The Little Christmas Kitchen (7 page)

‘I’m going to London.’

‘Ahh.’ He nodded. ‘I should have guessed. I suppose you have something to do with this?’ He turned again to look at Ella and she found herself having to look away.

‘I erm–’ she stumbled.

‘Ella is paying for Maddy to go.’ Sophie said, coming over to the table with bowls full of creamy, white yoghurt and dried figs like squashed bruises and setting them down with a smack on the centre of the table. ‘And in doing so taking my best waitress.’ She went on as if it was that rather than just little Maddy leaving that was the problem. She picked up the remains of the moussaka as Dimitri reached up for a last scoopful, her lips tight, her eyes a little red. ‘Which no one seems to have thought through at all.’

‘Agatha could do it.’ Maddy said, her hand stilled on her wine glass, clearly afraid it was all about to fall through.

‘Agatha couldn’t do it, Maddy. She can’t be front of house. You know that. She scares all the customers away and if there’s one thing I need at the moment, it’s customers.’

There was a pause.

‘Yes.’ Her mum nodded. ‘Thank you for thinking of me through all this.’

Maddy looked down at the table. Dimitri raised a brow like he’d just walked into a storm and was trying not to giggle in the face of the tension.

The white cat trotted into the kitchen and Ella, keen to avoid being a part of the conversation, leant down to stroke it but it darted away, pausing in the far corner of the room where it winked one eye before jumping up on the windowsill to settle down to sleep.

Her mum seemed to be taking her annoyance out on the yoghurt, scooping big dollops of it into little blue and white painted bowls, thrusting them at Maddy who passed them on like a pass-the-parcel.

‘Well it’s obvious.’ her grandfather said, reaching forward to spoon some figs into his bowl, his lip turned up at the corner as if they were all stupid. ‘Ella’ll do it. Won’t she? Won’t you? You’re here. May as well make yourself useful.’

‘Waitressing?’ Ella said with horror before she could stop herself.

There was a pause.

The only noise was the hum of the motor that made the fibre optic angel wings glow.

‘Yes Ella, waitressing. If that’s not beneath you.’ her mum said without looking at Ella at all. And for the first time Ella realised that perhaps alienating her mother wasn’t the best way to get her to notice her.

CHAPTER 10

MADDY

The plane had to circle three times before it could land. Snow was causing havoc at the airport and the runway needed to be cleared. No more planes were taking off. The wind was shaking the aircraft, juddering the wings.

Maddy closed her eyes and held onto her armrests. She’d been in a plane three times before and they had all been to visit her da, seemingly a lifetime ago. She’d had Ella with her to hold her hand.

She forced herself to open her eyes and look out the window. To marvel at the sight of London below her, like a map speckled with white.
Take it all in, Maddy
.

She glanced at the person next to her and gave them a little smile. The woman turned her lips up but then looked away, as if embarrassed that they’d had any contact.

Maddy went back to looking out the window.

When they finally landed, the captain wished them happy holidays and the flight attendants had Santa’s elf hats on and big tins of Quality Street. Maddy paused at the entrance of the tunnel that led them out of the plane and into Arrivals, cramming an orange cream into her mouth and wishing she’d paused over her selection more carefully and got that big purple one with the hazelnut in the middle of caramel. The taste of the chocolate mingled with the residue of fear in her mouth and she rested her hand on the side of the plane just to catch her breath.

‘Please keep moving, there’s a place to pause as you exit the tunnel.’ The flight attendant ushered her forward. But Maddy just moved to the side, let the people in suits and the guys with big Beats headphones and relatives with bags of presents push past her. She took a deep breath and inhaled the stale smell of airplane food, harsh chemical cleaner and the sharp tang of fuel, she felt the icy blast of air around the edge of the tunnel and the engulfing heat of the airport and she thought,
this is it, I’m here. I’ve made it
.

Someone pushed into her back and she stumbled forward, catching her arm on the sharp metal edge and nicking her jumper. The person didn’t apologise, they just kept on walking, their iPhone pressed up to their ear.

‘Hey, thanks a lot.’ she shouted, pulling up her sleeve to inspect the damage to her skin. Someone else sighed when they couldn’t get past her and muttered, ‘Jesus woman, get a move on.’

She glanced over her shoulder to look at who’d said it, and a small guy with a red sports jacket and a crime novel under his arm stared back at her, eyes wide, ‘Come on!’ he chivvied again. ‘Jesus H Christ.’

Maddy made a face. ‘It’s Christmas. Be nice.’

He pushed past her.

She shook her head in disgust but made herself forget about it. Some idiot shouting at her couldn’t put a dent in her excitement. Ditto her throbbing arm.

The airport was stark but to Maddy it was stunning. Exotic. Romantic. Beautifully monochrome. Outside the sun-flecked grey sky shimmered like granite. Planes on the runway were wrapped in wisps of cotton wool fog. It was no longer snowing but the ground was covered with white, crisscrossed with tyre tracks of black slush.

Inside it smelt like stale air and possibility. Coke machines buzzed bright. Maddy stood on the travelator, flattening herself against the edge so that people could march past with their wheely bags, her hand pressing on her scratched arm, wondering why everyone was in such a hurry, why they weren’t pausing to drink it all in. The travelator rumbled on at a snail’s pace, allowing her to absorb all the posters advertising perfumes and Scotch whisky, then one came up for the Michael Buble Christmas album, and then another for carols at the Royal Albert Hall complete with fanfare trumpeters, and then there was an advert for Harrods, presents wrapped up in their sludge green and gold, and then Chanel, white snowflakes falling on some really stunning celebrity whose name was on the tip of her tongue. A poster for Christmas markets along the Southbank showed people all wrapped up in scarves and gloves pointing at treasures on stalls in little wooden huts. Maddy could feel the Christmassiness rising up inside her. It was going to be amazing.

At the end of the corridor was a model red bus and a stack of fliers for a London city tour. A man in a chauffeur’s hat and a badge saying, ‘Ask me about the Christmas bus! All aboard!’ was leaning up against the edge of the stand, surreptitiously checking his phone. When Maddy took a flier he didn’t even look up.

‘Is it good?’ she asked, turning the flier over and seeing pictures of Regent Street and the London Eye all glowing with lights.

‘Dunno. Never been.’ he said, sliding his phone into his pocket and then readjusting his hat. Maddy raised a brow. ‘You’re really selling it to me.’

He shrugged.

‘Well I’ll take my chance.’ she said with a laugh as she walked away, folding the flier into her pocket – even he couldn’t tarnish the shine. She wandered on, joined the snaking queue for passport control and whiled away the time thinking about open-topped bus rides in the snow, walking into the Royal Albert Hall in some kind of full length gown and pearls, and sipping
vin chaud
along the Southbank while buying trinkets and… what was that picture on the flier? She turned it over – yep, ice-skating in front of the London Eye.

It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

‘I’m sorry madam, that’s all the baggage that’s been unloaded.’

Maddy bit her bottom lip. She’d been watching the hatch, waiting for her luggage to appear for the last forty minutes. ‘It can’t be. My bag’s not here.’

‘That’s all the baggage that was on the plane, madam,’ a woman in a creased white shirt and black trousers said with just enough sympathy to make sure it all stayed official. ‘I can give you a form to fill in and we can send the bag to you when we’ve located it.’

‘Well, where is it?’ Maddy said, plaintive. Tiredness was beginning to catch up with her.

The woman gave a tight smile. ‘I assure you madam, we’ll do everything we can to locate the luggage.’

Maddy looked at her name badge. ‘Janice. Please. I really need my bag. It has my clothes and stuff.’ The bag had Maddy’s life in it. It had her music, it had her favourite books, her clothes for her new job, it had her Christmas presents, all bagged up by her granny. She closed her eyes because for a moment she thought she might cry. She was exhausted, it was late, she hadn’t eaten the plane food, that man had shouted at her, one of her favourite jumpers was torn, and she suddenly remembered that at the bottom of her bag was her mum’s recipe book that she’d swiped at the last minute to remind her of home.

Her leaving hadn’t been quite the Hollywood send off she’d hoped for. It had all been ok until Dimitri had appeared with his Jeep and thrown her bag into the back. Her mum had stood in front of her and said, ‘If it doesn’t work out Maddy, just come straight back. Just get on a plane. Ok?’

And Maddy, about to give her a hug, had pulled back and said, ‘Why can’t you just say, good luck? Why do you have to presume that I’m going to fail?’ She’d looked away for a moment, seeing the fronds of the Christmas branches sticking out from the taverna doorway, the big gold star wobbling from its precarious perch on the top, and realising with a jolt that for the first time in years she wasn’t going to be home for Christmas.

‘I don’t think you’re going to fail, Maddy, I’m just–’ Her mum paused, wiped her hands on her apron, ‘I’m going to miss you is all.’

For a moment Maddy wanted to wave Dimitri away, tell him that she no longer needed a lift. But then Ella stepped forward out of the darkness and leaned against the doorframe, watching. And something rose up inside Maddy. The same thing that had made her apply for the job in the first place. The need to prove herself. Like finally she had to go and see who she could become, just as Ella had done. Seen through Ella’s eyes, she felt weak.

‘I’d better go.’ she’d said, ‘I don’t want to miss my plane.’ Then she’d smiled and stepped forward and given her mum a hug. Felt the familiar sharpness of her shoulder blades and softness of her waist, the enveloping comfort of Penhaligon’s Orange Blossom and Pantene and the warmth of the kiss on her cheek. ‘Bye Mum.’ She’d had to look up to the sky with big wide eyes to dry the moisture.

‘Bye honey. Good luck.’ Her mum had taken a step back and smoothed down her apron.

Maddy had jumped into the Jeep and when Dimitri was clearly about to ask if she was ok, she’d given him a look, and he’d slipped into first and they’d driven off up the hill. Her mum and the taverna getting smaller and smaller in the wing mirror.

‘Are you all right, madam?’ She felt Janice’s hand on her shoulder. Her bottom lip wobbled.

Come on, Maddy
. She shouted at herself in her head.
Grow up. This is your big adventure. FFS. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t you dare
.

‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine.’ Maddy nodded.

‘Come on.’ Janice said, giving her arm a little squeeze. ‘I think I’ve got some mince pies at the desk.’

CHAPTER 11

ELLA

‘You tie it up behind you.’ Ella saw Dimitri’s lips twitch in a smile as she picked up her apron.

‘I can see that, thank you.’ She thought of her last holiday where she’d stayed at a five-star boutique yurt in the Serengeti. She’d complained because the wifi didn’t work and Max had thrown a tantrum when he hadn’t seen all of the Big Five. She stood in the entrance to the taverna, the sky a sharp wintery blue, the remains of old swifts’ nests cluttering the eaves of the awning, Dimitri sitting with the ankle of one leg crossed over the knee of his other, sipping an espresso, the smells of home baked croissants, thick cut toast and gloopy marmalade, strong coffee and cigarettes swirling like smoke through the cool of the morning – making her nose suddenly wrinkle up with unexpected emotion. She had a sudden flash of her ten year old self here on holidays, belting into the sea dragging a windsurfer behind her, the only complication in her life being how to get the bloody sail to stay up as she wobbled in the water.

She was fumbling trying to tie a bow in her apron round her back, realising that her white jeans might not have been the best idea for her first day waitressing, when a young, good-looking couple walked past and said, ‘Hi there.’ The woman was in a thin black cashmere top and long shorts while the man wore chinos and a polo shirt with the collar turned up, a sweater was slung round his shoulders and aviator sunglasses looped into his button hole. They were clearly staying at the hotel round the corner and Ella thought that her and Max had quite possibly had dinner with them one summer. The woman, she thought, was called Susan… no Suki, yes that was it, because that was the name of their cat when they’d been growing up. Suki and Pedro. He was a banker. Big guffawing laugh. Max had played golf with him.

‘Hi,’ she smiled, pushing her hair out of her eyes and thinking now that she was glad she’d made an effort with her appearance. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’ The guy, Pedro, smiled. ‘And you?’

‘Great, thanks. It’s good to see you.’

‘You too.’ He nodded.

Ella nodded back, still smiling, they all looked at each other for a second or two, but then Suki glanced at Pedro and Pedro looked at Ella and when still no one said anything, Pedro said, ‘A table for two.’

‘Oh.’ Ella felt her cheeks start to pink. ‘Of course.’ They had absolutely no idea who she was. She grabbed two menus and started to walk towards a table at the jetty edge. ‘You know we er–’ But she stopped when she saw that they weren’t looking at her at all. In fact they seemed to see straight through her, like she was simply a dark outline obscuring their view of the glistening water.

She heard Dimitri snigger as she stopped what she was saying mid-sentence. The couple sat down and Pedro said, ‘Boiled egg for me, fruit salad for my wife. Yoghurt on the side, grape juice, one orange – freshly squeezed, a couple of days ago we had the carton stuff and I don’t want that again. And a pot of strong tea – real milk, none of that UHT crap.’ Then he smiled, handed her back the menu without having looked at it, and slipped his aviators on.