She held up the carrier bag listlessly. Poor Harriet, she looked like she was ready to give up on the whole idea of Christmas.
I bit my lip and looked at Tom, feeling torn. I knew he wanted us to spend the day on our own, I also knew the last thing on his festive agenda was cooking a turkey, but I couldn’t turn Harriet away – more to the point, I really didn’t want to. I needn’t have worried; Tom’s face softened as he walked over to greet her in our tiny hallway.
‘Consider yourself very welcome; we’d be honoured if you’d join us,’ he said.
He kissed Harriet’s cheek, peered at the turkey and hooted with laughter. ‘Jesus Christ, will you look at the size of that bird!’
A smile played at my friend’s lips for the first time.
‘I know,’ she said with a snort. ‘That’s why I turned up so early, so we could get it in the oven, but now …’ She finished with a helpless shrug.
‘All is not yet lost,’ I said, leading her into the living room. ‘We have a generator at the cookery school, so if the power doesn’t come back on soon, we can decamp over there and use the ovens.’
We’d had a terrible storm earlier in the year which had cut the electricity to a large part of Yorkshire for almost a whole day. After that Tom had suggested we install a generator to allow us to provide our own power in any future emergencies and it looked like today might be one of those times.
‘I am glad; I do hate wasting food.’ Harriet breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Sorry, Kevin, looks like you’re still on the menu.’
‘Kevin?’ Tom raised an eyebrow.
I left Harriet explaining her family tradition of naming the turkey, while Tom fiddled about securing his trusty Italian espresso pot over the flames and escaped upstairs to get washed and dressed. Maybe this Christmas might not be as quiet as planned after all.
I came back downstairs twenty minutes later with freshly washed hair and wearing my new Christmas top with my jeans. It was still gloomy outside, but all the battery-operated fairy lights were on and with the glow of the fire, Hawthorn Cottage was cosy and inviting.
I was glad Harriet had decided to join us. She was looking a lot more cheerful on the sofa, cradling a mug with the dogs beside her and Tom was pacing up and down our tiny kitchen on his mobile phone, raking a hand through his hair.
‘The power went out here half an hour ago,’ he was saying. ‘What are the roads through the village like? Did you see if the restaurant is OK?’
Tom caught my eye and gave me the thumbs-up.
‘That’s something at least,’ he said to whoever was on the other end.
Thank goodness for that; I knelt in front of the fire, helped myself to coffee and offered Harriet a top-up.
She shook her head.
‘Today’s turning into quite an adventure,’ she said with a watery smile. ‘I think that’s Jack on the phone. Perhaps he’ll turn up with Annabel and their turkey too.’
Poor Tom, at this rate he’d be surrounded by turkeys. He was still deep in conversation so I settled on the other end of the sofa and tucked my feet under me. Sage wiggled his way from Harriet to me.
‘So what happened last night?’ I prompted, running my hand over Sage’s chocolatey fur.
She drew in a deep breath.
‘After I left you, I ran home and had a quick shower, because, you know, not everyone likes the smell of cheese as much as I do,’ she said with a lopsided grin. ‘And then – and this is completely out of character for me – I thought, I’ll surprise him by turning up in nothing but my best underwear and a smile, and in this case, given the timing, a coat and with a Christmas turkey.’
I pinched my lips together and tried not to giggle. ‘That would have surprised me, all right.’
Harriet made a mewing noise, set her mug down and covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m so embarrassed about what comes next.’
‘Go on.’
‘OK, but promise you won’t repeat this to anyone,’ she said with a grimace.
I duly promised and Harriet hugged her knees and carried on.
‘There were cars all along Simon’s road but I thought nothing of it – I mean, lots of people have visitors at Christmas. It didn’t occur to me for a moment that the extra cars were all visitors to his house. As I walked up his front drive, I could see flashing lights through the front window, like at a disco. And there was lots of noise: music, laughter, the sound of a crowd. Simon was obviously having a party. My first reaction was that I was hurt not to have been invited, but I brushed it away, remembering that if the weather hadn’t been so pants I’d have been miles away by then. The bag holding the turkey was cutting into my fingers so I shifted it up into my arms, cradling it like a baby. And then a group of people turned up behind me and I was sort of swept along in the tide.
‘Someone rang the doorbell and it was flung open instantly. A girl our age, her curves poured into a tight little black dress, stood there, smiling timidly at everyone, as they charged in waving bottles and gifts. She looked a bit overwhelmed and awkward. I knew the feeling.
‘“Come in,” she said, glancing oddly at my turkey baby. “You must be from Simon’s work. I’m Ruby, his fiancée.”’
‘Oh, Harriet,’ I said, reaching for her arm. ‘What a nightmare.’
She swallowed and shot me an anguished look.
‘It gets worse. I’ve never believed people who claimed to have been struck dumb, but it happened to me right then. My mind went into over-drive and suddenly all the weird little things he’d said over the last few weeks began to make sense: like the excuses he’d made for cancelling dates at the last minute and the reason why he preferred my house to his and the line he’d spun me about his ex-girlfriend having left her things in his bathroom cabinet.
‘Because I didn’t respond, Ruby smiled awkwardly and pulled at the shoulder of my coat. “Let me take that for you,” she said. I leapt out of her reach like I’d been electrocuted but not before she’d managed to yank my coat open to reveal the front of my Ann Summers peek-a-boo bra. At which point, Simon appeared from nowhere to see me flashing my nipples at his intended, my arms quivering under the weight of a two-ton turkey.’
‘Poor you; you couldn’t make it up,’ I said, my brow furrowing in sympathy for her whilst focusing on not collapsing into a fit of the giggles.
Just then I felt Tom’s presence hovering at the door. I turned and saw him gawping at Harriet. Wisely, he retreated back to the kitchen.
‘What did you do?’ I asked in a squeaky voice, as a giggle made a bid for freedom.
‘I yelled “sorry, wrong party!” and got the hell out of there.’ The corners of her mouth starting to twitch. ‘It’s OK, you can laugh.’
We looked at each other for a second before bursting out laughing.
‘Oh God, Harriet,’ I hooted, holding my side, which was aching with laughter, ‘Ruby must have been wondering whose party you were planning on going to wearing an outfit like that and clutching a raw turkey.’
‘I know!’ said Harriet breathlessly, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘And as for Simon, I thought he was going to choke; he went as white as a sheet.’
‘How do you feel about it, more importantly?’
She sighed and stared into the fire for a moment.
‘After I’d gone home and got changed, I settled myself in front of Netflix for a good wallow with a box of tissues, a family-sized tin of chocolates and a bottle of Baileys.’
‘Good plan.’ I nodded.
‘I selected PS, I Love You, which was guaranteed to make me ball my eyes out.’
‘Oh you and me both,’ I said, squeezing her arm. ‘And did you sob?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘A bit. But when it got to the part where she gets the first letter from her husband I realized I was actually having a lovely evening. I wasn’t missing Simon at all. Kicking back, on my own, no one to please. I’ve been so busy in the cheesemonger’s this last month that I haven’t had time to question my relationship w
ith Simon, and now that I have, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s a total loser. Ruby’s welcome to him. My next boyfriend, I’ve decided, will be someone good and kind who puts others before himself.’
‘Good for you!’ I said, proud of her for bouncing back so quickly.
‘Thanks.’ Her smiled faltered. ‘I didn’t feel quite so upbeat this morning, though. Mum is furious with me for not making it to them last night. And now all she’s got to feed eighteen people is the ham they were supposed to be having on Boxing Day and to be honest spending Christmas Day on my lonesome was too much to bear.’
‘On that note,’ said Tom, who had come back into the room and looked relieved that we’d finished talking about peek-a-boo bras, ‘I’ve got some good news for you. Jack and Annabel have invited us to share their Christmas lunch in return for allowing them the use of the cookery school kitchen to prepare it. So if that’s all right with you …?’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly at me and I nodded. ‘Thought so. I’ll get dressed and we’ll meet them over there.’
Harriet sprang to her feet and threw her arms round Tom. ‘This is going to be such fun, I’m so excited!’
She darted out of the room to use the loo and Tom squatted down next to me and gave me a kiss.
‘This is turning out to be quite a party,’ he chuckled.
I stroked his cheek and looked into his dark brown eyes. ‘I’m sorry you’re not getting the quiet Christmas Day that you wanted.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t really mind. I got to wake up with you, so it’s still the best Christmas I’ve ever had.’
My heart melted and I pulled him into my arms. ‘Me too.’
‘And now that we’re having Jack’s turkey, at least it means I haven’t got to cook that bloody great thing of Harriet’s,’ he whispered.
He got to his feet and went off to get dressed, leaving me wondering what we were going to do with Kevin.
While we waited for Tom, Harriet and I packed up some supplies to take to the cookery school, I fed the dogs, found my wellies and hid the present I’d bought for Tom in my handbag and by the time he was jogging back downstairs we were almost ready to go.
‘Listen to this,’ said Tom, frowning. ‘Looks like we’ve got off pretty lightly in Plumberry.’
He held out his iPhone so we could all hear the local radio station, Yorkshire FM.
‘… Hundreds of families have woken up to a damp and miserable Christmas as flood water continued to seep over river banks in the night. Worst hit areas include Thickleton and Pudston, with some roads being completely impassable and many homes under several feet of water. The river through Plumberry is at its highest recorded level but so far the high street has avoided any damage. There are widespread power cuts across the area causing many restaurants and pubs to cancel Christmas lunch for hundreds of diners. The army has been drafted in to help evacuate vulnerable residents and the police have issued a helpline for those worried about their relatives. Of course, this is also a very worrying time for people without a home at Christmas. I’m joined on the line by Bethany Webster from the charity Hot Dinners. Bethany, what does this weather mean for the homeless people in the region?’
‘The festive season is hard enough for the displaced as it is. They’re on the outside of the comfort and joy they see so many others enjoying: families gathering together, plenty of food, and of course Christmas gifts. Most of the people we see coming to us for a daily hot dinner won’t even get so much as a Christmas card from anyone. It’s a time of great isolation and loneliness for many.’
Harriet bit her lip. ‘Crikey, I feel bad for moaning about being lonely now. My loneliness was self-inflicted for leaving it too late to travel yesterday.’
I put an arm round her shoulder. ‘We’ve made choices about how to spend our Christmas, but so many don’t have the luxury of choice.’
Bethany, the charity lady, continued.
‘… We can’t do a lot about many of those things, but we can provide our guests with a hot dinner. Well, in normal circumstances we can. Without power, we’ll be letting down a lot of people in serious need. This was the one bit of Christmas comfort for our guests …’ Her voice went all wobbly. Tom swore under his breath, there was a big lump in my throat and Harriet had tears in her eyes. From the radio, Bethany coughed and sniffed.
‘I’m sorry, so unprofessional of me. Our hot lunch today was supposed to consist of—’
I missed what the menu was because my mobile rang from the depths of my handbag in the kitchen. It was Mags.
‘Merry Christmas to you and Dave,’ I said, swallowing back my sadness. ‘And to Nora.’
‘Ah, Merry Christmas, chuck,’ she answered. ‘You sound a bit flat. Is everything all right?’
Comfrey scuttled into the kitchen between my legs and began scratching at the back door and I leaned over to let him out. The back garden was one big puddle and it was still raining. The little dog’s whiskers twitched as he hovered at the door step and sniffed the damp air and then he skirted the garden gingerly to find a dry bit, ironically, to wee on.
‘We’re fine,’ I said, ‘but this flooding is so awful. Some poor souls are going to be without dinner today. It’s the most vulnerable people who are worst off at times like these.’
‘I’d help them out myself, if I could,’ Mags agreed. ‘But we’re a bit short on supplies ourselves. That’s why I’m ringing. I don’t suppose there’s any food going spare at the cookery school, is there? Only the restaurant we were supposed to be having lunch at has just called. They’re flooded and without power. So Christmas lunch is cancelled, Nora is distraught and all we’ve got for Christmas is a cold pan of leftover festive Scouse and not even I fancy that.’
Her cottage at the top of Hillside Lane was only a few streets away from ours. She explained that they weren’t flooded although the back garden was underwater and the pavement at the front of the house was like a swimming pool. She and Dave reckoned it was safe enough to venture out for provisions, but Nora wasn’t steady enough on her feet.
Harriet dashed into the kitchen and waved a hand in front of my face. ‘I’ve decided. I’m donating my turkey to the Hot Dinners charity,’ she hissed, eyes glittering with purpose. ‘We’ve got to start cooking it NOW, come on!’
Suddenly there seemed to be an awful lot going on: Sage wanted to get out, Comfrey was clawing to come in, Tom was rummaging through the under-stairs cupboard to find his waterproof trousers and Harriet was raiding the vegetable rack muttering soup under her breath repeatedly.
I wedged a finger in my ear to try to hear what Mags was saying. ‘Listen, I’ve had an idea. Why not join us for lunch at the cookery school, all three of you?’
‘Really?’ she trilled. ‘Are you sure? Oh, but what about Nora? Dave and I can walk, but …’
‘We’ll fetch you. Somehow. I’ll think of something,’ I said firmly, telling her to stay put and we’d be in touch again soon.
I let out a breath and caught Tom’s bemused expression.
‘You’re loving all this drama, aren’t you?’ he said with a grin.
I couldn’t hold back my smile and let out a giggle.
‘I must admit, I am,’ I said, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek and inhaling his delicious aftershave. ‘Come on, Chef, let’s go and bring some comfort and joy to the people of Plumberry.’
The Plumberry floods
The three of us, laden with food and wine and some hastily wrapped emergency presents (thank heavens for those), plus the dogs were ready to set off a few minutes later. My bag weighed a ton, not only did I volunteer to carry all the wine, but I had my present to Tom secretly stashed away as well.
‘I don’t think I’ve been up and about at this time on Christmas morning since I was a kid,’ I said, glancing at my watch. It was still only 9 a.m.
‘This was going to have been my first twenty-fifth of December lie-in for years,’ said Tom wistfully. ‘I’ve been cooking Christmas lunch in restaurants since I was e
ighteen.’
‘I’ve never cooked Christmas lunch,’ Harriet announced, looking almost surprised at her own admission. ‘Mum has always done it.’
‘That’s easily remedied.’ Tom grinned, locking the door behind us. ‘Because I have no intention of cooking today at all. Right, come on, everyone. First stop: Dinner at Tom’s. I just want to see for myself that everything’s OK.’
‘Good plan,’ I said, noting the lines of worry etched across this forehead. I mentally crossed my fingers. ‘Although I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
Tom had poured his heart, soul and all his money into his new venture. It had only opened in November but was already achieving rave reviews in restaurant land. He was an ambitious and talented chef and had won a Michelin star at his last venue. It would ruin Christmas for both of us if Dinner at Tom’s fell victim to the flooding.
‘I’ll look in at the cheesemonger’s too,’ Harriet added. ‘Although I’m not worried, we’ve got quite a step up from the pavement and none of our stock is at floor level anyway.’
Happily, the rain had weakened to a soft drizzle and the sky had lightened from charcoal to a smoky grey, although the breeze was bracing to say the least.
‘Wind is good,’ said Tom as we headed down the steep hill towards the village as quickly as we could, ‘it will help dry the ground as soon as the rain has drained away.’
We paused for Tom to pick up Comfrey and Sage whose short legs couldn’t cope with our walking speed and dodged the various streams of water that were joining up to create a thicker flow along the main road below. I started singing Wham!’s ‘Last Christmas’ and the other two joined in enthusiastically. But as we turned into Plumberry high street, Tom gave a whistle at the sight before us.
‘Would you look at that,’ he murmured, shaking his head.
The shops, the Christmas decorations and the brightly festive window displays remained exactly as they had been last night. But in place of a road, there was a river of brown swirling water, as deep as a child’s paddling pool and in some areas water surged over the steep kerbs and onto the pavement. None had reached any of the buildings. So far, at least.
Comfort and Joy Page 4