents on the dashboard. ‘It is but it’s important. I don’t mind it. I’m used to the late nights.’

Marc drove through the streets and then down towards the river where Petey had directed him. He had looked up the pub and the address on his phone during a break and saw the potential that Petey had seen.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Christa, looking around the area as he pulled up outside the pub.

‘Why are we here?’ she asked.

‘Petey told me about this pub, said he had told you to look at it for your dining hall idea.’

Christa shrugged. ‘Yes, I did look at it but I don’t have the money or the experience to run such a big project. It would be irresponsible to think I could.’

‘Why couldn’t you?’ Marc challenged. ‘Anything is possible.’

Christa twisted her body towards him. ‘I looked up how many charities fail. People have great intentions but don’t have the infrastructure to do it successfully.’

‘I could help you,’ said Marc. ‘I can fund it.’

‘It’s not about money.’ She sighed. ‘I know what I am capable of and I have limits. I can feed people and care for them and support them but this sort of work requires a really strong infrastructure with policies and processes. We are dealing with people’s lives and mental and physical health.’

They sat in the car and looked at the pub, the moon high above them, shining a spotlight on the old slate roof.

‘It’s a great building,’ he finally said. She was right of course. If she was to do this it needed to be done right. This was more than just funding some endangered trees, which was the kind of philanthropy he usually engaged in.

‘It is,’ she said quietly.

The need to hold her hand was overwhelming and he didn’t stop himself. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

‘I have no doubt you will do this, Christa. You are a truly powerful woman.’ She held on to his hand and squeezed back.

‘And you are a very rich man who means well but has to understand that money can only go so far, though I do appreciate the interest and support. It means a lot. My ex-husband didn’t always think my ideas were good. Actually, he didn’t like any of my ideas unless he was a part of them.’

The car was still running, and he felt warm and safe with Christa, just them against the world under the moon.

‘Insecure people do that,’ he said. ‘Just so you know, I think your ideas are brilliant. In fact, I should offer you a role as my Chief Ideas Officer.’

She laughed but he noticed she didn’t take her hand away. The need to kiss her was intense but he knew that was too much. She hadn’t given him any signal she wanted to be kissed and holding hands didn’t mean anything more than support in the moment. Anyway, what would happen after they kissed? he thought.

Yes he was interested in Christa, but it would have to wait until after she finished working for him. Only then would he ask her out on a date. Hopefully that was something she was interested in.

‘Have you dated much since you split with your ex?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not much of a catch at the moment. Pretty jaded and angry with him and with myself for being so stupid.’

‘Why? What did you do that was stupid?’

She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms.

‘I let my ex take care of the business and I ended up with next to nothing,’ she said. ‘I was wilfully ignorant because I wanted to be looked after. I needed a break but it came at a cost and left me nearly broke. All those years of looking after my dad, paying the bills, making decisions when he was sick and drinking. Helping him back on his feet again only to have him die before I started at Le Cordon Bleu meant I wanted a break from being a parent to a parent. I did this to myself; it was a choice.’

‘But still, what a prick.’ And he meant it. He gave his ex the world and more when she asked for it when they split. Anything to keep her comfortable and the boys well cared for, though his ex had proven to be a less than present mother.

‘It’s okay; it is what it is. But I know I can’t do any business again with a partner. It has to be me alone because I lost my power, my self-worth and my confidence and I miss it. I miss how I used to be.’

He saw her wipe a tear from her cheek and his heart ached for her.

‘If I can do anything, Christa, I will, okay?’ His promise sounded futile but he meant it. He would do whatever he could to make this pain go away.

‘Just talking is good. Thank you.’

She took his hand again. ‘After this is all over, this Christmas thing, and I don’t work for you anymore, maybe we could be friends.’

Marc held tight and looked at the moon. ‘I couldn’t think of anything I would like more. Let’s go home.’

There was some sort of energy between them he couldn’t place. It wasn’t just attraction but connection at a deeper level than he had ever felt with a woman before.

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words.

‘Actually, I would like to see you when Christmas is over, like properly, for dinner or something, one you don’t have to cook.’

He heard her take a fast breath. Dammit, he shouldn’t have asked.

‘I would like that. I would really like that,’ she said slowly.

He turned her hand over and traced the callus at the base of her forefinger. ‘The chef’s mark,’ she said. ‘From chopping.’

He touched a scar on her wrist. ‘Burn mark from when I was an apprentice.’

‘And this?’ A feathery scar up the side of her hand.

‘A fall off my bike when I was nine.’ She smiled.

Marc held her hand up to his mouth and kissed the palm.

‘I can’t wait till Christmas is over,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Me neither,’ he heard her whisper and he had never wanted anyone more than her in this moment.

‘Let’s go home,’ he said and he drove them back to Pudding Hall still holding hands.

The lights were on when they arrived.

‘It’s two in the morning. Adam must be up,’ he said as he turned off the car.

And then the front door opened.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Christa said.

‘What?’ He looked at the people walking towards the car.

‘That’s my ex, Avian – no idea who the guy is though. Probably her new boyfriend.’

‘That’s my ex, Simon, oh God. Set me on fire and bury me under the house. Seriously, I cannot do this.’ Her breathing was becoming shorter and faster, her voice tight. Simon and Avian were approaching the car and waving.

‘Your ex-husband?’ Marc asked.

‘Yes, my stupid, selfish ex, who is the host of a new cooking show – that’s how he met her.’ They were nearly at the car.

‘Avian is producing it,’ he said. ‘I’m funding it for the new streaming network I’m buying.’

Avian knocked on the window. ‘Hi,’ she said, trying to peer into the dark car interior.

‘I resign,’ said Christa. ‘Effective immediately.’