by Sue Watson
19
Turkey , Tinsel and a Televisual Feast
A little later, Bella and I were alone in the dining hall, lighting the candles and doing last minute, finishing touches before everyone arrived.
‘Bella, this time together, it’s been important to me,’ I said. ‘I feel like I’ve come through a snowstorm, but it was necessary, to come out the other end.’
‘I know… and we have a lot of time to make up for – we’ll see each other now, won’t we?’
‘I hope so,’ I nodded, knowing that we both meant it now, but who knew what the future would bring. ‘Bella, telling your mother…’
‘Leave it, we don’t have to go over it again… we both know you meant well.’
‘Mmmm that’s the thing. I don’t know if I did and that’s what kills me. Were my motives good? Yes, but not selfless, there was a part of me that thought if you had the baby, I’d lose you. We had plans, you and I, for the following summer and the baby scuppered everything. All these years I’ve felt guilty and questioned if that’s why I went to your mother… perhaps I wanted you to have an abortion too…’
‘We were both kids, Amy. Neither of us knew what to do and nor will any of us ever know why we do the things we do when we’re young – it’s like another life. I’m just glad I found some strength somewhere inside to fight for my baby and stop trying to please my mum. I was always seeking her attention, her approval, but having Cressy liberated me – I didn’t need Jean anymore.’
‘You didn’t need me either.’
‘Perhaps not, for a while – I had to plough my own furrow… but, Ames, I need you now.’
‘Me too… I’m a bit scared about what’s going to happen next, but that’s good isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Yeah… and me. I’ve got some talking to do – to my husband, my agent and the bloody press. To think I never saw the irony of criticising my own mother for worrying what the neighbours thought, when I’ve spent the last twenty years worrying what the bloody nation will think.’
I smiled. ‘We’re more like our mothers than we think.’
I could hear carol singers outside singing ‘Silent Night’, my mother’s favourite Christmas hymn – she’d hum it all Christmas while she floured pastry and kneaded dough. I looked across at Bella now sitting opposite me at the table, black mascara tears running down her cheeks causing cracks in her immaculately made-up face. But she wasn’t calling for Billy and his bag of tricks as she would have done a few days ago. This was the real Bella, her tears were real and she was finally facing her own truth.
‘Amy, you said you felt bad about not being there for me when I had Cressy, but I wasn’t there for you. I left home and I left you and I started a new life – I wasn’t there for your wedding, or your kids – your best friend but never there for the moments of your life a friend should be,’ her voice cracked with emotion.
‘Yes, I could have done with you on my wedding day asking me if I was sure I wanted to go through with it,’ I smiled.
‘Sorry, you didn’t have your mum there either.’
‘I wouldn’t have listened… it was my wedding day and I only wanted good things, that’s been the problem ever since. I refused to hear the voice in my head telling me we weren’t right for each other…’
‘That voice was probably your mum’s – she knew everything, didn’t she?’ Bella was smiling at her memory. ‘I feel terrible about the recipes… I did steal them, technically – of course I did, they aren’t mine to publish. As I told you, I just didn’t see it in those terms, they all represented such lovely memories for me, for us… the gingerbread houses and the Christmas brownies… Rudolph the Red Nose Brownies we called them,’ she smiled wistfully.
‘Yeah… Mum put dried cranberries in the brownie batter and we said they were Rudolph’s noses.’
‘Mmm, I loved the way the sourness of the cranberries bit into the rich sweetness of that fudgy icing.’
‘Bella, you must really have loved those brownies… I’ve never heard you say anything quite so descriptive without an autocue,’ I joked.
‘You’d be surprised what I’m capable of if I feel passionate enough about it,’ she smiled. ‘And I was passionate about your mum’s Christmas brownies… I would get the home economist to bake them every Christmas and Cressy and I would share them watching “Miracle of 34th Street”… just me and my girl and a batch of your mum’s brownies… that’s what Christmas is all about for me.’
It was almost time to serve dinner and despite Fliss running round the kitchen barefoot demanding ‘a Scotch, dahling – for my nerves’, and Tim shouting, ‘this will be the televisual version of “It’s a Wonderful Life”, the rest of us were working hard. Bella had really pulled it out of the bag and with Beatrice’s guidance had produced several large trays of wonderfully light mince pies and gravy to die for.
‘Bella, that’s gorgeous,’ I said, sampling the rich brown, meaty liquor again and again.
‘Before we start filming and I forget, I’m thinking of making some changes to the programme in the New Year. I’ll tell you all about it once I’ve spoken with Fliss and we have Tim and the TV company on board.’
‘Baking is just so therapeutic,’ I said as we lifted tray after tray of warm mince pies from the oven. ‘Honestly, after a day of battling Year Ten I find there’s nothing more calming than coming home and baking a cake.’
‘Yes, I can see how that would work,’ she smiled, ‘and my New Year’s resolution will be to bake again, and devise some of my own recipes rather than using other people’s.’
At 3.30p.m. exactly we were all ready in the kitchen, and thanks to Beatrice it was a military operation. Tim went into his van in the car park where the outside broadcast unit was now housed and the cameramen, including Mike - who’d been giving me secret smiles all morning - were all ready for the signal.
The dining hall looked amazing, fairylights lit, Sylvia’s table runners shimmering and twinkling tea lights in jam jars clustered on all the tables. Mike filmed me doing a quick demo on the silver foil crackers and we flirted shamelessly. Crimson had directed Beatrice and Bella in making festive paper lanterns with remnants of coloured paper and string. ‘Just like home,’ Beatrice smiled as they strung the lanterns along the walls. ‘You can buy paper lanterns too,’ added Bella, ‘if you don’t have the time and you’re busy, large department stores also stock paper lanterns – but you will have to put them up yourselves,’ she smiled, like that might be an issue. I could see the way Crimson hung the decorations, set the tables and positioned the jam jars in little clusters that she had a genuine eye for style and Beatrice was impressed too. ‘Clever daughter you got there, Missy,’ she nodded, and Bella glowed with pride. Now the secret has been outed (at least in St Swithin’s) it seemed to have taken a weight off both Bella and Crimson’s shoulders. Bella was especially enjoying being around her daughter naturally, openly hugging her and praising her in front of everyone else.
Just before filming started and we stood and admired the finished dining hall, Beatrice looked at Bella; ‘And there’s me thinking you Miss High and Mighty – girl, you worked hard as me today,’ she smiled. A compliment indeed coming from no-nonsense Beatrice – and Bella glowed again – she’d gained a daughter and a mother today.
A couple of researchers had appeared with mics and headphones so Tim could communicate with us, and Bella and I were fitted with talkback so Jody the live producer – or most likely Fliss – could talk to us while we were on air. As I wasn’t used to talkback – which involved someone speaking to you in one ear while you talked at the same time – I was hoping there would be no need for any communication.
‘You know what we have to do, don’t you?’ Bella said, as the titles rolled.
‘Be ourselves?’ I said.
‘Exactly… bitch,’ she said with a smile.
So for the next sixty minutes we were filmed serving lunch. This was interspersed on air with pre-recorded segments of the morni
ng’s preparations – Beatrice, Crimson and Bella making mince pies, me demonstrating a cheap alternative to Bella’s usual stuffing and lots of lovely bits with Sylvia and the residents decorating the hall.
As we produced huge, plated Christmas dinners smothered in gravy, studded with roast potatoes, stuffing and sprouts – the sheer joy on the faces of the diners was a delight. Their happiness was infectious and like them I just couldn’t keep the smile from my face, after everything - this was what it had all been about.
Bella, Crimson, Sylvia, Beatrice and I were in a conveyor belt in the kitchen, dishing up and passing each plate along and singing Christmas songs. Mike kept stopping us as we served so he could film each perfect dish, saying he and the other cameramen had so many options of lovely close-ups of food and smiling faces they were in cameraman-heaven. Then Bella did a piece to camera about how this was her best Christmas and I really believed her. ‘I’m missing the champagne and organic bird but I’m loving the taste of this frozen one,’ she said. I pointed out that it was as good as any organic, corn-fed, hot-housed educated bird and an argument ensued about succulence and taste. All the time Fliss was in my ear saying ‘Bella’s talking absolute rubbish!’ This caused me to instinctively repeat this and randomly shout ‘rubbish!’ at Bella. I later learned that Fliss was doing the exact same thing to Bella and shouting insults about me and ridiculing what I was saying so Bella would react. Regardless, it was all part of the fun and we both loved it. Even when Maisie and Stanley were introduced as the judges of the ‘Figgy Christmas Bake Off’ we didn’t get too competitive. And when Maisie chose Bella’s pudding and Stanley chose mine we were very sporting about it, though privately Bella said she’d won really because Maisie’s palette was ‘posher.’
‘Ames, you never had any taste,’ I won the bake off and your loser pudding lost,’ she was teasing towards the end of the show.
‘Go on… say something,’ she said, clutching her figgy pudding in one hand and embracing Maisie with the other. But before I could have a go back, Stanley set off singing; ‘I’ve got a crush on you…’ we both started giggling.
‘Happy Christmas and vive la difference,’ Bella said, hugging me.
I hugged her back as the cameras whirred and she whispered in my ear, ‘Love you, Ames. Happy Christmas.’ It had all been so choreographed until then but Bella’s warmth was genuine.
‘You too, love,’ I whispered.
‘So thank you for joining us here at St Swithin’s Hostel on this fabulous Christmas Day,’ Bella was talking straight to camera now, reading the autocue for the final thirty seconds. ‘I want to thank everyone here – from helpers, volunteers and, of course, the diners, who have been so appreciative of this very special lunch – and such fabulous company. But most of all I want to thank my friend Amy, who made all this possible. She won the competition to have a Christmas lunch of a lifetime made by me – and chose to donate it to St Swithin’s and the poor folk who needed it far more than she does… and that’s what Christmas is all about. Thank you Amy,’ she smiled and started to clap me, followed by everyone else in the hall, and Sylvia started singing ‘Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, joined by the rest of the diners. My eyes were blurred with tears – I looked at Bella and she put one arm round me, the other around her daughter – and to my surprise I could see Crimson crying too… was this another Christmas miracle?
20
The First Christmas of the Rest of your Life
Later, when all the residents had finished, the staff, TV people and volunteers sat down together to Christmas lunch. We pulled tinfoil crackers and Bella made a hat from her napkin and put it on, causing roars of laughter from Fliss – who’d apparently found a teensy weensy bit of Scotch, probably from Stanley. We all cleared up then and as no one wanted the day to end, I invited everyone round to my house. ‘Oh yes that would be wonderful,’ Bella sighed; ‘Let’s make this Christmas go on and on.’
‘It’s nothing like Dovecote, darlings,’ I said in a Tim-voice, ‘it’s just a semi in suburbia, but everyone’s welcome, I have wine in the fridge and Christmas cake, but little else.’
‘No worries,’ Fliss said. ‘I brought champagne supplies and a couple of hampers that were sitting around at Dovecote, I was going to take them to the B and B, but let’s open them up back at yours.’
Tim said he’d drive me, Fliss, Crimson, Bella and Beatrice, and as Fliss and Tim moved champagne crates around in his car to make room for passengers Bella and I gathered our coats and headed out of the kitchen. Mike was just packing all his camera gear away and walking through into the dining hall and I asked if he was coming back to mine with everyone else.
‘I’d love to, thanks,’ he nodded. And my heart soared.
‘Amy,’ Bella suddenly said, holding my elbow as Mike walked away, ‘will you stop looking at his bum and come over here a minute with me.’ She guided me through to a table in the now empty dining hall.
‘I was going to give this to you later,’ she said, ‘but looks like there will be quite a few people at yours and I don’t want an audience.’ She awkwardly thrust a beautifully wrapped gift into my hand.
I felt terrible, I hadn’t even considered buying her a gift. ‘Oh Bella, I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect… I haven’t bought you anything,’ I said.
‘It’s not a Christmas gift… well, perhaps it is, but not like that,’ she said. ‘Open it.’
I stood in the hallway struggling to open the parcel and she took my bag and coat off me to help, something the old Bella would have done.
As I undid the wrapping, I could feel it was a book and as the wrapping fell to the ground, the cover was revealed. It was Bella’s Christmas cookbook. I looked up, puzzled, had she simply wrapped up her book to give to me? I wasn’t sure how to take that.
‘Your book, how… lovely,’ I said, unconvincingly.
‘It’s not just my book, look at it properly, Ames you daft cow,’ she commanded, reverting to a teenage phrase I’d heard Bella use so often.
I took the book completely from the wrapping and realised the title had been changed, it had been ‘My Mother’s Christmas Table’ and now it was ‘A Mother’s Christmas Table… a book by Bella Bradley, with recipes by Eleanor Brown.’ My mother’s name. I felt tears pricking my eyes, Mum would have been so proud.
‘Now open it,’ she said, like an excited child.
Inside the jacket was a message which read
To Eleanor and Amy,
For all the times I sat at your table and the hours I spent in your kitchen tasting love and happiness,
Thank you for a lifetime of memories,
Love always,
Bella
‘Do you like it?’
I was stunned, my throat was hot with tears.
Bella was beaming, holding onto my arm. ‘That’s why Fliss and I were late getting here yesterday morning – I made her go to the printers and get this done… they weren’t happy printing it on Christmas Eve but Fliss paid extra – it was worth it. I know it’s a bit late and we’ve sold thousands already, but Fliss has sorted it with the publishers and the next print run will be like this – with your mum’s name and everything. We’re also donating a big chunk of the proceeds of the book to a homeless charity, it just seems… appropriate doesn’t it?’
I nodded, unable to speak.
‘Hopefully the book will sell again every Christmas – and each year your mum’s recipes will teach a new generation of bakers,’ she said, putting her arm around me.
I didn’t know what to say, this was more than I’d ever hoped for and I knew if Mum were here she would have been so delighted. It wasn’t just about the recipes, it was an acknowledgement of the part she’d played in Bella’s childhood, in her life. And the gift of love she had given to a little girl who wasn’t even her own.
I started to cry.
‘Oh stop that. Come on, let’s get to yours and drink that champagne, you daft cow,’ she said. ‘You do have crystal flutes in
your little semi don’t you darling – if not I’m going home,’ she linked arms with me to Tim’s car where we laughed through tears all the way to my house.
When we got back, we opened Bella’s posh hamper which contained lovely luxuries that were pointless on their own. But we ate the olive biscuits and the chocolate mints and the jar of cherries in kirsch as well as Christmas cake and Beatrice’s Jamaican rum cake and we drank champagne.
‘Here’s to two kinds of Christmas cake,’ I said, raising my glass when we’d all run out of drunken toasts.
‘Yes, and here’s to two kinds of women, both friends, both very different, with their own ideas on food. But I’m the one who’s always right,’ Bella laughed and we all joined in.
‘That’s enough, ladies,’ Crimson shouted, before I could retaliate. ‘I need to get my mum home – it’s very late, we’ve got “Miracle on 34th Street” to watch, and a batch of Rudolph brownies to consume.’ She gave me an awkward hug, grabbed Bella’s arm and they walked together to the car waiting to take them back to Dovecote.
‘I’ll call you,’ Bella said when we hugged goodbye.
I smiled and nodded, finally feeling good about our friendship.
I turned to go back indoors to an empty house, but when I walked there was one guest remaining… Mike.
Epilogue
‘You can NOT use cheap ham,’ she yells across the kitchen.
‘I would rather buy a small car than spend the same amount of money on your snobby, overhyped Iberico,’ I spit back.
‘Don’t forget you’re only a guest on my show… remember the line, viewers,’ she looks straight into the camera to deliver the show’s catchphrase, ‘Amy is for Christmas, not for life.’ This is followed by her tinkling laugh.
‘Very funny,’ I snap, taking out a supermarket frozen turkey and slapping it on the marble work surface.
