The Little Christmas Kitchen (8 page)

It took Ella a second to realise that this was her job and she should write it all down on the pad her mum had given her.

‘Hey Ella,’ Dimitri called as she walked back, a little stunned, to the kitchen. ‘Tell your mum that Maddy texted, all good apparently, she’s loving it.’

Ella nodded, images of Maddy – lounging on her beautiful charcoal velvet sofa, drinking her Vita Coco, and spritzing herself with Chanel Mademoiselle while Ella schlepped around taking breakfast orders from her peers – made her lips tighten in frustration.

‘Maddy’s apparently having a wonderful time.’ she said as she walked into the kitchen.

Her mum looked up from where she was grilling strips of thin streaky bacon so it snapped, crisp. Pans of eggs were sizzling and fat red tomatoes spat and hissed in bubbling olive oil. The big table at the end of the jetty was filled by a group of artists who came every winter to paint, and couldn’t start without one of Sophie’s infamous full English breakfasts.

‘Is that a new order?’ her mum said without any comment about Maddy, and nodded her head towards the top sheet of Ella’s pad.

The atmosphere between them had been frosty since Ella had offered Maddy the money. She’d booked the next available flight to Heathrow so they’d only spent one night together in the room above the taverna – Ella in the big bed, Maddy on the small single. Ella had got undressed in the bathroom and then got into bed with her book. The only thing they’d said to each other was, ‘Night’ before rolling over to face in opposite directions.

But when Ella had woken up in the middle of the night, the room so black that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, she had turned over and heard Maddy say, ‘Are you awake?’

She hadn’t replied.

‘I’m kind of scared.’ Maddy whispered. ‘Not
really
scared, just a bit.’

Silence.

‘You remember when we flew to see Dad and Mum made us wear sticky name badges with our address and phone numbers on them?’ She laughed softly, ‘I kind of want a name badge. I think I’ll be ok though. I hope so. When I imagined going I had you there in my imagination. You know, just in case.’

Ella heard Maddy roll over, bunch the covers up around her. ‘I suppose there’s always Dad…’ she carried on, then paused before she said, ‘I don’t know if he’d see me though.’ Her voice going up at the end of her whisper as if it was a question.

Ella still didn’t say anything. But she had lain awake for hours afterwards thinking that she should have replied.

‘Ella–’ her mum called, ‘Can you make the coffee?’

‘What?’ Ella looked up from where she’d been staring at her pad.

‘The coffee? The jugs are in the corner, remember I showed you?’

‘Oh right. Yes.’ Ella and Max had a housekeeper who came most mornings to clean their flat, iron Max’s shirts and make them breakfast. As a throwback from Max’s boarding school days, he liked a bowl of porridge followed by a bacon sandwich and HP sauce every morning and when he’d realised that Ella could make neither porridge nor coffee or make bacon just the way he liked it, he’d hired Rose – a middle-aged woman with a huge chest who reminded him of his house mistress.

‘Ella, what are you doing?’ her mum asked as she walked past her carrying a tray piled high with plates of eggs, bowls of glistening mushrooms and stacks of golden, buttery toast. ‘That’s too much. You take the plunger out before you put the coffee in. Jesus, Ella do you not know how to make coffee?’

Ella didn’t drink hot drinks. She never had. She couldn’t understand why people would want to drink anything hot. Her mum had always given her an orange juice when everyone else had had tea.

The idea that her mum had forgotten that made her silent.

‘I don’t know how you and Max live sometimes.’ She shook her head. ‘Here, coffee, water, plunger. Ok?’ Then she strode out, clearly stressed, balancing the tray of food while scooping up two jugs of freshly squeezed juice that clanked together as she walked.

Ella’s phone rang as she was spooning out coffee powder.

‘Max?’ she said, the line was crackly.

‘Ella?’ She heard him say. ‘Ella–’

‘Hang on Max, I can’t hear you. Let me just go outside.’ She hurried out the back door and stood by the sea wall, looking out at the fishing boats. ‘Max, hi.’

‘Ella I think Amanda’s husband is going to call you. Don’t believe anything he says. He’s been looking for a way to stop her getting a penny.’

‘Max, he said–’

‘It’s bullshit. Whatever he said, Ella, it’s bullshit. He’s set this whole thing up. It’s divorce tactics. The sly bastard is just securing his cash. Ok? Listen to me, Ella. When are you coming home?’

‘Christ as soon as I can.’ She sighed. ‘My mum has me waitressing.’

There was a pause and then a booming laugh down the other end of the phone. ‘I like that idea. Are you wearing a pinny?’

Ella smirked. ‘Maybe.’

‘Love it.’ Max laughed again and then the signal cut out.

‘Damn this island.’ Ella sighed, looking at the one bar on her phone.

‘Ella!’ Her mum was in the doorway. ‘The coffee?’

‘Oh sorry.’ She sauntered back in. ‘Sorry, I had to take a call.’

‘You never have to take a call on your shift.’ Her mum’s cheeks were pink, brown curls were falling loose from the elastic band she tied them up in as she took over the coffee making duty.

‘Excuse me–’ a voice said from the doorway. ‘Just wondering on our breakfasts.’ Pedro was standing, legs apart, arms crossed.

‘Oh shit.’ Ella looked down at her pad. ‘Sorry I didn’t give you the order…’ she said to her mum.

‘We have been waiting.’ he said curtly.

‘I know, I’m really sorry.’

‘This is pretty shoddy. We have a boat trip booked.’ He glanced at his watch.

‘Pedro, I’ll make it now.’ her mum said with a huge, apologetic smile as she poured boiling water in the percolator. ‘Don’t worry it’ll be quick. You’ll get the boat, it’s – what – at quarter to isn’t it?’

Pedro clearly liked the fact her mum knew his name, had remembered him as a customer, ‘Thanks Sophie.’ he said, chest puffed out.

‘Come on,’ she ushered him out the kitchen, taking the pots of coffee with her. ‘And it’ll be on the house,’ she said, ‘how’s the holiday going? Nice to see you off-season.’

‘Well, with these prices and this weather, I mean, who can resist. And the hotel’s doing turkey. Christ knows where they’ve got them all. Do they even have turkeys in Greece?’

At the end of her shift Ella slumped down on one of the chairs that faced out to sea, pushed her sweaty hair out of her eyes and retied it in a big scruffy ponytail, then shut her eyes and put her head back. When she opened them she saw all the coloured lights strung above her and the curled brown leaves of the vine.

She had never been so exhausted in all her life. She kicked one of her shoes off and saw that the back of her heel was rubbed raw. Her hand was burnt where she’d pulled the grill pan out without considering how hot it would be. Her arms were stained with splodges of coffee and her fingers sticky from the remains of jam on people’s plates.

A shadow fell across her table.

‘Ok?’ Dimitri asked.

‘Never better.’ She raised a brow then turned to look out at the sea as he kicked a chair out and sat down. ‘Please do, join me.’ she muttered, sarcastic.

‘Woah! Someone’s had a bad morning.’ He laughed.

Ella was so tired she couldn’t really open her mouth properly to reply, so instead she watched the waves, the tumbling, rolling blue as it crashed against the wall. The fishermen sitting on the ledge, their rods bobbing, their hats pulled low. The white cat was prowling the rocks.

She heard the soft pad of plimsolls on the concrete floor, then Dimitri say, ‘Hey Sophie.’ Then, ‘Ooh that looks good.’

‘It’s Ella’s lunch. Hands off, you.’ Her mum laughed, then said, ‘Ella, you’re back on in an hour and a half so you’d better eat this. Lunch will be busier because we have a boat trip docking at one. But Agatha will be here, so–’ she held her arms wide as if that may or may not make things better. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve had to take Pedro’s breakfast out of your wages.’

Ella was sometimes hired out to clients by the minute. She had earned a twenty percent salary bonus last Christmas and was due a lump sum incentive for bringing in one of their most lucrative clients at the beginning of the year. But, it suddenly hit her, the wages she’d earned that morning seemed like the most important she’d ever received and the idea of them being docked, because of her laxness, was unimaginable. Had Maddy ever had her pay docked, she wondered?

Her mum slid the plate of Greek salad, taramasalata, humous and pitta bread along with plump olives, roasted garlic and strips of oily, soft red peppers onto the table and walked away.

‘She really hates me.’ Ella sighed.

‘She doesn’t hate you.’ Dimitri leaned forward and scooped some humous onto an olive, ‘She’s testing you.’

Ella shook her head. ‘Rubbish.’

Dimitri shrugged a shoulder. ‘Whatever you say.’

Ella looked at the food, she was starving, the tzatziki was calling to her. But she was blowed if she was eating in front of Dimitri, showing him how hungry she was. And… what was that about another shift? She glanced back towards where her mum was sitting with her granny, filling little pastry parcels with chopped mushrooms and onions.

As she turned back to look out to sea again her stomach did a massive rumble and Dimitri laughed. ‘Eat something for god’s sake, you look like you’re about to collapse.’

She glanced at the food, then out to sea, then back at Dimitri who was urging her on with his brows raised. And then it just seemed too much effort to hold back any longer.

Sitting forward she slathered a piece of pitta bread with taramasalata and took a bite, involuntarily closing her eyes as she savoured every second – the warm, freshly made bread, the sharp tang of the pale pink paste. Then she was popping an olive into her mouth, shovelling some peppers onto her fork, mixing humous with tzatziki and seeing how many little garlic cloves and bits of feta from the salad she could balance on the strip of bread and still cram into her mouth.

Dimitri sat back, his arms folded across his chest and watched, a smile twitching the corners of his lips.

When Ella had taken the edge off her immediate hunger, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, ‘Why do you think she’s testing me?’

‘Well.’ A look of smug satisfaction at her question played across Dimitri’s face, ‘As far as I can tell, Ella, you haven’t exactly been that present in her life. The stories I heard always involved you jetting in on a speedboat and leaving half an hour later after a cursory chat with the family.’

Ella took a sip of water and let the comments hang in the air for a moment before saying, ‘Go on.’ Her spine tingling, defensive.

‘And then you appear out of the blue just before Christmas having clearly had a row with your husband.’

‘We have not had a row.’

Dimitri just laughed. Then spread his arms wide like he couldn’t care less either way. ‘All I can say is, if I was her, I would be wondering why you were here. Whether you were just using the place to run away. And if that was the case, well, I’d feel maybe a little put out.’

‘Well it’s lucky that isn’t the case isn’t it?’ Ella said quickly. Then got annoyed with herself because her guards were so clearly up. Annoyed because she hadn’t realised quite how obvious she was nor how blind she had been about her mother.

‘Isn’t it just.’ Dimitri said, eyes amused. Then after a pause where he stared straight at her and she had to look away, he stood up and said, ‘I have to go to work. Enjoy your break.’

She watched him lope across the concourse. Remembered how she used to watch him as a teenager, desperate for him to notice her. How she’d make Maddy turn around and walk back the way they’d just come if she happened to see his scooter whizz past them. There had been photos of his wedding on Maddy’s Facebook page and Ella had zoomed right in on them, studying one in particular of the bride, her back to the camera, her dress hitched as she walked up the hill to the church and Dimitri, waiting for her, staring down in an open-collared shirt and trousers, a grin splitting his mouth in two.

She had stared for ages, enough time for someone at work to come out and tell her she was late for a meeting, absorbing the expression on his face, inspecting the girl walking. Could she just see the side of her face? If she zoomed in far enough it did look like she was laughing. Ella had felt jealous of women in magazines before; at their perfection, but she’d never before felt jealous of a photograph. Never of an expression.

CHAPTER 12

MADDY

The lost luggage had tipped Maddy over the edge. She’d held it together while filling in the form but then cried all the way in the taxi to Ella’s flat. There she had sat down on the sofa in the dark, pulled a blanket soft as fur over her and gone to sleep.

When she woke up, her first thought had been why was there a Christmas tree on the floor in front of the bookshelves. But that had only caught her attention for a second because, glancing round the rest of the apartment, she realised there was so much more be astounded by. In front of her was a TV the size of a cinema screen mounted on a pristine white wall. On her right were three windows, floor to ceiling, opening out onto a balcony that was at road level but set back from the pavement as, she noticed getting up and peering out and down, there was a basement flat below her that had a little courtyard garden. Behind the huge grey sofa, that was long enough and wide enough for her to have an incredibly comfortable night’s sleep, was a dining table to seat eight and chairs so gorgeously designed, the wood so soft that they made her need to run her hand along them. Apart from the tree lying on the floor the only nod to Christmas was in the corner, above the table, where a bunch of silver and gold tissue paper pompoms hung from a hook in the ceiling. A huge white rug covered great slabs of floorboard and as Maddy walked barefoot across the varnished boards she found herself in the wide open hallway, a bathroom that looked like it was from a hotel off to her left, the bedroom next to that, she deduced from the barely open door, and then in front of her was the kitchen. She took a couple of steps forward, almost unable to believe quite how stunning it was. Marble topped work surfaces hugged the walls and in the centre an island unit similar to her mum’s but still seemingly fresh out the box. The double oven sparkled, the huge industrial hobs glistened, the white porcelain sink with its fancy taps looked unused. Walking forward, Maddy ran her fingers over the marble, then the kettle that was all dials and lights and see-through, the Nespresso machine, the juicer, the pasta maker, the fish boiler, the bread maker, the Dualit toaster, the Phillipe Starck lemon squeezer, the Sabatier knives, the open shelves stacked with Sophie Conran bowls and plates, Tiffany wine glasses, a modern crystal decanter and matching tumblers. None of it, aside from perhaps the glasses, looked like it had ever been touched. She pulled open the huge Smeg fridge, empty apart from six bottles of Bollinger, a pint of milk, HP sauce and Chanel Rouge nail varnish. Maddy went over to the other side of the room and opened the cupboards behind the kitchen table, one after the other, finding beautifully folded sheets, towels, tea-towels. Then what looked like wedding presents still in boxes – more glasses, more china. The other cupboards were empty save for some Quaker oats and a half box of Alpen with no added sugar or salt. On the big glass table was a fruit bowl but in it was a collection of multi-coloured Christmas baubles and a bunch of fairy lights. She stood with her hands resting on the edge of the island and looked around, taking in this beautiful restaurant standard kitchen and almost felt sad for it, its complete and total lack of use.