by Anita Notaro
“Can we make cookies too? You know, trees and angels and things, and sew them with thread and stick them on the tree like they do in the movies?” Jess was daydreaming again.
“They don’t sew them, stupid, they stick them on with glue, don’t they, Nora?”
Ellie ruffled Jessie’s hair and hoped she would be able to find such a thing as doughnut mix in the shopping center, not to mention cookie cutters in Christmas shapes for that matter. Christ, it’d be midnight before she got to boot camp, but then again … She turned off her mobile with a nasty cackle.
“Look, Dad, we’ve made cookies to glue on the tree.” Jess held up a big one that looked like a submarine on its last legs.
“Fabulous, what is it?”
“An angel, silly. There’s her nose.”
“And a cute button one it is too.” He tried to grab a bite. “Can you eat them? I’ve had strawberry ones and vanilla ones but never glue flavored. What an inspiration you are you to us, Nora, always introducing our taste buds to new delights.”
“At least they don’t know about the pleasures to be had from sniffing the stuff yet, so chill,” Ellie whispered. “Anyway, Jess wanted to sew them on so it’s that or a lump of blue cotton stuck in your gullet. And there ain’t no high to be had from thread either.”
He produced a bottle of red wine. “I think we might need some sustenance. How about I make some mulled wine with blackcurrant juice for them and add something stronger for us?” He waved the bottle under her nose.
“Yes, please, although I’m driving, so I have to be careful. And you shouldn’t be thwarting me, you know what I’m facing later. But one glass should just about keep me from throwing up once I hit Fort Knox.”
“Oh yeah, you’d just started to tell me when my agent rang. Sorry.” He popped the cork. “Listen, why don’t you come with us to pick the tree and tell me all about it in the car?”
“No, you go on your own with just the kids.” She didn’t want him to feel he had to include her in everything.
“The girls will have none of it. Anyway, it’ll be two against one and we’ll end up with a yoke so big that I’ll have to put in a mezzanine floor to accommodate it. I need you.”
“OK, so, just let me wash my hands.” She was pleased she’d held out for so long.
“Right, kids, time to take that poor oulfella in the fruit and veg shop for every cent we can, as usual,” he shouted in their general direction. “He starts off asking a hundred and fifty euros for a bonsai tree every year,” he told Ellie. “I swear he decides the price by the sort of car you drive.”
“We’d better go in mine, so. That should nab us one for a fiver.”
On the way she filled him in on their plans for the weekend, although not the emotional stuff, of course.
“So what do you eat, then?”
“I think it’s all liquid, actually, lots of juices and water and herbal tea.” She tried to sound cheerful. “But there is some sort of barley broth with wild yam allowed on Sunday. Oh, and sauerkraut.”
“Yum yum.”
“I think the reward if you’re not in casualty at the end of the day is a warm bath with rosemary and lemon oil, although in my case I’ll probably have drunk it, so it’ll just be Epsom salts.”
“Aren’t they for when you’re bloated? How the hell can anyone be bloated on herbs?”
“No idea. My granny used to soak her feet in Epsom salts and then drink it afterward. Not the same water, I hasten to add. Or maybe that was bicarbonate of soda.”
“Perhaps we’d better pick up some Chinese on the way home,” he said to no one. “We could make you a tuck box, couldn’t we, girls?”
“Toni would smell it. She has a nose like Monica Sheridan.”
“Who?”
“My mother’s favorite, years ago. The Irish equivalent of Delia, I think, although custard powder was as exotic as she got, as far as I can tell. I’ve inherited all her recipes.”
“I want tuck too.”
“The only tuck you’re getting is in bed this evening, madam.” He smiled at Ellie. “This Toni sounds like fun. What’s she like?”
He was being sarcastic, she suspected, or at least she hoped he was. She’d made her friend appear as much fun as Martha Stewart’s prison chef.
“Actually, she is. And she’s gorgeous looking, thinner than any of us, her family are loaded, men fall all over her and she doesn’t even see them. Even her pet budgie’s got class.”
“You’ll have to introduce us.” He looked intrigued.
“And she’s great in bed too apparently,” she was able to say because the girls were on their fourth verse of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” and weren’t paying attention. “She’s so good that her last fella put diamonds in her crème brûlée and damaged two fillings and …” She just realized she was talking to her employer so she changed the subject faster than she normally switched off Morning Ireland.
“Go on.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled in a low voice. “Anyway, she has this new book. It’s called You Don’t Have to Be a Block of Lard or a Lump of Meat—If Nuts and Seeds Are All You Eat. Something like that, it rhymes, anyway.”
“Who’s the author?” He was settling into a very convenient parking spot.
“Some American, wouldn’t you know it? The same one who wrote Ten Easy Steps to Better Bowels and Cleaner Colons, subtitled How clean is your internal kitchen sink? I believe.”
“How about I make you a present of a case of wine, in case it all goes pear-shaped by ten tonight.” He could be very generous sometimes, she was beginning to notice.
“She’d confiscate it, I’m afraid. Hard to hide in a weekend case.”
“Well, the offer’s there. My American agent sent me a couple of crates this morning. Storm Clouds Gathering went into the top ten apparently.” He never talked about his work and Ellie was intrigued.
“Wow, is that your latest?”
“Nope, ten years old. I don’t know where they dug it up.” He was preparing to change the subject, she could tell by his uncomfortable shift, but the girls saved him the bother.
“Come on, Nora.” They were already out of their safety belts and clamoring at the doors to be let out.
“Hello, you lot. What ya doing?” Kate was all smiles.
“Buying a tree,” Jack said with a grin. “Want to help?”
“Sure, Sarah and I are just here to collect ours, too. We picked it out yesterday on the way to the dentist. Bill was supposed to get it, so he spent two hours putting the roof rack on and then came home with a holly wreath and a cylinder of gas.”
“On the roof?”
“No, silly, in the boot.”
No one had the energy to ask how come, so they spent an enjoyable half-hour bickering over non-shed and spotless-clean house or filthy mess with needles everywhere and nice pine, toilet smell. Ellie was glad the bog won out, although not in Kate’s case.
Within an hour the house was bedlam, with boxes—supposedly of decorations but no one was quite sure because they weren’t labeled—obscuring the floor. Jess was covering the tree with photos simply because they were in one of the boxes and Ellie caught a glimpse of a very good-looking blonde with big boobs and a small waist before Jack’s eyes darkened and he took them gently away.
“I want photos of Mummy on the tree,” Jess was howling but there were no actual tears.
“We have one, look. Remember the one of us all taken with Santa that Aunty Kate gave us a hanging frame for?” Sam was being Mum again and Ellie tried to distract Jess.
“Let’s put the cookies on.” She handed the little girl a plate as Jack went to warm some of the mulled wine, to escape with his thoughts, she suspected. Ten minutes later they were eating jam-filled, million-calorie doughnuts that were surprisingly tasty, and it took them another fifteen to realize why they couldn’t find any of the cookies that Jessie insisted she’d glued to the tree. The answer came in an almost human belch from under the table and a ta
il that was wagging so hard it nearly gave Ellie whiplash—not bad for a boxer who only had a stump. He must have been feeling mighty pleased with himself, they all reckoned.
Thirty-one
“The important thing is not that you succeed, it’s that you die trying.” Toni was reading inspirational sayings from a book entitled Your Soul is God’s Greatest Garden. It was meant to encourage them and keep their mind off food.
“Die being the key word there, I’d say,” Ellie mumbled.
They’d all settled in, stretched out, puckered up and were currently at the grin-and-bear-it stage—it was still only nine thirty.
“Yeah, well the last book I read says, Be positive, if you’re going after Moby Dick take along the tartar sauce. So there.” No one had a clue what Pam was getting at and they were too tired to ask.
Ellie was actually not feeling too bad, although the three doughnuts she’d scoffed in the car on the way over made some of the yoga movements rather difficult to do. Still, at least she’d managed, Pam had tried to balance on one foot, keeled over and announced, “That’s it, I’m having a fucking Long Island Iced Tea, and before you ask, Toni, no, it is not made by Twinings, it’s made by Gilbey’s.”
“Calm down, breathe in, remember the piece of thread pulling your pelvic floor up and your tummy in and stretching all the way to your chin.” Luckily, Toni’s eyes were closed and she didn’t see Maggie grabbing Pam’s fist.
“Your chin will have teeth marks in it if I don’t get some food fast.” In fairness, Pam was the worst off. She’d been too upset to eat before the boys left and had been in floods of tears when Toni arrived early with the yoga mats and mini trampoline, but now she was calmer and the hunger pangs were beginning to kick in. Also, Ellie suspected she was the only one not to have cheated—besides Toni of course—simply because she’d been too busy blubbering for Ireland. They’d all forgotten what a drama queen she was. Maggie’s tummy had a nice little bulge and Ellie was afraid she’d throw up and a whole doughnut would come rolling out.
“Oh why haven’t they rung or texted? Anything could have happened.”
“Look, you delivered them safely into the hands of an Aer Lingus cabin crew member, they had name badges, coloring books, three credit cards between them and two mobile phones. The way you’re acting you’d think they’d been spirited away by Saddam’s second-in-command.” Toni was getting slightly peeved.
“You didn’t give them your credit cards?” Maggie was horrified.
“Of course not, she’s exaggerating as usual. But you hear of terrible things on aircraft nowadays—old ladies ripping off their burkas to reveal beards and machine guns and stabbing the pilot to death with their tweezers. I am so scared.”
“Well, it hasn’t been on Sky News yet today,” Ellie reminded her gently. They’d sat through every news bulletin on all the British channels since they’d arrived, just in case they got the story before RTE. If she had to look at the arse end of one of the royal corgis just once more … Thank God for Camilla, she was supposed to detest them.
The phone rang, Pam scarpered away none too gently, leaving Maggie prostrate on the floor with her foot in her ear and Ellie clutching her left shoulder, which had gone into spasm when she’d taken a sudden wrong turn and hit the coffee table.
“Hello, hello. Andrew, is that you? Darling, are you OK? Did anyone have tweezers or a … a chopstick or any other lethal weapon on the flight?”
The others grimaced.
“Oh, you’re in Bloomingdale’s all-you-can-eat-for-fifty-dollars rooftop snack bar? I think you must have the name wrong. Oh. Right. Yes, I see.”
“I’d murder a snack myself right now.” Maggie looked fed up.
“OK, love. Put Paul on to me. What? What do you mean his mouth is full of pancakes with maple syrup, blueberries and hickory bacon on a bed of parsley purée? He won’t even eat parsley sprinkled on his Heinz tomato soup for me.”
She arrived back at the by now defunct class, looking sadder than ever. “They’re having a great time.” Hic. “He collected them in a limo.” Swallow of contents of nose. “I hate him and I want a drink.”
“Do you want to try some of this fenugreek and garlic juice with broccoli?” Maggie offered. “It might help.”
“Take your fucking fenugreek and shove it up your—”
“OK, OK.” Ellie grabbed the cup just in the nick of time and glared at Maggie. “Girls, I think we should let her have a small brandy. Now I know it’s not listed in the book but, really, we’ve all had a tr … what I mean is she’s had a more … trying day than the rest of us.”
Maggie, feeling guilty for upsetting Pam further, had poured her friend a large brandy and was spooning it into her with a ladle.
“Actually, I’m going to bed if no one minds,” Toni said. “My shift started at six this morning and I’m wrecked.” She did look bushed. “And don’t anyone even think about getting pissed, I’ve marked all the bottles.” She grinned at them as she headed off.
“Not this one she hasn’t.” Ellie produced a very posh-looking, gold-threaded bottle.
“She’ll kill us.” The brandy had made Pam giggly. “Where did you get it?”
“Jack sent it just in case we were desperate.”
“Well, we’d better dispose of the evidence and chew gum all night, in case Toni gets up at four a.m. to smell our snores.”
“No, let’s leave her a note and tell her what she missed.” Ellie laughed. “It’s not like Toni to go off to bed, though. Hope she’s OK.”
Five minutes later Toni was back. “I heard the cork popping. I’ll just have a small glass.”
They all relaxed for an hour or so and resolved, with the moral support of some vintage Rioja, to give it a serious go for the next two days.
“You never know, it might not be so bad,” was the last thing Ellie heard before she drifted off to sleep. That and Pam’s alcohol-filled zzzs.
Actually, it was hell at first. There was no other way of putting it. Ellie was so hungry on Saturday evening that she gave serious consideration to eating a rotten apple she’d found in the garden while plucking some dandelions for soup, and Maggie was wondering about trying to sneakily barbecue a few snails. Even their cozy chats weren’t cozy at all, because someone—mostly Pam—bit the head off someone else—anyone actually—so they had to abandon their plan to help Maggie encourage Doug to make with the loot after Pam said he probably wouldn’t part with the steam off his piss and Maggie was in floods for hours. But Toni turned out to be great and she kept them all going and by Sunday lunchtime they were agreeing that yes, garlic and bean-sprout masala with chillies and coriander was much tastier without all that cream and yogurt and no, you hardly missed the chicken or filet of beef at all, really.
And strangely enough, at about four o’clock on Sunday Ellie realized she’d hit the wall, as in a marathon, and come through it, literally almost, because she fell over a step on their five-mile hike. After a long soak and another cup of herbal something or other she slept better than she’d done in a long time.
“You look great, how did it go?” Jack was in like a shot when she arrived on Monday. “Here, grab a cup, I’ve just made a fresh pot.”
“No thanks, I’m off caffeine.” She squeezed some lemon into a tall glass and added hot water.
“I’m impressed.”
“Actually, I hate to admit it but I feel great. The hunger pangs have nearly gone and I swear my stomach has shrunk.” She pulled up her blouse and then decided her gray, doughy tummy—flat and all as it was—was not the least bit attractive so she sat down quickly.
“So what did you eat?”
“Lots of things.”
“Such as?”
“Millet, quinoa, amaranth—”
“That last one’s a new one on me and I won’t be requesting they put it on the menu in Thornton’s by the sound of it. So, give me an idea of what lunch was like.”
“Yesterday it was a choice between cold raw cucumber so
up with parsley flakes and a dash of Tabasco, blanched chicory with cracked black pepper or polenta with shaved Brussels sprouts.”
“You’re trying very hard with the flakes of this and sprinklings of that but when I think of shavings I think of Parmesan, lots of it.”
“Oh, we had parsnip crisps as a special treat while watching The Clinic.” She beamed at him. “No, I feel full of energy and Toni was great.”
“No alcohol at all, then?”
Damn, there was no point in lying. “We did open that one bottle you smuggled into my case, yes, I’ll admit it.”
“Toni as well?”
“Yep, although she was in bed to start with. But that was our only moment of weakness and obviously I’d no hangover because every time you left your glass out of your hand someone else was gulping it and then swearing they thought it was theirs. That was mainly Pam, though, and she was suicidal, so that’s different.”
Jessie interrupted his laugh, screaming for her feely.
“I forgot to tell you, we lost her blanket somewhere yesterday. She didn’t sleep a wink at all last night and neither did I.”
Ellie felt like screaming herself. “But … but, this is a disaster,” she whispered as she tried in vain to pick the little girl up. “It’s not just her blanket, it’s her feely.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“The pink, furry one with the blue thread and the rabbits and …?” She had to clarify it once more. “God, the poor child. I’d have died if I’d lost mine. It was a pink candlewick, I used to eat the little bits of thread, pull them out with my teeth.”
