Best Served Cold, page 20
‘Not at all. In a way, I’d prefer that. It takes the onus off me. I don’t have to try so hard. You know what I’m like!’
‘Oh, unfortunately, I do.’
‘So, am I calling Rose?’
‘Go for it.’
I return Jack’s call. ‘Alice and Rose say they’d love to come. Am I presuming we’re having it at mine? I’m pretty prepared for a nuclear winter, so a Christmas do is easy-peasy.’
‘Nuclear winter? You really are one of a kind, Lily.’
‘That I am.’
He pauses. ‘Sorry, it’s remiss of me not to ask how Monday went?’
My head spins for a moment, and I say nothing.
‘Lily? Is everything all right?’
‘Yeah, it is now.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I had a bad day on Monday, but I don’t want to talk about it. I need to concentrate on getting Christmas sorted and make sure I haven’t missed out the obvious.’
‘Like turkey? Are we having turkey?’
‘I expect so. If that’s what everyone wants. I’m happy with any meat.’
‘I’m just happy…’
I smile. ‘Good to hear.’
‘I’m aiming for Christmas Eve late afternoon or evening, depending on the bloody trains. I’ll call you when I get in.’
‘I’ll be here.’
I have so much still to do. Having spoken to the group, I get the feeling no one is particularly fond of turkey, so I go straight out this afternoon and ask in my local butchers if they have anything special. The butcher produces a fat leg of something.
‘Wild boar,’ he says, pride in his voice. ‘Organic and certified.’
‘How do I cook that? Is it the same as pork?’
‘Because it’s a wild creature, it’s got less fat and can be tougher, so you have to salt it first for a few hours and then marinate it for a good thirty hours or so in wine and other stuff. Look up a recipe online as there are loads.’
‘I’ll have it, thanks.’
Red wine – whole bottle; juniper berries – thankfully I rummage in my spice box and find an old bottle; orange juice; bay leaves; thyme – should be fresh, except I’ve only got dried; cloves, but not too many of them; peppercorns – got loads of those; carrots; onions; stock; red currant jelly – need to find a jar in Sainsbury’s. Sorted and ready to go. If this isn’t one helluva delicious dinner, I don’t know what is!
Chapter Twenty-One
THURSDAY, 24 DECEMBER
Christmas Eve, the call from Jack comes through about six.
‘I’ll be at yours by about half six. The shops are still open, so is there anything else you’d like me to pick up? I have brought bits and bobs with me, though I wondered if there was something you’d missed?’
‘Thanks, but I think I’ve got way too much as it is. Just concentrate on getting here. Can’t wait to see you.’
I’m re-packing one of my cupboards when the doorbell downstairs rings. I race down and tug the door open.
‘Happy Christmas, gorgeous.’ Jack is like a panting dog as he comes into the communal hallway. He’s bundled in a winter greatcoat with the collar up, a soft scarf and black fingerless gloves. His head is bare, and I notice his ears are pink. As I gather him into my arms, I can feel the chill on him from outside.
‘Come in and get warm.’ We take the stairs two at a time, sniggering like kids. I kick my flat door shut. ‘God, it’s cold out there.’
Dropping his holdall and myriad bags onto the floor, he shrugs off his coat and then pulls me back into his arms. Our kiss is long and deep.
‘Bloody trains,’ he says as we pull apart. ‘I aimed to get here earlier, but not with British Rail at the helm.’
‘You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.’ I gesture at all the bags. ‘What’s in all these, then?’
‘Now, now.’ He wags his finger and makes tutting sounds. ‘I’ll go through these, as there are things you don’t need to see. Yet!’ He winks saucily at me. ‘There are other things we need to get out.’ He rummages and out come boxes of After Eight, Turkish Delight, dates, bags of cashew nuts, walnuts, peanuts, a slab of Brie and a box of Camembert, two bottles of red wine, and last but not least, a good quality bottle of Champagne.
‘Good God! You’ve got a Mary Poppins bag!’
‘Yep.’ He rubs at his shoulder and waves the bottle of Champers. ‘Got any space for this, as it’s for us and not for sharing?’
‘If I haven’t, I will have.’ In the kitchen, I turf out a carton of orange juice and slide in the bottle.
‘It’s already cold,’ says Jack, ‘so it won’t take long.’ He picks up the rest of his stuff and takes it into the bedroom. He’s at home here, and that makes me glad. No standing on ceremony.
A simple supper is pre-prepared, so we tuck in, opening one of the bottles, a deeply red Cabernet Sauvignon.
I don’t want to mention work, not his and especially not mine, so we chat about inconsequential things, although it has to be broached at some time. As I’m washing up, Jack is drying.
‘So what happened on Monday? You sounded upset.’
I stop washing and groan. ‘I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not sure I want to unload on you, as it is Christmas Eve, after all.’ I tilt my head to stare up at him. ‘And if I get going, I will unload, and you’ll be sorry you asked.’
‘Isn’t that what partners are for?’
I register the word ‘partner’, and my heart does a somersault. ‘Okay. I checked everything, as you advised, on Sunday night, but by the time I got to my publishers, when I looked in my portfolio, all my work was missing. All of it.’
The look on his face says it all. ‘Oh my God! How the hell did that happen? You’re telling me it was all there when you checked on Sunday?’
I nod.
‘But it had gone on the Monday? That doesn’t make sense. At all.’
‘No. It doesn’t and I still can’t get my head around what happened—’
‘Have you found them? I mean, were they here when you got back?’
‘Yep.’ I turn from him, as I don’t want him to see my face.
‘Well, where were they? Did you get them out to check them and then somehow leave them on the table or whatever?’
‘Not quite.’
‘What does that mean? Lily? Talk to me.’ He pulls my face around so he can look into my eyes. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘In the freezer drawer. Third from the top. They were all water damaged.’ I drag in a deep breath. ‘And completely unusable.’
‘No way!’ Jack shakes his head. ‘There’s no way that could happen.’
‘Well, it did.’
‘How?’
I close my eyes to stop the tears. ‘As I was the only one in here, I suppose it must have been me.’
‘That doesn’t make sense, either. Why would you destroy your own work?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe I’m going mad.’ I maintain eye contact to see his reaction. He appears shocked, all right. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him, although if I was in his shoes, I might need a heads up I was dating a crazy person.
‘How have you left it with your publisher? Oh, what’s her name now?’
‘Mary. She graciously said I could use my backup scans. I don’t know what I’d have done if they’d been useless… Likely lost my contract with them. Maybe even lost my career altogether.’
‘You had back-up scans?’ He glances at the computer.
‘Yeah, thank God, or I’d probably have reneged on my mortgage and lost the flat, along with my career.’
‘Oh, Lily! I’m so sorry, but it turned out all right in the end. That’s the main thing here.’
‘Yep.’ I finish washing the dishes. I rather think the main point might be that I’m losing my mind. ‘I’d prefer if we don’t talk about this again? I want a nice time with you, not to be the downer in the room.’
‘Of course. Whatever you want.’ He kisses the end of my nose gently. ‘How about a glass of that fizzly-pop in the fridge? Must be cold enough by now?’
‘I will never turn down a glass of fizzly-pop.’
Tonight, I am naughty. Jack is dead to the world when I creep to the loo. The bedroom curtains are pulled open, and the moonlight is streaming through the window onto his face. He is beautiful, and I want to catch it forever. On the way back, I grab my phone and take a photo of him sleeping. He stirs but doesn’t wake. I have a picture of my angel boy.
This memory is hard to look at. The juxtaposition between this Christmas Eve with Jack and the one Sophie and I experienced that year in Sheffield with Harry. As I said before, hindsight is a wonderful thing, and it’s no good wishing we’d stayed at home. Wishing will never change what happened.
After a delicious cooked breakfast, Shirley drove to pick up the aunts. I was astounded how no one seemed to worry about the snow piled up that would have generally crippled the south.
‘We have salt trucks,’ said Harry, ‘and we’re prepared. All you softie southerners freak out at a couple of snowflakes. In fact, you are snowflakes… get it?’
Both Sophie and I stared at him, stony-faced.
The ancient aunties were finally ensconced in the living room, chatting and catching up. They might have been a hundred or so, yet they acted like children, squabbling over the best seat, nagging about who’d forgotten to pick up what, their eyes twinkling in merriment. I’d never seen anyone as wrinkly and frail looking as these two old ladies, as they scrabbled into the living room and bickered light-heartedly over everything.
After helping them get settled, Harry whispered, ‘I need to pop out to check something. I’ll be back in a bit. Okay?’
‘Yeah, sure. We’re fine.’
The thing for Sophie and me was that the windows in the living room were locked shut, the door was pulled closed to stop any drafts, and both aunties had lit up a cigarette the moment they came through and had chain-smoked since that point. Lilac smoke curled towards the ceiling until we couldn’t see the fairy on top of the tree. Shirley was in the kitchen, and wonderful smells wafted out every time the door opened. She’d given all of us a small glass of sherry, but while the aunties sipped, Sophie and I drank ours almost immediately.
‘Poor old Madge,’ said one auntie before proceeding to cough for a couple of minutes.
‘What about her?’ said the other, lighting her fag from the glowing tip of the last one.
‘She’s had her leg amputated.’
‘Again?’
‘Eh?’
‘I thought she’d already had one lopped off?’
‘No, that was Mildred.’
‘Oh. Right. So, Madge? How is she?’
‘Eh? She’s had her leg amputated, so I expect she’s not feeling that bright right now.’
‘I suppose not,’ nodded the other one. ‘Like Glenda, she got throat cancer. Now talking through some dreadful thingummy stuck in her throat. She sounds like an old man now.’
‘She always did.’
I glanced at Sophie, who was staring at the old ladies with her mouth open. I wondered if she was horrified or lapping it up, as if watching a social documentary. I could never tell with her. Sophie has asthma, and this environment couldn’t be doing her any good. Anyway, where was Harry? He’d been gone for quite a while now. In fact, where were any of the men?
‘Soph? I just need to look into something. Try not to stay in here too long, eh?’
She nodded; but I noticed her eyes were a little glazed.
Shirley was beavering in the kitchen, taking trays out of the oven using Christmassy oven mitts, and the smell of freshly baked cakes made my mouth water. She turned to me, ‘You all right, love?’
‘Yeah, fine. I wondered where Harry is. I haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘Oh, him and his dad are down the pub. They like to have a jar in the afternoon before tea.’
‘What? They’re down the pub?’ I held out my hands. ‘Why weren’t Sophie and I invited?’
Shirley paused from cutting and spreading butter icing on tiny fairy cakes. ‘It’s always been a tradition the women sit in and have a sherry, and the men clutter off down the pub to stop getting underneath our feet. Never thought you two might wish to go…’ She frowned. ‘But why wouldn’t you? Tell you what, get going now, and you’ll be in time for a couple before teatime.’
‘Where is the pub?’
‘Straight down the road to the left, past all the shops. You can’t miss it. It’s the only one in the village. You must have seen it as you came in with Dad… I mean Ben.’
Sophie pushed into the kitchen and coughed. ‘Sorry, I had to get a breath of air.’
‘Okay, I know where it is.’ I half turned towards Sophie. ‘We’re off down the pub, Soph.’
‘Great.’ She coughed again.
‘Thanks, Shirley.’ I pointed at Sophie. ‘It’s just Sophie has asthma, and I don’t think she should be in all that smoke. I don’t mean to be rude or anything.’
‘Dearest Lord.’ Shirley shook her head. ‘Those two have smoked a pack of ciggies every day since they were girls in the war. Never stopped. Not for a day. They also drink a couple of whiskys even now, and they’re hitting a hundred. Goes to show the doctors are not always right about stuff.’
‘That’s incredible,’ said Sophie. ‘I hope I’m like them when I’m their age.’
‘Not sure I’ll even make it to their age. Come on,’ I tugged Sophie out. ‘See you in a bit, Shirley.’
‘Wrap up warm,’ shouted Shirley, ‘and make sure the menfolk come back on time. It’s never happened before, so I doubt it will this time.’ She sighed. ‘I can but hope!’
Slogging through the snow, I looked about me. Rolling hills blanketed in white could be seen at the ends of twisting little lanes. We seemed to be nestled in a valley. Most of the houses and cottages had smoke coiling out of their chimneys, and we could smell wood smoke in the wind. The sky was a sullen grey, but at least it wasn’t snowing now.
‘Isn’t it pretty here?’ I breathed in a lungful of air. ‘And it’s so fresh. Way nicer than London.’
‘You’re not going to come and live up here with Harry? Are you?’ Sophie looked horrified at the thought.
‘God! Where did that come from? Highly unlikely, as I know Harry was desperate to move away—’
‘Why? As you said, it’s lovely here.’
‘I know, although I think if you’ve lived here, or a place like this, all your life, then it can become boring or jaded or whatever. London is the antithesis to here, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so. Perhaps you have to go away for long enough to be able to come back and appreciate what you left behind.’
‘Wow! That’s deep, Soph.’
‘Yeah. I’m right philosophical, me! Look, there it is.’ Sophie nudged me.
The pub was beamed and craggy looking, with angles slightly askew. Piles of snow encased the deeply sloping roof. A wooden sign, creaking in the slight wind, showed a magnificently antlered stag.
‘Called The Stag, then, is it?’ Sophie grinned at me.
‘Funny that.’ I pushed through the heavy wooden front door into a dim interior. It took a moment for my eyesight to adjust. A fire crackled and spat in a massive hearth. Whoever had done the decorations must have bought the whole Christmas decorations store. Sparkly things were hanging everywhere, with entwined lights and garlands of twisted tinsel. It smelt of wood smoke, beer and damp clothes. A traditional pub with burgundy flock wallpaper, a large dark wood bar and mirrored shelving showing glittery bottles of the hard stuff. The lights were muted, and there were, thankfully, no pool table or fruit machines plink-plonking in the background.
The sturdy tables and heavy chairs were filled with people. I thought the women were meant to be back home cooking and grumbling? Slugging back the sherry, thankful their men had got out of the house for a bit and left them in peace? But they all seemed to be here, not stuck in the nineteen fifties. I scanned for Harry and his dad, although it was easy to spot them. There seemed to be some sort of shouting match at the bar.
Alice and Harry were standing at the counter. Ben was next to Harry. A girl, who had her back to me, stood in front of them all. The surrounding lights lit up her hair a deep red and orange, where it cascaded down her back as if it was on fire. I couldn’t catch the words, though she sounded angry. I was as surprised as all of them when she threw her drink into Alice’s face.
‘Fuck you, you meddling bitch!’ Well, I certainly heard that!
‘Jesus wept! What is the matter with you, you psycho?’ Alice spat onto the floor and headed across the room. She looked mad as hell.
‘Oy!’ shouted the barman. ‘We’ll have none of that here.’
‘Alice?’ I hurried to catch up with her. ‘Are you okay?’
Alice raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m dripping with someone else’s drink, so maybe not.’ She wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘I need to wash this off. Give me a moment, and I’ll be out. Harry’s over there,’ she indicated the bar, ‘but be aware, he’s not a happy bunny either.’
‘What the hell is going on?’
‘I’ll leave him to tell you.’ She paused. ‘Merry bloody Christmas, Lily.’
I turned just in time to see the figure, who had her back to me, slap Harry hard. He stumbled, but his dad caught him.
‘Now then, young lady!’ His dad waved his finger at her. ‘That’s enough now!’
‘Serves him right, the prick.’ She turned, and at the same time, she pulled a hoodie up over her head. With her face lowered, she barged past me, bumping hard into my shoulder. She pulled the door shut behind her so forcefully, the windows rattled.
I searched for Sophie, who had sidled up behind me. ‘Good. There you are. Well, this is a cracking Christmas Eve, isn’t it? Who the hell was that?’
‘I’m hoping Harry will tell us.’ Sophie’s eyes were wide.
