The Little Christmas Kitchen (9 page)

‘I’ll use you.’ she said, looking at the oven and hob and all the other appliances. ‘Don’t worry, your existence won’t be totally in vain.’

Then she battled for five minutes to work out how to turn the kettle on.

Finally, cup of tea in hand, she wandered over to the large double doors on the wall adjacent to the fridge and stood looking out onto a communal patio at the back of the apartment block, the ground speckled with dewy frost and trails of bird footprints. Putting her tea down on a little cafe table and chairs that sat in the corner of the room, obviously set up to catch the morning sun, she turned the knob and threw the windows open, a gust of icy air streaming in.

I made it
she said to herself as she took in a great gulp of freezing air, felt it travel through her body, making her shiver. Wrapping her arms around her, she stepped out into the frost.

I made it to London
.

The patio was stark, there were bins against the back wall and a recycling unit. The little section she stood in was backed onto by three other flats – one the curtains were drawn tight, in the other, she glanced to the right, she saw an old woman sitting at a bureau similar to the Chippendale her grandparents had stored in her room. Grey hair up in a chignon, glasses on the end of her nose, big white cardigan pulled tight around her waist, the woman was writing a letter Maddy thought, her fountain pen scratching furiously across the paper. She peered forward to see more, the dim room was lit only by the low tones of red and green from the Tiffany sidelight. She knew she shouldn’t be looking but she couldn’t resist.

In the corner of the room was a Christmas tree, its spindly, half-dead branches draped with raggedy tinsel and old-fashioned decorations that would sell now as antiques, next to it the woman’s slippers sat side by side kicked neatly off perhaps as she’d curled up on the dark chintzy sofa. No, Maddy thought, she didn’t look the type to curl up. Along the mantle piece were ornaments dotted among sprigs of holly, a newspaper was folded on the marquetry coffee table, a pair of spectacles rested on the sideboard. As Maddy was on her tiptoes trying to see more, the woman turned sharply in her seat and caught her snooping. The look of displeasure in her eyes made Maddy dive back into the flat, slam the French doors shut and dart into the bedroom.

Leaning with her back against the closed bedroom door she took a couple of breaths to calm her beating heart. Her mum was always telling her not to be so nosy, but the lives of others had always been so fascinating. Like their grass was always greener than hers.

As she opened her eyes she felt suddenly like she was standing in the middle of one of the Elle Decoration magazines that the tourists left behind at the taverna. Metres and metres of aquamarine silk cascaded like a waterfall along one wall of windows, the cream carpet was thick between her toes like squelching through mud, the bed was huge, bigger than any bed Maddy had seen before and piled high with cushions – silks and velvets, tasseled and sequinned – the bedding was the same cream as the carpet, the throw a waffle blanket of the same watery blue as the curtains. On Ella’s side was a book about marketing and on Max’s a car magazine with a Ferrari on the front.

Maddy tiptoed to Ella’s side of the bed, irrationally checking behind her that no one was looking before she sat down on the soft duvet and leant forward to pull open the drawer of the bedside table. Paracetamol, ear plugs, an eye mask and a biro lay neatly side by side. But then she pulled the drawer out further and saw at the back what had once been a photograph but was now just scrunched cracked paper, the image of maybe three people, possibly two, faded and pale. There was just enough colour left to make out a cat. She held it close to her face – yep it was Suki, the cute kitten that had turned into a feral beast as they were growing up. She flattened out the picture, trying to make out what the rest of it, who was in it and why Ella would have kept it.

As she switched on the bedside lamp and held it up against the light, a loud rap on the door made her jump. The photo fluttered out of her hand and she scrabbled to catch it as it fell like a feather back and forth in the air. Snatching it up, she stuffed it back in the drawer and walked tentatively over to the front door to peer through the spy hole.

The woman from next door was peering back.

‘Hello.’ She heard her call. ‘Hello, I know you’re in there.’

Silencing the part of her that wanted to run and hide in the bathroom, Maddy yanked open the door and said, ‘Hi,’ with a beaming smile, pretending that she’d been neither spying nor snooping.

The woman looked at her over the top of her bifocals. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Maddy. Ella’s sister.’

‘The girl in the suits and the high heels?’

Maddy frowned. ‘Yes. Ella, who lives here.’

‘I don’t know her name.’ The woman shrugged, her lip curled.

‘But she’s your neighbour.’

‘So?’

Maddy, realising she hadn’t brushed her teeth and was still in yesterday’s clothes, took a step back and positioned herself half behind the door while she felt the woman scrutinise her.

‘I thought you were an intruder.’

‘No.’ Maddy shook her head, ‘I’m just staying here while she’s away. I’m Maddy.’

The woman ignored her outstretched hand, kept her own gnarled fingers clasped tight in front of her, big diamonds winked in the low lobby light. ‘They had a row. I heard them,’ she said. ‘Did you know they’d had a row? I never normally see them at all – come in late, leave early – but I heard this.’ She pursed her lips as if annoyed that she’d said as much as she had. Displayed her interest. ‘Anyway. I have things to do. I’d rather you didn’t look into my flat. They usually keep the blind down.’

‘But then there’s no view.’

The woman scoffed. ‘It’s an ugly space. It’s for the bins.’

And when Maddy tried to disagree, the woman turned and disappeared back into her flat leaving her standing alone to consider the preposterous fact that none of the neighbours knew each other. At home Maddy knew the whole village, practically. There was one new family she was less familiar with but that was because they were Portuguese and the language barrier made it hard to chat, but the husband and wife had come into the bar a couple of times. Christ, she even knew the tourists. If someone was there for more than a week, Maddy knew them. That was half the fun of it. So many different stories, so many different lives.

Yet this woman didn’t even know Ella’s name.

The alarm on her phone beeped as she was still standing looking at the woman’s closed front door. The clock in the hallway said eleven o’clock. She vaguely remembered setting it last night so she could make sure she had enough time to call the airline and try and sort out her baggage before starting work.

Five minutes on hold, transferred to three different departments, there was still no sign of it. No luggage. No clothes.

I’m sorry madam but we are incredibly busy over the holiday period and staff shortages mean that some queries are experiencing unexpected delays
.

No presents. She glanced at the Christmas tree that lay across the floor.

Going over to it she knelt down and ran her fingers through the branches, the scent of pine rising up through the air. So Ella and Max had had a row. Was that why the tree was discarded on the floor? Rubbing her hands together and smelling the Christmassy sap on her fingers, she pushed herself back up and padded back to the bedroom. It wasn’t so much the idea that perhaps Ella’s life wasn’t as perfect as Maddy always presumed it to be that she mulled over on the way, but the simple fact that at one time they would have confided in each other when things took a turn for the worst. They used to tell each other everything. Ella would sit on the bathroom floor reading magazine problem pages while Maddy was in the bath and she’d give Maddy the low down on everything that was happening with her friends – who was snogging who at school, who Ella wanted to snog but who she thought would never want to snog her. All Maddy wanted to be when she grew up was Ella. Except a bit cooler. If it was
Sweet Valley High
she wanted to be Jessica to Ella’s Elizabeth.

When she got to the bedroom Maddy pulled open Ella’s wardrobe and all thoughts of anything flew straight out of her mind.

‘Oh my god.’ She held her hand in front of her mouth and stared. Before her were row upon row of the most gorgeous clothes she’d ever seen. Maddy actually gasped. Her fingers reached forward to stroke a soft pink cashmere sweater while her eyes had already moved onto a charcoal silk shift with antique lace trim and a pair of snakeskin cigarette pants with Gucci on the label. Flicking through the hangers she was dazzled by names she’d only ever seen in Grazia; Stella McCartney, Fendi, Cavalli, Max Mara, J Crew, Jil Sander. The fabrics rippled and swished, and in her hands had the satisfying weight of expense. Then there were the shoes. She had to bend down to fully absorb them. All lined up on the floor of the wardrobe, some so precious they were in little white bags. Boxes of Manolo stilettos were stacked next to buttery leather knee high boots and black suede pumps with the double T logo of Tory Burch on the toe.

Maddy just wanted to climb inside the wardrobe and live there. Clothes had never been something she’d spent a lot of money on, but when she’d flicked through the tourists’ magazines, her feet up on the railing at the taverna, an ice cold Coke next to her, and imagined herself strutting through the streets of London, these were the clothes that she’d have worn in her fantasy.

It was only as she was speeding through the items, wondering if any of it was actually appropriate for singing in a London bar, that she noticed it was all ranked in order of style. Cocktail dresses at one end, work wear in the middle, then casual clothes and lastly jackets and coats. The shoes she then realised were lined up in similar order. And the clothes folded on the shelves weren’t in piles per item but instead seemed to be arranged in outfits. Jeans with belt and t-shirt. Trousers, shirt and cardigan. Then she saw the polaroids stuck on the inside of the wardrobe door. Outfits, categorised. She poured over the pictures – 1. White trousers, yellow shirt, gold loafers, red necktie. 2. Black dress, turquoise pashmina, silver stilettos.

When they were kids Ella was a hopeless dresser. Her jeans were always too short and the waist too high. Her trainers were always super white and her jumpers shapeless. Maddy would pretend that she didn’t hear when people sniggered when she stood on stage in school assembly and was handed the poetry prize, then the maths prize, then a trophy for a national essay writing competition.

She stared at the polaroids again. Was this how Ella was living? Not suddenly a successful, fashionable WAG but constructed like a paint by numbers. Maddy bit her lip, felt a small ache in her chest.

From where she stood she could still see the Christmas tree on the floor in the living room and it all suddenly seemed just desperately sad.

CHAPTER 13

ELLA

Lunchtime rolled into evening. The boat party seated themselves at the big long table they’d set up at the start of the shift. The artists sat on the promontory in their own little gang. Alexander, the usual evening waiter, in his mid-fifties with hair the same colour as his perfectly pressed white shirt, arrived and immediately allocated Ella and dreadfully moody Agatha the tables they’d be waiting while her mother and grandmother worked tirelessly in the kitchen.

Ella was determined to do better than that morning. She’d gone up to her room after her lunch and changed out of her tight white jeans and into a looser black pair of trousers and a fitted black t-shirt. She’d given her hair a quick wash and plaited it neatly so it was away from her face. She’d looped a gold Chanel chain round her neck, just to add a touch of class and slipped on her Prada loafers. Then she had stood in front of the mirror and said, ‘It’s just a role, Ella. All you have to do is fit it.’ She thought of garden parties with Max and his friends, the girls’ insincere fawning while glancing over her shoulder to see who else was walking in. To fit in Max’s world she had learnt the laugh, the touch of the arm, the charming compliment, the immediate self-deprecation, the languid blink, the hierarchy.

Why should this be any different?

‘Ok, I’m ready.’ She’d arrived in the kitchen, her apron tied neatly, her pad in hand. Her mum had glanced up and then had to do a double take.

‘What shall I start with?’ Ella had asked, walking forward to admire the bowls of salads that cluttered the main table ready for serving – tabbouleh, dark green with fresh herbs and pomegranate seeds glistening like rubies, couscous laden down with Harissa and roasted vegetables and heaps of her mum’s signature Greek salad, big purple olives torn in half, spaghetti strands of cabbage and great wedges of tomato and cucumber liberally doused in olive oil almost as dark as the olives themselves and razor sharp red wine vinegar.

‘Your shift doesn’t start for another half an hour.’ Sophie said.

‘That’s fine. I don’t have anything else to do.’

‘Enjoy the sun for a bit? The island?’

Ella shook her head. ‘No. I’m ready to work.’

And for the next few hours she carried plates of big juicy prawns, their long tentacles curled and charred, sizzling in lemon on beds of herb infused rice and tiny crackles of fried garlic, lamb roasted slowly with juicy tomatoes and soft, warm feta cheese, squid white and plump fresh off the grill, big carafes of red wine the base dark with sediment and bottles of white sweating with condensation from the fridge. Wafer thin courgettes in golden batter so light it was barely visible, plates of mini meatballs flaked with coriander and drizzled with fresh tomato sauce, and bowl upon bowl of thick tzatziki were piled onto trays that by the end of the evening Ella was darting between tables carrying one handed.

‘Mum, table six, one tuna salad, one pork chop – salad no chips, two souvlaki – one chicken, one pork, two stuffed tomatoes and one stuffed pepper.’ Ella tore off the top sheet of her pad and stuck it on one of the hooks next to the stainless steel island unit.