by Kate Forster
Marc wanted to hold her and keep her safe from whatever that man did to her during their marriage but he knew that wouldn’t heal anything.
‘I’ll ask Avian and Simon to go then,’ he said.
‘And then the boys don’t get to spend Christmas with their mum. That’s not fair on them or on her,’ she answered.
He looked down at the ground and tried to think of a solution. He should be good at this. He was successful in business with a mind for strategy, so why was it so hard to work out how to keep everyone happy?
‘Christa, tell me what to do,’ he pleaded, but instead she took the shopping bags from his hands.
‘I’m not your therapist,’ she said, walking past him and into the crowd of Christmas shoppers.
He watched her go and wondered if he should follow her but he knew it would be pointless. There was something there he couldn’t heal. It had to come from her when she was ready and he could only hope it would be soon.
24
Christa drove her car to the pub by the riverside, wiping tears from her cheeks with her gloved hands.
She wanted Marc to tell Avian to leave but she would never ask that. She never understood why some men couldn’t see mean girl behaviour in women. Avian was the ultimate mean girl, whose main purpose in existing was to make other people feel bad about themselves, but Christa also knew that people like Avian had stuff happening in their lives to make them like this. She tried to cut Avian some slack but it was hard.
Avian didn’t seem to really care about the boys the way Christa expected her to. She treated them as though they were an accessory, making them pose for photos with her and then telling them to go away. Then other times she could see her looking at her children wistfully, lovingly. Christa never knew what the woman was thinking and didn’t care enough to ask but she prayed she would leave sooner rather than later.
But deep down this wasn’t about Avian. She could blame her all she liked but this was about Simon. How he bullied her through their marriage. Belittled her and gaslit her constantly until she doubted her ability to even choose her own clothing. Nothing she did was enough for Simon and he was still in her life chipping away at her self- esteem.
She parked her car and looked at the pub. At least she could still dream about what she would do with the place. She had even thought about bringing Zane down to show him her vision.
And then she saw the sign.
Sold.
She started to sob. She knew it wasn’t the only place to build her vision but she had been so attached to it because Petey had told her about it, and because she had shown Marc.
Putting her head on the steering wheel, she cried properly for the first time since she and Simon had split. She cried for her choices and naivety. She cried for her dad. She cried for losing herself to Simon. She cried because she wanted something different than this right now and she cried because she wanted to be with Marc and the boys but Avian would never let that happen. Not when Avian and Simon were a couple. Avian would always be in Christa’s life if she was in Marc’s life.
There was no way she could escape the mother of the boys and nor should she.
When her sobs finally subsided, she wiped her face and looked in the rear-view mirror. She looked like she had run into a wall but that would go. She would lie down when she got home but first she had a call to make.
‘Peggy? Can I ask you a favour? I’m not feeling well, and I’m wondering if you can make a shepherd’s pie for the house. Really? You have one in the freezer? Amazing thank you.’
At least dinner was sorted, she thought as she drove home.
*
Dinner conversation was non-existent as Christa served Peggy’s shepherd’s pie to the table.
‘Is this your version of a shepherd’s pie? Or Peggy’s original?’ asked Marc, looking at the dish.
‘Peggy’s,’ said Christa not looking at him as she handed a plate to Seth.
‘It’s gluggy,’ said Seth, poking it with his fork.
‘Shhh,’ said Marc. ‘It looks very hearty.’
‘Hearty makes me farty,’ said Ethan, putting extra emphasis on his complaint with a huge pretend fart.
Seth laughed and then joined in.
Christa spooned two servings of the potato topping into bowls then handed them to Avian and Simon.
‘Pie, no shepherds,’ she said.
‘I can’t eat this,’ said Avian.
Simon, however, looked thrilled to be having carbs. He poured tomato ketchup on top and started to eat like a Siberian prisoner.
‘Excuse me? What is this shit?’ Avian pushed the bowl away.
‘It’s Peggy’s dish, so if you don’t like it I suggest you speak to her,’ Christa said and went behind the kitchen bench and wiped the surface with extra gusto.
‘Marc, what is going on?’ asked Avian. ‘You shouldn’t let the staff speak to you like that.’
Marc looked at the boys.
‘Boys, you can go and order a pizza and eat it watching some TV, okay?’
‘Thank the Pope,’ said Ethan.
‘Where did you learn that?’ asked Marc, looking around the table.
‘Peggy,’ said Adam and Paul at the same time.
‘Can we also go and order a pizza?’ asked Paul. ‘No offence, Christa, but I think my dinner is forming a gelatinous skin.’
Marc nodded as Adam and Paul fled the kitchen, while Simon took their bowls and shoved the food into his mouth.
‘Why did you bring Simon here?’ Marc asked Avian.
Avian looked unfazed.
‘We’re in a relationships,’ she said.
‘You have dated other men and never even bought them to coffee, let alone Christmas. Did you find out Christa was cooking for us?’
She said nothing.
‘Did you?’ asked Simon, pausing for a moment from the great shovel fest he was having.
‘I heard she was good,’ said Avian. ‘The boys mentioned her and I recognised the name.’
Avian seemed to suddenly be very interested in her cuticles.
‘Simon, did you know?’ Christa asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. ‘But I didn’t think it would be a problem since you are only the help.’
‘The help?’ Christa heard her voice become louder but she couldn’t stop the fury from exploding inside her. ‘You absolute classist wanker.’
‘Don’t be so pissy Christa, it’s not a class thing.’
Christa looked at Marc. ‘Anytime anyone in Britain says it’s not a class thing, it’s a class thing.’
‘I wanted to find out more about you,’ said Avian suddenly.
‘Why?’
‘Because the boys won’t stop talking about you. Because all Simon does do is talk about you, constantly. I had to see what I was up against.’
Christa looked at Simon who seemed to be nonchalant about the revelation. ‘I do talk about you but not in the way you think,’ he said to her.
Christa shook her head in disbelief.
‘I don’t love you, so don’t worry about that,’ he said to Christa.
‘That’s fine. I don’t love you either,’ she said, speaking truthfully.
Simon kept speaking with his mouth full, shoving in potato.
‘I talk about you because I saw great potential in you but you never met it,’ he said. ‘I tried to push you but you couldn’t do it. That’s why we divorced, because I couldn’t keep investing in potential with no reward. I was tired of carrying you.’
The fury Christa felt was unlike anything she had ever known.
‘Oh. My. God,’ she yelled. ‘Me? You carried me? Are you kidding me? All I did was let you take credit for everything I did. The menu, the desserts, the sommelier we brought on, the soufflé that got us the hat.’
‘That soufflé was my recipe,’ he said to Avian and then turned to Marc and continued to speak. ‘We’re using it in the TV show. The contestants have to recreate it and I’ll blind-
taste it and chooses the best one.’
‘It wasn’t your recipe, it was mine, and carefully designed; it was a project to make that as perfect as it was,’ Christa said, trying not to cry from frustration.
‘No, it was my recipe,’ Simon insisted.
‘No, it was mine. My soufflé was always better than yours. That’s why you made me make it for A.A. Gill when he came in once.’
‘I didn’t make you, you wanted to impress him.’
Christa gasped. ‘The way you bend the truth to suit the way you want the wind to blow is astonishing. I made the better soufflé and you can’t admit it.’
Simon laughed meanly. ‘Christa, just admit I was better and then we can let it go.’
She glared at him and then she put her hands on the table.
‘Then we will both cook, in tandem, and Marc will decide. He will be the blind-baking judge of Pudding Hall.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ scoffed Simon.
‘Is it? If you believe you are the better chef then prove it. Marc won’t know who cooked what and then we can just let it go and you can rest knowing you beat your ex-wife in the final round of our relationship.’
Simon stared at her. ‘Fine, bring it on. I look forward to proving my point to you and you finally seeing you would never even be here, cooking for a billionaire, if it wasn’t for me. I also look forward to your apology when Marc chooses my soufflé. And the sight of you waving goodbye when you leave Pudding Hall.’
‘You want me to leave if you win?’ she asked, incredulous at his nerve.
‘Yes.’ Simon sneered at her.
‘So you agree to leave if I win?’ she said.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Fine,’ she said. A warm feeling of satisfaction knowing he would soon be gone came over her body. ‘Bring it on.’
He stood up from the table and drained the wine that Adam had left in his glass.
‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight,’ he said and he left the kitchen with Avian scurrying after him.
Marc looked at Christa. ‘Why the hell did you rope me into judging this? I don’t even eat soufflé. I always choose the affogato.’
Christa felt her blood start to simmer down with Simon’s departure.
‘I needed someone more powerful than him. He’s easily impressed by money and success; your word would be final. He’s actually really chauvinistic.’
Marc scoffed. ‘You think so? He’s like something from the 1950s; it’s kind of bizarre to see such old-fashioned ideals.’
Christa sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘He makes me so furious. I shouldn’t have taken the bait.’
‘I get it. They know us and they know where to place the cuts, because they know where the old wounds are.’
They were quiet as they sat in thought.
‘So, can you win?’ Marc finally asked.
Christa looked him in the eye and a knowing look crept over her face. ‘Absobloodylutely.’
25
The next day Simon charged Peggy with buying the ingredients for the soufflé bake-off, which would take place that evening.
‘Of course, he’s too lazy to go into town,’ said Christa as she finely chopped chives for the mushroom soup she was making for Avian.
‘This air in this house is so tense I could carve it up and serve it for lunch,’ said Peggy as she folded napkins and wiped down the table from breakfast.
Christa had not spoken to Marc as he seemed to be hiding in his office. Simon was also missing in action but not Avian who had announced she needed selenium and mushrooms would be the only remedy.
‘If Mr Ferrier chooses the other soufflé, then I will have to make my shepherd’s pie for their Christmas lunch,’ said Peggy.
Christa slammed her knife onto the bench and turned the cutting board around.
‘He will not win. Trust me on this. He never gets the egg white consistency right. He rushes it like he rushes everything. He’s half-arsed, lazy, selfish.’
She chopped furiously, thinking about all the times Simon put himself first.
‘You know, the thing with Simon is…’ Peggy stopped speaking, as though catching herself.
‘Tell me. What where you going to say?’ Christa asked.
Peggy’s opinion mattered to her because it was hard-earned. The respect Christa had for the no-nonsense woman was strong and the more she saw her work ethic the more she liked her, especially since she knew she and Petey were becoming friends.
‘I don’t know you well enough to say anything that you don’t know yourself.’
‘Tell me,’ Christa said. ‘I want to know what you think.’
Peggy straightened the pile of napkins on the table.
‘I think we can pretend things are okay because we want them to be okay. We can overlook and overlook until finally we can’t ignore it anymore.’
Christa listened.
‘If your ex-husband hadn’t asked for a divorce, would you have stayed in the marriage?’
Christa couldn’t speak because she knew the truth.
‘Stability means a lot to a girl like you, I see that. Whatever happened to you in your childhood has meant you stay places now because you are afraid of not knowing what will happen next. But the familiarity can eat away at you until there is nothing left, my love.’
Christa felt tears fall. She had never been so fully understood by anyone.
Peggy reached across the table and held her hand.
‘You have one life, Christa. Chase after what you want. No matter what it is.’
She nodded, unsure what exactly Peggy was referring to but she knew Peggy saw something in her was smouldering.
‘Do you mean Marc?’ she asked.
Peggy shrugged. ‘Marc, York, the van, the restaurant. Peter told me. Whatever it is or if it’s all of them, you have to trust your talent and ideas and capacity to love.’
Christa nodded, feeling herself about to weep.
‘I might go for a quick walk,’ she said. ‘Just to clear my head.’
Peggy nodded. ‘And I am off to change the sheets in Avian’s bedroom because she says they are too hard. Princess and the Chick Pea, I tell you.’
Christa took her coat and hat from the hook and slipped her feet into the boots by the back door.
‘I won’t be long,’ she said and she smiled at Peggy through her tears. ‘You’re the best part of Pudding Hall,’ she said to her friend.
Peggy tilted her head to one side and made a thinking face. ‘So far,’ she said, and then she walked out of the kitchen, clearly proud of having the last word.
*
A peacock passed Christa on the path, ignoring her and pecking at the wet grass. Bill wasn’t anywhere to be seen and the garden was quiet apart from the occasional sounds of the birds.
Of course, Peggy was right. She was so busy trying to be safe in her life after her dad died that she forgot to take risks. The last risk she had ever taken was going to Le Cordon Bleu and asking them to take a chance on her. Then Simon took over their life and her talent and she let him.
She walked further than she had before, down through the manicured paths, until she came to what looked like a dell. Nothing was blooming and the naked trees were sleeping but it was still beautiful. She sat on the woven willow seat, thankful for the length of her coat against the wet wood.
A crack of sticks made her turn and she saw the stag on the edge of the wood.
She stayed still. The stag watched her for a while and then decided she wasn’t any risk to him.
He walked about the dell, occasionally munching on bark and then moving on to the next tree or the grass on the ground.
He was magnificent. Proud, so big. The antlers were works of art and the red coat glowed in the winter light.
She thought about the little deer she found in the Christmas cracker when she was a child, and the night she saw the deer when she arrived and then the deer family Christmas decoration that Marc gave her.
She wasn’t a
superstitious person but surely this had to mean something?
‘What do I need to learn from you? From this?’ she whispered.
The deer ignored her and she felt silly for asking a creature who could easily kill her what it was there to teach her.
Fear, she thought, it was here to teach her fear. But she knew fear. She had been afraid all her life. Of what people thought of her. Of taking risks. Of claiming her ideas and pulling back from Simon and asking for support and recognition. But when she looked at the animal, she wasn’t afraid.
As though understanding her, the deer ambled away as slowly as it had come into her view.
She had to stop being afraid of her possibilities. Anything was possible if she wanted it and worked hard enough for it.
Standing up she brushed off her coat and straightened her shoulders.
She would win the soufflé competition and Simon would go away and she would tell Marc exactly how she felt and everyone would live happily ever after.
She just had to have a little faith and the best cultured butter and bittersweet chocolate she could find.
26
Seth stood on a kitchen chair. He wore a red plastic top hat while Ethan stood next to him wearing a green glittery top hat.
Paul had bought them from the pound shop as a joke but the twins loved them and insisted on wearing them for their roles as scrutineers for the soufflé competition.
While the twins through it was great fun, Christa had never been more determined to win at anything in her life.
Even her finals at Le Cordon Bleu didn’t raise her adrenaline like this moment.
Everything was set out on the benches.
Exactly the same metal bowls. A double-boiler saucepan. Ramekin. A handheld mixer each, which Peggy had bought new so they had the same one of the same make. And the ingredients.
These were the only differences.
Christa had chosen a different butter and chocolate. She had kept her eggs at room temperature while Simon’s were in the refrigerator. She was surprised he did this but maybe he forgot that cold eggs don’t get the same peaks as room temperature ones.
