How to Stuff Up Christmas

by Rosie Blake

  ‘I suppose…’ her mum said carefully, ‘I thought it was odd… seeing him there… in Millets, and he still looked the same, as if he hadn’t done anything terrible.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t spoken to him,’ Eve said in a voice she knew was a throwback to her teenage years; unreasonable and whiny.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t really avoid it, Millets isn’t a big place and I really was rather grateful for the help with the cagoul.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Nothing. I went to show him the cagoul I had found, a lovely one in navy blue – your father doesn’t know the difference, of course, but it is a lovely looking coat – and he had left.’

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘Yes – poof! – gone.’

  ‘Poof! – gone,’ Eve repeated, feeling her breakfast churning in her stomach, rising in her throat. Why did any mention of him cause this reaction? Why couldn’t she hear about him buying boots without it torturing her? Why couldn’t she just shrug these things off? Here she was, in the middle of nowhere, getting on with things, staying busy, signing up for classes, meeting new people, and he was there, always, lurking on the edges of her vision, his sandy hair and his amber eyes, his distinctive laugh that had always tugged her own mouth into a smile.

  She didn’t remember saying goodbye to her mum, had tried to read more about orchids but even the ones that looked like dancing girls failed to rouse her interest. Marmite had nudged her tentatively and she had taken him outside, watched him chase a butterfly, watched him chase his tail. That had always made Liam laugh; he had loved Marmite. She felt a flicker of satisfaction; at least she had Marmite. He might be off walking with new boots but she had the dog that he had so loved. She had that at least.

  She put away the laptop and looked around the boat, feeling restless and irritable. This month away wasn’t focused entirely on not being reminded of her old life. Now that she was here she was determined to learn a new skill, make friends, remember how to function without checking with someone else. She wanted to regain some confidence, remember how to be herself.

  Pulling down the recipe book she had noticed the night before, she thumbed through it. Liam had always told her that cooking was a way of him switching off after a long day. Perhaps it would work for her. She idled through the pages, pausing to look at the glossy photographs and imagining herself being able to cook up what was inside. With a renewed determination she threw on her coat, hat and scarf, popped the recipe book under one arm, Marmite on a lead, and, pausing to check for wildfowl, quickly left the boat.

  The temperature had dropped again and the grass on the common was crispy with cold. She could see her breath in the air as she headed towards the centre of the village with a purposeful stride, sighing as Marmite nearly garrotted himself barking at a nearby squirrel, both relieved to see the goose had definitely departed.

  ‘Come on, Marmite,’ Eve said, pulling on his lead and not keen to take any chances.

  Turning down a road towards the shop, she noticed fairy lights winking on Christmas trees in bay windows, fresh laurels on front doors. Up ahead a woman wrestled with six bags of shopping, her toddler holding a roll of wrapping paper, wielding it like a sword. The sky was thick with cloud and Eve could smell a bonfire somewhere in the distance. She hugged her coat around herself and tramped down the road, careful to avoid the puddles that overnight would turn to ice. As they emerged into the centre of the village, she saw a large Christmas tree had been erected outside the pub, the tables pushed back to make room for it. Silver fairy lights in the shape of icicles were strung up over the road at intervals and Eve felt a spark of excitement, before remembering. She scowled at the tinsel lining the windows of the shop, the fake snow sprayed into the edges.

  Tying up a bemused Marmite outside, she grimaced at him, patting his head. ‘Won’t be long, boy.’ She tried to block out his pathetic whining as she scuttled inside. She would be lightning fast, she thought, seizing a basket and heading down the first aisle, following the recipe book.

  ‘Eve,’ boomed a voice as she was holding up a bag of pine nuts. Were they made of gold? Why were they so expensive?

  It was Minnie, wearing a large fur coat and a pair of sunglasses. She looked extraordinary in the small village shop, surrounded by ketchup bottles and cans of tuna.

  ‘You look like you are planning a dinner party,’ Minnie said admiringly, taking in Eve’s overflowing basket.

  Eve didn’t have the heart to say it was a meal for one and half-nodded, half-shook her head.

  ‘Pine nuts, amazing, make any salad,’ Minnie commented, noting the bag in Eve’s hand.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Eve said, trying to win back some cool and popping them on top of the other items.

  ‘I’m here buying things for the class tomorrow. Raj just loves those dark chocolate ginger biscuits so I must keep him happy.’

  ‘Of course,’ Eve said, smiling.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to hold you up, lovely to see you here, though. You made such a good start today. I am so glad you’ve joined. See you tomorrow. Raj says he is going to show me how to do a completely different type of glaze. So marvellous.’

  ‘Really marvellous,’ Eve agreed, wondering if Minnie’s accent was already rubbing off on her.

  Her run-in with Minnie had given her a renewed confidence. She was cooking with pine nuts; she was following a recipe. Nothing needed defrosting. This would turn out fine. She would make sure she followed the instructions to the letter.

  Back in the boat she laid out all the ingredients on the sides; surrounded by food in the tiny square of kitchen, she filled up the kettle and lit the hob. She wedged the recipe book open behind the taps, the glossy image of the final product making her mouth water. She started putting things on to fry. The recipe was long but she could keep up. She was enjoying herself, it was working, she was focusing on the bubbling sauce and enjoying the smell of cooking chicken and she had only thought about Liam a couple of times, a few times, well hardly at all.

  She was impressed with herself, using every pan she could find, grating, cutting, slicing, boiling. She was stirring and sniffing like an expert. Then, in the midst of it all, Marmite left the space between her legs where he had been lurking for any fallen pieces and ran to the porthole, legs apart, fur up, growling. Turning, she yelped as there, in the circle of window, was one beady eye belonging to a disgruntled goose. He was back! Marmite was racing up and down the living room now, yapping at both portholes as the goose disappeared from view from one only to reappear at the next, staring in at them. Eve rushed over and banged on the thick glass with a wooden spoon.

  ‘Shoo,’ she called ineffectually, running back over to the hob as she heard the sizzling sound of water on flame. Marmite was on high-alert, growling, jumping and running, and Eve was beating the windows with other pieces of cutlery. Then, just as she thought he had gone, the smoke alarm she hadn’t even realised was there started sounding, filling the whole boat with its wailing. Marmite increased in volume and then, as if they were in a horror movie, the goose was now back and joined by a second goose. It was like the end of days.

  The water started bubbling over and leaking down the stove and when Eve opened the oven door, a cloud of thick smoke and the smell of burning encompassed her. Why was the chicken a chargrilled mess? The recipe clearly said it was ready in twenty-five minutes and yet she hadn’t reached that time at all. Her eyes stung from the smoke and she knew she had to open up the flaps of the boat to let some of it out, but the geese were out there waiting as if they knew and were biding their time. Marmite had now manoeuvred himself up onto the strip of Formica table and was barking straight at the porthole window, neck stuck out, mouth open.

  There was so much smoke Eve couldn’t see through the doors any more but could only assume the moment she opened them up, the boat would be invaded by wildfowl. With her heart hammering, her arms out in front of her to guide her towards the handle, she fiddled with the latch, opening
up the plastic flaps and stumbling out into the shocking cold of the day, the mist on the common mingling with the cloud of smoke released, and she coughed and spluttered on the bank, looking all about her for menacing geese who were already probably inside and taking over her houseboat.

  It was no wonder she started screaming in a piercing way as he approached her across the grass.

  His eyes widened in alarm and he paused, clearly deciding whether to run away. She stopped screaming, licked her lips, coughed her last and straightened.

  ‘Are you, is there a fire?’ he asked, jogging towards her and taking in the scene.

  ‘No, but geese and chicken and…’ She knew she was babbling and she couldn’t hide her relief at seeing another human being. He hadn’t heard her, though, and was poking his head inside the boat searching for flames, stepping back with his arms full of Marmite, who started licking his face in gratitude.

  ‘Where are the geese?’ Eve asked, spinning round, searching everywhere. But the water was calm, the sky was a puff of white and the smoke had dispersed as if it had never been there.

  ‘Geese?’ the man asked uncertainly, looking at her as if she were unwell.

  ‘There were…’ She faded away, holding out her arms for Marmite, who was now over his rescue and wriggling furiously, clearly determined to be released. He set off over the common as she put him down.

  ‘So you’re sure you are all right,’ he checked, readjusting his coat; it was a nice camel-coloured coat, now dusted with dog hair.

  ‘I was cooking,’ Eve said, the lingering smell of something burning in the air, the sound of the alarm still ringing across the empty evening.

  ‘Were you?’ he replied. Did his lips twitch then or was it her imagination? ‘I might just…’ He indicated the boat. ‘If I may?’

  She nodded hopelessly, calling to Marmite and scooping him back up and inside, then following in his wake. Marmite’s fur was cold from the outside as she clutched him, watching the man reach up and remove the battery from the alarm. When the noise stopped, she felt a wave of relief wash over her, a persistent ringing in her ears like a ghost of the sound.

  The boat was still full of smoke and the smell of burning hadn’t subsided. The man put on an oven glove and opened the door again, another wave billowing out. He turned the dial another notch to the left and then pulled out some blackened pieces on a tray.

  ‘Grill was on,’ he coughed, wiping at his eyes.

  ‘Oh,’ Eve replied, mentally kicking herself. What an idiot.

  ‘Was that what it was going to be?’ he asked, indicating the propped-up book with its taunting photograph.

  ‘Supposed to be,’ Eve said, biting her lip and staring at the indistinguishable chargrilled chicken lumps on the tray.

  ‘Well, it looks delicious,’ he said. ‘You are obviously a decent cook,’ he added generously, overlooking the last five minutes.

  ‘Er…’ Eve hung her head, too humiliated to lie. ‘It was an experiment. I thought if I could get this recipe right I could do it, but I don’t have the first clue how to cook.’

  ‘You did go for something very complicated,’ he said in a reassuring tone and she was grateful, feeling herself relax a little in his presence.

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Well, I am always wary when the title is in French. And you would have had to make the Sauce Velouté from scratch, which is definitely not a beginner’s meal. I mean, who even knows what a Sauce Velouté is?’

  She felt lighter as he went on, watching as he looped an apron over his head.

  ‘I don’t know how to make anything, it always passed me by, you know?’

  ‘Well…’ He took in the rest of the ingredients on the side. ‘We could make something from this,’ he said, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that was new to her.

  ‘Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to well, um…’

  He had already rolled up his sleeves and was undoing the catch on the window above the cooker. ‘Well, look, I have nowhere to be for a while, you have clearly gone to some trouble to buy these things, so I’ll teach you how to make one simple dish.’

  Eve looked at him sideways. His cheeks were flushed pink and he had the same expression Marmite wore when he knew there was a walk in the offing. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘But I couldn’t…’ Eve didn’t know what to say. Suddenly the idea of being alone in her smoke-filled boat with geese stalking up and down outside and the world’s most useless guard dog to protect her didn’t seem like the best alternative. A smile crept over her face and she picked up the oven glove to show willing. ‘That would be really kind. Thank you…’

  She left a pause for his name and he added it, ‘Greg,’ holding out his hand as he did so, still dressed in her apron.

  ‘Eve.’

  Greg beamed and, walking her through it, handed her things to peel and chop as he discreetly threw the burnt remnants out and scrubbed at the dirty pans.

  ‘This is a recipe for a salad my mum used to make every Boxing Day. Best with potatoes and cold meat. My brother Danny is pretty hopeless in the kitchen, but even he can make this, so now, Eve, I pass it on to you.’ There was something in the way he said it that made her pause for a second, as if he were going to add something but had changed his mind. His eyes clouded over for a moment and she thought his mouth sagged down before he turned to her, clapping his hands and continuing his instructions.

  ‘It’s apple and leek salad, essentially. You can still make an ordinary salad, we’ll do that too, but this is special.’

  ‘Special?’ Eve’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Very.’ He laughed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Right, chop that,’ he said and threw her an apple. ‘Good catch,’ he said.

  Eve happily accepted his guidance and together they stood at the counter, chatting aimlessly and putting the meal together. She could feel the warmth from him on her right, his reassuring presence in her kitchen, taking up so much space but skirting round her, never making her feel crowded. He showed her how to make a simple dressing from the oil, mustard and other parts in the cupboard, shaking it all up in a cleaned-out jam jar. The new potatoes were boiling and it seemed like only seconds had passed before they were mixing all the items in a large bowl together, scattering nicely toasted pine nuts on the top and standing back to admire their handiwork.

  With her concentrating on chopping, stirring and timings, she didn’t have time to think very much, lost in the tasks. She realised as she stopped that she was really enjoying herself. Greg had shown her what to put in the apple and leek salad and she hadn’t been able to burn it or ruin it and it looked delicious.

  ‘You must stay,’ she said, automatically fetching cutlery from the drawer.

  ‘Oh no, I really shouldn’t,’ he said, looking at his watch, still wearing her apron.

  ‘Do, absolutely, I insist,’ Eve said, laying another place at the small table and dragging the stool over to it.

  ‘Well, I can’t be long, I have to be somewhere.’

  ‘Very mysterious.’ Eve laughed and then turned her back to him to get two plates, wondering whether his own laugh had been a few moments too delayed.

  ‘Where were you today?’

  Danny looked up at him from above his pint. ‘I told Andy I couldn’t make it.’

  ‘Yeah, he told me, but where were you?’

  Danny looked awkward for a second in his chair. ‘Busy,’ he said, indicating to the barman to bring them two more beers.

  Danny wasn’t a busy kind of guy. Not when it came to sport, he was always there at any training, got Greg out in the shittest weather.

  ‘Busy where…?’

  This was unusual; Danny didn’t normally skirt around things. Greg waited it out, knowing it was simply a matter of time. He leant his head to one side.

  Danny sighed, realising there was no point avoiding it. ‘I’ve started on a course.’

  Greg shifted in his chair, enjoying watching his little brother redden. ‘A
course in what?’

  Danny picked up the beer mat, shredding one corner in deft movements. ‘I wanted to make stuff.’

  ‘So… you’re making?’ Greg couldn’t help smiling. This was news, his little brother, the mechanic, the lad about town, wanted to make things. He imagined it would be something oily to do with machines that Greg wouldn’t have a hope of understanding.

  ‘Pots and things.’

  Greg nearly spat his beer on the table. ‘Pots.’

  Danny looked up. ‘Ssh.’

  ‘Pots.’ Greg couldn’t lower his voice if he tried. ‘What, like pottery pots?’

  Danny nodded miserably, ready for the inevitable axe to fall. Greg paused a moment, his lips twitching and then pursed his lips together. ‘Cool.’

  Danny looked up sharply, clearly still waiting for the piss-taking to begin.

  ‘What?’ Greg asked, finishing his beer. ‘Sounds good.’

  The barman deposited two more beers in front of them. Greg looked up. ‘Thanks.’

  Danny watched the barman leave and then leant forward as if he was worried the rest of the pub might hear. ‘It is, actually, we’re going to make a whole load of things in one month, and I’m pretty good, well…’ He coughed, shredding more of the beer mat. ‘I think I am all right.’

  ‘Sounds interesting, mate, good for you.’

  Danny sat taller in his seat, pushing his blonde fringe back with an oil-stained hand as he took the first swig of his new beer. Greg was impressed, not sure what had happened to his brother who normally only ever wanted to talk about cars and girls. Greg lumbered through any car chat, an owner of a Vauxhall Astra, so not qualified really, and was then left gaping at the girl talk. Danny knew a lot of women.

  ‘What brought it on?’ he asked, looking over at the corner of the room where the rattle of pounds meant someone had won on the cash machine.

  ‘I just wanted to do something a bit different, you know, can’t keep thinking about things and not doing them.’ It was the last sentence that prompted Danny to look away.