Page 5 of Christmas at the Little Cornish Bakery

Lola didn’t have to wait long to find out what a modern day Christmas in Polcarrow would look like.

On Wednesday morning, Sue Chapman, leader of the village committee, bustled into the café, half the contents of her overlarge handbag threatening to spill out as she pulled out a bunch of flyers and handed them to Lola.

‘Festive festival?’ Lola questioned.

‘You know how successful reviving the Fisherman’s Fair was in the summer?’

Lola nodded. It had been wonderful to see the village full of people taking part in the sandcastle competition, admiring the fishing boats and eating cream teas. The whole fair had created a bit of local buzz and after appearing in Cornish Life magazine, Alf had become a local celebrity.

‘Well, we had the most wonderful idea to put together all the various festive events.’ Sue pulled her multicoloured reading glasses from her head and put them on.

Taking the top flyer, she explained to Lola, ‘Last year we just sort of had a church bazaar but this year Tristan wants to hold a Christmas tree festival and I thought, what if we had a light switch on as well?’ Sue passed the flyer to Lola before reaching into her pocket for her phone.

Lola waited as she swiped through various screens before turning it to Lola. ‘What do you think of that?’

Taking the phone from Sue, Lola studied the photo, which appeared to be of a stack of lobster pots fashioned to look like a Christmas tree. ‘Oh, Sue, that is absolutely gorgeous! I love it. How are you going to make it though?’

‘I thought I’d ask for volunteers to help,’ she confessed.

‘My husband thinks it’s a bit bonkers and wonders what on earth is wrong with a real tree.

But I love this—’ she smiled fondly at the photo on her phone ‘—and if we can pull it off, I mean, how difficult can it possibly be to stack together some lobster pots and drape lights over them? I think it could be something really special.’ Sue slipped her phone back into her pocket.

‘So can I leave some leaflets with you?’

‘Of course you can! I’ll even stick one in the window.’

‘Perfect! Now, while I’m here it’d be a bit rude not to have a gingerbread latte, wouldn’t it? Even though it is still November.’

‘It’s never too early for a gingerbread latte, Sue,’ Lola told her. ‘Takeaway or drink in?’

Sue glanced over her shoulder. ‘In. The laundry can’t find me here. Add in one of those brownies too, please.’

After the lunchtime rush Lola made a cup of tea and flicked through the pages of her Christmas cake order book and smiled with satisfaction.

Freya had made a poster advertising them, which was stuck in the window of the café.

Tristan had also taken a copy to put on the church noticeboard.

There’d been a flurry of interest which had been matched by orders.

With every Christmas cake order she placed in her book, Lola realised she was doing much more than just baking cakes.

Every villager grew misty eyed as they reminisced about Christmases past; from beloved childhood presents to comical arguments over cracker toys, to the bittersweet family memories the season conjured up.

Lola realised that her job was more than just cake baker, but to provide a trip down memory lane.

The villagers spoke about the cakes they’d loved, ones bursting with brandy, or decorated with ornate piping and little silver stars.

Some asked for space to be left to sit a family heirloom decoration on the top.

Lola smiled at this. With her penchant for the styles of the 1940s and 50s, she loved delivering life with a huge heap of nostalgia on the side.

The project excited her and filled her with warmth as she thought of the extra magic she would help bring to everyone’s Christmas.

Just as Lola was figuring out when to start the baking and what quantity of ingredients to order to fulfil the orders she had taken, the café door was pushed open, letting in a blast of chilly November air, and a uniformed courier driver entered, a wrapped-up package clutched in his hand.

‘Lola Curran?’ he asked, glancing at his notes and then at her.

‘Yes, that’s me.’ She darted out from behind the counter, wondering what on earth he was delivering. She hadn’t ordered anything.

The man dumped the package on one of the tables and passed his electronic device to Lola. ‘Sign here,’ he said as he gave the café a cursory glance.

Lola did as she was asked before passing the device back to him. ‘Can I get you anything while you’re here?’

‘Yeah, a coffee would be great, two shots please. It’s been a long day.’ He rubbed his face and followed her over to the counter, peering at the treats stacked in their glass domes. ‘Oh I shouldn’t, but I’ll take a couple of those brownies – for the wife, you know.’

‘An excellent choice,’ Lola said as she put two in a bag, passed him his coffee and waited for his payment to go through on the card machine.

As soon as he’d left, Lola hurried over to the package, armed with some scissors to cut through the sticky tape holding it all together.

By the looks of things the sender had used a whole roll.

Whoever had sent it had not wanted anyone to get easy access.

Lola wrestled with the tape, puffing as she pulled it off.

The contents of the package were wrapped in bubble wrap and on the top sat a white envelope.

Curious, Lola tore into it. Reading the note she gasped.

We found these hidden in the attic. After talking to the solicitor, who got hold of your mother, we were advised to send them on to you as they appear to have belonged to your grandmother and it didn’t feel right keeping them. I hope they mean something and arrive safely.

The note was signed by the new owners of Ruby’s house with contact details. Lola swallowed to think of someone else having turned the empty shell of Ruby’s house into their home.

Putting the note aside, Lola tore through the layers, like some sort of pass the parcel that contained trips down memory lane, not sweets.

Her stomach clenched. Things that had been hidden rarely contained good news.

The box smelled of secrets, of parts of a life that had been hidden away, dispersed around a house, never meant to be looked at again.

There was the faint aroma of her grandmother’s perfume, a whiff of damp, all of it triggering fresh memories of Ruby’s house.

She had been tasked with helping her mother clear it out, which had been terse, done quickly and with little time for sentimentality.

Lola had taken whatever she could find that had meaning, thinking of the recipe book, the ‘magic’ spoon Ruby had used in all her baking, her tarot cards and teacup and a set of pearls she’d probably never wear but that she remembered Ruby wearing on special occasions.

Once empty, Bridget had locked the house up for one final time and paused on the doorstep, the ‘For Sale’ sign looming over the hedge.

Lola realised nothing would ever be the same again.

It was like she’d packed part of her away in the boxes.

Turning, she’d caught her mum regarding her, as if she was debating whether or not to say something.

‘What is it?’

Bridget was silent for a while before saying, ‘You two were always thick as thieves.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Lola asked, puzzled.

‘It’s silly but I was always a bit jealous of your bond with Ruby,’ her mum admitted, with embarrassment.

‘She was delighted that you inherited her psychic abilities. I never did, even though I tried. Mum prided herself that it’d come through the generations, but it seemed to skip me,’ she said sadly. ‘She was always disappointed by that.’

Lola digested this. ‘Mum, I had no idea. Is that why—’

‘Yes, why I didn’t want you spending so much time with her.

No one should say this about their child but I felt like you’d taken my place.

I also didn’t like how she’d wheel you out to read the cards for her friends.

You were just a kid. The mystical stuff never felt right to me.

At school I was teased for my mother being a witch.

I just wanted a normal mum like everyone else had, not one who’d read palms on the bus into town. ’

‘I had no idea.’

‘Of course you didn’t, you weren’t supposed to,’ she sighed, reaching into her pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

‘Now, come on, it’s cold, let’s go. I need to pack for my return flight.

’ Bridget had walked down the driveway, a box tucked under her arm, moving away from any questions Lola had.

They had never spoken of it again. Bridget had flown back to Spain and remained there, soaking up the sun and loving the ex-pat life.

Now, Lola picked up one of the bundles, underneath the bubble wrap it was encased in brown paper.

Tears sprang to Lola’s eyes as she thought of whoever had put the box together, taking great care of the contents, knowing they would mean something to the recipient.

Lola glanced around the café, at the evening drawing in early over the bay.

It would soon be time for the post-school rush, not the ideal time to unwrap delicate mementoes.

Lola gently replaced the bundle she’d extricated, refolded the bubble wrap and closed the lid.

She’d take this home and go through it when she had the space and time to deal with whatever her sixth sense was telling her was lurking inside.