Page 33 of Christmas at the Little Cornish Bakery

Every time Alf came into the café, Lola’s stomach churned with indecision.

She had placed the photo and some of the letters in a protective plastic wallet and slipped them into her handbag, waiting for the right moment to place them in front of Alf and ask him to fill in the missing pieces.

However, every time she saw him, with his jovial nature, his interest in her different festive bakes, even if he did proclaim the reindeer cupcakes too sweet and the gingerbread latte ‘not bad if you like that sort of thing’, she lost more of her nerve.

Would it be better to leave Charlie and Ruby to rest?

Would it be any comfort for Alf to know Ruby had gone on to live a long, happy life, when Charlie had never seen his twenty-third birthday?

Lola found other ways to occupy her mind.

The ticking down of the days towards Christmas meant more people were popping in for treats and Tristan had placed an order of mince pies for the mingling after the carol service.

She’d started to plan out how she was going to decorate the Christmas cakes, Alf’s jumper was finished and if she got a move on, it wouldn’t take long to finish off Scruff’s.

The solstice ritual was gathering a bit of interest. Lola earmarked an evening in her diary to sit down and plan it out properly, including writing her meditation.

She wanted it to be special, reflective of her new life here and hopeful for the future.

Lots of old furniture that was beyond repair had been left in Bayview House and Angelo had promised to bring it along to burn.

Her Christmas shopping was mostly done, she and Tristan had managed to sneak off for an afternoon of what should have been retail therapy but was more akin to retail hell.

‘I hope everyone likes handmade soaps and rum truffles,’ Lola had grumbled as she shut the door on Tristan’s car and relaxed away from the crowds. ‘Every year I say I’ll start shopping early and do I? No.’

Tristan, who had managed to remain calm despite the hectic shops, pulled away from the car park and said, ‘Well, I think this might deserve a celebratory sticky toffee pudding.’

‘Celebratory? More like congratulatory for surviving that. Also, I might not feel so up to sharing this time after that traumatic shopping experience.’

Despite the unsatisfactory shopping trip, Lola was loving having someone to do Christmas with.

Jared had never been interested, claimed it was all commercial rubbish, he hated mince pies and thought roast dinners were the devil’s work.

Again, Lola questioned why she’d spent so long hung up on him.

Tristan managed to make all the stressful bits that little bit more fun.

Lola was starting to think she might not be able to heed her own judgement and take things slowly.

They fitted together like they were meant to be.

As the carol service drew near, Lola’s nerves about attending grew into excitement.

The mince pies had been delivered around lunchtime with strict instructions to Tristan not to eat them all.

Leaving Freya in charge of the café, Lola had gone home to get herself ready, both physically with a gorgeous red velvet dress she’d bought, and mentally.

It felt strange to be going to a church service, to be seeing Tristan in action, when she wasn’t a believer.

The sun set that evening in a hellfire blaze over the sea, which Lola hoped wasn’t an omen.

As she made her way up the church path, the windows glowed warmly through the dark night, and Lola thought of how the people of Polcarrow had gathered here on Sunday mornings, and for weddings and funerals.

She swallowed back a lump in her throat as she thought of the service that had taken place for Charlie and the other young men who had been lost to the sea.

Churches, she realised, contained so much more than prayer books and psalms, they marked the stations of life in a way nothing else did.

In that instant, Lola almost envied Tristan his faith.

On stepping through the door she stopped, enchanted.

The church was illuminated by a mix of flickering golden candlelight and the artificial twinkle of fairy lights on the trees.

Lola gasped at the magic of it all. There was something comforting, primal even, about the low lighting, the hushed darkness that made her think of centuries past and all the things Christmas was really meant to be about.

Togetherness, love and the ending of one year’s cycle.

A surge of comfort enveloped her, of peace.

The pews were full of villagers, their voices hushed as they exchanged pleasantries and gossip.

The gentle anticipation of what was going to happen.

Then there was Tristan greeting everyone, dressed in his vicar’s robes, eyes twinkling and not a hair out of place.

The sight of him caused Lola to pause, catch her breath, it was as if she was seeing him anew.

Used to seeing him in jumpers, jeans or bundled up for a night-time expedition she was taken aback to see him dressed for his role.

He beamed at her, completely comfortable and at home in his rightful place, which reassured Lola.

Their eyes met and Lola flushed; he’d been watching her reaction to the church, a look of such adoration on his face that Lola was struck speechless.

‘You came.’ His voice was soft with wonder and Lola noticed that he just managed to stop himself from reaching out, touching the side of her face. Lola leaned forward instinctively to receive that imaginary blessing. It felt as if they were the only two people in the world.

‘Of course I did.’ Her voice caught. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been to a church service since I was a child.’

‘Then I’m honoured you chose mine.’ Tristan placed a hand on his heart.

Lola, seeing how much it meant to him, smiled her gratitude.

He hadn’t put on any pressure, simply extended the invite and left it for her to make her own mind up.

‘The church is beautiful all done up like this. I feel, well, I don’t know, but I feel something.

’ She glanced around wondering if church could really become part of her life if things ramped up with Tristan.

Lola tried not to quake at the enormity of that thought and recalled Freya telling her she’d make an excellent vicar’s wife with her perfect combination of caring and baking skills. Lola pushed the thought away.

‘Something is always better than nothing,’ he replied gently. He handed her a folded sheet of paper which had the service printed on it. ‘I think Alf has saved you a seat.’ Then in a lower voice, he added, ‘I’ll catch up with you later, Lola.’

Lola made her way down the aisle and slid in beside Alf. ‘No Scruff?’

‘Tone deaf that dog,’ Alf chuckled. ‘I need a night off, anyway. He’ll be fine. I left him a bone to chew, he won’t miss me.’

‘Oh, Alf, I’m sure he will.’ Lola flicked through the service sheet. ‘I don’t think I’m much of a singer either. Or a believer, but there’s something here.’

‘You don’t have to believe like Tristan does, this is more about community.

We came to church every Sunday, it was just the thing we did.

As many people came to gather as they did to worship.

But I had more conversations with the Lord out on the sea in high winds than I ever did in this building.

People need to keep their own beliefs in their own way, trouble only starts when people try inflicting them on others. ’

Lola’s reply was cut short by the door swinging open as Freya and Angelo burst in at the last minute.

Flustered and with Cathy mumbling something about the time, they hurried down to the front and slipped in beside Lola and Alf.

Lola noticed that Freya’s hair was messed up and she had a smear of white paint on her forehead.

Angelo’s shirt was misbuttoned. Lola stifled a smirk and Freya elbowed her.

‘Stop it, we’re in a church, if you don’t mind.’ Freya dragged her fingers through her hair and rubbed in vain at her forehead.

‘Oh, don’t I know it.’ Lola’s eyes were like saucers as Tristan led the procession down the aisle as they opened with ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ and took his place at the front of the church, sneaking Lola a look. Suppressing a giggle, she noticed Freya shake her head in disbelief.

What the congregation of Polcarrow lacked in tune, they made up for in enthusiasm.

Lola muddled her way through the carols with Alf singing loudly beside her and she was amused to see even Angelo singing along to ‘We Three Kings’.

Lola had been prepared to turn up, add to the numbers and show willingness to participate in all aspects of village life.

She had not, however, expected to be so moved by the singing, the flickering candlelight and the togetherness she experienced when the village was all tucked up in a common aim.

Her first experience of seeing Tristan in full vicar mode – the robes, the sermon, the leading of the prayers – did not disappoint.

The goodness in him shone out through the church and touched Lola.

As he spoke about the true meaning of Christmas, the church made Lola feel truly safe.

The idea of Tristan looking after her because kindness was etched in his soul was gently seductive.

He was not the sort of person to let anyone down, in fact, he was exactly who you would need by your side.

Lola only realised she was crying when Alf squeezed her hand and passed her a hankie.

‘It gets everyone at some point,’ he whispered, his soft Cornish accent comforting.