The Little Christmas Kitchen (28 page)

Ella raised a brow. ‘Would you like me to want you to want to spend the day with me?’

Dimitri sat back and laughed. ‘I can’t even work out what that means.’

‘Can you two please concentrate?’ her mum called over to them as she reappeared from the larder. ‘There’s so much work to be done.’

‘I know, we’re doing it.’ Ella said, holding up the bowl of finely diced onions so her mum could see, hearing a twang of teenage attitude in her voice.

‘I don’t need that, Ella.’

‘What?’

‘That tone.’

Ella huffed a sigh.

‘Look. D’you know what, I’d rather if you don’t want to be here that you go. Go and see the island or something.’

‘Soph–’ Dimitri swivelled round in his chair. ‘You’re totally over-reacting. We’re working. It’s fine.’

‘Thanks Dimitri, I don’t think I am.’ She had her hands on her hips. ‘I have about two hundred people, probably more, coming in two days, there’s no time to chat.’

Ella rolled her eyes and got ready to chop some dill and parsley, not allowing herself to say anything else because she knew she’d lose her temper.

‘Ella, you can use this hob and this pan when you’re ready.’ her mum said after a moment’s silence, ticking off her list and clearing some work space.

‘Fine.’ Ella muttered, focusing on her herbs.

Dimitri glanced up, a frown on his face. ‘What’s going on? Are you two ok?’ he whispered.

‘We’re fine,’ said Ella, not meeting his eye. ‘Like we always are.’

When she thought back to that morning as evening fell it actually seemed calm in comparison. As the day had unfolded Ella’s
Dolmades
had been deemed too baggy so she had had to roll them all again, her mum watching over her so her hands shook with fury. Her gran tripped, dropping the bowl of finely chopped herbs all over the kitchen and half onto the fire making the whole room cloud with smoke. Dimitri made an amazing taramasalata but lost concentration when it came to the cheese and spinach pies and the filo pastry stuck to the table, the fine sheets tearing as he tried to salvage them. When Ella’s mum balled the whole lot up and chucked it in the bin, saying she’d do it, Dimitri had to go out into the rain and have a cigarette. As water continued to pour down the wind picked up and there were murmurs of the
mistral
. Two trays of mince pies burnt and the yellow-eyed cat nabbed a dish of battered anchovies that he crunched on the doorstep until her granddad shooed him away.

‘This is ridiculous!’ Her mum ran her hand over her forehead and looked like she might cry as she pulled out the second of the charred little star-topped pies.

It felt to Ella like the
mistral
had already come. Everyone on tenterhooks, the atmosphere between Ella and her mum deteriorating as more and more went wrong.

‘Sophie, honey.’ her granddad called as he came back from shooing the cat away. ‘I think you’d better come and see this.’

‘What?’ Her mum rubbed her hands with her apron and walked over to the doorway, a frown on her face.

Her granddad nodded towards the toilet block outhouse. ‘The roof’s coming up.’

‘It can’t be, it’s new.’

He shrugged. ‘Then they did a bad job, but the wind’s got the under the felt.’

‘Shit.’ Her mum slapped the wall with her hand.

They all stood in the doorway looking out through the fairy lights at the roof, flapping away in the wind.

‘It’s going to leak into the toilets. Who the hell is going to want to fix it in this weather? Oh god! Why? Why now?’

Ella watched as her mum turned away and went and slumped down in her granddad’s hideous old chair. She looked old suddenly, worn out, worn down. When Ella had first arrived and they’d cooked together for the breakfast feast she’d seemed vibrant, scatty, fun. Now it was like the life and energy had been stripped out of her.

She thought of her dad just forgiving Maddy. Of wanting her in his life so much that it didn’t matter what had happened in the past.

She thought of her dad handing her mum a glass of champagne. How her face would brighten. Her shoulders would soften. Who handed her champagne now? Ella didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend, if she’d ever had a boyfriend. She looked at her, remembered how beautiful she’d always thought her, how funny, how kind. How she’d always aligned her with Maddy but actually there was a softness, a vulnerability that Ella felt in herself.

Her mum shut her eyes and she watched her take a couple of deep breaths, her hand gripping the arms of the chair. She caught sight of the list sticking out of her apron pocket. Two sides of A4, really small loopy writing. They had so much to do.

Outside the wind knocked over an oil can of geraniums, she heard it roll over the concourse and out into the road. Bashing and clattering against the stones. Dimitri and her grandparents were sheltering in the doorway talking about the roof.

Ella had told her mum that she needed someone to blame otherwise it all meant nothing. But maybe it wasn’t that she needed someone to blame, it was that she needed the courage to forgive. Perhaps her fear wasn’t that she thought her mum wanted her to be more than who she was, but instead had become how to move on from this point, how to admit that she was perhaps too afraid to stand up on her own with nothing in the past to blame for her mistakes.

She’d stayed in a marriage that she knew wasn’t working. In a company that was safe, where she was a big fish. She was too scared to rely on her own fashion sense, for Christ’s sake. Was she strong?

She looked from her mum to the rain lashing down outside, the wind tearing more of the felt from the roof, the path almost a flood of brown mud, the waves smacking the beach, the sound of the pebbles crushed and thrown in the surf. Up the road the decorations across the street were tossing in the wind like birds, their ropes holding steadfast against the growing gale.

‘I’ll go up.’ Ella said suddenly. ‘I’ll go up the ladder and fix it.’

Dimitri almost choked on a laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go up, I’ll go up.’ He shook his head like she was bonkers.

‘You can’t, you’ll have to hold the ladder. I’m not strong enough to hold the ladder.’ Ella said.

‘Well we’ll get one of the guys down here to help.’ Dimitri frowned at her.

‘There’s no time. Look at it.’ Ella pointed to where the nails were being ripped out one by one as the wind got stronger.

‘Ella–’ Her mum sat up from the chair. ‘You’re not going on the roof.’

‘Why not? You need it done. Dimitri can hold the ladder. It’ll be fine. There’s no other choice.’

They all looked at each other.

Her granddad took a couple of steps back from the doorway. ‘I think she’s right.’

‘Michael!’ Her grandmother slapped him on the arm. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

He shrugged. ‘Give the girl a chance. For god’s sake. Dimitri’ll hold the ladder. She’s sensible. Come on. Like she said, there’s no other choice. I can’t do it.’

Ella could feel her legs trembling. ‘It’s really high.’ she shouted over the sound of the rain as Dimitri held the ladder in place – he only had his leather jacket with him so had her granddad’s yellow fisherman’s mac on with the hood up.

‘It’s ok, just hold onto my hand for the first couple of steps. You won’t fall, I promise.’

Ella gave him a look. ‘How the hell are you going to help me from down there?’

‘You don’t have to do it.’ he shouted.

Ella had a hammer and nails in a bag over her shoulder and her mum’s Millet’s pack-a-mac on. She put her foot on the first slippery rung. ‘Yes I do.’

‘She’s missed you, you know.’ he said, his hand on her back.

‘Who?’

‘Your mum. She talked about you all the time. How well you were doing at work and stuff.’

Ella could feel the rain hitting her face, sliding down her collar and her back. ‘I don’t need to hear this now.’ she said, gripping onto the bars.

He didn’t reply.

She hoisted herself up another couple of foot, the ground seemed really far below her.

‘When you’re at the top just hammer it in at random. Just as long as it stays, don’t worry about it. Just do it quickly, don’t take any risks or anything.’ he instructed.

‘I can’t hear you.’ Ella shouted as she neared the top.

‘It was nothing.’

‘What?’

‘Just–’ he shouted, ‘… just take care.’

She looked down at him, his face upturned, lit by the outside light, his brow furrowed, his mouth tight with worry. She smiled, taking a hand off the rung to push back her hair that was falling in her eyes. ‘I will– Oh shit.’ Her foot slipped at the same time as she tried to put her hand back on the ladder. ‘Fuck.’

As she slid down the cold metal Dimitri shot up the ladder, holding onto her waist while she flailed about getting a new grip on the slippery rung.

‘Thank you.’ Ella turned her head and was level with his. She could see the water on his eyelashes.

‘You’re welcome.’

A couple of beats of silence passed. The ladder swayed.

‘I’ve got to go back down and hold this thing. Don’t take your hands off again, ok.’

She nodded. ‘Except to hammer in the nails.’

‘Just get on with it and get yourself back down.’

‘Ok.’

She thought that maybe he was about to kiss her from the way he paused and looked at her. The way his eyes narrowed and his grip on her waist loosened, like he was going to move his hand up to her shoulder. But then the ladder wobbled again and he slid like a fireman to the bottom and held it tight.

Ella didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. All her family watching from the doorway. ‘Right,’ she said to herself. ‘Let’s get this bloody done.’ Then as she hammered the nails in, all skewiff and haphazard, all she could think was that she’d just thought of them as her family.

CHAPTER 36

MADDY

There weren’t many people in
Big Mack’s
but enough to cause a stir when Maddy sent her dad packing.

‘I don’t need to talk to you,’ she’d waved a hand in his direction and started to walk away towards the swing doors.

‘Maddy–’ he’d pleaded.

‘Please just go. Honestly. I just feel like you set me up. Why couldn’t you have listened to what I was saying.’ She paused, her hand on the bar top. She could feel Walter watching as he sipped his Guinness. Could see that her dad was embarrassed, wanted her to come back towards where he stood so they could have a private conversation.

‘Maddy,’ he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. ‘I just wanted to help you.’

‘But I didn’t want your help.’ she shrugged and walked out to the back room where she waited for ten minutes until she knew that he had gone.

‘God you’re a spoilt brat aren’t you?’ Betty, the other barmaid, muttered as she came out the back to get her cigarettes.

‘You know nothing about me.’ Maddy said, chin jutted out defensively.

‘I can see you’re a little rich kid who gets whatever she wants.’

Maddy shook her head but didn’t reply, just walked past her back out to the bar.

Walter held up his hand for another drink.

He watched as she poured the thick black liquid, the white foam swirling around the glass then rising to settle while she waited to top it up.

‘I think you owe your dad a thank you.’

‘And why is that Walter?’ Maddy sighed.

‘Because fame is just a drug habit and an addiction to your own self-importance.’

Maddy rolled her eyes.

‘Honestly. It doesn’t come to those with the most talent, but those who want it the most. You should just go and find yourself. You’ve watched too much
X-Factor
on that tiny island of yours and think that’s it.’

‘I do not.’ she sneered.

‘There’s always something else, Maddy.’ he said, leaning forward, his arms crossed on top of the bar. ‘You’re never done. There’s always another door.’

‘Please don’t start.’ Maddy kept her eyes fixed on the Guinness.

‘I’m just saying that most people have such a fixed idea about what their dreams are and spend so long chasing them that when they get them it’s nothing like they hoped. But there’s always another door.’ He took the drink from her and put it down on his beer mat. ‘That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Maddy said, hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised. ‘And what’s your other door? You’re just in here every day. You hate Christmas, you hate your books. What was your dream? I think you’re too afraid to write anything else in case you fail.’

Walter scoffed. ‘Don’t psychoanalyse me.’

‘I’m not, I’m just stating the obvious!’ she said, shaking her head while she went to go and get a cloth to wipe down the spirits at the back of the bar.

‘Tell me about your Christmases.’ he said.

‘No.’ She didn’t turn around.

‘Ok, I’ll tell you about them. I think they were probably lovely. All cosy and warm around the fire, lots of food and crackers and presents.’

Betty walked past with a crate of Cokes and added, ‘You probably got a puppy or a pony.’

Walter sniggered. Maddy’s spine stiffened.

‘And yeah your parents split, but that probably meant you had two Christmases. Two sets of presents, both of them trying to gloss over the fact they weren’t together and make sure you were happy. Maybe they took you to a show or to see the Christmas lights being turned on? Am I close?’

She didn’t reply.

‘Sounds pretty perfect to me. And now you’ve got your dad in here begging for you to talk to him, probably wishing you were coming to his for Christmas.’ Walter took a big gulp of his drink, Maddy could just see him in the mirror behind the vodkas.

‘I grew up in a caravan illegally parked just off the Hanger Lane gyratory. If you don’t know what it is Google it, it’s the most depressing place on earth. I don’t know my mum, my dad was a bastard, my step-mums were often lovely, my brother was a bully, my sister ran away when she was thirteen and–’ he held his hands out, ‘I’ve seen her once since, when I was at a book signing – she was asking me for money. For Christmas I got a satsuma and some crap from a car boot sale up the road.’

Maddy paused, her hand stilling on a whiskey bottle as she listened.

‘And from the window of that caravan I could see a church – and at Christmas a nativity and lights around the door. Every Christmas Eve I would sneak out the window, after my dad would lock me in and go to the pub, and I’d sit in the back of that church and listen to the carols at Midnight Mass. I’d be right at the back in the dark and I’d look at everyone in their coats and wonder what they were going to do when they got home. How many presents they all had waiting and how many turkeys there were in people’s fridges. But right there in that moment I was just like them. We all sang, we all said those prayers that no one knows the words to, we all shook hands, we all smiled, we all took a chocolate from the vicar at the end. For me, that was Christmas. None of this shit.’ He pointed outside with the hand not holding his pint. ‘None of these Christmas lights advertising Disney cartoons and sponsored skating rinks and queues for spoilt brats to get XBoxes or whatever it is they get. It was that magic. That sound. The white lights and the candles. The unity. And that’s what I wrote about. My books were that feeling. They were my escape. But they’re done. I’m old and I can’t cling onto a childhood dream forever.’