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Alex fell silent again as she tried to picture where she might find herself on Christmas Day. It was a blank. She knew where she didn’t want to be, that was for sure: alone in her little house in Port Kernou.
She broke a corner off the cake and tasted it. The sweetness brought her round and she realised Magnús was drinking his coffee, not even trying to fill the silence in the café.
‘Mmm!You’re a good baker,’ she said.
‘Only good? In Reykjavík myJólakakais famous.’
‘Oh wow, really?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘This was my third attempt. I burned the others.’
‘You were joking?’
‘I was.’
‘You don’t smile when you tell jokes?’
‘Iamsmiling,’ he told her, his mouth forced into a straight line, but his eyes shining wickedly.
‘Yeah, hate to tell you this, but you’re really not.’
‘Well, I’m incandescent on the inside.’
They both smiled now and everything felt a little easier.
‘You’re lucky, growing up eating like this.’ She took another bite and Magnús mirrored her with his own mouthful.
The café was warm in spite of the wind rattling the door and the thin lace curtains at the windows failing to seal out the dark, gusty afternoon.
‘Christmas food doesn’t taste the same since Amma died,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘This is not as good as hers.’ Yet, Alex observed, he was still taking big bites and reaching for the knife to cut a second slice.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she told him. ‘Oh, go on, then.’ She accepted another piece too.
Something about seeing him relax and the quietness in the café made her give way a little.
‘My mum had her own café, actually. Well, it was more of a diner,’ she said, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate as she licked a finger to dab up the crumbs. A few tiny details about herself couldn’t hurt, surely? He’d been so kind and welcoming. ‘By the harbour, in a village a bit like this really, except it’s all on the flat.’
She shook her head dreamily at the memory and imagined herself walking in through the familiar white door and up to the counter where her mum would stoop and lift her into her arms for a hug. ‘It had a sort of sixties vibe going on, all red-and-white checked tablecloths and those tomato-shaped squeezy bottles. Remember them?’ Magnús didn’t. ‘She made the best milkshakes in the whole of… the village.’
She remembered to be guarded. She couldn’t have word getting out about where she was from or they’d all encourage her to go back there, but her caution wasn’t enough to stop her reminiscing. She loved talking about her mum whenever she could. ‘Hands down, her strawberry shake would beat anybody’s. I’d eat there every night after school. Same thing every day; milkshake, Mum’s cheddar, ham and tomato toasties, a side of chips, and a big square of chocolate crispy cake for pudding. And mum would be grabbing sips of cold coffee and being worked off her feet.’
Alex didn’t mention that her dad also worked late into the evenings all summer long from his spot on the quayside just across the square from the diner. He’d wave in the window at them both every time he got back from ferrying the tourists in search of evening meals and sunset strolls across the river.
‘I loved it there,’ she sighed. ‘Songs on the radio and all the old ladies chatting. Mum would let me write the specials on the chalk board. It’s funny, the little things you remember.’ She took a gulp of coffee. ‘I don’t like to go back now, though. Somebody else bought it.’ The words slipped out as the grief bloomed fresh in her chest. It was amazing how the sadness could hit her all these years later and still knock her breathless.
Magnús only nodded. ‘You don’t have her any more, your mother. I am sorry.’ None of it was enquiring. He didn’t want details, only to say he felt for her.
He topped up their coffees from the cafetière, then added more frothed milk.
After a moment, the horrible realisation hit her. ‘Oh no!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘My photographs!’ She turned to face Magnús. ‘They’re still on the boat. Only a few, stuck inside the cabin. I need to get them back.’
‘Jæja, yeah, OK.’ He seemed to inhale while the sounds came out, as though he didn’t want to waste time exhaling before agreeing with her. He was nodding, too. ‘I’ll come with you. In the morning. But it’s too dark now. Too dangerous,’ he told her, and his straightforward rationality stilled her again.
Of course it was too dangerous. She’d almost risen and made for the harbour there and then. Stupid really, typical of her new impulsive streak. ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’
