Comfort and Joy

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Good grief,’ Annabel said in a high-pitched voice, pointing down to the car park. ‘Look!’

  I ran to the window and let out a whoop of excitement. A stream of people was wading towards us with what looked like an entire flock of turkeys ready to be roasted. Downstairs, probably already in their basket exhausted, I heard the dogs begin to yap excitedly. The official cookery school canine welcoming committee, I thought fondly. Although not everyone was a fan of dogs. I hurried downstairs to curb the hounds and let them all in.

  The cookery school saves Christmas

  The next couple of hours were mildly bonkers.

  Within minutes every workstation was taken. Some people had brought other family members with them from grandmas to babies, brothers to best friends and one man – someone’s uncle visiting from London – had even come dressed in a Santa suit. The cookery school was alive with the bustle of busy bodies and the aroma of roasting meat and vegetables, and the windows soon steamed up. Pixie whacked up the Christmas music and soon we were all singing away to Wizard, Slade, Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey while they sliced, stirred, boiled and basted.

  Everyone, absolutely everyone, had brought me a gift to say thank you for opening up the cookery school to them. There was lots of alcohol, lots and lots, from Sherry to Shiraz; Val, the greengrocer’s wife brought sticks of fresh purple Brussels sprouts, my favourites; Sylvia who ran the dress shop handed me an exquisitely wrapped parcel –a scarf, I guessed; and there were boxes of chocolates, packets of biscuits, a posy of mistletoe, holly and ivy tied with red ribbon, a chocolate-studded panettone in the most beautiful tin and even a bag of dog treats for Comfrey and Sage. The uncle from London took great delight in collecting all the gifts and putting them under the tree for me.

  Jack seemed to be enjoying himself giving an impromptu spatchcocking demonstration and Pixie’s newfound deboning skills came in handy as she helped several other people do the same to their birds to speed up the cooking time. Annabel, who was looking a lot better for tea and a biscuit, wandered amongst the cooks discussing what everyone was drinking with their Christmas lunch; she even managed to produce a couple of bottles of Riesling for people to try.

  When I took her a glass of water and heard her discussing the elegance of the Rheingau versus the Mosel and debating with someone whether Germany would ever recover from its Liebfraumilch legacy, I knew she was feeling more like her old self.

  Harriet still had some cheese left so she ran a master class in preparing her self-proclaimed World’s Best Stuffing and shared the recipe with all those who wanted it.

  ‘I thought that was top secret?’ I whispered, on my second tour of duty with trays of mulled wine.

  She took a sip and gave me a cheeky wink. ‘It was but today is such a one-off that I couldn’t resist. Besides, the recipe calls for a special Yorkshire soft goat’s cheese and you can only buy it from us.’

  ‘You are one smart cookie,’ I said, chinking a glass of ruby-red mulled wine against hers.

  ‘Er, you’re the smart one,’ she retorted. ‘The Plumberry School of Comfort Food has saved Christmas; you’re going to go down in history for this. Now, leave me to concentrate please, I promised the charity I’d supply soup and I really need to get on with it.’

  Harriet was probably right. Quite simply, a day that had started so damp and miserable had turned into something incredibly special. The cookery school had become the hub of our community and I felt completely privileged to be part of it. The thought made me feel quite tearful, actually, and in need of a moment to myself. I took my glass of mulled wine and escaped downstairs and after I’d taken the dogs out to the driest edge of the car park to pay a visit, I went into the Aga kitchen with the intention of going out onto the wooden deck overlooking the river. I found Jack squatting down at the Aga prodding his turkey.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked, wishing I’d thought to bring him a glass of mulled wine.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said flatly, standing up and flipping a cloth over his shoulder. He wiped his forearm across his face. ‘I’m having a good time – considering. Being busy is the best thing for me. Christmas without my kids is hard, you know. And this year… I went to so much trouble to choose them presents I know they’ll love. I bought them things from their Christmas list, but I also went hunting for surprises too, things they wouldn’t expect. Only the last thing they’d expect is that Santa wouldn’t bring them anything at all from their old dad.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said, dredging my brains for something uplifting to say.

  The magic of Christmas for children was such a precious thing; it wasn’t as if he could phone them up and tell them the truth, that their gifts from him were here in Plumberry. But adding to the magic would be perfectly acceptable, wouldn’t it?

  ‘Jack, I’ve got an idea. What are your acting skills like …?’

  Jack chuckled as he listened to my idea to make a spoof Christmas video for his kids. My plan was that he would walk into his living room and disturb Santa who was in the process of delivering the children’s presents to his house instead of theirs. Santa would gasp with horror at his mistake and make Jack promise to make sure that Asha and Finn got their presents as soon as possible.

  ‘I know it’s a bit cheesy, but my favourite things about Christmas are cheesy,’ I said apologetically. ‘And the kids will love the film.’

  ‘It is cheesy, but they would love it,’ he said, shaking his head pensively. Then he flipped his cloth from his shoulder to the worktop. ‘Let’s do it.’

  It was the work of a moment to persuade our visitor dressed as Santa to take part and Tom offered to video it on his phone. The three of them set off for Jack’s house, leaving a very happy Annabel to look after Jack’s turkey.

  At noon, I went in search of my mobile. It would be another four hours until my lot in Canada were up and about, but I wanted Mum and Dad to know I was thinking of them as soon they woke up. Before I’d even finished sending them a text message, it began to ring. It was Mags. My heart thumped. What with everything that had been going on this morning, sorting out a lift for them so that Nora could get here safely had totally slipped my mind.

  ‘It’s no bother, chuck,’ Mags said breezily straight away. ‘We’ve got hundreds of candles, cheese and biscuits and Nora’s just cracked open the Madeira. Don’t worry about it; missing one hot dinner isn’t going to ruin our day.’

  ‘Mags Honeyford, you shall go to the ball,’ I said stoutly, ‘I’m just working on your carriage. Stand by and leave it with me. Oh, and don’t eat too much cheese, you’ll ruin your dinner.’

  ‘Ah, thanks; Dave said you wouldn’t let us down.’

  ‘Of course I won’t, now if you … um …’

  I lost the thread of the conversation and inadvertently hung up on her, because appearing at the top of the stairs was possibly the most beautiful man (Tom MacDonald notwithstanding, obviously) I’d ever clapped eyes on. And he looked lost.

  I caught his eye, smiled and walked over. He was wearing waterproofs, a knitted hat over dark wavy shoulder-length hair and he was looking uncertainly around the room.

  Wow. Up close he didn’t disappoint. He had brown skin, chiselled cheekbones, eyebrows so perfectly shaped they could have been painted on and long, long eyelashes that swept his cheeks as he blinked shyly at me.

  ‘Hi there, I’m Verity from the cookery school. Are you looking for someone?’

  ‘Would you believe, a turkey?’ He laughed to reveal a set of even pearly-white teeth. ‘We had a call earlier offering a donation of hot food but I’m afraid my morning has been crazy and I’ve forgotten the lady’s name.’

  ‘Ravi?’ Harriet barrelled up to us breathlessly, extending a hand. ‘Are you Ravi?’

  He grinned at her. She grinned back. God, I hoped he was single; I’d never seen her so fluttery.

  ‘You must be the angel,’ he said, taking her hand in both of his. ‘Thank you. So much.’

  Never had I been more tempted to grab a bunch o
f mistletoe and hold it over a couple’s heads.

  ‘This way,’ Harriet said, grabbing his arm and almost dragging him over to her oven. ‘I’ve done two big pans of soup: Brussels sprout and Stilton, and lentil and bacon. Taste!’

  She offered him spoonfuls of both and he declared them delicious. Harriet wound her hair round her fingers and giggled prettily. Simon, I thought gleefully, you are so yesterday …

  ‘Now the turkey needs a bit longer – thirty minutes, maybe?’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘So perhaps I can get you a drink and …’

  Harriet began to lead Ravi downstairs just as a thought occurred to me.

  ‘Ravi, the vicar mentioned you’ve got a vehicle that can cope with floods?’

  He nodded. ‘Land Rover. Designed for tough conditions.’

  Had I imagined it or had Harriet just uttered a dreamy sigh?

  ‘In that case,’ I said, taking his arm, ‘can I borrow you for a quick emergency mission?’

  I explained Mags and Dave’s situation, stuck at the top of Hillside Lane with an old lady who was too unsteady on her feet to navigate the flooded streets.

  He blinked his lovely eyes solemnly. ‘Of course I’ll help.’

  ‘Sorry, Harriet,’ I said over my shoulder with a wink as we headed towards the stairs. ‘Won’t be long.’

  Ravi stopped, looked back and smiled at her. ‘Harriet. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.’

  He continued on down the steps and Harriet and I raised our eyebrows at each other and grinned.

  Then she punched the air and did a little dance on the spot. I definitely hadn’t imagined that.

  It took forty-five minutes to fetch Mags, Dave and Nora, much to Harriet’s consternation. We would have been quicker than that but Nora insisted on Ravi driving back to her house first to fetch something she’d forgotten. Not that she’d tell us what it was.

  ‘My mother always taught me never to arrive anywhere empty handed,’ Nora said imperiously, clutching her large navy shopping bag to her chest in the front seat. ‘You’ll find out all in good time.’

  She was a diminutive woman with very little hair, stick-thin legs, vivid Wedgewood-blue eyes and cheery Barbie-pink lipstick.

  ‘If memory serves me correctly, Mum,’ Dave pointed out, ‘you always told me she also said it was rude to keep secrets.’

  ‘She didn’t really,’ said Nora with a throaty laugh. ‘I just told you that so I could wheedle things out of you.’

  ‘Anyway, Dave,’ said Mags, leaning across me in the back to squeeze his leg, ‘we ladies all have our secrets.’

  ‘See what I have to put up with?’ Dave said to me, pretending to roll his eyes. He wasn’t fooling me; he was head over heels in love with Mags and adored his mum.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely colour, young man, where are you from?’ Nora asked Ravi.

  ‘Mum!’ Dave pressed a hand over his eyes, mortified. ‘Sorry, Ravi.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Ravi laughed, looking at us in his rear-view mirror. ‘I’m from Liverpool, Nora.’

  Nora frowned. ‘No, I mean originally?’

  Dave sank down in his seat in horror. But thankfully, before Nora dug herself any more politically incorrect holes, we arrived back at the cookery school.

  ‘Here we are,’ I said smoothly as Ravi pulled into the flooded car park. ‘Nora, I’ve got a wheelchair just inside if—’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Nora said huffily, looking appalled. ‘Ravi will carry me, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is Ravi short for ravishing?’ she chirped as he stooped to help her out of the car.

  Mags snorted at that; it was probably just as well Dave didn’t hear.

  As Ravi gallantly carried the old lady inside, one hand on her shopping bag, the other looped around his neck, Nora caught my eye and tipped me a gleeful wink. She might be elderly, but she certainly appreciated some young male beauty.

  By now it was one o’clock, Jack, Tom and Santa were back from filming their Christmas Eve video and had brought boxes full of food from Tom’s restaurant to store in our freezers. People were starting to leave, weighed down by trays of roast vegetables, turkeys wrapped in layers of tea towels, and steaming Christmas puddings. Some of them were possibly a little merrier than ideal.

  The soup and turkey for Hot Dinners was also ready to go. Jack had carved the meat into perfect, easy-to-serve slices for turkey sandwiches and Tom and Pixie had decanted the soup into our insulated tureens. Providing Ravi had no interruptions to his journey, the food should arrive at the charity’s canteen piping hot and absolutely delicious.

  ‘This is going to beat the soggy sprouts and rock-hard potatoes we usually serve up,’ Ravi laughed as we helped load up his Land Rover.

  ‘You do this every year?’ asked Harriet, looping her long hair behind her ears and blatantly batting her eyelashes at him. ‘Don’t you miss being with your family?’

  His smile slipped a bit. ‘My family are a long way away. So I’m on my own; this way at least I’m too busy to feel lonely.’

  She bit her lip and stared at him shyly. I couldn’t look at Tom for fear of giggling: Harriet was many things but shy wasn’t one of them. I tucked my hand into the back pocket of Tom’s jeans and he pulled me in for a hug; the solid feel of him made my heart ping with happiness.

  ‘Oh, I know how you feel; I’m on my own too,’ Harriet murmured. ‘Where are your family?’

  ‘Sri Lanka.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, nodding sympathetically and touching his arm. ‘Mine are in Newcastle. I think.’

  Tom did a little snort and managed to pass it off as a cough. Harriet glared at him.

  ‘Well, I’m in awe of you, Ravi,’ I said, ‘for giving up your time for charity.’

  ‘Me too,’ added Harriet, not to be outdone.

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked embarrassed, but he did edge closer to Harriet, I noticed.

  ‘There is so much excess at Christmas,’ he said softly. ‘I find it very centring to be among those who have so little.’

  I coughed and the two of them looked at me, startled. ‘The food will be getting cold.’

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Ravi, jingling his car keys.

  ‘WAIT!’ yelled Pixie. She was running towards us, splashing through the flood water waving something in her hand.

  ‘Christmas cards for all the homeless people who come for lunch,’ she panted, holding up a wodge of our spare cookery school Christmas cards. ‘Just finished writing them.’

  ‘Brilliant idea!’ I said, beaming at her and sort of wishing I’d thought of it myself.

  ‘Tom said that the lady on the radio this morning mentioned that few of your customers would even get a card.’

  I looked at Tom who gave an embarrassed shrug. And there it was; just when I thought I couldn’t love him any more …

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ravi. ‘Quite often they are forgotten, or abandoned by their families.’

  ‘How did you address them?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘Dear friend,’ said Pixie brightly. ‘I thought it would be nice for people to think that they’ve got a friend somewhere who’s thinking about them at Christmastime.’

  There was a tiny silence then and I felt a lump in the back of my throat.

  ‘I’ll hand them out,’ cried Harriet, snatching them from Pixie’s hand. ‘If it’s all right with you, Ravi, I’d like to come and help too?’

  Ravi’s huge smile said it all. I kissed Harriet goodbye and hugged her tight.

  ‘Remember what you said this morning about your next boyfriend?’ I whispered in her ear. ‘He will be someone good and kind who puts others before himself.’

  She nodded, her eyes shining with happiness. ‘I swear there’s magic in the air at your cookery school.’

  ‘I like to think so,’ I said and grinned.

  Pixie sploshed back inside to rescue her honey-glazed roast parsnips, leaving me and Tom to wave them off. Ravi drove super
-slowly out of the car park and then Tom and I were on our own for what felt like the first time in hours.

  ‘So when you said no more roasting turkeys, I guess this wasn’t quite how you thought your day would pan out?’ I said, turning to loop my arms around his neck.

  ‘Understatement,’ he said with a grin. ‘I counted twenty-five turkeys in there at one point.’

  I winced. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ He pressed a kiss to my lips and chuckled softly. ‘One thing I’ve come to expect with you, Verity Bloom, is that life will always be full of surprises.’

  ‘And you don’t mind too much that we’re surrounded by other people?’ I said, staring into those dark brown eyes that had held me in thrall since I met him.

  ‘Not a bit,’ he murmured, smoothing his finger across my cheek.

  ‘I love you,’ I said.

  I reached up for a kiss when we were interrupted by a wolf whistle from an upstairs window.

  ‘Oi, you two lovebirds,’ Mags shouted down, ‘lunch is almost ready!’

  Tom let out a comedy sigh and pinched my bottom playfully. ‘Maybe just a little bit.’

  Between us, we carried all the food downstairs to the Aga kitchen where Mags had set the table with so many festive arrangements, candles, Christmas crackers and three sizes of wine glass each that there was barely enough room for the serving dishes. The table was groaning with delicious things: Jack’s perfectly bronzed turkey, Annabel’s sautéed sprouts with pancetta, Pixie’s roast veggies and a whole tray of my favourites – sausages wrapped in bacon. Nora had come up trumps with her tried and tested gravy recipe while we’d been helping Ravi. It smelled divine and looked amazing too, which Nora confided was due to a healthy slug of port.

  Pixie and I ran back upstairs to check all the ovens were off and I seized my chance to ask her something that had been bothering me all day.

  ‘Pixie,’ I said hesitantly, ‘won’t your family be wondering where you are?’

  ‘I am twenty-six, you know,’ she muttered darkly.

  She scrunched up a used piece of silver foil and dropped it in the bin, resolutely not looking my way.