by Lacey London
Draining the contents of my mug, I flick off the television and make my way into the kitchen. My online class is due to start at 10.00am which gives me just under fifteen minutes to get the essentials together. Upon making my payment for the class, I received an email listing all of the supplies that I would need to get the best results. Armed with a blender, various yummy looking ingredients, a few sharp knives and more baking trays than I know what to do with, I tie an apron around my waist and tap my fingers on the worktop impatiently.
Feeling rather smug that I am actually early, I grab my phone and take a few selfies to upload to Instagram. Me wearing an apron and a hair net is definitely something that is in the public interest, or at least Oliver’s, who I very much doubt has ever seen me in the kitchen let alone an apron. Pictures uploaded, I dash to the bedroom and get my glasses from the bedside table. Now, I must clarify, I don’t technically need glasses for using the computer, but I am secretly hoping that they will make me look a little more intelligent to the other pupils. Not that I should have much competition, I can’t imagine that anyone who takes a class entitled The Idiot’s Guide to Christmas Cooking will be the brightest bulb in the pack.
As I am fiddling with my hair net, the web cam on my laptop springs to life and I am presented with an immaculate mature lady with a perfect blonde bob and distinctly American mega watt smile to match her glossy red pout.
‘Hello!’ I mumble, waving around a spatula. ‘I’m Clara and I am very much looking forward to learning how to cook with you.’
It’s only when I stop talking that I realise the beautiful blonde lady can’t hear me. It seems that I am to follow the instructions on screen and call the number below if I have any problems. Humph. Not exactly a class is it? More of a glorified YouTube clip. Feeling a little stung that I have parted with £50 for nothing more than a tutorial, I tear off a chunk of bread and shovel it into my mouth.
Trying to keep a positive mental attitude, I turn up the volume and try to focus on the task in hand. Well, it might not be a one on one with Gordon Ramsay, but it is all that I’ve got to work with. I listen intently as the blonde lady, who I now know as Pearl E White, talks me through the perfect festive cheesecake. Apparently, the first rule of cooking is that when dealing with more than one course, you start with the dessert first and work your way back. Explains a lot. That must be where I have been going wrong all these years, making my baked potato before diving into the Nutella jar.
Taking the rolling pin that hasn’t been used since it was purchased two years ago, I start to bash the digestive biscuits within an inch of their life. Wow! This is actually really fun! See, I knew that I would be good at this if I just put my mind to it. I reach for the blender as instructed and toss the now broken biscuits into the container, followed by the sugar and a ridiculous lump of butter. Now all I need to do is blend the mixture until I get a smooth consistency. Sounds easy enough. This cooking game is a piece of cake, ironically.
Full of confidence, I jab at the ON button and wait for the machine to spring into action. When nothing happens, I flip the switch back and forth impatiently. Come on! What is wrong with the damn thing? As I try desperately to get the blender to work, Pearl carries on with her class regardless. Starting to panic that she has now moved on to caramelising the berries, I give the blender a hard whack on the side. For a split second it begins to whirr before fizzling out into silence. Grabbing the rolling pin in frustration, I repeatedly hit the blender until my arm starts to throb.
Suddenly it kicks into action, only my heavy bashing has knocked the lid clean off, resulting in sticky, butter soaked crumbs flying all over the kitchen. Letting out an alarmed squeal, I duck under the table to shield myself from the debris. Pieces of biscuit whiz past my eyes like a scene out of a cartoon. And to think this started so well. Tearing off my hairnet, I dig my mobile out of the pocket of my apron and hit speed dial before letting out an exasperated sigh.
‘Hi, Ahmed. Yes, it’s Clara. Can I place an order for delivery...’
Santa saw your Facebook page...
You’re getting a bible and some suitable clothing for Christmas.
December 22nd
Pushing open the door to Suave, I breathe a sigh of relief as the warmth of the building washes over me. Thank God for central heating. When Marc talked Oliver and I into giving him a lift to the airport, I didn’t take into account that the six of us plus four enormous suitcases wouldn’t fit into Oliver’s luxury sports car. Hence why, on this very cold afternoon I found myself collecting the keys to Gina’s seven seater people carrier. No matter how many times Oliver says it, driving one of these is certainly not the same as my cute little Hyundai. My arms are throbbing. I feel like I have been steering a bloody tonka trunk around the streets of London.
With today being the last working day before Christmas, the office is eerily quiet. The usually buzzing reception desk sits in empty silence, the only sign of life coming from the fire-optic tree in the corner. Checking my watch, I realise that I am early and head off in search of Lianna. As I run up the stairs, I suddenly regret packing on six layers before leaving the house. Making a pathetic attempt to unbutton my parka coat with mitten clad fingers, I spot Lianna’s familiar blonde locks disappearing into the toilets. Totally out of puff, I tear my bobble hat off my sweaty head and follow her inside.
‘Hi.’ I whimper, trying to get my breath back. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good... I think.’ Biting her lip anxiously, she stares at her reflection in the mirror.
Stumbling over to her in my hefty UGG boots, I notice that she is clutching a handwritten letter in her right hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s my resignation letter.’ She hands it over to me and hops up onto the sink unit. ‘I was going to hand it over to Marc before he leaves.’
‘Oh.’ My heart drops in my chest as I take in the words on the sheet.
For what seems like forever, neither of us says anything. Finally Li breaks the silence. ‘Do you think that I am making a mistake? I mean, it’s not as much money and it’s all the way across town and apart from doing up the house, I haven’t got any experience in this what so ever...’
‘Lianna...’ Interrupting her mid flow, I fiddle with my mittens as I speak. ‘If you didn’t want the job, then you wouldn’t have applied for it and if they didn’t think that could do it, they wouldn’t have hired you.’ Handing her back the letter, I offer her a thin smile. ‘You know what you have to do...’
* * *
‘Do you have your passports?’ Bouncing MJ on my hip, I watch as Gina does a final run through of all the essentials.
‘Passports, boarding passes, insurance documents, money...’ Rifling through her hand luggage, Gina flashes me the thumbs up sign. ‘I think we’re good to go.’
Reluctantly handing over baby MJ, who is securely wrapped up in a zebra print snowsuit, I link my arm through Oliver’s to warm myself up. Realising that we had a spare seat in the car, Li decided that she would join us in waving them off. Granted they are only going for a couple of weeks right now, but after the many tears that were shed as she handed in her resignation, she wanted to come along for the ride.
‘You promise that you are coming back?’ Holding on to Marc’s arm for dear life, Lianna stares at him intently. ‘Because I will come over there and find you, you know I will.’
Marc laughs and tosses Madison up in the air. ‘Relax! The return tickets are right there in Gina’s bag.’
Not one for emotional goodbyes, he wraps an arm around Li’s neck and ruffles her hair before taking hold of the suitcase trolley. Knowing that the time has come to wave them off, I chew the inside of my cheek and try to hold it together. Yes, I know that they will be back in just a few short weeks, but the fact that we could very soon be saying goodbye for good makes me want to lose it.
As Lianna hugs Marc and Gina tightly, I scoop up Madison and plant a cold kiss on her cute button nose. ‘Are you excited to go on the plane, Madison?�
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Not bothering to reply, she wraps her chubby little arms around my neck and rubs her tired eyes. Breathing in her gorgeous baby smell makes my biological clock tick loudly. How can you love something so much that poops all day, screams all night and wipes boogers on your coat? Not wanting to hand her over, I wait until the very last second before sitting Madison on Marc’s shoulders.
After wishing them all a safe journey, I sandwich myself between Oliver and Lianna, not wanting to shed a tear until they have disappeared out of sight. We watch in silence as they check in their luggage and make their way across the terminal. With Madison still on his shoulders, Marc stops at the foot of the escalator and turns around. Waving happily, Gina holds MJ on her hip and wraps her free arm around Marc’s waist before embarking on the first step. As the escalator elevates them into the distance, I feel a single tear slip down my cheek.
Sensing my sadness, Oliver squeezes my shoulder gently and I try to pull myself together. With all the emotion of today, it’s easy to forget that goodbyes don’t necessarily mean forever and they most certainly aren’t the end. For in this case goodbye just means I will miss you, until we meet again...
Christmas is a time when you get homesick,
even when you’re already home...
December 23rd
After all the December hype, it is now just forty eight hours until the big day and I am feeling positively dreadful. I never have been good at goodbyes, but waking up at the crack of dawn and vomiting is extreme even for me. Very aware that it is coming up to that time of the month, I put my severe emotional reaction down to a bad case of PMT. Change has always been something that I have struggled with. Even changing my usual perfume brought me out in hives and that’s not solely due to the fact that I bought a cheap copy of the real thing.
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I stretch my face into a smile and try to show some enthusiasm as Janie shows off the results of her last minute shopping trip. Feeling a little delicate, I decided to stay behind with Oliver whilst the two sets of parents braved the shops. As I have neglected opening the windows of my advent calendar since December 4th, my lovely hubby and I had a lot of fun devouring the entire lot before we even rolled out of bed. If you can’t have chocolate for breakfast at Christmas, when can you?
‘That’s... lovely, Janie.’ I lie, hoping that I sound convincing. ‘Who is that one for?’
Eyeing up the novelty apron dubiously, I dread to think which lucky devil will be presented with this monstrosity on Christmas morning.
‘This one’s for Randy.’ She declares proudly. ‘Won’t he just love it?’
‘Randy?’ Not being able to control the laughter that is growing in my stomach, I shake my head incredulously.
‘What’s wrong?’ Janie cackles.
She holds up the apron against her body which makes me laugh even harder. The frankly hilarious apron depicts a rather hunky man with just a Santa hat covering his modesty. The thought of Randy wearing that thing is genuinely hysterical. My mother in law and I have had some trying times over the past few years, but I can honestly say that I am going to miss her when she leaves. Having Janie around means that the apartment is always full of life, granted sometimes that life is in the form of drunken rant about the Post Office, but still it’s nice to have some background nose in our normally placid home.
Scuttling back into the spare room with her shopping, she grabs a roll of wrapping paper and slams the door behind her. I must remember to do my own gift wrapping tomorrow. For weeks I have I put it off and stashed my gifts under the bed, hoping against hope that Oliver doesn’t go under there for anything. Not that it would really matter, apart from a cute card there isn’t anything else for him. From golf clubs to cuff links, I have racked my brains on a daily basis for the perfect gift, but even now with just one day to go, I still haven’t come up with anything. Well, that’s not exactly true. My current plan is to dash out tomorrow and hope and pray that the perfect gift just jumps into my basket. Not really a plan, I know.
‘I got you something today.’ Sitting down beside me, my mother hands me a glossy carrier bag.
‘But Christmas isn’t until Monday?’ Intrigued, I take the bag and cross my legs.
‘This isn’t for Christmas.’ Mum’s eyes glint as she pushes the bag towards me. ‘Open it.’
Shooting her a suspicious look, I put my hand inside the bag and pull out a beautiful ornate fairy. ‘Awwh! It’s gorgeous.’
‘Isn’t it?’ She takes the fairy carefully and smoothes down her golden hair. ‘It’s a Christmas tree topper. Don’t you recognise it?’
‘Should I?’ I scrunch up my nose and turn it over in my hands.
Studying the fairy carefully, I rack my brains and try to think where I have seen one like this before. The blonde ballerina bun frames her dainty pixie features perfectly and the full white dress glistens with sparkly snowflakes. Come to think of it, this does look strangely familiar.
‘Anything?’ She presses. ‘OK, wait there.’ Jumping to her feet, she strolls across the living room and grabs her handbag. Retrieving her purse, she pulls out an old photograph. ‘Here.’
Squinting my eyes for a better look, I hold the picture towards the light. It’s a photo of me and my dad by a Christmas tree. This must be at least twenty five years old. I turn it over and the date on the back confirms my suspicions. The corners are bent and the colour has almost totally faded. Snowflakes are falling past the window in the background as my dad holds me up high to place a topper on the tree. A stunning blonde fairy topper which is almost identical to the one she has just given me.
‘That fairy in the photo belonged to your great grandmother. Now, obviously this isn’t the same one as that one was sadly damaged in a house move many years ago, but when I saw it in Harrods today I just had to have it.’ Her voice becomes a little squeaky and she tries a mock cough to cover it. ‘My mother passed one down to me and now I would like you to have this one.’
‘Awwh!’ Feeling completely overwhelmed, I throw my arms around my mother’s neck. ‘Thank you so much. I love it. I really, really love it.’
‘I thought you might and now when you have your own children, you can pass it down to them...’
‘Mum!’ My cheeks flush pink as I look over my shoulder to make sure that Oliver didn’t hear her.
‘I’m just saying!’ She raises her hands in protest and flashes me a wink. ‘No pressure.’
Rolling my eyes, I stand on my tip toes and slot the fairy onto the very tip of the tree. It really is beautiful. I flick on the fairy lights and shoot her the thumbs up sign.
‘Merry Christmas, darling.’
‘Merry Christmas, Mum.’
Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas, if you stop opening the presents and just listen....
December 24th
Clutching my car keys for dear life, I squeeze my way through the crowd and dive into the safety of my car. Well, I would like to say that risking my life and my mental well being by hitting the shops on Christmas Eve was worth it, but sadly it wasn’t. Scrunching up my receipt for a D&G gift set, I toss the aftershave onto the back seat and start up the engine. After an entire month of searching, my lovely husband is going to wake up to a rather unexciting bottle of aftershave tomorrow morning. Not that there is anything wrong with giving aftershave, it’s just that I really wanted to get him something extra special for our first Christmas together as man and wife. Telling myself that it is too late to do anything about his lame gift now, I put the car into gear and pull out of the car park.
If I thought I had won by dodging yesterday’s shopping trip I was sorely mistaken. Despite being at the shops just thirty minutes after they opened, the hysteria was already in full force. Queues snaked around the building as shelves were wiped clear by frenzied shoppers, each one desperate to snatch up the last of the Christmas gifts. I must have spent a good two hours making my way around the shops before realising that it was a choice betw
een a beauty gift set or a partially damaged Furby. Looking at the stereotypical gift set, I think I might have been better to go with the Furby.
As I crawl through the heavy traffic, I feel that classic rush of excitement in my stomach. No matter how old you get, Christmas Eve is always a bit magical. A friend once told me that there’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake on Christmas morning and not be a child. When I think back to my first memories of Christmas, I realise that he couldn’t have been more right. I can still remember being tucked in bed by my parents after leaving carrots and cookies on the stairs for Santa and his trusty reindeer. That precious rush of anticipation as you run down the stairs as fast your little legs will carry you, desperate to see if Santa has paid you a visit really is priceless.
A smile plays at the corner of my mouth as I get a warm fuzzy feeling inside at recalling such precious memories. Pulling onto the motorway, I suddenly remember our plans for the evening. With it being the night before Christmas, Oliver thought it would be a good idea to test his new surround sound with some classic chrimbo movies and cinema style treats. Granted this might not be the most exciting thing that we could be doing tonight, but a quiet festive evening with my favourite people sounds nothing short of perfection to me...
* * *
Tying a silver ribbon around the final gift, I place all six presents under the Christmas tree and stand back to look at my handy work. The gold, embossed wrapping paper shimmers like disco balls under the twinkly lights, just screaming to be opened. Still feeling a little bummed out about Oliver’s bog standard gift, I add an extra piece of ribbon to the box and hope he will be distracted from the lame present by my impressive gift wrapping skills.