Me, You and Tiramisu

by Charlotte Butterfield

  ‘So what does this mean? Are you breaking up with me?’ Jayne’s eyes started filling up; the wine, the candles, the sudden revelations, all of it started getting too much for her, and then she couldn’t control it any more and started sobbing. She tried to cover her face with her hands, embarrassed at her emotional reaction.

  ‘Oh my God, you nutter, of course not! You are by far the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me – here, come here,’ he pulled her into him, the mixture of tears and snot making the front of his shirt damp, but he either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t mind.

  Burying his head into her hair, which was coming loose from its topknot, he continued, ‘Of course I’m going to start telling everyone about you – that’s why I want you to come out with me – it’s just that–’ he adopted the same nasally whining voice that Jayne had just used, which she couldn’t help giving a little smile at. ‘Michaela thought that it should be a gradual thing, me being part of a couple, which is why she wanted me to be pictured on my own at things for a while. Jesus, Jayne, break up with you? You’re the only sane thing in this crazy world!’ He put his finger under her chin and raised her face so their eyes were level. ‘Heart you, Jayne Brady.’

  She sniffled and attempted a small smile, ‘Heart you too.’

  ‘Would you like me show you just how much I heart you?’ he whispered.

  ‘I think that would be the best thing to do. I’m not sure I quite get it,’ she replied as he began unbuttoning her shirt. ‘Make sure you’re very thorough, though,’ her bottom lip still protruded, ‘I’m still very unconvinced.’

  Chapter 13

  So, what’s the plan for Christmas Day?’ Rachel asked, scraping yoghurt from the pot onto her granola as she perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Is Granny coming up on Christmas Eve as usual?’

  Jayne had set up a wrapping station on the living-room floor, with all the gifts she’d been stockpiling since October laid out all over the rug, along with a variety of coloured ribbons and rolls of paper depicting toy soldiers from the Nutcracker. Inch-long pieces of sticky tape that she had pre-cut were now hanging off the side of the coffee table. She started measuring out enough paper to cover the two-foot-long golf putter she’d bought for Dave, Will’s dad.

  It reminded her of the wrapping party she went to a few years ago – the PTA had organised it – and in an attempt to ingratiate herself with the mob, which she’d so far failed miserably to do, she’d gone along. The premise was to bring along items that were difficult to wrap and they could get some expert advice from a friend of the president of the PTA who worked in the gift-wrapping department at Liberty’s. All this was to be done over a glass or two of mulled wine – cue much bonding and festive merriment between staff and parents. Except everyone else had turned up with things like bottles of bubble bath, or champagne, and she’d arrived engulfed by a giant inflatable cactus. She hadn’t been to a PTA do since.

  ‘Yep. Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Did you book that same driver that she had last time – she seemed to like him?’

  ‘Um, no.’

  ‘Why not? Wasn’t he available? Who did you get, then?’

  ‘Um, Stanley’s driving.’

  ‘Who’s Stanley?’

  ‘Stanley. Crystal’s Stanley.’

  ‘Why would he be driving four hours to drop Granny off and then four hours back again on Christmas Eve?’ Rachel asked in amazement.

  ‘He’s not driving back again,’ Jayne mumbled back, wincing in anticipation at her sister’s outburst.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s staying for Christmas. And so’s Crystal. Okay, then, so that one’s done, what do you think?’ Jayne held the bizarrely wrapped golf club aloft.

  ‘You better be joking, Jayne, or I swear I’m going to batter you with that.’

  ‘Rach, look, I’ve been speaking with Crystal a bit over the last few weeks, and I seriously think Stanley’s mellowed her out.’

  ‘Since when have you been having cosy chats with Crystal?’

  ‘Since she called me on the day of Will’s first TV show. You know, when we were on our way to the bar.’

  ‘What and now you and her are best friends?’

  ‘No, we’re not best friends. She’s just called me a few times and we’ve been messaging. She asked what we were doing for Christmas; do you realise we haven’t spent Christmas with her in over ten years?’

  ‘For good reason.’

  Jayne put the wrapped golf club to one side and started tying a ribbon around the handle of a beauty hamper she’d got for Erica. ‘Look, I know you find it harder to put aside all the crap we’ve been through, but I honestly think she’s trying to make amends, and before I asked her to come, I talked to Granny about it and she agrees that Crystal seems really different lately.’

  ‘Granny said that?’

  Jayne paused. Helen hadn’t in so many words said that Crystal had metamorphosed into a kind and gentle soul, but she had said that Stanley had collected her a few times from Pine Grove and brought her back to his and Crystal’s for tea and that Crystal wasn’t rude to her – for the first time in her daughter’s adult life. So that’s sort of the same.

  ‘Look, Rach, Granny’s really happy that we’re all going to be together. Come on, it’s Christmas, it’s going to be fine.’

  ‘Aren’t we supposed to be in the Helmand Province or somewhere at the moment?’

  ‘I think she’s told Stanley that we left the army.’

  ‘And we’re just supposed to go along with that, are we? Just nod and smile whenever he asks us about life in the barracks?’

  ‘It’s the first lesson of hostage training, keep a survival attitude and be positive. Make the captor your friend, don’t give too much away and remain calm at all times. Remember that and we’ll be fine.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So who else is invited to this freak show?’

  ‘Will’s dad and his wife Trish, Bernard, Abi, us and the Devon lot. So there’ll be ten of us.’

  ‘And Kyra.’

  ‘Oh, is Kyra coming? Does she not have family she’d rather spend it with?’

  Rachel raised one eyebrow at Jayne’s fake breeziness that had an unmistakable bitter edge to it. ‘She’s fallen out with her parents and her brother is taking his kids to Portugal.’

  ‘Right. Okay, then.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Okay, then? You’ve invited Abi – why can’t I invite my friend?’

  ‘I never said you couldn’t! It’ll be nice, eleven of us. All together. Having fun.’

  ‘Yep.’ Rachel repeated sarcastically, ‘Fun, fun, fun.’

  **

  Five days later, Will had swapped his fetching Michaelangelo apron for his reindeer one that was kept in a drawer for the other 364 days of the year and lovingly retrieved every Christmas morning. ‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la!’

  Will loved everything about Christmas. His mum had created all these rituals that happened at the same time every year, and most of them had revolved around food. She’d pull up a stool for him to stand on next to her, both of them wielding wooden spoons, stirring the aromatic mixtures of the Christmas desserts, from the traditional Italian panettone and panforte to the Christmas pudding his dad always insisted on. She always used to slip in a ten-pence piece to the mixture – it used to be five pence, but when the coin changed size she was always worried he might choke on it, hence the increase in value. Then they made a magic reindeer food together, which involved mixing muesli with silver glitter to leave out in a bowl next to a can of Fosters for Santa. Apparently the reindeers would probably be sick of carrots and it was a little-known fact that Santa actually preferred beer rather than sherry.

  He smiled at these memories as he heard the buzzer go. He’d been very supportive when Jayne first suggested inviting her mother and Stanley for Christmas, voicing only a tiny percentage of his res
ervations. He just really hoped that Crystal behaved herself. Jayne seemed to think that being flanked at all times by a pair of feisty eighty-year-olds would keep her in check; he really hoped she was right.

  And Rachel and Kyra were a couple of unknowns as well. If they brought their A-game with them, then they’d all have a great time, but they could just do that thing they sometimes did where they just whisper to each other and ignore everyone else. Adding a fiery red-headed Irish woman to the mix could go either way as well, not to mention his own dad, who hadn’t seen Crystal since she unceremoniously relieved him of over 400 pounds and made all his clothes smell of incense. His new wife, Trish, was nice enough. She didn’t seem offensive in any way, so at least she and Bernard could be relied on to keep the day from capsizing completely. Jesus, he sighed, sticking a clove into the ham, happy frickin’ Christmas.

  Glistening ruby-red pomegranate seeds sat regally on top of the braised red cabbage, which Jayne was passing around the table as Will carved the turkey. Rachel sat next to him popping a bacon-wrapped sausage and a stuffing ball onto each plate before passing them down the table.

  ‘Granny, try this cranberry-and-orange sauce. I helped zest the oranges,’ Jayne said, passing the small glass bowl to Helen, who was elegantly dressed in a turquoise shift dress with matching jacket. Around her neck hung a collection of different beaded necklaces in a combination of outrageous colours – her way of saying that pensioners shouldn’t just wear pearls.

  ‘If I keel over and die, you and Rachel can share my Wedgwood collection,’ she twinkled, taking a generous spoonful. ‘Thank you, darling. Crystal, cranberry sauce?’

  Crystal put her phone down on the table to take the bowl from her mother. ‘Mmmm, lovely. Well, this all looks great. Now we know what Britain’s favourite chef cooks for his own Christmas Day!’

  ‘I wondered when someone might bring up the elephant in the room!’ said Stanley good-naturedly.

  ‘Now now, Stanley, that’s no way to talk about your stepdaughter! Jayne take no notice of him!’ chortled Crystal.

  Amidst sharp intakes of horror from the people at the table who didn’t know Crystal and dismayed sighs of resignation from those who did, Rachel looked at her watch and announced, ‘and that took four and half minutes. Congratulations Crystal, a new record.’

  ‘I was kidding! It was a joke! Jayne knew it was a joke, didn’t you darling?’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly.’ Jayne shrugged. She had hoped that she wouldn’t need to use her skill of letting her mother’s barbs and backhanders wash over her, that maybe Stanley had quelled her talent for saying the first thing that came into her head, but evidently the honeymoon period had worn off and social ineptitude was just her default factory setting. Will rested his leg against hers under the table as if to silently will her to stay strong.

  Dave stood up, glass in hand, cheeks already a little flushed from the pre-dinner champagne. ‘I’d like to make a quick toast, if no one minds? Will, lad, I’d just like to say that I’m very proud of you, always have been, and if your mum was here now, she’d be made up at all this success you’re having now. Jayne, we think you’re really smashing and Trish and I are thrilled to pieces that you’ve invited us round today – thrilled to bits we are. So here’s to a very happy Christmas and a really grand year ahead. Thank you for all of this, it’s really wonderful, really is. Happy Christmas.’

  He hurriedly sat down and Trish patted his arm proudly. It was the longest speech Jayne had ever heard him make. Admittedly when she knew him years ago he’d had other things on his mind rather than making small talk with his clairvoyant’s teenage daughter, but even when Will and her had visited them in Slough he’d been a man of few words, leaving Trish to politely enquire over health, jobs and their thoughts on the traffic.

  ‘Hear hear!’ said Bernard, raising his glass, ‘Happy Christmas and thank you for opening your home to a motley collection of waifs and strays.’

  ‘Oi, Bernie, speak for yourself. I am not, nor ever have been a waif – more’s the pity, and as for being stray, well maybe you got me there. Even so, get back in your box, old man,’ Abi grinned. Everyone laughed, even Bernard, whom Jayne noticed didn’t even flinch when Abi used a nickname she knew he despised.

  ‘So, what’s it really like then, Will? Being famous?’ Trish asked finally after the plates were cleared and the only things left on the table were a few paper crowns, a dice and a small fluorescent comb. After devouring the main course they were enjoying the same pleasant lull as families up and down the country. Kyra, Rachel and Abi were sitting at one end of the table. Kyra was telling an incredulous Stanley about a new underwater hotel in Qatar she had recently pitched designs for. He made a joke about it being a shame that Rachel’s military training was with the army, not the navy, which might have been more helpful to her, which led to inquisitive expressions from Abi and Kyra that Rachel batted away with a subtle shake of her head and eyes that said, ‘seriously, don’t ask’.

  Dave and Jayne were discussing the merits of academies versus state schools, a topic Jayne knew very little about, but felt that as a teacher it was a subject she should pretend to have strong feelings about. Meanwhile, in an effort to quash any more of her daughter’s offensiveness Helen had been topping Crystal’s wine glass up with water whenever she looked away, so rather than being inebriated, Crystal was just healthily hydrated.

  ‘Um, I don’t know really,’ Will replied, ‘Not many people know who I am, so it’s not as though I can’t go to the supermarket or anything.’

  ‘That’s such a lie!’ Rachel said, overhearing Will and breaking away from her own conversation to butt in. ‘You get stopped all the time, and even when people aren’t actually asking you to sign things in the street everyone is staring at you.’

  ‘No, I don’t think–’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to agree with Rachel, Chef. I’m at the coalface of it everyday and you are now something of a celebrity,’ Bernard added. ‘It’s certainly great for business but not really for my own self-confidence seeing the faces of disappointment when I’m the one greeting them behind the counter and not you. I think I’m merely days away from developing a debilitating body-image issue.’

  ‘Oh behave, you silver fox you,’ said Abi, relishing Bernard’s embarrassment.

  ‘Is it all champagne and glamour when you’re backstage on the TV shows?’ Trish was making no attempt to disguise her delight at having a stepson whose picture had appeared as a thumbnail in the Radio Times.

  Will didn’t really know how to break it to her that being backstage in a television studio was about as glamorous as being back of house in a hotel – all long, bare corridors with hastily pinned-up bits of paper telling you whose dressing room was whose. Or in the case of the panel show he’d just filmed, which show it was hiring the studio that day. Like Trish, he’d expected to see A-listers in silk robes getting their make-up done in front of mirrors bordered with bulbs, glass of bubbles in one hand while a string quartet played some soft jazz in the corner.

  ‘I haven’t really seen much glitz, I’m afraid, Trish … but that’s probably because I’ve been too nervous to look properly,’ he hastily added after seeing her face fall. ‘I did have a gin and tonic with the other guests and the band after The Late Night Show. Does that count as glamorous?’

  At the mention of gin, Crystal perked up a bit, chiming in, ‘I haven’t seen many pictures of you in the paper yet, though, Billy.’ Jayne noticed Will shuddering at the nickname that only she got away with using, ‘Every morning when Stan comes back from the newsagents and brings me the papers I have a look through expecting to see you snapped somewhere. But apart from a couple of pictures in the diary pages of OK magazine, you haven’t really made much of an impression on the press.’

  ‘Surely that’s a good thing?’ Jayne asked, ‘I can’t imagine anything worse than being snapped every time we went out the front door.’

  ‘Why do you need to worry about it? No one’s
going to want to take your picture, not when you’re standing next to him.’

  ‘I think what Crystal means is that so far you’ve managed to retain an anonymous dignity, so thankfully you’re not going to have to deal with the monstrous paparazzi any time soon.’

  Helen’s attempt at glossing over Crystal’s comment almost worked until her daughter added, ‘No, that’s not what I meant, mother,’ leaning forward on her elbow, she jabbed a finger in Will’s direction, ‘I mean, look at him, now look at you, Jayne. You’re lovely, you are, a real salt-of-the-earth type of person, but when it comes to looks, the words ‘punching’ and ‘weight’ spring to mind.’

  ‘The words ‘punch’ and ‘face’ spring to mind,’ muttered Will under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘Right who’s for Trivial Pursuit?’

  Abi followed Jayne into the kitchen, where she had disappeared to after making some half-hearted murmurs about making coffee. ‘Are you alright, pet?’

  Jayne whirled around, her eyes bright, ‘Of course I am! Don’t be daft, she doesn’t upset me. I just feel a bit pissed off that I thought she’d be different and so unleashed her on everyone else. What’s she doing now?’

  ‘Stanley and your gran are giving her a talking to. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s standing facing the corner when we go back in. But seriously, for the rest of the day don’t worry about her. I’ll keep her occupied.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t be too busy keeping Bernard occupied?’ Jayne teased.

  ‘Ha, I’m having so much fun making him blush, he’s such an easy target! He’s so lovely, though, isn’t he? What’s his story? Is he divorced? Widowed? Gay?’