“Mia—”
“What? You prefer something along the lines of my first suggestions? A creative culinary masterpiece? Actually, I do love those miniature silver whisks and spatulas you sourced for the Christmas crackers, and we could use the doll’s house kitchenware Grace found in the vicarage’s attic instead of baubles.”
Rosie heaved a sigh at her friend’s bubbling enthusiasm. However, there was no way she could stay irritated with Mia for long as she watched her skip from one decrepit cardboard box to the next, dipping her hands into the treasure inside like a toddler taking part in her first Christmas lucky dip. Like her approach to Christmas tree decorating, Mia had a quirky dress sense too – more nineteen sixties flower-power than twenty-first century chic. That day’s outfit was a pair of white dungarees embroidered with what might have looked to a casual onlooker like silver snowflakes, but were in fact bunches of cutlery.
Rosie allowed herself a wry smile – at least Mia had ditched the sausage-bedecked apron that usually forced their customers to perform a double-take just to make sure it wasn’t depicting something altogether more risqué. She loved Mia and was grateful for the way she had welcomed her into the community of Willerby with an all-encompassing hug, not to mention introducing her to the group of people she was now lucky enough to call friends. What she struggled with was the chaos that Mia scattered in her fragrant wake; and if there was one thing Rosie didn’t cope with very well it was clutter.
The tickle of alarm she’d experienced when she’d walked into the café was now threatening to burgeon into full-blown panic. Her heartrate increased even further when her eyes landed on the twisted garlands of lurid pink tinsel, the mounds of multi-coloured paperchains, and the tumble of old-fashioned glass baubles that were piled high on every available surface as well as the floor. Prickles of perspiration swept uncomfortably across her skin. She commenced the counting exercises her sister Georgina had taught her for when such occasions threatened to overwhelm her, but that morning those techniques did not help to wash away the mounting stress. Diversionary tactics were called for.
“I thought I’d rustle up a few dozen mince pies, and maybe a batch of chocolate yule logs and some iced ginger biscuits for the party after the judging on Saturday. What do you think?”
“Great idea. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll help—”
“No! You just concentrate on repacking all this—stuff—into the right boxes and taking it back to your car.”
Mia paused in her contemplation of an overweight plastic gnome dressed in a Santa suit, her green eyes creasing in apology. “Sorry, Rosie. I forgot about your aversion to—well, to all this…” She swept her hand around the room, lifting her mahogany waves from her face and dropping them over her shoulder in a familiar gesture. “I truly only intended to bring one box of ornaments over, but I just got carried away. Let’s go with the culinary theme, eh?”
“Agreed!”
Rosie exhaled a long calming breath, blew a wayward cooper curl from her lashes and began to help Mia return as much of the festive paraphernalia as possible to its cardboard home. When they had finished she waited for Mia to balance the boxes in a wobbly stack and carry them to the car park before selecting one of the Windmill Café’s peppermint-and-white aprons and turning her attention to the mince pies. Baking had always provided her with a sojourn of solace when all those around her were going crazy, and she couldn’t wait to delve her hands into a bowl of flour to get her fix.
But she couldn’t blame Mia for her enthusiasm. What had she expected? It was the week before Christmas, this sort of frenzied behaviour always happened at that time of year. For the first time, she was spending Christmas in the close-knit community of Willerby, the Norfolk village whose residents had woven their personal brand of magic through her veins. She loved it here and that was one of the reasons she had agreed to host the inaugural Christmas tree decorating competition at the café – to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone for their kindness. It was just that she hadn’t expected so many entries! Fourteen!
For a woman who loved to be organised and in control of every aspect of her life, Rosie definitely hadn’t thought through her seasonal gesture properly. She was fully aware of the cause of that unfortunate lapse in concentration – as was Mia – and for that she was paying the price. However, she refused to linger on the grenade-splattered landscape of her love life and began to rub the shards of cold butter into the flour to make the shortcrust pastry. Immediately, the tension in the back of her neck started to dissipate and when she added the orange and lemon zest, her mood improved even further and she could envisage the arrangements for Saturday’s competition begin to slot into the schedule template etched on her brain.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” said Mia when she returned, pressing their prized Gaggia machine into action. “Freddie called when I was at the car. He’s on his way over to set up the marquee this afternoon, and then he and Matt will deliver the trees tomorrow – no cost because they sourced them from the woodland around Ultimate Adventures. That’ll please Graham!”
Rosie rolled her eyes at the mention of the habitually absent owner of the Windmill Café - and the adjacent luxury holiday site that housed a selection of Scandinavian lodges and a perfectly proportioned shepherd’s hut painted in the same colours as the windmill and its sails. Once again, with a regularity that was becoming highly suspicious, Graham had managed to come up with an unbreakable prior engagement – this time with a snowboard in the Swiss Alps – when she and Mia had presented their plans for the café’s Christmas promotional event. At the Summer Breeze garden party in August, her erstwhile boss had taken a ‘well-earned’ break from the routine in his villa in Barbados, and during the Autumn Leaves bash he had sailed away from Palma harbour on his brother’s yacht.
However, his absence had turned out to be fortuitous because on each occasion one of the guests staying in the holiday lodges had suffered a terrible accident. First, pop star-to-be Suki Richards had been poisoned, and then Rick Forster, an avid myth-seeker, had been shot with a bow and arrow. Fortunately, both incidents had been wrapped up by the time Graham returned home and he’d only heard the details after the event – a much better scenario as far as Rosie was concerned. In fact, had Graham been there she suspected he would never have agreed to their plans to hold the Christmas Tree Carousel competition at the Windmill Café and Mia would have been devastated. Nevertheless, this time she had every intention of ensuring that everything ran smoothly.
“Do you think we’re crazy?” asked Rosie as she slid the last batch of mince pies into the oven and began the ritual of squirting every worktop with anti-bacterial spray to eradicate any lingering germ from existence. Whilst she loved the delicious aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves that was currently ballooning through the air, she preferred the satisfying smell of Flash with a top note of chlorine.
“What do you mean?”
“Holding the competition the day before Grace and Josh’s wedding?”
“It’s perfect!” declared Mia, as usual only seeing the positive in any given situation. “It means that their guests can take part in the contest too. It’s a great way to break the ice and give everyone something else to focus on before the frenzy starts.”
“And added another six people to our competitors list!”
“The more the merrier! We’ll set up the trees in the marquee tomorrow morning, and then, after the men’s cycle race has finished, the contestants can make a start. That’ll give everyone a full three days to complete their masterpieces before the judging takes place on Saturday afternoon.”
Rosie finished her