The Little Christmas Kitchen (11 page)

Another text.
It isn’t about money, Ella. It’s about revenge
.

Revenge she presumed meant ensuring her marriage dissolved as well. Max could have his cake but he couldn’t eat it too.

Someone slipped something into her hand. A shot glass of something. She turned to see the wedges of lemon and salt on the table and realised it was tequila.

Before she knew it, the rest of the night was a haphazard blur of more dancing, more drinking, more drunken confessions. Her mum had slipped away to bed hours earlier, Agatha and Alex were sensibly long gone, the artists decided to see the sunrise but then Colette fell asleep in a chair and Pete claimed the best view was from the top of the hill so they staggered off to see if he was right.

Ella, certain that she didn’t want to trek up a hill, found herself left alone. Her vision crooked. She glanced around but saw only piles of overwhelming debris, glasses and plates scattered across the table that she preferred to ignore.

She attempted to walk to her room but found herself dipping and swaying as her legs crisscrossed. She paused. Steadied herself on the back of a chair. Wondered when the last time she had been drunk was. As she tried to think, she felt a warm hand hook under her arm, and looked up to see Dimitri grinning down at her.

‘I don’t need any help.’ she said.

‘Of course not.’ His tone confusingly sincere. ‘But allow me to escort you across the taverna. Just for fun.’

She knew her feet couldn’t go in a straight line.

‘Ok. If you must.’

He nodded.

She felt intensely aware of where his fingers wrapped around her upper arm. Wanted to look down at them but made herself keep staring straight ahead. Eyes focused on the blue door with the gold baubles hanging from a drawing pin.

This close he smelt of Hugo Boss, cigarettes and the sea.

Max didn’t smell of any of those things.

At the little door Ella paused. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

She waited, the fluorescent light flickering, the moths dancing while the geckos watched. She looked up at his eyes, big and green like marbles. Then at his lips, at the dip of his cupid’s bow. She bit her bottom lip. She felt suddenly like she was fifteen again, her heart thumping in her ears.

‘Where are you going to sleep?’ she asked, aware that he couldn’t drive his bike home.

He shrugged. ‘At the bar.’

She nodded. The flickering lights stung her eyes but she kept looking at him. Seeing each little lash, thick and dark like a raven’s wing.

Then, as his mouth seemed to dip fractionally forward she murmured, ‘Are you going to kiss me?’

He shook his head. ‘No Ella.’

‘Oh.’ She bit her lip again. ‘But I think you should.’

‘No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you are drunk and you are arguing with your husband.’

‘We’re not arguing. He’s having an affair. And you shouldn’t know that. You should think I’m just someone on holiday. Anyone. Let me be anyone.’ She stepped closer, trying to wrap her arms around his neck. ‘A girl who just wants to be kissed.’

When he moved back she stumbled, tried to steady herself and bashed into the olive tree that shaded the doorway.

The pain in her shoulder seemed to sober her in an instant. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry.’ She put her hand to her mouth then moved it to cover her eyes. ‘I’m so so sorry.’

‘It’s ok.’

‘No it’s not. I’m so embarrassed. I shouldn’t have said any of that. Shit.’ She was flustered. Her body was still drunk but her mind almost totally clear. Her feet wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do and she had to steady herself on the gnarled bark of the little tree.

‘It’s ok.’ Dimitri laughed.

‘No. No it’s not. I’m married. God so are you.’ She looked at his bare ring finger. ‘I think. Oh god, look just leave me here. I’m fine.’ She rummaged in her apron pocket for the key.

‘Ella, seriously it’s not a problem.’ He put his rough hand on her arm but she flinched away.

As she fumbled to put the key in the lock she could feel him watching. When she glanced up at him his eyes seemed sad for her.

‘God I’m so sorry.’ She stopped. Rubbed her hand across her forehead. ‘Everything’s really messed up. I have no idea what I’m doing.’ She saw the little bunch of baubles and sighed, ‘And it’s bloody Christmas.’

He laughed. ‘It is bloody Christmas.’

She shook her head, ‘I am really sorry, Dimitri. I’m just not very good at–’ She paused.

‘At what?’ he asked.

She tried for the lock again then stopped, let her arm fall to her side. ‘Nothing.’

‘What were you going to say?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Ella–’

‘I suppose I’m not sure that I’m very good at…’

‘What?’

‘Being myself.’

There was a moment’s silence as she looked down at the concrete floor, closing her eyes and seeing patterns of colour dancing in front of her eyelids. She felt him take her key out of her tightly clenched fingers and unlock the door. Running her tongue along her bottom lip she wondered whether he’d lead her up the stairs, but he instead he pressed his hand into the small of her back and ushered her forward, placing the key on the inside step and closing the door behind her.

CHAPTER 14

MADDY

In the end Maddy chose one the outfits from Ella’s polaroids. Dark blue skinny jeans, gold snakeskin belt, black long sleeve top with a neck so wide it fell off one shoulder. It was all a bit too big but, Maddy decided, made her look chic yet dishevelled and from what she’d read about Soho that should work a treat.

She took the tube to Leicester Square, the bustle of people making her hold her breath. She was pushed and pressed and her hair caught in the doors as they closed. She had Ella’s black cashmere coat on and wished she’d had the foresight to take it off before getting on. Sweat was trickling down her back. No one looked at her. No one caught her eye. She smiled at the girl next to her when her hair got caught but the girl looked away. They trundled on. At her stop she pushed her way to the doors but no one moved and as the doors started to shut she had to call out and a man forced them back open for her.

Out in the open she paused for a moment to catch her breath. To look with relief up at the leaden sky. The cold air whipped through her, confusing her body temperature and drying the sweat to ice. Pulling the coat tight around her, doing a quick, subtle check of her A to Z, she started to walk up the Charing Cross Road, gazing into the windows of old bookshops and pausing to admire the cakes in the window of Patisserie Valerie. Just as she was running her tongue over her bottom lip, anticipating the taste of a six tiered concoction with chocolate frills around the sides and raspberries piled high on the top, she tasted her first flake of snow.

It had snowed once in Athens when she’d visited a friend at New Year but it hadn’t settled. Now it was falling like icing sugar, dusting everything in sight and reminding her of the little buttery
Kourabiethes
biscuits she sprinkled with sugar every year. Maddy tipped her head back and looked up at the sky, at the haze of flakes that swirled and danced above her. Savouring the sight for a second or two she then pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and took a photo, immediately texting it to her mum, even though she knew she never checked her phone, then took another three and put the best on Instagram. The 3G would cost her but she didn’t care, it would make Dimitri jealous.

The thought made her smile to herself. But as she pressed to share her falling snow photo on Instagram another popped up that Dimitri had added last night. A party with the artists. She had a moment of envy then reminded herself that she’d done that last year, and the year before. She’d sat with them and giggled and got drunk on ouzo. Fine. Good. She wasn’t missing anything. But then she scrolled down and saw another photo. Was that Ella dancing in the background? And her mum laughing. She tried to zoom in but the app wouldn’t let her. Damn it. What was going on? She goes away for a second and they’re all playing happy families and having the time of their lives?

Maddy pulled her coat tighter and tried to retrieve the magic of the snow. Of the frosting on the red postbox, of the big red bus driving past, its windscreen wipers pushing the slush out the way, of the Christmas trees jutting out above every building, of the tourists gasping at the flurry as they spilled out of China Town, the streets lit with strings of white lights and miniature lanterns.

And it was, it was amazing. She walked on, the snow billowing against her face, the shoppers and tourists pushing past her – but she was seeing it all a little less, a section of her brain back on the island, back at the photograph, wanting to know what had been so funny. As she turned up Shaftesbury Avenue, saw the big starburst lights suspended across the road, The Palace Theatre, the Curzon cinema, then Soho House and GAY, all the places she’d read about, heard about, had been desperate to see, she found herself wanting to tell someone, to point them out and coo and take photos. On her own it didn’t feel quite real. It was only as she paused to get a coffee from Bella Italia, stand against the counter and sip it like a local, she realised that she was actually a bit lonely. Even the waiters didn’t have the time to smile back at her.

She checked her map again. Greek Street wasn’t far. She wasn’t here to be a tourist she reminded herself. She was here to work, to make something of herself. She was here for the bright lights and the centre stage. She was here for the unobtrusive heavy frosted glass doors embossed with the Manhattans’ logo. For the black and white staircase that led to an underground cavern. For the high vaulted ceilings with the huge chandeliers, for the deep, wide stage with red velvet drapes and massive spotlights. For the bar where the list of cocktails on offer was longer than the entire taverna menu. For the clump of Christmas trees decorated only in tiny white lights. For the doorman with the hat that he tipped as he heaved on the brass handle as if it weighed nothing. For the expensive soap in the toilets and individual hand towels. For the way she could sashay in, dressed in her swanky clothes and feel like she was famous. For the woman behind the desk with the bright red hair curled like a fifties pin-up girl and the tight black pencil skirt. For the manager who strode over dressed in a cream suit and a pale blue cravat.

‘Madeline Davenport?’ he asked, looking at her through narrow hot pink glasses.

‘Yes that’s me. Hi.’ She held out a slightly clammy palm wishing again that she’d taken her heavy black coat off before meeting him.

‘You said you weren’t coming.’ He glanced at a clipboard he was carrying.

‘Well no actually I emailed again to say that I could. Just the other day.’ she said, pointing behind her as if the past was sitting there over her shoulder.

‘No.’ He shook his head, took his glasses off and folded them into his top pocket. ‘I’ve replaced you. Apologies but I can’t be a person down.’ He gave a tight smile and his eyes wandered to a scuff on the floor that he polished away with the sole of his shoe.

‘Oh no but I have the job.’ Maddy looked past him at the big stage, at the technicians playing around with the microphones. ‘You said. I’d have it over Christmas.’

‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘No can do I’m afraid.’

Maddy was going to try and plead some more but it was apparent his attention had moved on to other things. In the end she nodded and took a couple of steps back. He returned to his clipboard and then moved to talk to the woman at the desk. Maddy didn’t want them to see her eyes welling up so she turned and walked as fast as she could to the toilets.

Standing with her hands on the sink, her face damp from the water she’d splashed on it, she stared at herself in the perfect, flattering light.

Shit
.

What now? Go home? Camp out in Ella’s flat with no money eating Alpen and drinking champagne?

Her phone rang. She looked at the screen to see it was her mum.

She thought about not answering.

Then she thought maybe it was an emergency and pressed Answer.

‘Hi honey. I just thought I’d see how you were doing.’

Maddy turned and leant against the sink. ‘Yeah I’m good. All good. It’s really fun. It’s snowing.’

‘Yeah I saw your photo. You’d be proud, I’m keeping my phone with me all the time. Don’t get used to it though, it’s only because you’re away–’

Maddy laughed and her mum paused, she knew her too well. Knew when her laugh wasn’t quite right. ‘Are you ok?’

‘Yeah, yeah I’m fine.’

‘You don’t sound fine, Mads.’

‘That’s because I’m in the bathroom. It’s all echoey.’

‘Oh.’ Her mum paused. ‘Are you at the place? I got Dimitri to Google it for me. It’s very smart, Maddy.’

Maddy looked around the toilet stall, at the gold toilet roll holder and the wooden panelled walls. ‘Yeah, it’s amazing.’

‘Well I was impressed. I thought I should just ring to let you know. I’m impressed. Well done Maddy. Enjoy it.’

‘Thanks Mum.’ Maddy sucked in her top lip, trying to keep her voice neutral.

‘I miss you.’

Maddy nodded.

‘Are you sure you’re ok?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m nodding.’

‘Ok, well get to work. Go and wow them. Everyone sends their love. Granddad wants you to get someone to film you and send us a video. Can you do that? He says you can do that. Jesus he’s nearly ninety and he knows more about it than me.’ Her mum laughed. Maddy imagined her in the kitchen, her apron on, the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she crushed herbs in the old, chipped pestle and mortar or fed sheets of pasta through the rollers until they were wafer thin.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Maddy said. ‘I might need to settle in first, you know, before asking people to film me. Could be embarrassing.’ She ran the toe of her shoe along a crack in the tiles on the floor, knew it didn’t have long before the manager had it replaced.

‘Oh absolutely honey, you do what you need to. Don’t worry about us at home.’ She could hear her mum’s smile in her voice. ‘I just wanted to ring really to say that I was proud of you. Well done. It looks really good. I was stupid to try and stop you. You go get them. Show them how good you are.’