I frown at her, wanting desperately for there to be a plausible reason. ‘So the lipstick belonged to?’
‘Me! It was Mark who suddenly remembered that I’d been clearing out my make-up junk in the bathroom the other day. You know how you collect all sorts of free samples that aren’t your colour at all but you hold onto them anyway? So that pale-pink lipstick must have been one I was going to throw away.’ She grins. ‘I’d accumulated such a huge pile of useless stuff, it’s not surprising I didn’t remember that one lipstick.’
I try to smile at her but my face won’t oblige. Should I tell her about the strawberry-blonde haired girl I saw him with that time, coming out of their flat together?
She frowns. ‘Is something wrong?’
I shake my head. ‘No, not at all.’
My head is in a spin. Shall I mention her? Or shall I keep quiet? Chances are it was totally innocent anyway.
What would I want Erin to do if the shoe were on the other foot?
That’s my answer. Because I’d definitely want to know.
I force a light, nonchalant tone. ‘It’s just that I did see Mark the other afternoon coming out of your flat with a girl. Perhaps one of his colleagues at the estate agent’s?’
Erin frowns. ‘Oh? What did she look like?’
I shrug, as if I barely remember, it was so unimportant. ‘Er … small, I think, with long, strawberry-blonde hair? Ring a bell?’
I can feel Erin staring at me as she thinks, and my face starts to burn. Oh God, I wish I could take it back!
There’s the longest silence ever. Then Erin snaps her fingers. ‘I know! That’ll be Sophie, Mark’s old friend from university. They’ve known each other for yonks. She lives in London now. Long red hair?’
I nod happily, relief flowing through me. ‘Quite pale red. But definitely red.’
‘Oh.’ Erin looks pensive. ‘It used to be a really vivid red but maybe she’s dyeing it a lighter shade these days. She’s lovely, Sophie. She must be back from London on holiday, visiting her parents. So perhaps it’s her lipstick. Mark must have forgotten she was at the flat.’
Thank you, thank you, thank you! (I’m not sure who I’m actually thanking, but I’m so relieved there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.)
After all Erin has been through with men, I truly don’t know how she’d cope if Mark were to break her heart, too.
*
Back at the cabin, as the time for dinner approaches, the atmosphere in the kitchen is fairly calm with just a hint of suppressed panic on my part. The sweet-pastry plum tarts, just out of the oven, are browner on top than I would have liked. But we combat the singed look by shaking caster sugar on top of them.
It’s a good sign when the starter plates come back empty. And when we take the main course out, everyone ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ – all except Jessica, who peers at the lamb tagine as if she suspects some kind of foul play.
Once the desserts are served, with a generous dollop of whipped cream on each individual plum tart, Erin and I collapse back against the worktops for a moment, taking a well-earned breather.
Seconds later, a commotion breaks out on the other side of the door.
Two female voices, one raised in anger, one rather more placating in tone, carry through to us in the kitchen.
‘Trouble?’ whispers Erin.
I strain to hear. ‘Sounds like Jessica’s upset about something.’
Sure enough, next moment her rage carries through to us. ‘Right, that’s fucking it! I’m leaving. Someone call me a taxi to collect me in precisely thirty minutes.’
Heels skitter up the wooden stairs and a bedroom door slams. Erin dashes to open the kitchen door a crack to listen.
‘Erin!’
‘What?’
‘It’s none of our business.’
But curiosity gets the better of me. Shaking my head, I join Erin and we hover by the door, but the remaining diners appear to have been stunned into silence.
‘She bloody hated that dessert,’ Erin whispers, grinning.
‘Well, I’ve never known anyone reject my plum tarts.’
‘Arf arf.’
‘Oh, God. Maybe I should be brewing a soothing tea for everyone. What shall we do?’
‘Hide in here is my preferred option. Until Jessica’s taxi removes her from the scene.’
‘Poor Ryan. Do you think he’ll go with her?’
‘Probably.’ Erin considers this for a second. ‘Poor Clemmy.’
‘We need to clear away.’
‘That’s just an excuse to go out there.’
I make a face at her. ‘You know me too well.’
We bustle out with a businesslike air, looking as if we haven’t heard a single syllable of Jessica’s explosion.
Gloria, slumped at the head of the table, is mopping her red face with her napkin, looking bewildered and hotter than ever. ‘I only asked her where she got her boobs done. It was a compliment, really.’
Ryan grins. ‘She likes people to think they’re all natural.’
I can’t help thinking he looks remarkably calm for someone whose girlfriend has just stormed upstairs and is packing to leave.
‘Well, I didn’t know that,’ wails Gloria.
‘Perhaps you should think before you speak,’ Bob snaps. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I’m going to bed. See you all in the morning.’
Ruby snorts. ‘Jessica’s boobs are about as real as my hair colour.’
‘Ruby!’ chides Gloria, staring with alarm at Bob’s departing back. ‘Oh God, shall I go up and talk to her?’
‘I’d leave her, if I were you.’ Ryan pours himself another glass of wine and swallows half of it in one go. ‘Once Jess makes up her mind, there’s no shifting her.’
‘But I could at least say I’m sorry,’ offers poor Gloria.
‘Nice thought, but it won’t make any difference.’ Ryan slugs down the rest of his wine and reaches for the bottle. ‘She turned down Christmas on a yacht in the Med to come here so she’s understandably pissed that it hasn’t worked out.’
‘But I feel so guilty.’ Gloria slumps lower in her chair.
Ryan shakes his head. ‘You shouldn’t. Jess was just looking for an excuse to escape.’
‘It’s not your fault she didn’t enjoy herself,’ points out Ruby, siding with her mum for once. ‘If you walk around with a face like a slapped arse all the time, like Jessica does, you can hardly expect to be happy!’
‘Ruby!’ Gloria looks horrified. ‘Oh bugger, me and my big mouth. And now you’re taking after me, Ruby.’
‘No, I am not!’ Staring at her mum in disgust, she scrapes back her chair and marches out, leaving Gloria on the verge of tears.
Erin and I clear the table as quietly as possible, studiously avoiding eye contact.
After a while, Clemmy speaks up. She’s been sitting in worried silence but now she looks at Ryan and murmurs, ‘You should go up to her.’
Ryan looks at her questioningly, as if he hasn’t a clue who she means.
‘Jessica,’ says Clemmy. ‘You should go and talk to her. Explain that Gloria didn’t mean to upset her.’
Ryan looks away with an indifferent shrug. ‘If she wants to leave, let her. I’m not bothered.’
But something about the rigid set of his mouth tells me that he is bothered. A great deal.
Jed, having gone to build up the fire while all this kicked off, looks up and gives me a weary smile as I pass him, in Erin’s wake. In return, I give my head a little helpless shake at the abrupt way the evening has ended.
It’s the first time that Jed has actually looked at me since our close encounter in the hallway of the lakeside cottage, and a little burst of joy runs through me. I can’t believe the relief I feel at knowing things are okay between us again.
I push backwards through the door into the kitchen, feeling lighter in spirit, as if a weight has rolled off my shoulders. If I’m to be working here until after New Year, there can’
t be any awkwardness between Jed and me. He’s my client. I need to keep our relationship pleasant but firmly businesslike.
And so it will be, from now on …
Chapter 19
Friday 23rd December
Afternoon tea
Ruby’s chocolate brownies
Dinner menu
Smoked salmon and king prawns
with dill and lime mayonnaise
and Scottish oatcakes
***
Vodka lemon chicken
with creamy mashed potatoes, broccoli florets and mini glazed carrots
***
Squidgy chocolate and pear pudding
Harrison, bless him, seems to have entered a whole new level of flamenco-dance hell.
I tried to call him several times last night but his phone must have been out of charge. Then a text came through first thing:
Sorry missed calls. Paella evening got bit out of hand. Very loud. Mother has entered us into flamenco dance competition xx
Poor Harrison. He’ll be hating it! But I’m so proud of how thoughtful and kind he’s being with his mother. It can’t be easy for her, the first Christmas without her husband. I can’t wait to see him on New Year’s Eve!
Later, at the cabin, I’ve got Ruby in the kitchen with me, teaching her how to make chocolate brownies. Actually, she’s surprisingly clued up already, reeling off the difference between plain and self-raising flour, and creaming the butter and brown sugar together like a pro.
‘I like your purple hair,’ I say truthfully. ‘It’s really striking.’
‘It’s not purple,’ she corrects me, looking pleased nonetheless. ‘It’s called chocolate-mauve.’
‘Well, it suits you.’ I nudge her, nodding at the brownie mix in her bowl. ‘You’ve done this before.’
‘Dad liked baking and I used to help him.’ She smiles at the memory. ‘He used to work at the office on Saturday mornings then come home and make flapjacks. He said it helped him to relax, and when he smelled the biscuits baking in the oven, he knew his weekend had begun.’
‘Perhaps we could make flapjacks some other time?’ I murmur. ‘In your dad’s honour.’
‘Maybe.’ She focuses on beating the cake mix, her expression neutral, but I notice the slight flush in her cheeks.
Ryan wanders in around eleven and asks if there are any biscuits. I rummage around and find half a packet of digestives and he eats them standing by the patio doors, staring out. He looks so deep in thought, he’s probably only vaguely aware of Wizzard blasting out ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’.
He seems to have spent the whole morning prowling around restlessly, like a caged panther. He came into the kitchen earlier with a newspaper and sat at the breakfast bar after asking if minded. I smiled and said of course I didn’t, and I made him some coffee, wondering if he was in here in order to eascape from everyone. He looked preoccupied and definitely wasn’t reading his newspaper. Instead, he spent a lot of time just staring out over the lake, only leaving when Jed came in and asked for his help with something.
‘Thanks,’ he says now, screwing up the empty biscuit packet and tossing it in the bin.
‘No problem.’ I smile, and he slopes out.
‘Do you think he’s had The Letter?’ murmurs Ruby, carefully tipping out cocoa powder into the weighing scales.
I smile at her as little puffs of the delicate chocolate powder rise up and scatter on the bench. ‘What letter?’
She looks solemn. ‘You know, the letter from Santa informing him that as he’s been a bad boy this year, he won’t be getting presents.’
I start to laugh.
‘What?’ Ruby stares at me. ‘Why are you laughing?’ She clutches my arm. ‘Oh no, please don’t tell me Santa isn’t real!’
She looks so totally devastated, my heart misses a beat. Oh God, does that mean I’ve ruined Christmas for her? But she’s sixteen. Surely by now she …
Ruby’s peals of laughter reveal I’ve been taken for a complete mug.
‘Crikey, Ruby, perhaps you should be an actress when you grow up,’ I tell her, laughing. ‘That was a very believable performance.’
‘I’ve acted in the school musical.’
‘Yes? What part did you play?’
‘The singing nun. I got into the habit of running round the hilltops.’ She grins at me. ‘Boom boom.’
‘You were Maria von Trapp?’
‘That’s the fella.’
‘Wow, I’m impressed.’
‘It got me out of having to join the school choir. How boring would that have been?’ She snorts. ‘We used to try climbing up the scenery backdrop when Mrs Chance, the music teacher, was off flirting in a corner with the drama master.’
I smile at her, thinking how I’d like to have been that cool at her age. Instead, I did exactly what I was told and shied away from putting myself out there. ‘Perhaps you should study performance art.’
Ruby shakes her chocolate-mauve head firmly. ‘I love extreme sports. I want to do something outdoors for a job. Be a rock-climbing teacher or something. Dad took me whitewater rafting once and it was the most awesome thing I’ve ever done.’
I nod. ‘Sounds exciting.’
‘Or I could be a cook.’ She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Do you think I’d be any good?’
‘Maybe. Let’s see how the brownies turn out first, shall we?’ I nudge her teasingly.
‘I wish there was stuff to do round here. You know, exciting things. But Mum won’t even let me dive into the lake. She says my extremes would freeze.’
‘Your extremities.’ Laughing, I tell her about the traditional New Year’s Day lake swim and her eyes light up. ‘Where do I get a wet suit?’
‘I’m sure they’ll be able to rustle up one for you from somewhere,’ I assure her. Personally, I’ll be giving that swim a very wide berth …
Soon, the heavenly aroma of warm, melting chocolate is filling the house, and Ryan wanders in to investigate just as the brownies are emerging from the oven. ‘Very nice. When can we eat them?’ He grins at Ruby when she slaps his hand and says he has to wait until they’ve cooled down.
‘Poppy and I were just talking about extreme sports,’ says Ruby. ‘Have you done anything exciting like that, Ryan?’
He perches on the edge of a stool. ‘It’s not exactly extreme, but I’m learning to fly a plane. I’m hoping I’ll have my licence some time next year.’
‘Yeah?’ Ruby’s eyes light up. ‘I’d love to be able to fly a plane. Is it difficult?’
Ryan laughs. ‘It is when you’re not great with heights.’
Ruby’s eyes widen. ‘You’re scared of heights but you still go up there?’
He shrugs. ‘My dad’s a pilot.’ A shadow passes over his face. ‘I guess I got the bug from him.’
I glance at him, puzzled. I’m sure Jed mentioned that his mum was spending Christmas in Australia with their sister this year and that his dad had died several years ago. Perhaps they’re half-brothers and Ryan’s dad is still alive?
Gloria pops her head round the door and summons Ruby for a game of Monopoly then bustles off to find Tom.
‘The excitement is mind-numbing,’ Ruby says with such a deadpan expression that I can’t help laughing.
‘Go and trounce them all,’ I tell her. ‘And stay out of jail!’
She trails out of the kitchen and Ryan grins. ‘She’s a good kid when you get to know her. At first, I wanted to murder her, what with all that mobile-phone stuff.’
I murmur my agreement then cautiously ask him if he’s feeling okay.
He looks surprised. ‘Me? I’m fine.’
‘You’re probably missing Jessica, though.’
He makes a variety of faces, considering this, but ends up saying nothing, just shrugging.
‘Is your dad coming for Christmas?’ I smile. ‘The pilot?’
‘Never see him.’ His reply is brusque.
‘Oh, why not?’ The instant the question is out, I
wish I could take it back. Judging by the look on Ryan’s face, it’s obviously a painful subject.
He sighs. ‘I wasn’t even supposed to know he’s my dad. Mum only told me about him when I was eighteen. I’d grown up thinking Jed’s dad was my dad, too. But then I found out.’
I raise my eyebrows but don’t press him for details, although I’m curious to know more.
Ryan shrugs. ‘The fact is, Mum had a brief affair while Dad – well, I thought he was my biological dad – was working in Dubai, and she ended up having me.’
‘Do you see him?’ I ask. ‘Your real dad?’
‘Not really. He’s a great guy but he’s got a family of his own now and they live in France. He’s a pilot for British Airways. He says I can go over and stay with them any time I want, but …’ He shrugs.
‘So, why don’t you?’ I can tell from his expression it’s eating away at him.
‘I don’t know. It would be awkward for everyone, especially his other kids,’ he says. ‘I don’t really belong.’
‘But you do! You’re his son! Honestly, Ryan, if I were in your position and I’d been invited over to France by my real dad, I’d be there like a shot. Wild horses couldn’t keep me from booking that flight!’
Hot tears surge up. Embarrassed, I turn away and start cutting up the brownie slab to serve later for afternoon tea.
There’s a tense silence. Then Ryan says, ‘Well, maybe I’ll phone him.’
‘You should.’ My voice sounds clogged with tears.
‘Do your mum and dad live locally?’
I blink furiously, paste on a smile and turn. ‘Mum does. But Dad – isn’t in my life anymore.’
‘Oh.’ There’s a tense silence. Then he says, ‘The food’s been brilliant, by the way. Jed says your partner is in Spain visiting his mum.’
‘Harrison. Yes, he is. And he’s being forced to take up flamenco dancing.’
‘Yeah?’ Ryan laughs. ‘Poor bloke. I bet he thinks it’s great, you switching career like this.’
I grin. ‘Well, actually, I think he’d rather I was a stay-at-home housewife. Not that he’d stand in my way, if this is what I wanted to do.’
‘And is it? What you want to do?’
‘Definitely. One hundred per cent.’
Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin Page 16