by Kate Forster
‘What was it?’ He was genuinely interested in her story.
‘First I got a pink diary with a lock and key. Oh that was exciting and it came with some glitter pens – even more thrilling.’ She laughed. ‘But the final present was something called The Beginner’s Cooking Set. It came with an apron and a chef’s hat. A cutting board. A set of measuring spoons in different colours. Wooden spoons of different sizes. A recipe book for children. Spatula, tongs, a serving spoon and some kitchen scales. And I was shocked. What a horrible thing, I thought at the time.
‘And then a woman who had served me lunch looked over my shoulder and said, “You and your dad will never want for food again with you cooking up a storm”, and I thought about it and realised she was right. If I could learn how to cook then I could care for Dad. And then he wouldn’t drink because he didn’t have to worry about it anymore.’
Marc sighed and shook his head. ‘The stories we tell ourselves to make sense of chaos, even as kids huh?’
‘Maybe, but he did stop drinking eventually, and I learned to cook and here I am. He went to meetings, got sober and got a job as lorry driver. Then we were okay and Dad spent the rest of his life trying to make up for that time. There were tough times and a few Christmases spent at the dining hall of a charity but I knew he was trying. That helps – when you can see someone is trying to change.’
Marc sighed. ‘I wish I knew. So did he also buy you a present for Christmas?’
Christa laughed gently. ‘He always did. Not expensive ones but always things he thought I might like. I mean he wasn’t some redeemed soul. He was pretty rubbish sometimes. One birthday he gave me a copy of a book from my own bookshelf, as though I wouldn’t notice. That was pretty rough but he tried in his own clumsy and broken way. But when he was sober, he always made an effort. So what if many of the presents were from charity shops? They showed he understood me. That meant more to me than anything expensive.’
Marc listened as she spoke, watching the kindness on her face as she thought about her father.
‘So what happened after The Beginner’s Cooking Set? How did you then decide you wanted to become a chef?’
Christa thought before she spoke.
‘He gave me a book when I was sixteen. He knew I was getting good at baking. I cooked for us every night and I liked it. But then he gave me The Cake Bible – it’s a famous cookbook for bakers – and that absolutely started me on my path to where I am now. He never got to see me graduate from Le Cordon Bleu but I felt his spirit every moment of the course.’
God she’s so beautiful, he thought, and not bitter at all.
‘Would you have forgiven him if he hadn’t gotten sober?’ he asked.
Christa looked him in the eye. ‘What was there to forgive? He was in so much pain that he dulled it with alcohol. I didn’t need to forgive him, I needed to love and support him, and I knew that even as a child. Was it ideal? No, but no life is. We all get a turn, don’t we? It’s just that some of us have the turn younger than others.’
Marc though about his life. He had grown up trying to keep the family together, trying to get his parents to change so he could have a childhood. All that energy and work and it didn’t stop the outcome.
‘I have a lot of anger towards my parents, still,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t speak to anyone in my family.’
‘Where are your brothers and sisters?’ she asked him, looking confused.
Marc shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We were placed into foster care when I was fifteen. Split up and the younger ones adopted. I was older and angry so I got to live in a group home. I tried to find them years ago but they were all closed adoptions.’
‘Oh that’s awful. I’m so sorry. You must wonder and worry more often than you realise. You’re probably used to living with it but I’m sure it’s always there.’ She sounded so sincere and sad he felt his throat tighten at her kindness. It was true. He did worry. He did look for his siblings in crowds, wondering if they were happy, hoping they had good lives.
He looked ahead, staring at the dark kitchen windows.
‘It was pretty awful but it was still better than home,’ he said.
They sat in silence for a while.
‘Tell me about you getting into Le Cordon Bleu,’ he said.
‘Why do you want to know about that?’ She laughed.
‘Because I like hearing success stories – it fuels me,’ he said with a smile.
She thought for a moment. ‘I found out I got in the day of my father’s funeral actually,’ she said.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he said.
‘That’s life though isn’t it? Endings and beginnings.’
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but that’s rough.’
‘My dad had told me to apply before he was diagnosed with cancer but I didn’t think we could afford the fees. It’s expensive,’ she said. ‘Then he died and he had an insurance policy on him from his work, so I could go.’
‘That would have been hard.’
She nodded. ‘It was. Thank you for saying that.’
Their eyes locked for a moment and then Christa drained her cup of tea.
‘I should head to bed,’ she said, picking up his cup and hers, pushing her chair back and standing.
‘Yes,’ said Marc still sitting at the table. ‘Oh, I forgot, we got you an ornament for the tree. The boys asked me to choose one for you.’ He went to a shopping bag with lights and tinsel poking out of the top, rummaged until he found it and came back to the table and handed it to her, wrapped in tissue.
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ she said.
‘I know, but the boys wanted special ones. Seth chose Santa on a skateboard and Ethan chose a Christmas-themed milkshake decoration. Quite unusual selections but very them.’
Christa smiled as she unwrapped the tissue and turned the ornament over in her hand.
‘A deer family,’ she said, sounding surprised.
‘Yes, I don’t know why, it just appealed to me. I could have chosen something food-related but I guessed you would get sick of silly gimmick gifts like that.’
Christa looked at the ornament carefully. ‘I have seen deer here a few times now. Once a huge stag when I arrived and then I saw a stag and a doe. They were just gorgeous.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you, this is really thoughtful and sweet.’
‘It was nice actually. Thinking about what to get you.’
‘Did you choose one for yourself?’ she asked.
‘I got a pudding,’ he said, taking the ornament from the bag.
She took it from him. ‘It’s so sweet. It matches my pyjamas.’
He laughed. ‘I suppose we should hang them on the tree.’
‘My pyjamas? I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she teased.
Marc laughed louder than he’d planned to and quickly covered his mouth.
‘No, these,’ he said, holding his ornament up in front of her.
‘Yes, let’s,’ she agreed and she followed him to the foyer of the house where the tree sat in all its glory.
*
The scent of the pine was one of the many favourite things about Christmas for Christa and the freshness of this tree and its pretty jewels and lights gave her a flutter of excitement.
‘Gosh, where will I hang my little deer family?’ she said.
‘You can hang it anywhere,’ said Marc, putting his pudding on a side branch and adjusting it so it faced forward.
‘No, I can’t. I have to choose the right placement so the deer family can see the comings and goings and can see outside when the front door opens.’
She heard Marc laugh but not unkindly.
Finding a place in the centre of the tree, she carefully hung the family and moved some tinsel away from them, so they had a clear view of the room and beyond.
‘I think that’s just perfect,’ she declared as she stepped back and looked about the area.
‘The tree does look good,’ Marc said.
‘The boys did a great
job.’
‘I did some also. I did the lights. They nearly broke my spirit. I lost control of an end, and had to lay them out up the hallway to untangle them.’
Christa laughed, remembering her father’s own battles with tangled lights.
‘There is a saying that you can see what a person is really like under stress when they have to untangle Christmas lights. How did you go?’
Marc paused and looked at the tree. ‘Let’s just say, the lights and I have reached a mutual agreement that I will not be doing this task next year.’
‘I think many Christmases have been jeopardised by poor lights management,’ she said, giggling.
Marc crossed his arms and surveyed the tree. ‘Lucky I’m not like that then.’
‘Lucky you’re not,’ she agreed.
He turned to her. ‘Thank you for the chat, Christa. It means a lot.’
She gave a gentle laugh. ‘My pleasure. Baking and chatting are my specialties.’ She paused. ‘Goodnight, Marc.’
‘Goodnight, Christa. Sleep well.’
She turned to give him a small wave goodnight from the top of the stairs but he didn’t see her. Instead, he was staring at the tree, his face clouded in sadness that Christa understood only too well.
10
‘Happy birthday dear Adam, happy birthday to you.’
The song finished and Adam blew out the candles on the cake Christa had made. It was a twelve-layer chocolate cake with honeycomb and toffee shards on top and Chantilly cream on the side.
‘This is incredible,’ said Paul as Christa cut the cake and carefully placed it onto a plate.
‘You should be a baker,’ said Seth as he eyed the slice of cake she had handed to Adam.
‘You think? I will look into that – thanks for the idea,’ she said, laughing, but Seth looked at her with such confusion she felt bad for teasing him.
‘I am a pastry chef actually,’ she said to him. ‘Pastry chefs make all the desserts in restaurants and people love desserts.’
‘I love them the most,’ said Ethan shoving a bite of cake into his mouth.
‘That’s not true, I love them more,’ said Seth, putting a bigger bite of cake into his mouth.
‘Okay, stop the competitive dessert discussion please,’ said Marc. ‘Who wants coffee or tea?’
Christa moved towards the kitchen to take over but Marc put his hand on her arm.
‘Sit. You just made an amazing dinner and this cake; let me make you some decaf tea.’
Christa was unsure what to do but Marc gently pushed her in the direction of the table.
‘Okay, boss,’ she said and went to sit at the table.
Once everyone had cake, and Marc had made coffee and tea for the table and glasses of milk for the boys they sat in the kitchen.
Peggy had given up trying to make them sit in the dining room but she hadn’t stopped being rude to Christa, including telling her that the food she cooked was not good for people’s health and that the boys needed to stay out the kitchen and stop skating in the house.
Christa had ignored her and asked the boys to come and help with the cake.
They did and they enjoyed it, especially making the toffee and using the sugar thermometer.
‘It’s like science class but fun,’ said Ethan.
‘When do you go back to school?’ asked Christa. ‘Aren’t you missing out on lots?’
Seth shrugged. ‘School schmool. School is for suckers.’
‘Who told you that?’ asked Christa surprised.
‘Joe Pesci,’ said Ethan.
‘You know Joe Pesci?’
‘No, he was in a movie we watched last night – My Cousin Vinny,’ said Seth.
Christa was totally confused but let it go. It wasn’t her business why the boys weren’t at school and Marc didn’t seem to be worrying about it at all.
Now Christa sat next to Marc at the table, and she felt acutely aware of his leg next to hers. She imagined pressing her knee against his, wondering if he would push back and the thought of it gave her butterflies.
The boys took a second slice of cake into the sitting room to eat it and watch television, leaving the adults at the table.
‘Paul, I was going to ask a favour of you,’ said Marc.
Christa noticed Paul looked slightly terrified.
‘Yes?’
‘Can you organise some decorations for the house? The tree looks so alone in its glory without any of the extra trimmings around the house. I think you could do a great job. I mean, you know about that stuff. I know you won’t do anything garish. I’m thinking traditional style you know?’
Paul gasped. ‘Shut the front door, you didn’t just ask me that?!’
Marc glanced at Christa who raised her eyebrows at him as she swallowed a piece of cake.
‘He did just ask that,’ she confirmed.
‘Yes!’ Paul clapped.
‘Not tacky,’ Marc reminded him.
‘I am the very pinnacle of taste and class. I once convinced Lady Gaga to not decorate her house in the style of the catacombs with real skulls and to instead install a rainforest spa complete with a wall of rare moss flown in from South America. “Always choose life over death”, I said to her. It really lifted her spirits.’
Christa burst out laughing. ‘I don’t know if you’re serious or not, but I do love Lady Gaga.’
‘She’s divine – you’d love her,’ said Paul eating more cake. ‘You will need to stop making desserts like this though, otherwise I will be eligible to fit into the Santa suit for Christmas Day.’
‘Shush,’ said Christa. ‘None of that, I don’t like diet talk in my kitchen. Do you feel hungry right now?’
Paul paused. ‘I do. It’s the cold weather.’
‘So, eat the cake, and when you feel full, which your body will tell you, don’t eat any more.’
Marc looked at her. ‘Not a fan of diets?’
Christa wasn’t sure if he was being rude or serious. She knew she was curvy but she was fine with her body.
‘I don’t like diet culture. I like intuitive eating. If you know what your body needs then eat it. Eat when you’re hungry and give it nutritious food. A slice of cake isn’t something we have every day but when we do we should make sure we enjoy it.’
‘My ex-wife would disagree with you. She’s the food police for the boys, and for herself. So many rules about food and always new diets.’
Adam laughed. ‘Remember when we went to Colorado and she asked for a glass of condensation at that health spa?’
Paul started to laugh with him. ‘And when she said she could only have organic essence of anything.’
Christa inwardly rolled her eyes and sighed. This ex sounded like a nightmare and the exact opposite of herself.
‘When is she coming?’ asked Christa. ‘I just need to know so I can catch the morning dew and forage wintry smoke flavours in the evening.’
The table burst out laughing and Christa felt Marc’s hand on her forearm.
‘Sorry, that was bitchy,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she’s lovely.’
‘God that’s hilarious,’ he said then, putting his other hand over his face, still chuckling.
His firm grasp on her arm wasn’t too tight or too heavy. She swore she could feel every muscle in his hand, down to the tendons in his fingers. It sent a shiver up her arm and her skin prickled in response.
The sound of her phone ringing interrupted the moment and she grabbed it from the bench and saw Zane’s name pop up.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to the table and walked out of the room.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hi, Christa, I hate to call at the last minute but is there any chance you can come and help tonight? We have two people out with colds.’
Christa checked the time. It was after nine. ‘Can I meet you at the van after you’ve left?’
‘That’d be great. We’re going to be down on Coppergate if you want to meet us there.’
‘Fantastic.
Do you need me to bring anything?’
‘Just yourself – that’s more than enough.’
Christa put her phone in the pocket of her jeans and paused, trying to think of an excuse to leave. What would Marc say if she said she had to leave now and go and feed some homeless people? Maybe she should just tell him. Surely he would understand.
She walked back into the kitchen and saw that Marc had opened a bottle of dessert wine and the three men were drinking from elegant glasses.
‘Everything okay?’ asked Marc. ‘Come and have a drink. This is a wonderful wine from a vineyard in France that I own.’
Christa didn’t even know how to respond to that. Marc was drinking wine from a vineyard he owned and she was being asked to help people who needed it most. It annoyed her deeply. He wouldn’t understand. His childhood might have been troubled but he was so far removed from the everyday trials of people struggling she wanted to tip the wine down the sink and drag him to the food van and show him the reality for so many.
She started packing the dishwasher with the plates and cutlery and then put the pans and baking dishes into the industrial dishwasher in the butler’s pantry.
‘Don’t do that,’ she heard Marc say as she closed the door of the machine and turned I it on. ‘Come and sit with us.’
‘I can’t.’ She could hardly contain the anger in her voice as she replied. ‘I have to head out. Do you need anything else done before I go?’
She pulled off her apron and threw it onto the bench.
‘Are you okay? What happened? Who was on the phone?’ he asked, his face concerned.
‘I’m fine.’
She walked into the kitchen and pulled her coat and bag down from the hook.
‘Happy birthday, Adam. I hope you had a lovely day and enjoyed the cake.’
Adam and Paul looked at her and her coat. ‘Where are you going?’ Paul asked.
‘I’m meeting a friend,’ she said.
‘I sense a lover in York, a midnight fling. How perfect. Didn’t take you long.’ Paul laughed and Adam joined in his giggles.
Christa avoided Marc’s gaze and grabbed her hat from where it sat near the back door and headed outside to her car.