Page 12 of The Merry Christmas Project

‘Hallo, mein Schatz ! I thought it was time I checked up on you again. May we come in ?’

She’d been to visit me on my first weekend at the cottage and once I’d shown her around, she’d comforted me while I’d shed a few tears of sadness over my break-up. It had been my decision to move out of Daniel’s house, but it was still painful to accept that we were over.

Before I could respond, the dog, Otto, bolted past me and started to explore and we both laughed at his cheekiness.

‘Of course you may.’ I kissed her on both cheeks. The German way, she’d insisted, once we’d reframed our relationship as friends and not teacher and pupil anymore. Her skin was cold but soft against mine. She didn’t own a scrap of make-up, but kept her skin immaculate with her own blend of argan and rose oil. It was the little bottle of that she’d once given to me that had sparked my interest in essential oils.

‘Wunderschöne Kerzen,’ said Astrid, inhaling the scent of the newly poured batch of candles as I led her through to the kitchen. ‘The house smells wonderful now. It’s like walking into a spa hotel.’

Astrid spoke excellent English but had retained her German accent. Ever the teacher, she had a habit of dropping German words into conversation in a thinly disguised attempt to teach me her mother tongue. It worked, although my vocabulary consisted mostly of food and endearments with a few swear words thrown in. Kerzen, I remembered was the word for candles.

‘It’s definitely an improvement on the musty unlived-in smell the cottage had when I first arrived,’ I agreed.

Astrid made us a pot of peppermint tea while I lined up the candles which had been recently poured on the kitchen windowsill to cool. Otto appeared again and sniffed at Astrid’s bag hopefully. She produced a chew stick and once he’d sat down obediently, she let him have it and he retreated under the table to eat it. He was an adorable little thing, a hybrid of two breeds which I could never remember, but essentially he looked like a small teddy bear.

‘They look very professional too,’ Astrid said, handing me a mug.

‘Thanks.’ I blew on the tea before sipping it. ‘I’m really happy with these. Perfectly even and no sinkholes.’

‘Sehr gut,’ she said, shrugging off her coat to reveal a long blue velvet dress with multicoloured beads sewn around the neckline. ‘I knew you’d end up with a creative career eventually. I spotted your talent when you were only twelve years old.’

‘You were the only one who did,’ I said, filling a bowl with water for Otto and setting it down by the door. ‘And I’ll be forever grateful to you for that.’

‘My dear girl.’ She touched my arm and her eyes shone with pride. ‘It has been my honour to see you grow and thrive.’

Astrid Beckmann had been my favourite teacher in secondary school by a country mile. I’d have drowned completely in the education system if she hadn’t been there to throw me a lifeline.

In truth I had been an enthusiastic rather than an exceptional art student, but Miss Beckmann, as I’d known her as then, would sail around the classroom, all kaftans and bangles, pointing out the positive in everyone’s creative offerings and we all loved her. Being encouraged had been a revelation. I revelled in her praise like a cat basking in sunlight.

One year, when I was about fourteen, she had set up an art club after school. I’d been delighted as it meant there would now be another evening when I could stay later rather than go straight home. I’d been the only student to turn up to that first class and my disappointment knew no bounds. I was convinced that Miss Beckmann would cancel the club due to lack of interest. But she’d declared herself thrilled that I’d joined her club and for one hour for the rest of that term, I had her and the art room to myself. Over the next weeks, while my hands were busy with chalk, watercolours or clay, I began to open up to her in a way I hadn’t been able to with an adult other than my mum. And Miss Beckmann listened and encouraged and cared. She became something of a guardian angel to me and, crucially, an adult who I could trust. It was my favourite hour of the week.

‘Thank you,’ I said, giving her a brief hug. Otto gave a yap and we looked down to see him at our feet and laughed. ‘He’s jealous,’ I said.

‘Here, sit down for a moment,’ she said, getting a plastic tub from her bag. ‘Have a cookie and talk to me. How is everything ?’

We both sat at the table and I took one of her freshly baked cookies.

‘Well, I took an order for candles for a fortieth wedding anniversary today, and this afternoon’s batch are for Nell’s stall. Running my own business is wonderful,’ I said, biting into my cookie. It was buttery and crumbly and studded with cranberries. ‘This is delicious. Sales are beginning to drip through ; I don’t really know how to run a business but I’m loving every minute of it.’

Astrid cradled her mug and nodded. ‘I remember reading something Oprah Winfrey said once about knowing you were on the road to success if you’d still do your job even if you weren’t being paid for it.’

‘In that case Merry and Bright is definitely on the right path. I would do it for free, but I hope I don’t have to,’ I admitted. ‘The rent on this cottage is very reasonable, but I don’t think they’d appreciate being paid in candles.’

Otto hoovered up a crumb that I’d dropped and then settled under the table by our feet. I reached down to run my fingers over his soft fur.

‘And you are making yourself at home here, I notice ?’ Astrid cast an amused eye over the kitchen surfaces. What little she could see of them.

I cringed ; that was her way of pointing out how messy I was. I used to get in trouble in her art class for the same thing.

‘I know, I know. But at least I’m not bothering anyone,’ I said. ‘There’s nobody to raise an eyebrow at the spilled wax. And there’s no need to tidy away my paraphernalia at mealtimes either. I’m quite happy to squeeze on the end of the table to avoid moving everything.’

She nodded. ‘There are advantages to living alone, yes.’

Although she had never married, Astrid had had a partner for many years. But after he died in a car accident, she had never met anyone else and seemed perfectly happy to be solo. I was gradually getting used to there being no one to talk to, but I didn’t think I’d want to live like this for ever.

‘I suppose there are,’ I said, forcing a smile.

‘And Daniel ?’ Astrid asked. ‘Have you seen him ?’