The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan (32 page)

She had created an ice-cream Christmas pudding the previous night. To a plain base, heavily flavoured with cinnamon and mixed spice, she had added copious amounts of dried fruit and cranberries. All it needed was
a good splash of alcohol. But that was expensive so she was having a rethink. Or else a begging mission to her parents’ house.

She was also desperate to make a gingerbread house filled with ice-cream. But how to get them to stick together? And what kind of mould should she use?

Charley felt a frisson of excitement as they locked up the shop before leaving. It might just be until Christmas was
over, but for the month of December she would be making ice-cream every day. And that thought made her smile.

On the way home they popped in to see Caroline.

She had been busy using her laptop to organise home deliveries for all of her food and Christmas shopping. And she was organising the girls’ as well.

‘You shouldn’t be doing any of this,’ protested Charley.

‘Look,’ Caroline told them,
‘I’ve watched all the movies you lent me. I’ve finished the books. I’ve written my Christmas cards. I’m only lying here doing nothing. Dear God, let me do something!’

If time was in short supply, money was even more so. But they were all finding that if they clubbed together, the cost of Christmas wasn’t so high as in previous years.

New decorations weren’t necessary as Julie had picked up lots
of pine cones during her walks and they were now sprayed gold or silver, depending on the chosen colour scheme. Flora had been let loose with cardboard, glitter and glue. The house was a disaster zone but the decorations were pretty enough and Caroline had shed a small tear on seeing Flora’s glittery home-made angel perched on top of the tree.

Unused former presents such as bubble bath and hand
cream were being wrapped up for various relations. Wrapping paper was shared and leftover cards cut up to be used as gift tags.

They looked at the wrapped presents lying all around them.

‘I see you’re getting organised,’ said Julie, raising her eyebrows.

‘Thank God,’ muttered Caroline. ‘You know that Coke advert which says the holidays are coming, over and over?’

‘I love that one,’ said Charley.

‘Not me,’ said Caroline. ‘It panics me into thinking, “What have I got left to do?”’

‘Easy,’ said Julie. ‘Watch your blood pressure.’

‘But actually I’m on top of everything this year,’ said Caroline. ‘Now the presents are packed, I’ve really nothing else to do.’

‘Wish I could say the same,’ said Charley. ‘I’m drowning in work. And phone calls from new customers. It’s great but I just haven’t
got time to deal with them.’

‘How organised are you?’ said Caroline. ‘You’ve got to answer the phone otherwise you’ll miss out on new business.’

‘I can’t answer the phone when I’m cleaning,’ Charley told her.

‘Then give them my number,’ said Caroline, quickly shaking her head at the protests from everyone else. ‘Just give me a description of all your recipes and I’ll deal with them.’

‘You
should be taking it easy,’ said Charley.

‘I will be lying down on this sofa when I answer the phone,’ Caroline told them. ‘Scout’s honour.’

Charley looked from friend to friend before finishing with Caroline.

‘If there’s one blip in your blood pressure,’ she told her, ‘one tiny bounce, then the deal’s off. Okay?’

Caroline nodded. ‘Okay.’

THE PAVEMENT WAS
still slippery from the harsh frost of the night before. A couple of times Julie slid on it and slammed into Charley.

‘Why are you wearing the only pair of high-heeled boots you possess?’ asked Charley.

Julie shrugged her shoulders. ‘They still rub so I thought I could wear them in.’

‘Did you wear them on your walk this morning?’

‘No.’

Charley knew Julie
was lying. ‘They make your legs look nice and long.’

Julie gave her a shy smile. ‘Do they?’

‘Yeah. I bet Wes thought so too.’

Julie had finally told Caroline and Charley about her small crush. To her surprise, they were both enthusiastic about the vet.

‘So? Did he like the boots?’ prompted Charley.

‘I didn’t seem him this morning, actually,’ said Julie, in a haughty tone. Not through lack
of trying. Poor Boris had been round the heath twice and was now laid out on the lounge carpet in a state of exhaustion.

As they walked past the village green with the cold chilling their faces, Charley couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the splendour of winter. Little Grove village green was still glittering with frost, untouched by any footprints. The pond had a thin layer of ice on it,
which would crack when the ducks appeared later that morning for their bread feast handed out by local toddlers. Even the spider’s webs which criss-crossed the hedges were objects of beauty in the freezing weather.

They crossed the road. The Saturday morning traffic had yet to build and the roads were empty.

‘Tell me again why we’re up at the crack of dawn?’ asked Julie.

‘It’s hardly early.
It’s gone eight o’clock,’ Charley told her. ‘But the best stuff goes first and I don’t want to be around once the Christmas rush gets going. It’ll be murder down here in about two hours’ time.’

They crossed the near-empty car park and headed through the garden shop. Instantly they were bathed in warmth and the tinny noise of singing, illuminated snowmen who were vying to be heard above the Christmas
carols on the main speakers. It might have been early but they weren’t the only ones up and about. There were quite a few shoppers, mainly women, already packing their baskets with gifts.

But they weren’t there to peruse the Christmas tree decorations or the expensive fudge. They headed straight through and back out into the morning air, across the area which was stacked with Christmas fir trees
ready to be sold and into a large marquee.

The earthy smell of fruit and vegetables hit their noses as soon as they went through the opening. Long trestle tables were covered with piles of fresh produce from the local farms. Potatoes covered in earth bumped up against carrots, parsnips and brussels sprouts that were still on their stalks.

But Charley wasn’t interested in the vegetables. She
weaved her way over to the tables where the deep red of cranberries shone next to piles of green apples.

‘So? What do we need, boss?’ said Julie, looking at her.

Charley grabbed the list from her pocket. ‘About three pounds of pears. The same of oranges.’

Julie wandered off to harass one of the farmers for a discount whilst Charley mooched along to the table piled high with cranberries. Scarlet,
plump and bursting with flavour, as opposed to the shrivelled dried versions in the supermarket, they were ideal for the Christmas pudding ice-cream which was one of her most requested recipes at the moment.

According to Caroline, Charley’s voicemail was no longer filled with people looking for money. These days the messages were from people offering to pay for her ice-cream. When Caroline tried
to explain that time was running short and Charley might not be able to meet their order before Christmas, they were suddenly offering such outrageous money that she found she couldn’t afford to say no.

She picked up the cranberries, some pine nuts and dates. She also added some lemons and walnuts to her load. When she met up with Julie by the entrance, they were each carrying a couple of heavy
carrier bags.

Weighed down with their purchases, they had trouble negotiating their way through the small crowd which had begun to form around the Christmas trees for sale. To Charley’s surprise, Mike was standing in front of the forest of trees. He was in his normal gardening clothes but with a money pouch slung around his waist.

‘Hi,’ said Charley, going up to him. ‘I didn’t know you were
working here?’

He nodded. ‘Just for this month. It helps pay the mortgage when the garden work gets a bit slow at this time of year.’

‘You expecting it to be busy today?’

‘Are you kidding? There are nine days until Christmas. It’s gonna be hell.’

‘Tell me about it. Do you know how much ice-cream I’ve got to make and deliver before Christmas Eve?’

She took a moment to close her eyes and inhale
the lovely pine scent.

‘You want a tree?’

Charley shook her head. ‘Not in my budget, I’m afraid. I’m only here for the fruit. Besides, I don’t think my flat’s big enough to hold even a pot plant.’

‘Everyone should have a Christmas tree.’

Charley gave him a rueful grin. ‘Maybe next year.’

They went back via the shop, picking up some vanilla pods on the way before heading across the village
green to Charley’s parents’ house.

Halfway across, Julie stopped abruptly. ‘Tell me again why we couldn’t drive all the way to the farm shop instead of leaving the car at your mother’s?’

‘It’s such a beautiful morning,’ Charley told her. ‘And I so rarely get any fresh air these days. You’re just moaning because you’re in your fancy boots.’

They arrived at Charley’s parents’ house and found
them both having breakfast in the kitchen. They dumped their bags in the hallway before sinking on to chairs around the table.

‘Was it busy?’ asked Maureen. ‘I need some more mincemeat and they had some of that organic stuff on special offer. I had a bit of a disaster with the mince pies and need to make a few more.’

Charley caught her father’s eye and they briefly exchanged knowing looks.

‘They’re not that bad,’ said Mum, who had caught the exchange. ‘They taste fine, they’re just a bit well done.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be lovely with a bit of orange marmalade ice-cream,’ said Julie. ‘Your daughter says it’s the best thing for them.’

Maureen turned to her daughter. ‘You will bring some for Christmas Day, won’t you?’

‘I don’t know, Mum. I’ve still got so much to do . . .’

‘Coo-eee!’
came a voice from the hallway. ‘Anyone home?’

Aunty Peggy came into the kitchen. ‘Good morning, all. It’s nippy out there today. Not good for my rheumatism. Still, I should be able to struggle across to the bingo tonight, despite the immense pain. You get one free sherry ’cos it’s the festive season.’ She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot. ‘Maureen, I finally got a Christmas card from
Ivy in the post this morning.’

‘She didn’t die then?’

‘Just a kidney stone apparently. But you’ll never guess what her Harold’s been up to . . .’

Charley followed her father’s swift exit out of the kitchen, leaving Julie agog at the rumour mill.

‘Dad, can I ask a favour?’ she said, once they were in the lounge.

‘Ask away,’ he said, putting on his glasses and looking at the sports news on
the back page of his paper.

‘You know that bottle of brandy Peggy brought you back from her holiday?’

He peered over his glasses. ‘You mean that stuff that strips the enamel from your teeth? Bit early for a tipple, isn’t it?’

‘I was wondering if I could take it off your hands? I need to soak the cranberries in brandy for a recipe and I don’t think it matters too much if the booze isn’t the
best money can buy. Unless you were going to use it?’

‘I shouldn’t have thought so. I’ve got all the paint stripper I need in the shed.’

He opened up the drinks cabinet and rifled around until he drew out a large bottle in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. He then went back in and pulled out a smaller bottle.

‘She got us this little number the year before last. Cherry brandy, I think. Don’t want
that as well, do you? It made your mother go most peculiar when she had a drop.’

‘It’ll be lovely with a chocolate recipe I’ve got.’

‘Done. Glad to get them out the house, to be honest.’ He handed over the bottles and sat down in his armchair again with the newspaper.

‘Thanks, Dad.’ Charley gave him a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I’d better be off. Things to do, ice-cream to make.’

‘Charlotte?’
he called out as she was leaving the room.

She poked her head back round the door. ‘What?’

‘You’re doing really well, you know. I’m proud of you.’

They exchanged smiles before he went back to reading his newspaper.

Charley was still smiling as she grabbed her car keys from the green bowl in the hallway, feeling a little proud of herself as well.

CHARLEY SPENT THE
last afternoon before the holidays gossiping with Mrs Wilberforce in front of the Christmas tree Mike had brought for her. It was tiny, only about two feet high, but that meant she could easily reach the top to put the angel on.

Charley also noticed that he had placed logs of wood beside every fireplace in the house, as anxious as she was that Mrs Wilberforce
should keep warm. He had even made sure the logs weren’t too large so that she could pick them all up.

Charley went outside to see him, suddenly realising how dark it was at only four o’clock in the afternoon. She found Mike in the wood shed.

‘Are you nearly finished?’ she asked, clapping her hands together for warmth.

‘You need some gloves,’ he said.

‘I was too busy saving up this week.’

‘Are you sure you’re eating enough? You’ve lost a lot of weight.’

‘You sound like my mother.’

Mike held out his own gloves to her which Charley gratefully slipped on. They were far too big for her hands but were soft and warm, probably thermal.

‘What are you up to this weekend?’

‘Making a ton of ice-cream. What about you?’

‘Last weekend of the Christmas tree rush.’

Charley peered outside
at the starry sky above. ‘It’s colder. Might get a frost.’

‘So clear you can even see the Pleiades.’

‘What?’

‘The Seven Sisters. Only six can be seen without a telescope.’

Mike stood close to her and pointed up into the sky. Charley leant in close to trace the direction in which he was pointing. A small cluster of stars was visible against the dark sky.

As they stood there she became aware
that she was now very close to him, could feel his breath on her cheek. She slowly turned her head until their faces were inches apart.