Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market Page 6

  ‘You certainly look as if you’ve moved with the times,’ I said, nodding at the containers crammed full of seasonal greenery and chrysanthemums in striking autumnal shades of orange, red and gold.

  ‘I have,’ she said proudly, ‘but I’m one of the few who has. Personally my takings are far better for the changes I’ve made to my little business, even though trade here is quiet, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out that the market as a whole is struggling.’

  I looked around and acknowledged for the first time that little about the place had actually changed since I was a young girl and used to visit every Saturday with my grandmother who would stock up on fish for the week, as well as bananas from Chris and his dad.

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ I asked.

  ‘You of all people should know that,’ tutted the man who ran the pet stall next to Marie.

  ‘Oh, leave the poor girl alone, Bob,’ admonished the woman with him, who I guessed was his wife. ‘She can’t help who her father is!’

  I felt my face go crimson as Gwen’s words from the morning before sprang to mind. No doubt it was my parentage that she was referring to when she had acknowledged that everyone already knew who I was.

  ‘That ruddy out of town Retail Park is half the problem,’ Bob continued, pointing vaguely in the direction of the town’s newest shopping experience.

  ‘The one my dad fought so hard to get approved,’ I said, the full realisation as to why the stallholders hadn’t been exactly welcoming the day before finally dawning.

  ‘That’s the one,’ sighed the woman. ‘Ever since it opened our takings have taken a nosedive and we just can’t seem to stem the flow.’

  ‘Not that anyone has really tried, Shirley,’ Marie interjected, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she conceded. ‘But we sell dog beds and kitty litter, Marie. How are we supposed to put a new spin on that, and how are we supposed to compete when folk can buy things for a quid in one of the pound stores up the road and all under one roof?’

  She had a point.

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ said Bob gruffly, pointing at Marie’s pretty floral display. ‘But beyond stocking bird nuts in winter and chick crumbs in the spring, there’s not a lot we can do to diversify or change what we sell.’

  ‘And you probably shouldn’t,’ I butted in.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You shouldn’t,’ I said, rather less confidently this time, as Gordon from the hardware stall wandered across to listen. ‘People expect to be able to find certain things on certain stalls all year round and of a far better quality to what a pound store can offer. Perhaps what the market needs are more regular seasonal pop-up stalls like the Cherry Tree one I’m running. By all means keep the familiar framework of the market the same,’ I said, warming to my theme, ‘but throw in a few seasonal extras so shoppers can always find something a bit different and stop at the regular stalls as they’re browsing.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea, Ruby,’ said Marie, looking pointedly at Bob. ‘How does that sound, Bob? Rather than keep moaning about what’s going wrong, don’t you think we should be getting our heads together and trying to come up with some new ideas? Having a few extra stalls in the run up to Christmas isn’t a bad plan, but we need more than just that, don’t we?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he shrugged. ‘Although I can hardly see the point when—’

  ‘He’s not much of a one for change of any sort,’ Shirley quickly cut in, ‘but I’ll keep working on him, Marie. We might just manage a Christmas miracle yet!’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ muttered Bob morosely, as his wife pushed him back towards the pet stall.

  ‘Why do I get the impression there was more to that discussion than I know about?’ I asked Marie as I watched the disgruntled pair walking away.

  ‘No idea,’ she said dismissively, a slight flush spreading across her face. ‘Hey, you’d better get back to your stall. Look, there’s Lizzie. Has she got something to drop off?’

  ‘That’ll be Jemma’s fresh batch of baking,’ I said, hurrying away. ‘You wait until I open the box. You won’t be able to resist when you get a whiff of her spicy cinnamon buns!’

  Much the same as the day before, sales of Jemma’s sumptuous baked goods were reasonably brisk, especially as Steve had wandered over twice to stock up on mince pies, and I’d even managed to sell a couple of Lizzie’s pretty patchwork stockings and larger toy sacks to some young mums who were walking back through the town having dropped their little ones at the local nursery. I made sure I’d popped a pile of flyers in with their purchases and asked if they would mind dropping them at the nursery when they went back at lunchtime.

  ‘You’re a natural!’ called Marie, who had witnessed the transaction. ‘I have a feeling you’re going to stir things up around here, Ruby Smith!’

  She gave me a double thumbs up and I pressed my fingers to my lips, begging her not to make a fuss. The last thing I wanted to do was alienate the other traders even more. I still wasn’t sure whether Bob had appreciated me jumping in and making suggestions about how to possibly improve the market’s ailing fortunes beyond the Christmas season.

  ‘Well look at all this!’ said a voice I knew well. ‘Isn’t this something? I love the sparkly lights!’

  ‘Hello, Mum!’ I said, stepping back so she could see the whole stand in all its glory. ‘Isn’t it pretty? Lizzie and Jemma are so clever.’

  ‘They are,’ she agreed, ‘but I bumped into Lizzie earlier and she told me that all the setting up and embellishing had been left to you, so I think you need to include yourself in how clever the Cherry Tree staff are.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ I said with a shrug. ‘But what are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you in town today.’ A quick glance at my watch confirmed it was almost lunchtime. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get anyone to cover at such short notice, assuming you want me to come and eat with you of course.’

  ‘No,’ she said, waving over at Marie. ‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll bring you a sandwich and a hot drink on my way home, if you like.’

  ‘Ready?’ asked Marie, who had now passed on responsibility of her stall to Shirley and linked arms with Mum. ‘I can manage a whole hour today!’

  ‘Oh, wonderful,’ said Mum, ‘that’s a rare treat!’

  I stood with my mouth open, looking from one woman to the other.

  ‘Oh, close your mouth,’ said Mum, ‘for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘Are you two going to lunch together?’ I gaped.

  When Steve and I had been dating, Mum and Marie had always got on well, but I hadn’t realised their friendship had stuck after we split.

  ‘We always do on a Wednesday,’ said Mum, in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘We have done for years,’ continued Marie. ‘Did you not know, Ruby?’

  ‘No,’ I frowned, ‘I didn’t.’

  I was somewhat unnerved by this unexpected twist of events. True, I had gone out of my way to talk to Marie and get a handle on The Steve Situation, but I hadn’t been expecting her and Mum to be best buds! No wonder Marie had been so up to date with my university schedule.

  ‘No, well,’ said Mum looking decidedly shifty, ‘your dad doesn’t either so I’d rather you didn’t mention it, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s like Romeo and Juliet,’ said Marie theatrically, ‘and the two fighting families who shouldn’t meet.’

  ‘Except the hero and heroine aren’t destined to be together forever,’ I reminded her, my eyes wandering across to where Steve was filling a bag with apples and laughing with a customer. ‘Can you drop these off for Bea, please?’ I asked Mum, handing over a bag of biscuits. Suddenly I didn’t feel up to analysing my feelings in minute detail.

  Mum took the bag and she and Marie quickly walked away, and although I couldn’t quite catch what Marie said, Mum was very definitely nodding in agreement.

  T
hat evening, when I’d finally defrosted in the bubble bath, which I felt was destined to herald the end of most days I was going to be working on the market, I decided to try and talk to Dad about the stallholders’ concerns.

  ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’

  A warning glance from my mother who was emptying the dishwasher suggested that she knew exactly what was on my mind, probably courtesy of her cosy lunch with Marie. From what I could gather I had been the hot topic of discussion on the menu. She had already informed me that Marie had told her off for not mentioning that I was planning to return to Wynbridge in time for Christmas.

  ‘So why hadn’t you told her?’ I had asked.

  ‘Because,’ she said, kissing me fondly, ‘I wanted to see you for myself before I announced to the world that my baby was coming home.’

  ‘Did you think I might change my mind then?’

  She hadn’t answered at the time but the expression on her face now as she looked at Dad gave me my answer, along with the exact reason why she reckoned I might have had a change of heart.

  ‘Talk about what?’ he asked, without glancing up from his pile of papers.

  ‘The market,’ I ventured.

  ‘What about it?’

  I pulled out a chair and joined him at the table, feeling slightly encouraged that he hadn’t said ‘no’ straightaway.

  ‘Have you already come to your senses and decided it isn’t the best vocation for someone with a first-class degree after all?’

  Mum looked at me and rolled her eyes. Her expression couldn’t have been more ‘I told you so’, if she tried.

  ‘Forget it,’ I said, standing back up.

  ‘Oh, sit back down, for goodness’ sake,’ Dad smiled wryly. ‘A father can dream, can’t he? Besides I’m only winding you up. Whatever’s happened to your sense of humour?’

  I sat back down, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what did you want to talk about? How are you finding life working next to the barrow boys?’

  I ignored his silly slur on Chris’s fruit and vegetable business, knowing that if I bit back I’d never get anywhere.

  ‘I’m doing all right,’ I told him, ‘and Marie Dempster is really making a name for herself now there isn’t a florist in the town, but some of the others are struggling. It’s so quiet. The whole place is like a ghost town most of the time.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find it busier at the weekend,’ said Dad in what I guessed he thought was a consoling tone.

  ‘But how can you be sure?’ I frowned, my temper rising because he sounded so blasé.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, have you been down there?’ I asked. ‘Have you witnessed at first hand the impact this new Retail Park is having on the heart of the town for yourself?’

  ‘Did I really just hear you say “the heart of the town”?’ he asked, sounding amused.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Since when have you cared about the “heart of the town”?’ he laughed.

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Dad,’ I scowled, ‘this is people’s livelihoods we’re talking about, traders who have worked the market for generations. I thought you were the one who believed in keeping the old traditions alive and regenerating Wynbridge town centre.’

  Dad shrugged and sighed.

  ‘Look,’ he said resignedly, ‘we were under a lot of pressure about that park, especially in the planning department. We surveyed shoppers for weeks before making a decision and they almost all said they wanted what the bigger towns have to offer. You can’t expect big chain stores to move into the tiny, outdated retail outlets we’ve got in town.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ I said, ‘but before I left for university you were doing everything you could to rejuvenate the market square. When the Cherry Tree opened up you were thrilled. You said it was going to mark a turning point in the town’s fortunes.’

  ‘Things change,’ he said, ‘and anyway, why should it all be down to us at the council? Aren’t the traders capable of making a bit of effort themselves?’

  ‘What’s changed?’ I demanded. ‘When I was growing up you were always banging on about how much you loved this little town, that you loved it so much you had never even considered living anywhere else and that when you started work at the council you were determined to see it thrive like it had when you were a kid.’

  Dad looked surprised that I had remembered.

  ‘You said you would do anything to stop it from going down the pound store and charity shop route, but if you’re not careful that’s all it will be and the market will be lost forever. Do you really want to see your beloved Wynbridge become just another nondescript East Anglian town with no heart and even less soul?’

  Dad just shook his head and tiredly rubbed his hands over his face.

  ‘Look,’ he began but then stopped. His eyes suggested that he wanted to say more but he was inexplicably guarded, cautious almost.

  ‘What?’ I quizzed, desperate to get to the bottom of what was really going on, because I could tell something was. The demoralised, deflated father figure in front of me bore very little resemblance to the Dad I remembered.

  ‘Never mind,’ he sighed, picking up his papers again.

  Mum shrugged her shoulders and I looked between the two of them in disbelief. I had no idea what had gone on but something had occurred, something monumental must have happened to change Dad’s opinion of his beloved Wynbridge so dramatically. I left him sitting there and stormed up to bed. Well, if he wanted to see more action from the traders, then he’d get more action from the traders. I was determined to find a way to make sure of that.

  Chapter 7

  ‘You coming to the pub tonight then, Ruby?’ asked Simon as he wandered back from the Cherry Tree carrying a much-needed tray of hot coffees the next afternoon.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ I said, gratefully wrapping my cold hands around the cup he offered me. ‘I’m not really a pub person.’ I didn’t add that I wasn’t a ‘let’s watch Mia seduce Steve’ sort of person either.

  ‘Oh, this isn’t a social thing,’ he continued, ‘there’s a meeting.’

  ‘What sort of meeting?’

  ‘The traders are getting together with a couple of people from the council to talk about this year’s plans for Christmas. You know, turning on the lights, raising the profile of the town and hopefully the footfall through the market, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘right. I see.’

  I had thought I’d been making headway with some of the others. I’d especially gone out of my way to talk to Bob and Shirley and Gordon, but not one of them had so much as mentioned planning for Christmas or the meeting. Part of me began to wonder if they thought I was some sort of industrial spy, planted by my father to keep an eye on them and report back about any bitching about him or the council’s beloved Retail Park.

  ‘Did you not know?’ asked Simon, sounding surprised.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Chris told us yesterday,’ he said as he began to walk away. ‘Tonight, seven thirty in The Mermaid. Do you think you can make it?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll make it all right,’ I called after him. ‘You can count on it.’

  As usual the pub was packed to the rafters and, with a fire roaring at either end of the bar, I hadn’t been inside many seconds before I was peeling off my coat and craving something crisp and cool.

  ‘Hello, Ruby love!’ boomed Jim the cheerful landlord, from his station behind the bar.

  I hadn’t frequented the pub all that often, but I knew for a fact that he never forgot a face. Standing at well over six foot and with hands the size of hams, he always put me in mind of Little John from the tales of Robin Hood. His considerably shorter wife Evelyn however, was a far cry from the fair Maid Marian. From what I’d heard, her bite was definitely worse than her bark!

  ‘What can I get you?’ Jim ask
ed as I hoisted myself up on to a bar stool. ‘Are you getting one in for your dad as well? As I understand it, he’s due to put in an appearance here sometime tonight.’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘He can sort himself out, but I’ll have half a pint of cider please.’

  He gave me a knowing and, I couldn’t help thinking, sympathetic smile and moved a little further along the bar. I was still smarting at the fact that no one had mentioned the meeting, but perhaps they had all been thinking that as I lived with the enemy I already knew about it.

  ‘Can I tempt you to give the new local brew a try?’ said Jim, tapping what looked like a shiny new pump.

  ‘What do you mean by local brew?’ I asked. ‘Not cider that’s actually been fermented around here, surely?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he nodded enthusiastically, ‘it’s come straight from the orchards of Skylark Farm just up the road in Wynthorpe. It’s a new venture they’re trying and it’s been hugely popular. In fact,’ he confided, ‘this latest consignment only came in a couple of weeks ago and we’re almost out.’

  ‘Oh well, in that case,’ I smiled, ‘half a pint of local cider please!’

  ‘I’ll get that one, Jim,’ said Steve who suddenly appeared at my elbow.

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ I said, my eyes still firmly fixed on Jim, ‘you’re all right, but thanks.’

  I didn’t want to sound churlish, but I was determined to keep things with Steve on an even keel and I didn’t want to feel indebted to him for anything, not even half a pint of cider.

  ‘Just stick it on my tab,’ he continued nonetheless, with a nod at the glass Jim had just set down in front of me as if I hadn’t uttered a word, ‘and I’d better have a round for that lot,’ he added, pointing to a group sitting next to one of the fires and made up of what looked like practically every trader from the market.

  They were chatting and laughing noisily and sounded in fine fighting spirits, as was I now.

  ‘I said thanks, but you’re all right,’ I tried again, a little louder this time.

  ‘I know I am,’ Steve grinned infuriatingly, ‘I’m in perfect health, thanks.’