The Little Christmas Kitchen (31 page)

She closed her eyes and saw the Christmas table laid with candles and crackers, presents stacked as high as mountains under a tree that touched the ceiling. It didn’t matter so much suddenly what came after those Christmases, – it was that she had them, unlike Walter, there in her memory to be called on when needed. Snapshots of her dad, mayonnaise round his mouth as he ate his Big Mac and pushed the tape into the machine for the last song of Christmas, her mum carving the turkey with her eyes half shut anxious that she hadn’t burnt it, all her grandparents arguing during midnight mass because some of them wanted to sneak out early to go to the pub, her and Ella singing in stupid voices at the village carols and comparing their presents to check that neither of them got more. Boxing day in their pyjamas watching films all day on the sofa while munching on turkey sandwiches so big that they could hardly get their mouths round them. Trudging round the sales while their dad winced at all the people and their mum took back half her Christmas presents. Everything tinged with the rosy glow of nostalgia, more sweet than bitter. The first slice of fruit cake thick with marzipan, thimblefuls of their great grandmother’s morello cherry liqueur, hot coffee and the sweet cinnamon
kataifi
and
baklava
on Christmas morning. Poorly remembered Greek blessings and guilt from their great-grandmother for not trekking to the orthodox church in Bayswater on Epiphany. All of it played like the strip of tape in the machine, a ghost of the past laid finally to rest in a better place.

When she opened her eyes the song was finished. The only sound the whir of the tape player, Maddy hardly able to believe it was done, and then after a few seconds Margery started to clap.

‘I adored that, Madeline. I simply adored it.’

Maddy rested her guitar against the cupboard and pressed stop on the machine. She glanced over to where Margery sat, her feet tucked underneath her, her palms pressed together and resting over her lips, and saw her eyes shimmering wet in the low light.

‘You think so?’ Maddy asked, tentatively. ‘You think it’s ok?’

‘Madeline, I think it was simply stunning.’

Maddy couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she clicked open the tape deck and slotted the cassette into its case.

‘I’d better drop this off then,’ she said slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans.

Margery looked at her watch. ‘Not too long till the party kicks off.’

‘Do you think people will come?’

‘Maddy darling, I know people will come.’ she said, standing up and brushing lint from her trousers, ‘There was much talk about it down in the laundry room. I just hope you have enough food.’

‘Oh believe me,’ Maddy laughed, ‘I have enough food!’

Wrapped up in Ella’s coat and scarf and gloves, Maddy took a taxi to her dad’s office and handed the parcel to the receptionist letting them know that it was urgent. She had slipped one of the notecards into the jiffy bag and had almost crossed her fingers when she handed the package over.

‘You will make sure he gets it, won’t you?’

‘Yes, madam,’ the woman behind the desk said with a tight little smile.

‘It’s really important.’

‘As you said. He is very busy, especially at this time of year, but I will make sure he sees this as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you.’ Maddy walked backwards a couple of paces, ‘Thanks, it’s really important.’

‘Yes.’

When Maddy stepped out into the snow-drenched Soho street, giant silver baubles strung from one building to the next, a man selling roasted chestnuts on the corner, people spilling out of pubs with pints in their gloved hands, she looked at her watch and saw that she still had four hours till her party started.

Four hours to get out Ella’s little notebook and get to know her sister’s London.

CHAPTER 41

ELLA

The tourists started to arrive in the early afternoon. Ella stood at the door of the taverna to greet them holding a big umbrella and ushering them inside for a glass of champagne topped with a dash of morello cherry liqueur or for those needing a little warming up, a glass of Metaxa brandy. Everyone had dressed up. Ella had decided the occasion called for her kaftan which she wore over skinny blue jeans and flip flops, the rain soaking between her toes. Her mum was wearing a black dress that stopped mid calf and a big yellow necklace of beads threaded on wire, all her hair piled on top of her head, she looked straight out of
Vogue
. Ella looked over at her really proud as the tourists oohed and aahed over the decorations, the food, the roaring fire as they sipped their bubbly and procrastinated over the mezze that Alexander and Agatha were carrying on trays. When they popped the little quiches into their mouths or dipped the meatballs into the caper salsa, crunched on deep fried courgette and tried to skewer slippery anchovies on cocktail sticks they closed their eyes and shook their heads and proclaimed how much better this was than their hotel.

‘Are you open tomorrow?’ some of them asked, sidling up to Ella’s mum so their holiday rep didn’t hear.

‘Sorry, tomorrow’s for my family.’

Hand on their hearts they’d look downcast and say, ‘Such a shame.’ Before having another champagne and moving onto the taramasalata and plump purple olives.

As evening fell the clouds thinned and a glimmer of sun set over the navy water. The wind still howled down the chimney making the flames dance like imps.

Agatha had arrived in her raincoat and predicted an end to the rain, saying the
mistral
would whip through the island and take the bad weather with it. No one quite believed her as they stared out at the pouring rain and when lightning forked on the horizon, Alexander chuckled at her predictions.

‘You wait.’ she said, grumpily, picking up another tray of cheese pies that the tourists demolished in minutes.

Just as the tourists were sitting down – to plates of lamb slow roasted with orange and oregano, butterflied pork stuffed with chestnut and prunes, moussaka stacked high with cinnamon spiced lamb and aubergine – the children of the village arrived in their anoraks and wellingtons to sing carols. Six of them worked the room, belting out the words while two boys hung back and hit a tambourine and a triangle. The tourists were entranced, clapping and laughing, handing out euros like candy, while Ella’s mum took the kids inside for baklava and hot chocolate.

Out on the water the boats moored along the jetty had been decorated with with fairy lights and further out, the decorative model ships made from wire and light bulbs swayed precariously in the wind.

Then, once the main courses were devoured and dessert was brought out, the locals started to arrive – kissing Ella’s mum, bringing her gifts as they marvelled at the trouble she’d gone to and nibbled on new plates of garlicky tzatziki, mountains of soft creamy cheese pies and crispy tentacles of calamari. As the tourists savoured as many of the sweet options as they could cram into their already full bellies, the artists turned up in their mini-van fresh from a wet, windy excursion to the other side of the island. Soon there was loud singing and exuberant dancing. Music echoed tinnily out of speakers along the far wall of the restaurant and carafes of red wine were poured, bottles of retsina flicked open and glasses raised to everything – Christmas, good health and wealth and happiness. Then the artists insisted that Dimitri bring out more Metaxa and set fire to the brandy in giant glasses, the fumes merging with the wood smoke and the rain and an exuberant new toast made to
The Little Christmas Kitchen
which made Ella’s mum blush and have to go inside to make some coffee.

‘Hey,’ Dimitri strolled over to where Ella was sitting at one of the tables, twirling the hellebore flower between her fingers and looking with awe at the community and friendship that her mum had on this island.

‘How are you feeling?’ Dimitri asked, hoisting himself up to sit on the railing and squashing a bunch of tinsel under his bum.

She glanced up at him, at his big, droopy eyes and crazy wild hair, the stubble that was on the verge of a beard, the tan, faded, but still like caramel against his black t-shirt and saw the same relaxed, comfortable ease she had seen when her mum greeted the friends who arrived. The casual chatter with the artists, the long mornings spent drinking coffee with her grandparents, the food that brought such pleasure, the boat that bobbed just metres away that in seconds could take you to the middle of the deep blue sea.

‘I feel jealous.’

‘Seriously?’ His eyebrows drew together as clearly he’d been expecting a lighter, more frivolous reply given the evening’s festivities.

‘I just wonder what it would be like to have this forever.’ Ella swept her hand around the taverna, her eyes narrowed, her head tilted as she considered it, absorbed the dancing, the drinking, the laughter. ‘I think I’m jealous. I’m jealous of you. Of my mum. Of Maddy. Of what you have and what makes you happy.’

There was a pause. The party boomed on behind them. Dimitri rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, watching Ella as her eyes darted from one thing to the next. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’

‘In the rain?’ she asked, unsure.

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you have an umbrella?’

‘No.’

‘I’m in my kaftan.’

‘Ella you’re kind of ruining the moment.’

‘Oh. Ok, yeah. Can I get a coat?’

‘Jesus.’ Dimitri blew his hair up out of his eyes. ‘If you must.’

Leaving the celebratory commotion, Ella wrapped in an ungainly yellow mac, they started up the muddy path towards the olive trees. Unlike the desertion of previous nights, tonight the road was lined with cars parked for the party and people jogging to get to the taverna and out of the rain.

To Ella’s surprise, Dimitri took her hand in his, his warm fingers curling round hers and holding tight as they trudged silently into the torrential weather. Christmas lights hung above them, draped between the branches and blue and white bunting rattled in the cold north wind. The mistral was here.

Almost oblivious to the swirling gale, Ella could just feel Dimitri’s rough palm against hers. People smiled and waved as they ran past and Dimitri waved back but never let go of her hand. Completely comfortable for all to see while Ella was glancing back over her shoulder like a dog chasing its tail to check if anyone was watching. Behind her she could see the taverna, lit up through the plastic storm shutters, laughter and music carried in the wind, the warm glow through the front doors, the strings of lights blowing about like kites’ ribbons, and she could just make out the Christmas branches and the big gold star, tipping slightly to one side.

But then the road changed to a path and the trees thickened, their shadows dancing on the stony ground. As they entered the dark, quiet, sheltered land of the groves up at the highest point of the coastline they could stand on the lip of the cliff and gaze out over the wide black water.

Ella felt the weight of Dimitri’s arm as he rested it across her shoulders and realised that all she wanted was what she’d seen in that photo, heard in that story. And now he was there next to her, relaxed and uncomplicated.

‘See over there–’ Dimitri pointed towards the lemon groves further round the bay, ‘See how the leaves sparkle?’

Ella nodded, only half able to look, focusing mainly on the proximity of him, the feel of his body next to hers, the outline of his face in the darkness, the rain on his skin. ‘Why is that?’

‘They’re Christmas lights, they keep the trees warm in winter.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘No.’

She stared out over to the glittering grove, the lights like glowworms dancing round the leaves. ‘It’s lovely.’

Dimitri nodded. ‘It is pretty special.’

She felt him turn away from the view and towards her, his fingers sliding down the plastic of her over-sized mac and searching under the cuff to take her hand again. She couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that he was going to kiss her, didn’t want to ever make the mistake of presuming again, but the more it seemed like an actual possibility the more her body suddenly tensed up. Because it was all happening too quickly, quicker than she was comfortable with, it felt like she was frantically peddling, trying to catch up. She’d only just left Max, only just found her mum. She thought back to the photograph of Dimitri’s wedding, the exquisite fantasy of being looked at the way he looked in that picture, and she knew immediately that clutching at possibilities was much safer than having them in your grasp…

Something just out of reach was more appealing than something that might let her go.

Drunk on the first night, gazing up at him and asking him to kiss her was one thing. But this now, that photo, that look. Faced with the reality as his hand squeezed hers she just felt absolute terror. Because this actually might be the real her – just Ella – or at least a sliver of her, exposed.

‘Is that why you brought me up here, to look at the lemon trees?’ she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, his thick black eyelashes opened and closed, she looked anywhere she could but at him while her brain was desperately scrambling through possible things to say.

‘Do you think that’s why I brought you up here?’ Dimitri said, wiping the rain from her cheek.

‘Do you think that I think that’s why you brought me up here?’

‘Not this again.’ He shook his head. ‘Ella, do you want that to be the reason why I brought you up here?’

She paused, felt the rain splosh through the curtain of branches above them, heard the waves lash against the cliff edge, the wind rustling the leaves and clashing against a metal roof in the distance, saw his eyes, bright green and glistening as they watched her, seemed to see right into her brain and how it worked.

When she didn’t answer she felt his grip loosen on her fingers and she wanted to shut her eyes tight and wish herself away.

‘I just don’t know what this would achieve?’ she said in the end and Dimitri looked at her for a moment, then running his hand through his wet hair took a step back and laughed.

The tree branches silhouetted behind him looked like broomsticks, the shadows like witches’ fingers. All around the noises of the rain dripping through the leaves made it feel like creatures were moving in the darkness.