Back at the cabin, Jed tends to the log fire, marching straight out to the wood store and slamming the back door, while I scuttle to the safety of the cake-scented kitchen.
My heart is still beating frantically, probably because of the speed with which we made our way back along the lake. I stand in a daze and look at the cake I baked earlier, trying to focus on the plan for this evening, but failing completely. My brain has turned to mush.
What is wrong with me?
I feel suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Am I missing Harrison so much that I fling myself at the first reasonably attractive man I find myself alone with? It’s not like me at all. But I suppose Christmas is an emotional time for everyone – it’s the season, more than any other, when we draw closer to family and friends, and think about loved ones who are missing from our lives. Being here at the lake at Christmas-time is sure to make me feel a little wobbly, thinking about the past. It has nothing to do with Jed Turner. Nothing at all.
I walk to the patio doors and stare out at the lake. It looks as pretty as a Christmas card, with the glitter of frost on the trees. What must it be like to have a normal, hectic but happy, family Christmas? The sort that most people take for granted?
A pang of loneliness hits. It’s like a real, physical ache deep inside.
I should have gone to Spain with Harrison.
But next minute, I realise that would have been impossible. I need to be near Mum over the festive season. She always says she’d cope perfectly well on her own, and maybe she could – but I certainly couldn’t. She’s all the family I’ve got, and I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with her. Especially on Christmas Day.
Often, I feel like I’m the mum in the relationship. It’s as if I’m caring for my grown-up teenager, who’s flown the nest but isn’t quite mature enough to cope alone and is likely to forget bin day and eat beans straight out of the can for dinner. Going round to check up on her every day certainly takes some planning, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. In between my catering duties at the Log Fire Cabin, I’m going to make sure we have the best Christmas we can, just her and me.
The thing with Jed earlier, which has sent me into a tailspin, was just a symptom of my confused feelings about everything. Ever since meeting Harrison, my life has trundled along a well-worn track, and now, all of a sudden, things are starting to change and, naturally, it’s a little unsettling.
Feeling in need of fresh air, I open the patio door a fraction and take some cautious deep breaths, telling myself not to be so silly about earlier. It was a fleeting moment with Jed, soon to be forgotten. And later on this evening, I’ll be able to talk to Harrison and everything will feel perfectly normal again.
The air is so icy cold out there, tears spring to my eyes. A few snowflakes drift down from a sky that’s promising more. Quickly, I retreat inside, shutting the door and locking it.
*
With Mum on my mind, I decide to call in at hers and take some sandwiches for lunch. I ring the bell then let myself in, to save her the complicated manoeuvre to the front door.
‘I’ve got a catering job over Christmas,’ I call, as I wade through a sea of debris and boxes to reach Mum, who’s standing in the living room waiting for me. It’s always an effort to get anywhere in this place, like when you’re in a traffic snarl-up and it takes the longest time to travel a few yards. ‘But don’t worry, we’ll still be able to spend most of Christmas Day together.’
She smiles. ‘Good for you, love. I’ve always thought you should use those marvellous cooking skills of yours. Where’s the job?’
‘Oh, it’s a holiday chalet place – about ten miles out of Easingwold.’ I hold up a cuddly hippo. ‘Any reason you’re keeping this?’ I ask, lightly. ‘Harrison and I aren’t planning on giving you grandchildren any day soon, you know.’
She gives me her slightly stiff smile. The one she gives me any time I dare to question an item in her mountain of junk. ‘You never know. So where exactly is this chalet?’
I shrug. ‘Hard to explain. It’s right in the middle of nowhere. You’d never find it unless you already knew where it was.’
She nods.
‘Sandwich?’ I make it through to the living room and we sit down on the two-seater sofa. I chat about the job and what it entails, adding that I’m hoping Uncle Bob might give me my big break and hire me to cook for him occasionally.
‘He’s requested an Italian-style dinner on Christmas Eve, so I’ll have to pull out all the stops to make it really special.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly had plenty of practise over the years,’ she says. ‘Cooking Italian food, that is.’
I nod. ‘I guess it runs in the family. I must have got the taste for pasta from my dad. My real dad.’ I glance at her but her expression remains neutral.
The words hang in the air between us. It would be the perfect opportunity for her to start a dialogue. But, as usual, she chooses silence instead. Looking away, she reaches for a gingham-patterned cushion that’s lying on the floor. She sets it on her lap and smoothes her hand over the fabric, and for the millionth time, I wonder why she finds it so hard to talk to me about him.
We eat our sandwiches and chat about something safe instead – our arrangements for Christmas Day. I’ll be collecting her in the morning and bringing her over to mine to open gifts. Then I’ll leave after our lunch, around four, to head over to the cabin to cook dinner.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Mum says, rubbing her hands together, and for once looking genuinely happy.
I smile at her. ‘Me too, Mum. We’ll have a good day, I promise.’
She comes to the door to wave me off, back to the cabin.
‘It’s come round so quickly, Christmas.’ She gives a little sigh. ‘Remember when your dad used to bring in a real tree two weeks before the big day? I just adored the scent of it.’
My heart turns over at the wistful look on her face. She’s obviously forgotten that the fallen needles would end up annoying Martin so much that there’d inevitably be a huge row even before Christmas Day arrived. She must miss him still, even after everything that happened – all the arguments and the bitterness and the silences. It’s amazing how the mind can erase the stuff you’d rather not remember. And I suppose she did love him once.
‘I could get a real tree if you like,’ I offer. ‘We could have it at mine for Christmas Day.’
She shakes her head. ‘Don’t worry, love. You sound as if you have enough to do. You’d better get back.’ We hug and I find there are tears in my eyes. ‘Has this cabin place you’re working at got a real tree?’
‘Yeah. It has, actually. They’ve got quite a bit of land and there’s a little copse of fir trees by the lake. It came from there.’
Mum narrows her eyes. ‘The lake?’
My heart misses a beat.
‘Yes. The – um – cabin sits on a small stretch of water. It’s hardly a lake at all, really,’ I add, trying to backtrack.
‘The Cottage on the Lake B&B?’ She studies me intently, and I know there’s little point denying it. She’s very sharp, my mum. There’s not a great deal that gets by her – not even now, when her head seems so full of trivialities.
I nod. ‘Near there, yes.’
We stare at each other, thinking of that long-ago time when we stayed there one night. Out of nowhere, a big lump appears in my throat. I know I shouldn’t say what’s on my mind but I’m powerless to stop it. I’ve suppressed the question for so long that when it falls out of my mouth, the strangled tone doesn’t even sound like me.
‘Why did he never come back, Mum?’
The expression on her face is anguished and when she opens her mouth, I really think she’s going to tell me at last. But instead she gives her head a little shake and turns away.
*
Later, I collect Erin to help me out serving dinner.
She’s in a cheerful mood today, chatting away about the film she and Mark saw the night before.
‘Not in the same class as Pretty Woman. Obvs,’ she says, beaming at the mention of her all-time favourite movie. ‘But good nonetheless.’
‘You actually are Julia Roberts, aren’t you? Or should I say Vivian.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She grins. ‘Big mistake. Huge,’ she adds, holding up imaginary bags and quoting her favourite line from the famous Rodeo Drive shopping scene.
‘How is Mark?’ I ask.
‘He’s mighty fine, thank you.’ Erin swings back her hair. ‘Actually, I’m lucky he was actually talking to me last night. I was such a bloody idiot.’
‘Really? How?’
She sighs. ‘Well, I found a lipstick in the bathroom by the basin. A frosted pale pink, which I would never use. And honestly, I swear my heart actually stopped.’
An image of a girl with stunning pale-red hair sweeps into my mind. I glance anxiously at Erin, but she’s smiling away, looking perfectly relaxed.
‘So was it yours after all?’ I ask her, my heart drumming faster.
‘Well, I definitely didn’t recognise it and I went a bit silent on Mark.’ She grimaces. ‘Bless him, he looked horrified. Like he couldn’t believe I would suspect him of entertaining another woman in our flat.’
I frown at her, wanting desperately for there to be a plausible reason. ‘So the lipstick belonged to?’
‘Me! It was Mark who suddenly remembered that I’d been clearing out my make-up junk in the bathroom the other day. You know how you collect all sorts of free samples that aren’t your colour at all but you hold onto them anyway? So that pale-pink lipstick must have been one I was going to throw away.’ She grins. ‘I’d accumulated such a huge pile of useless stuff, it’s not surprising I didn’t remember that one lipstick.’
I try to smile at her but my face won’t oblige. Should I tell her about the strawberry-blonde haired girl I saw him with that time, coming out of their flat together?
She frowns. ‘Is something wrong?’
I shake my head. ‘No, not at all.’
My head is in a spin. Shall I mention her? Or shall I keep quiet? Chances are it was totally innocent anyway.
What would I want Erin to do if the shoe were on the other foot?
That’s my answer. Because I’d definitely want to know.
I force a light, nonchalant tone. ‘It’s just that I did see Mark the other afternoon coming out of your flat with a girl. Perhaps one of his colleagues at the estate agent’s?’
Erin frowns. ‘Oh? What did she look like?’
I shrug, as if I barely remember, it was so unimportant. ‘Er … small, I think, with long, strawberry-blonde hair? Ring a bell?’
I can feel Erin staring at me as she thinks, and my face starts to burn. Oh God, I wish I could take it back!
There’s the longest silence ever. Then Erin snaps her fingers. ‘I know! That’ll be Sophie, Mark’s old friend from university. They’ve known each other for yonks. She lives in London now. Long red hair?’
I nod happily, relief flowing through me. ‘Quite pale red. But definitely red.’
‘Oh.’ Erin looks pensive. ‘It used to be a really vivid red but maybe she’s dyeing it a lighter shade these days. She’s lovely, Sophie. She must be back from London on holiday, visiting her parents. So perhaps it’s her lipstick. Mark must have forgotten she was at the flat.’
Thank you, thank you, thank you! (I’m not sure who I’m actually thanking, but I’m so relieved there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.)
After all Erin has been through with men, I truly don’t know how she’d cope if Mark were to break her heart, too.
*
Back at the cabin, as the time for dinner approaches, the atmosphere in the kitchen is fairly calm with just a hint of suppressed panic on my part. The sweet-pastry plum tarts, just out of the oven, are browner on top than I would have liked. But we combat the singed look by shaking caster sugar on top of them.
It’s a good sign when the starter plates come back empty. And when we take the main course out, everyone ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ – all except Jessica, who peers at the lamb tagine as if she suspects some kind of foul play.
Once the desserts are served, with a generous dollop of whipped cream on each individual plum tart, Erin and I collapse back against the worktops for a moment, taking a well-earned breather.
Seconds later, a commotion breaks out on the other side of the door.
Two female voices, one raised in anger, one rather more placating in tone, carry through to us in the kitchen.
‘Trouble?’ whispers Erin.
I strain to hear. ‘Sounds like Jessica’s upset about something.’
Sure enough, next moment her rage carries through to us. ‘Right, that’s fucking it! I’m leaving. Someone call me a taxi to collect me in precisely thirty minutes.’
Heels skitter up the wooden stairs and a bedroom door slams. Erin dashes to open the kitchen door a crack to listen.
‘Erin!’
‘What?’
‘It’s none of our business.’
But curiosity gets the better of me. Shaking my head, I join Erin and we hover by the door, but the remaining diners appear to have been stunned into silence.
‘She bloody hated that dessert,’ Erin whispers, grinning.
‘Well, I’ve never known anyone reject my plum tarts.’
‘Arf arf.’
‘Oh, God. Maybe I should be brewing a soothing tea for everyone. What shall we do?’
‘Hide in here is my preferred option. Until Jessica’s taxi removes her from the scene.’
‘Poor Ryan. Do you think he’ll go with her?’
‘Probably.’ Erin considers this for a second. ‘Poor Clemmy.’
‘We need to clear away.’
‘That’s just an excuse to go out there.’
I make a face at her. ‘You know me too well.’
We bustle out with a businesslike air, looking as if we haven’t heard a single syllable of Jessica’s explosion.
Gloria, slumped at the head of the table, is mopping her red face with her napkin, looking bewildered and hotter than ever. ‘I only asked her where she got her boobs done. It was a compliment, really.’
Ryan grins. ‘She likes people to think they’re all natural.’
I can’t help thinking he looks remarkably calm for someone whose girlfriend has just stormed upstairs and is packing to leave.
‘Well, I didn’t know that,’ wails Gloria.
‘Perhaps you should think before you speak,’ Bob snaps. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I’m going to bed. See you all in the morning.’
Ruby snorts. ‘Jessica’s boobs are about as real as my hair colour.’
‘Ruby!’ chides Gloria, staring with alarm at Bob’s departing back. ‘Oh God, shall I go up and talk to her?’
‘I’d leave her, if I were you.’ Ryan pours himself another glass of wine and swallows half of it in one go. ‘Once Jess makes up her mind, there’s no shifting her.’
‘But I could at least say I’m sorry,’ offers poor Gloria.
‘Nice thought, but it won’t make any difference.’ Ryan slugs down the rest of his wine and reaches for the bottle. ‘She turned down Christmas on a yacht in the Med to come here so she’s understandably pissed that it hasn’t worked out.’
‘But I feel so guilty.’ Gloria slumps lower in her chair.
Ryan shakes his head. ‘You shouldn’t. Jess was just looking for an excuse to escape.’
‘It’s not your fault she didn’t enjoy herself,’ points out Ruby, siding with her mum for once. ‘If you walk around with a face like a slapped arse all the time, like Jessica does, you can hardly expect to be happy!’
‘Ruby!’ Gloria looks horrified. ‘Oh bugger, me and my big mouth. And now you’re taking after me, Ruby.’
‘No, I am not!’ Staring at her mum in disgust, she scrapes back her chair and marches out, leaving Gloria on the verge of tears.
Erin and I clear the table as quietly as possible, studiously avoiding eye contact.
After a while, Clemmy speaks up. She’s been sitting in worried silence but now she looks at Ryan and murmurs, ‘You should go up to her.’
Ryan looks at her questioningly, as if he hasn’t a clue who she means.
‘Jessica,’ says Clemmy. ‘You should go and talk to her. Explain that Gloria didn’t mean to upset her.’
Ryan looks away with an indifferent shrug. ‘If she wants to leave, let her. I’m not bothered.’
But something about the rigid set of his mouth tells me that he is bothered. A great deal.
Jed, having gone to build up the fire while all this kicked off, looks up and gives me a weary smile as I pass him, in Erin’s wake. In return, I give my head a little helpless shake at the abrupt way the evening has ended.
It’s the first time that Jed has actually looked at me since our close encounter in the hallway of the lakeside cottage, and a little burst of joy runs through me. I can’t believe the relief I feel at knowing things are okay between us again.
I push backwards through the door into the kitchen, feeling lighter in spirit, as if a weight has rolled off my shoulders. If I’m to be working here until after New Year, there can’t be any awkwardness between Jed and me. He’s my client. I need to keep our relationship pleasant but firmly businesslike.
And so it will be, from now on …