by Kate Forster
‘Then get ready to be awed,’ said Marc and he left Christa in the kitchen, surrounded by boxes of fudge and the taste of him on her lips.
33
Marc sat through a dinner of takeaway pizza, watching Avian and Simon bicker and complain while they ate a kale salad and sunflower seeds. Simon kept eyeing the pizza and Avian kept hitting him on the arm.
‘Looking at it won’t make it come to you,’ she said and he laughed.
‘It did with you,’ he said and Simon wanted to punch him again but he felt Adam’s hand on his shoulder as he poured him a glass of wine.
Adam had managed to convince Simon to not press charges, saying it would be bad for his image with the show coming out soon, considering Avian was the producer. Avian and Simon had reluctantly agreed and Marc had given them each five thousand pounds as a sweetener.
‘I saw Christa today,’ Marc announced, watching Simon’s reaction.
Simon didn’t seem interested at all and Avian rolled her eyes.
‘God, she was a drag wasn’t she? She had such a huge crush on you, Marc. She was like a sad teenage cow, her gaze always following you around, wide eyed and moon- faced.’
Simon seemed to bristle a little at the news he wasn’t the centre of Christa’s longing.
‘She was doing that to me also,’ he said.
‘No she wasn’t,’ said Avian, adjusting her hair. ‘It was only at Marc.’
‘I saw her look at me a few times also,’ said Simon and Paul coughed into his wine.
‘Anyway, she was really sad about the soufflé. Said she couldn’t understand how hers could be so flat since she had done everything right. She said the room temperature was perfect for the eggs, which helps them to get a good peak. Said yours were in the refrigerator.’
Simon scoffed. ‘She will be trying to figure out for the rest of her days why it didn’t work for her the way mine did and the answer is some people just have it and some don’t.’
Avian nodded in agreement. ‘This is why you are the judge on Blind Baking and not Christa. You can’t teach instinct.’
Adam stood up with his plate. ‘I might join the boys in the other room. They’re watching Britain’s Got Talent. I’m always fascinated by the ones who don’t have it and who still win anyway. It’s almost enough to make you think it’s rigged or something.’
‘I’ll join you,’ said Paul.
‘Oh, Adam, before you go, did you finish that agreement today we talked about this morning?’
Adam smiled at Marc. ‘Just waiting for the final contract. Should come through anytime from nine, New York time.’
‘What are you buying now, Marc?’ Avian picked at some seeds and ate them, and Marc nearly laughed at her attempt at nonchalance. ‘A movie studio? A radio network?’
Marc smiled at her and finished his wine.
‘Can’t say too much yet but I think you will be excited,’ he said and Avian clapped her hands.
‘How thrilling,’ she said as Marc left the room.
‘Can you clean up for me, Simon? Appreciate it,’ he said and went to sit with the others, thinking about what to do next.
*
The sound of Avian’s yelling woke him.
‘Marc, you fucking prick. You motherfucker, wake up and tell me what the fuck you have done!’
He opened one eye and saw her in a robe, her hair mussed and with a sleep mask on top of her head, clearly pushed up in a hurry.
‘Please don’t swear. The boys will hear you,’ he said and he rolled away from her.
She pushed his back with her little bird hands.
‘You’re producing your own cooking show? I just saw it in The Hollywood Reporter,’ she screamed. ‘You’ve bought Cirrus TV and now you have a celebrity cooking competition? With Gordon Ramsey, and Nigella and Marco Pierre White as some of the competitors? How the hell can we go up against that?’
‘You can’t,’ he said, keeping his eyes closed.
‘Why did you do it then? Why? Do you hate me that much you want to ruin my career?’
Marc sat up. ‘I don’t hate you, Avian. You’re the mother of my kids. You’re a terrible mother but you’re all they have.’
‘How dare you say I am a terrible mother,’ she gasped.
‘But you are a terrible mother and I’m a terrible father. At least I’m trying to get better. That’s the difference between you and me. I know I’m shit but I’m trying to be and do better. You, however, don’t actually care about what the boys think about you or them in general. You only care about yourself and whatever is happening in relation to you.’
Avian’s mouth was opening and shutting in shock and anger.
Marc pulled on some sweat pants from the floor and then pulled on a clean T-shirt and sat on a chair.
‘I saw what you and Simon did with the soufflé, so you can’t deny it. It’s on film,’ he said.
Avian sat on the end of the bed.
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘It wasn’t just about winning for you, was it?’
Avian stared at the floor, her legs crossed and her arms wrapped around herself.
‘Simon is a pretty terrible person. I don’t know why you’re with him but I’ll tell you this: if you keep seeing him, you won’t see the boys. And I think, even under all that self-absorption, you love them.’
She looked up at him. ‘I do. I do love them,’ she said quietly.
He nodded. ‘So Simon goes and you can still do Blind Baking for Netflix but please find a new judge, a woman please.’
‘How can you tell me what to do with my show?’ she spat as she spoke.
‘If you get rid of Simon, then I will drop the cooking show from Cirrus TV,’ he said.
Avian was silent for a moment.
‘Do you want me to hire Christa as a judge?’
He laughed. ‘No, she wouldn’t do that.’
Avian immediately went on the defensive. ‘Because she’s too good for the show and for TV?’
‘No, because she doesn’t want to do that sort of stuff. She has other plans and she’s really shy.’
Avian’s face was stony as she uncrossed and crossed her legs again.
‘You can’t tell me who I can and can’t date,’ she said.
‘I can, because I know Simon is abusive and narcissistic, and he will use you and hurt you, Ave, and underneath your armour I know you just want to be loved, like we all do, and he won’t do it.’
‘Did Christa tell you he was abusive? I mean, her perspective is tainted,’ she started to argue.
But Marc laughed. ‘I didn’t need Christa to tell me. I saw it in him from the minute I met him. He’s exactly like my father. A self-absorbed lying piece of shit who will sell his kids for a good deal, which is exactly what my father did to me and my siblings. You know this about my family, Avian. So don’t let Simon Playfoot make you sell your kids for a good deal that benefits him and him only and leaves our boys fucked up like I’ve been.’
Avian was silent but he saw her shoulders drop.
‘You love her,’ she said as she looked up at him.
He said nothing.
‘I know you do because you look at her in a way you never looked at me.’
‘And she looks at me in a way you never did,’ he replied.
She stood up and walked to the door. ‘So you will drop your show if I dump Simon from mine?’
‘And from your life. Honestly Avian, you know he’s a shit.’
She paused. ‘He is pretty annoying; he’s been getting on my nerves lately. He talks about himself constantly, and he’s not that interesting.’
Marc laughed a little. ‘Will you tell him or will I?’
‘Which part? That he’s not interesting or that he’s being dumped?’
‘Any of it, I would enjoy it,’ he said.
But Avian shook her head. ‘No. I’ll do it. I’ll tell Simon they want a new direction.’
She was quiet for a while. ‘I might head back to LA; the boys can come over later.
I think I need to sort a few things out back there, mostly myself.’
He nodded. ‘What will you tell the boys?’ he asked.
‘The truth. That I need to work on being a better person, that Simon and I aren’t together, that I want to be able to be there for them and be the best I can be. I don’t know. What do you think?’
He saw her insecurity and fear and he felt sad for her.
‘That sounds pretty great to me,’ he said. ‘Just so you know, they were the ones who filmed the soufflé incident so you will have to deal with that also.’
Avian closed her eyes for a long while. ‘I really need to get myself together,’ she said finally. ‘I work so hard to make people think I’m invincible, that I know everything, am in control of it all but I’m not. It’s hard trying to do it all.’
He nodded. ‘I know it is. I’m not any better than you, losing myself in work, avoiding being a parent, avoiding my past and the feelings I struggle with daily.’
She stepped forward towards him and when he held out his arms she leaned into him.
She felt so frail and tiny.
‘And, Avian, eat something and stop pushing food rules onto everyone else, especially our kids. You can’t produce a cooking show and hate food. I only say this because I worry about you. You used to love food; now it seems like a punishment.’
She cried a little into his chest.
‘I know. I need some help. Thank you. You were always right about this stuff. I miss these reality checks.’
She pulled away and wiped her eyes. ‘And you need to deal with your family. Look for your siblings, go to therapy, do the work. We both need to do the work to be better parents.’
He nodded. She was right. They were both right.
Avian walked to the door and held the door handle and then looked at Marc.
‘Can you ask Christa who she would recommend as a new judge?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he said and Avian left the room.
Marc sighed with relief. He didn’t like hurting anyone but he also knew Simon couldn’t be around his children, or Avian for that matter.
He thought about calling Christa but saw it wasn’t even six yet so he climbed back into bed and thought about everything he had to do to convince her and prepare for her return.
But first he picked up his phone and called Adam.
‘Sorry to wake you so early but expect some calls from Gordon Ramsey, Nigella Lawson and Marco Pierre Whites’ people today about a red herring story in The Hollywood Reporter. Just deny it and say it is a false rumour and then send the reporter a new Tesla will you? In the black, with extra cup holders.’
He pulled the covers up and gave a sigh of relief. Now he could finally look forward to Christmas.
34
Peggy and Petey finished counting the cash and adding up the bank payments and then Peggy circled the number and pushed the notepad to Christa and showed her the final tally.
‘Wow,’ she said, looking at Petey in amazement.
‘It were them Christmas fudges that everyone liked. We haven’t got a single bag left,’ he said to Peggy.
‘You did very well,’ Peggy said to him and patted his hand.
‘We all did,’ said Petey and Christa noticed he held on to Peggy’s hand.
She wasn’t sure when the tune changed for Petey but for the past two days Peggy had been over when she wasn’t at work, and this morning Peggy was already in the house, stating that it was easier to leave for the market from Petey’s place.
Christa didn’t comment but she was sure to send a text message to Marc informing him of the news.
They’d loved gossiping about Peggy and Petey and their burgeoning romance, which seemed to have gone from zero to one hundred overnight. Part of Christa was jealous about Petey and Peggy’s intimacy but she knew not to rush things with Marc, and certainly not with the boys at the house.
She didn’t want to disturb Marc while he was wrapping things up with Avian. All she knew was that Simon had been banished from Pudding Hall and she hadn’t heard from him, thank God.
Besides, she was she was enjoying the space from Marc while she worked things out for herself.
She had worked at the soup van for two nights and had asked Zane how she could get more experience. He had said she just needed to volunteer and that they could talk about it after New Year’s.
She was excited to see what would happen next but she was also terrified. When they spoke on the phone Marc told her that this was normal and healthy and that he was terrified before every deal.
‘If you’re not scared then you’re not outside your comfort zone and that’s where the good stuff happens.’
But he hadn’t actually invited her back to Pudding Hall and she didn’t want to push in case Avian was still there. She could have a nice Christmas with Petey, but she felt sad that she couldn’t cook the meal she had planned.
Maybe she could volunteer, she thought, but Petey told her there wasn’t an actual sit-down Christmas lunch that he knew of, though he could ask around if she wanted.
‘Christmas is only two days away,’ she said. ‘This is why I want to create the dining hall one day. It would be wonderful.’
The doorbell rang and Christa, who was closest, went to answer it and when she opened it she gasped.
The twins stood tall in their puffy jackets, looking pleased with themselves.
She looked around for Marc and saw him in the car.
She hadn’t seen him since they had kissed in the kitchen and she felt a longing deep inside her.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Come in.’ She stepped back from the door for them but they shook their heads.
‘We can’t, we have to give you something,’ Seth said and he unzipped his jacket and pulled out a large envelope with her name written in a child’s writing on the front.
‘This is for you,’ said Ethan.
‘Thank you,’ she said and looked at Marc in the car, who smiled at her and she felt herself blush.
‘Open it,’ demanded Seth, so she did.
It was a large white card with a silver engraving of the Pudding Hall crest.
Below was printing in a beautiful seraph font in black ink.
Dear Christa,
You are cordially invited to Pudding Hall on 24th December to celebrate your birthday with cocktails and dinner and entertainment.
Dress: Formal
Time: 7pm
There was not a single mention of it being Christmas Eve or Christmas the next day. It was simply about her birthday. She looked at the boys and then hugged them both.
‘I can’t wait, thank you,’ she said, hearing her voice break with her emotion. She stood up and waved at Marc who waved back.
‘Thank you,’ she mouthed and he nodded and gave her a look that made her want to run and kiss him.
Rain started to fall and she looked up at the sky.
‘Scoot – into the car, both of you,’ she said as the rain began to fall sideways with more force than she had seen in a while.
The boys raced to the car and they waved as Marc drove away with a toot of the horn.
A formal dinner? She didn’t have a thing to wear.
Everything formal was back in London and she didn’t want to wear anything she had ever worn with Simon.
She wanted to be the new Christa, one that Simon knew nothing of.
She turned over the card to find more writing.
Stay for Christmas. Please.
M x
God, what was he doing to her, she thought, as she closed the front door. She took a deep breath and put the card back into the envelope and put it in her room before she went back into the kitchen.
Petey was putting the leftover fudge into a box.
‘I’ll take this down to the van for the staff. Nice for them to have a treat, don’t you think?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Peter,’ said Peggy. ‘A generous heart is a good heart, I always say.’
Christa
sat down. ‘That was the boys. They asked me to dinner tomorrow night,’ she said.
‘How lovely,’ said Peggy.
Christa looked at her and at Petey, who was now folding the top of the box.
‘Did you know about this?’
Peggy shrugged. ‘Not at all, they didn’t ask me to cook,’ she said. ‘Which was just as well. I’m a terrible cook.’
Christa started to laugh. ‘I thought you loved your shepherd’s pie.’
‘Loathe it. I don’t even eat it, but it’s easy,’ Peggy admitted.
Christa sat in thought for a moment.
‘I think I’m going to go back to my maiden name,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be a Playfoot anymore.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ said Peggy. ‘I bet he was playing foot with all sorts of people.’
Petey laughed. ‘What’s your maiden name then, love? I did a lot of reading on surnames when Annie and I did research on the family tree. My surname is Chandler, which was the name for a candlemaker back in medieval times.’
‘I suppose Peter Fudge isn’t really an appealing moniker,’ said Peggy. ‘My surname is Smith,’ she added, ‘which is my married name, but my maiden name was Ramsbottom. That was hell when I was at school.’
Christa rubbed Peggy’s arm. ‘Children can be so mean.’ Peter stood up from the table and left the room and returned with a thick book.
‘What’s your maiden name then? I have a book of names that might have yours in it?’ Petey put down the well-leafed book and Christa looked at front.
‘The Big British Book of Surnames, updated 1999,’ she read aloud.
Petey picked up the book and held it in his hand.
‘Go on then, what’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Hartley,’ she said. ‘I have no idea what it means. Something to do with hearts I guess?’
Petey flicked through the book and then looked at her. ‘H.A.R.T?’ he spelled out.
She nodded. ‘L.E.Y.,’ she finished.
Petey looked up from the book. ‘That’s a popular name around Yorkshire,’ he said. ‘Your family come from here?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Dad didn’t talk about family much – only his grandmother from time to time – but then again, I didn’t ask. Self-absorbed teenager I guess.’
