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Cookies & Eggnog from Welcombe Bay

By Kate Darroch

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Ten sleeps until Christmas. A big smile paints itself on my face as I think that. Christmas is such an exciting time. My favourite holiday is Harvest Festival, but Christmas… unbidden, my thoughts fly back to the first Christmas that Gary and I had spent together.
My smile vanishes. I move briskly across to the cupboard where I’ve put all the decorations, trying to win back the fluttery anticipation and happiness of just a moment ago. But it’s no use. All my joy and excitement had vanished when I thought of Gary. Maybe it’s a sin, to get upset every time you think of your husband, but I can’t help it.
I wish he were here to help me put up the decorations, that we could get back the excitement I’d felt anticipating our first Christmas together, as newlyweds. Well, not quite newlyweds, but newly sharing a home together. I’d moved in when I discovered our baby was coming, because Gary, who doesn’t believe in God, said casually, ‘Move in, babe. What does a piece of paper matter?’
And he was right, of course. A piece of paper doesn’t matter. It wasn’t the piece of paper that I’d wanted, it’s all the things that come with it. Your families happy for you. Your friends all excited about the journey you’re embarking on. Father Tom standing smiling at the two of us as he blesses our union. The joy of knowing that Lord Jesus has reached down from heaven to bless the love we share. The giant party that Grandma and Granda would have wanted to throw for us in Sweets By The Sea, the café on the sands at Welcombe Bay that’s been owned by my family for over 150 years.
How my Granda loved to joke that the café was full of bakers and our home, a little three bedroom flat over the café, too full of Bakers. Even though that had only happened when he married Grandma. Her mother had been a Mrs Higgins, famous for her mouth-watering pies. Her mother’s mother had been a Mrs Higgins, too, the first in the line of café-owners. She’d bought the almost-derelict house on the sands late in life and devoted herself to fixing it up.
But my mother had been a Mrs Baker, because my dad was Grandma’s son, and I’d been a Miss Baker. So it was true that when I was growing up, our home was full of Bakers.
I always loved it when Granda said that, because right after he’d said it, he would hug me and say “But it can never be full enough of beautiful flowers like our Lily, right, Mother?” And Grandma would pat my head if it was within reach, and if I was outside patting-distance, she would smile and blow me a kiss. “One day our Lily will be a baker,” she’d say.
I smile again now at the bittersweet memory of baking with Grandma all afternoon on my eighteenth birthday. I’d been so excited that for the first time she’d shared one of her secret pie recipes with me. We’d baked a strawberry shortcake together, and we’d laughed when she said, ‘You’ll be the baker in Sweets one day, Lily, but not a Baker, eh?’ and I was on top of the world when she said, ‘Now that you’re a grown-up, Lily, I’ll teach you all my recipes.’
I’d been so excited, but it was nothing compared to what I felt when I first saw Gary. One of his mates brought him to my birthday party, and when I saw him gazing quizzically at me from across the room, one eyebrow quirked above black, black, eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe, well, I know it’s a cliché, but I swear my heart turned over.
I knew right away that he was The One. The only boy in the world for me.
Just before Christmas we moved in together. I hadn’t even been kissed before Gary came into my life. But somehow I could never say ‘No’ to him, even although I’d tried, because I didn’t always want the same things he wanted. I wanted to wait to make love until after we were married. But we didn’t wait. I was about to become a mother before I was nineteen, and no sign of a wedding.
Gary took it hard when I lost the baby. It was the first time he hit me. Afterwards he was sorry, and he explained it was because he’d wanted our child so much. But somehow I hadn’t been surprised when he hit me. It felt as if he’d been fighting the impulse for a while. And I know it sounds crazy, but it made me love him more, knowing that he’d tried not to.
After that, I walked on eggshells around him. He got upset easily. I told myself that it was his way of grieving, that I had to be patient. But my birthday party in Sweets By The Sea when I turned nineteen wasn’t as much fun as my eighteenth had been.
We got married soon afterwards, in August.
Gary explained to me first that it was against his principles to marry, and that he didn’t want to, he was only doing it to please me. I said he didn’t have to. And he turned me a little in the circle of his arms so that he could stare straight into my eyes, and his eyes were glowing like they’d been the first time I saw him, and I thought he was going to say that he loved me and wanted me to be happy more than he wanted anything else.
He held me a little tighter, and whispered, “Those stupid grandparents of yours are turning you against me.” I started to say that he was wrong, but he put his hand over my mouth, quite gently, “I saw how they were looking at me at your party. They don’t approve of us being together like this. They’ve brainwashed you into thinking it’s wrong to have children outside wedlock. That’s why you lost our baby. So we’re going to get married.”
I told myself that I should be glad he loved me so much he wanted to make a baby with me, but I was frightened. It felt almost as if he was blaming me for losing our baby. It felt like he’d called our marriage “wedlock” on purpose, to remind me that he thought getting married was like getting chained up. I knew he thought that because he’d said so. Often.
I’m roused from my reverie by a knock at the door. A parcel delivery. Presents! Some of the Christmassy feeling races back. I recognise my Grandma’s handwriting. So, I tear open the box eagerly. Inside there’s cookies, and Christmas cake, and a bottle of eggnog. And the cutest card! I open it, and she’s inviting us to spend Christmas Day with her and Granda.
I got so excited that I phoned Gary right away. It went to voicemail, of course. Gary never leaves his phone on when he’s at work. I burbled out the invitation, “Oh, Gary, can we go for the whole of Christmas week? Welcombe Bay is so beautiful in the winter.”

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