The Little Christmas Kitchen (22 page)

CHAPTER 27

ELLA

As her mum topped up their wine, Ella turned her head to look at the fire and seeing the flames licking the last of the blackened wood, she pushed her chair back and went to the stack to pick up two great logs. As she chucked them into the grate she watched the fire jump and dance with greedy excitement, then crouched down to prod the ash and wood with the poker as the yellow-eyed cat sauntered in and edged its way towards her. She didn’t touch it, just rocked back onto her heels and let the cat weave its way in front of her. It stretched itself out long, sparks jumping towards its fur as it rolled as far towards the grate as possible, and Ella watched silently, her flip-flop clad toes tickled by soft white fur as the cat inhaled.

Before the funeral, before her aunt had passed away, before they’d hung up their stockings and laid out the nativity, Maddy had come to visit Ella and their dad for a weekend before they both went to Greece for the run up to Christmas. As they arrived together at Athens airport their mum had sensed something was wrong. Not from Ella, Ella had perfected a look of calm neutrality. But Maddy was all red-nosed and snivelling, refusing to look Ella in the eye when she grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back as they saw their mum waiting at Arrivals and whispered, ‘Just don’t mention it.’

Maddy had flung herself into their mum’s outstretched arms and said, ‘He’s met someone else. She was there. She’s awful. She’s French and her name’s Veronica.’

Ella had had to close her eyes for a second. Her mum might not have been able to read her, but Ella could tell every emotion that flickered on her face. She hadn’t wanted to see the eyes that widened just enough, the split-second freeze of her body, the half-smile that showed her teeth, the tightening of her arms around Maddy’s skinny little waist.

‘Well that’s ok, honey.’ her mum had said, pushing Maddy back, her hands resting on her shoulders so she could look her in the eye. ‘He’s allowed to move on. We’re all allowed to move on.’

‘I hate her.’

Her mum had smiled and pushed Maddy’s hair back, tucking it behind her ear. ‘She can’t be that bad.’ she’d said softly.

The cat rolled over so that its tummy was across Ella’s feet. She could feel all its ribs as it breathed. The fire kept her there, mesmerised. The wood cracking from the heat, the flames licking up the chimney breast.

‘Does he love her? What’s she like? Is she pretty? Is she prettier than me? No I didn’t say that. I don’t care how pretty she is. Is she awful? How French is she? I bet she’s all chic and
je ne sais quoi
. Bollocks. Does he love her? It can’t have been going on very long. He can’t love her. Does he love her?’

They were standing in the big bedroom over the taverna where Ella was sleeping now. When her mum first moved in she’d had it as her own room but then decided that she liked the view from the smaller back bedroom better and decamped. Ella had been sitting on the bed, waiting while her mum put Maddy to bed. She knew she would have more to say than:
We’re all allowed to move on
.

‘Shit.’ Her mum had turned away and gone to lean against the windowsill. ‘Shit, I’m sorry Ella. Don’t answer any of this. You don’t have to answer. I don’t want to know.’ For a moment she’d looked out at the view in silence, and Ella had watched her shoulders rising and falling, wondering if she was crying and not really knowing what to do.

Ella had really liked Veronica when her dad had introduced them. She’d liked how she’d held her hand out to shake, liked how she’d stood back when their dad had walked with them, asking Maddy questions about Greece and the taverna, liked how she’d ordered a Perrier with no ice, liked how she’d listened when Ella had told them about the English essay she was working on. She’d felt herself bristle when Maddy had played up, refusing to look Veronica in the eye, refusing to even acknowledge her.

‘I really like her, Ella.’ her dad had said that evening when Veronica had gone out on the balcony to have a cigarette and Maddy was in bed.

‘You do? That’s good.’

He’d nodded. ‘I loved your mother, I really did. But this–’ He’d bitten down on his lip and shaken his head. ‘This is something I didn’t know was possible.’ He’d glanced across to where Ella was standing next to him, both of them in front of the big sliding glass doors of his apartment. Outside Battersea Bridge sparkled with white lights, the reflection wobbling in the choppy water of the Thames. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I’m sorry. It’s unfair.’

‘No it’s ok, I like her.’ But it was unfair. She’d been torn between liking being trusted with the information and wanting to put her hands over her ears and la la la. The only benefit was that it all seemed very
Neighbours
and her friends at school would devour it.

‘You do? So do I. I really like her. I just–’ He ran his hand through his hair.

To Ella he was almost like a stranger, she’d never seen him this excited, this happy, this relaxed.

‘I really love her. And it means so much to me that you like her, El.’ He’d winked at her and the shared confidence had made Ella feel all grown-up. She’d taken a sip of the cup of tea she was holding and beamed back at him but he was already looking away, back to the sliding doors were Veronica was stepping inside from the balcony, the faint smell of cigarettes entwining with Chanel No 5.

‘Ok. Just tell me.’ Her mum had twisted round where she stood at the window, looking back to where Ella sat on the bed. ‘Just tell me. Does he love her?’ She’d closed her eyes, put her hands over her face. ‘Oh god, he’s so annoying. Why can he still do this to me?’ Her voice was muffled, her mouth covered by her palms, then she’d moved her fingers to push back her hair and said again, ‘Does he love her? Do you think he loves her?’

Ella had looked across at her, seen the desperate need in her eyes and testing out the first of her soap-opera-style answers had stood up, walked to stand next to her and said, ‘No. He said he doesn’t. You know he actually said he really misses you–’ And before she knew it she’d spun a whole new reality, one that seemed to make everything better.

CHAPTER 28

MADDY

Her father had left instructions with the doorman to show Maddy up to the Piano Bar which was part of the private members’ club of The Ivy. She was ushered further up the road from the main door to a flower shop where a discreet entrance, opened by another doorman, led her to the club rooms above the restaurant. Maddy hadn’t been able to sleep the night before and, after being up for hours, decided to make use of the spare time by hiring a Boris Bike and cycling from Pimlico along the river, up The Strand and into Covent Garden where she’d got hopelessly lost and had to ask a Big Issue seller directions to The Ivy in exchange for buying one of his magazines and a coffee from Pret which he said he didn’t need but it was so cold Maddy ignored him.

The cycle had been stunning. The snow melting around her in the low morning sunshine. The river a sparkling reminder of her view of the sea, the sound of the gulls and the honk of the cruise ships. She’d gone past Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. Seen the Houses of Parliament dusted with white and heard the bell chime as the clouds merged grey over the spire like candy floss on a stick.

Now, as she headed up to the Piano Bar, she pulled off her hat and fumbled nervously with her gloves as she took the stairs. She cringed when she looked down and realised that her shoes, wet from the cycle, left footprints behind her. As she tried to wipe them away with her toe the doorman angled his head and said, ‘It’s not a problem, madam.’ Which just served to make her more embarrassed and unsure. Then as the door opened to the Piano Bar she was immediately grateful she’d swiped Ella’s snakeskin Gucci cigarette pants and red cashmere sweater.

The people were impeccable.

A gentleman with perfect olive-skin and designer stubble, wearing loafers with no socks and a blazer with a crest on the pocket, was sipping a cappuccino with a woman dressed head to toe in beige with matching highlights. Alone in one of the armchairs, a lady, rotund in fur with a tiny dog in a Louis Vuitton carrier, was doing the crossword over her bifocals. In the centre table four businessmen were having hushed chat over eggs Benedict and by the window a blonde woman with massive sunglasses sat tapping on her iPad. Maddy was certain she’d seen her on the front of yesterday’s Times, which was delivered to Ella’s door every day. Her first thought was that she wanted to take a picture for Dimitri, but knew this wasn’t the place to start getting her phone out for a quick celebrity-spot snap. Instead she did a sort of crab-like sidestep to the bar in the hope that she might remain inconspicuous and be able to survey the area for her dad.

It was as she was about to perch on a stool and pretend to look over the breakfast menu, that she heard her name called from a table over by the window.

‘Walter?’ she said, surprised as she looked towards the voice.

‘Madeline, Madeline. Don’t you scrub up well?’ Walter said, lounging back in his big leather armchair, a black coffee steaming on the table in front of him. ‘Your father’s over at the corner table with his rather stunning companion.’

‘Oh god I didn’t think she was coming.’ Maddy bit her lip and shielded herself behind the art deco screen.

Walter took a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ve never seen Edward Davenport look quite so nervous. It’s marvellous.’

Maddy peered over the top of the screen to where her father and Veronica sat. ‘You think he looks nervous?’

‘Oh absolutely. Terrified. Whatever you’ve done to him it’s certainly worked.’

‘I didn’t do anything.’ Her tone sounded childish as soon as she said it.

‘I bet you didn’t.’ He laughed. ‘Go on, shoo. Go and play happy families.’

Maddy sighed, suddenly deflated by the whole idea, wishing that he hadn’t brought Veronica.

Walter watched her over the rim of his coffee cup. ‘You should make the most of it while you have it, my dear. Believe me, when it’s gone it’s terribly lonely.’

She glanced back to see if for once he was actually being sincere but Walter wasn’t looking at her, instead he’d put his cup down and was flicking through The Independent.

‘Walter?’ she started but he waved a hand at her.

‘Go on, go away.’ he muttered without looking up. ‘I have important things to do.’

Maddy walked tentatively along the edge of the art deco screen that divided the room, past the table of businessmen and the woman who she was sure was famous and paused just before getting to her father’s table.

He hadn’t seen her and she took the opportunity to watch him. His black hair was greying at the temples and just starting to recede. He’d hate that, she thought, remembering when she’d stand on the toilet seat and comb his hair for him. He didn’t have many wrinkles but his skin looked thinner, paler, like maybe he was doing too much exercise. He did look nervous, she realised, playing with the ring on his finger, checking his nails were clean, checking his watch. She noticed that he still wore his grandfather’s old Timex which surprised her because she’d expected him to have upgraded to a Rolex.

Veronica was reading a magazine, her hand resting on his arm. She looked amazing, hair pulled back tight, neutral make-up, black polo-neck and tiny pearl studs.

In a couple of steps Maddy was next to their table, they still hadn’t seen her so she coughed and her dad shot up, hand on her arm, smiling nervously. ‘Sweetheart, you made it. God you know part of me thought maybe you might not come. No. Yes. No I’m glad you’re here. Sit down.’

He moved round to pull out one of the big leather armchairs for Maddy. As she went to sit down he leant forward to pass her the menu and they collided. He apologised, she claimed it was her fault and then perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat.

‘The eggs are legendary.’ her dad said as he went back round the table to his own seat, ‘The smoked salmon is beautiful. Veronica always has the granola.’ He was scanning the menu and then looking up at Maddy with each suggestion. ‘You might want the pancakes. Not as good as Mum’s but–’

She looked up, startled that he still called her Mum. He didn’t notice, just kept reeling off possible options.

‘I’ll just have a coffee and a croissant, please.’ Maddy said.

‘Almond? Raisin? Chocolate?’ Her dad was rambling.

‘Just plain please.’ Secretly she wanted everything on the menu. There were dishes on there that she’d never tasted, like haggis on toast or Burford Brown soft-boiled eggs. There was smoked haddock which she adored and eggs Arlington which she saw from the plate on the table next to their’s that the poached egg came wrapped in smoked salmon. But she wasn’t relaxed enough to enjoy anything she ordered, and a plain croissant seemed like something Veronica couldn’t say anything about.

‘Ok. Ok.’ Her dad held up a hand, ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’

He dashed off to the bar to order which caused much fluster amongst the waiters and Maddy wondered if he’d gone because he needed a breather.

Veronica sat silently over the other side of the table, her fingers thrumming on her closed magazine. Maddy glanced up at her and then across, pretending to admire the art on the wall behind her while wondering what she was thinking.

After a moment, Veronica sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. Maddy noticed the red soles of her Christian Louboutin boots.

‘So you have grown-up at last.’ she said, her expression unreadable.

Maddy was so astonished by the comment that she didn’t reply. Just floundered, wondering if she’d heard her correctly.

‘I have been waiting for this for a long time. For finally you to grow up.’

‘Well I don’t see that that’s–’ Maddy started, her voice full of affront.

Veronica held up a hand to cut her off and leant forward, pointing to her across the table. ‘Don’t you start. I have lived with your ghost for years. You were young and I understand that it is hard when your parents split up but you waited too long to fix things. And even now pff–’ She blew out a breath. ‘You come to London and you don’t even see him?’ She shook her head. ‘If you were my daughter I would have had words with you long ago.’