‘What do you think of Joanna?’
Will looked thoughtful. ‘She’s very beautiful, puts me in mind of that painting, you know, the one of Ophelia in the water.’
Lydia raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed.
‘We do have art and galleries up North, too, you know!’
‘I know, but would you go for her?’ Lydia asked him.
‘You mean rather than you?’ Will asked, cutting brutally to the chase. Lydia nodded awkwardly.
‘The thing is, Lydia, both of you are spoken for. I’m not the sort of bloke who goes after a girl who’s already been taken.’ Lydia nodded, feeling rather contrite. ‘But if you were free … well, put it like this, I prefer a woman who can sit and look at the stars instead of trying to be one. Now, we’d better get inside before we both freeze to death or this boat sinks, whichever comes first.’
Chapter Ten
23 December
Stephen was gone when Lydia opened her eyes. Reaching for her watch on the bedside table, she saw that it had gone ten, and fell back onto her pillow trying to remember the last time she had slept in that late. Not even on the weekends did she get to sleep in with Stephen. He was always up and out, volunteering at the drop-in centre he supported, or attending a demonstration for or against his latest cause. And, even if there wasn’t a demo, Stephen always wanted to do something, make the best of the day; living life to the full, he called it. Once she had thought it was charming and impressive, but now, as brilliant and worthy a person as Stephen undoubtedly was, Lydia realised his relentless determination to do good above all else, including spending time with her, was exhausting.
Noticing the chill in the air, Lydia leaned over and touched the radiator. It was deathly cold again. Groaning, she grabbed whatever clothes she could reach from the confines of the bed, and dressed hurriedly under the covers. Allowing herself a minute more to catch her breath, Lydia remembered last night’s adventure with a sudden little thrill. It was impossible not to like Will, he was so real and at ease in his own skin. No uncertainty, no hang-ups or neurosis that the rest of them seemed to have in spades. Lydia could tell by the way he talked and carried himself that he was comfortable with who he was, and content with his life, keeping the secret of happiness locked behind that crooked half-smile. It didn’t hurt that he was extraordinarily handsome, either, Lydia thought idly, before stopping herself abruptly. She had already broken one of her own rules by kissing another man when she was in a relationship. Getting fantastical thoughts about a super-sexy northern builder who quite obviously only just about tolerated her was simply out of the question.
Before she could allow herself any ill-advised daydreams about anyone else, she had to talk to both Stephen and Jackson; she had to get this whole tangled mess straight again. For goodness’ sake, she was a grown woman, a barrister and an independent adult-type person. So why did she feel like staying in bed and hiding under the covers until New Year’s Day?
Lydia found the girls in the kitchen, standing at the table, staring down at whatever lay on its surface.
‘Morning all, boiler packed in again?’ Lydia asked. Alex turned to look at her before standing aside to reveal the biggest turkey Lydia had ever seen, languishing on the bare wood.
‘Holy Mother of God,’ Lydia said.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Joanna said, mischievously. ‘Alex hasn’t given birth in the night.’
‘If the baby’s that big, I’m changing my mind,’ Alex said, staring at it.
‘Bloody hell, that is massive.’ Lydia realised she was rather stating the obvious.
‘I know.’ Katy pressed her palms to her cheeks, transfixed by the corpse. ‘Bless him, the farmer just delivered it on the back of his kids’ sleigh. I ordered it in October and he said how many for, I said fifteen, and he said he’d sort it. He didn’t say anything about feeding it on radioactive waste.’
‘Still, you can never have too much turkey!’ Lydia told her, patting her on the shoulder.
‘Actually,’ Alex said, nodding at the humble little electric oven huddled in the corner, ‘it turns out that you can.’
‘It doesn’t fit in the oven?’ Lydia asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Katy wailed. ‘I’m too scared to try! I thought I’d be cooking on the Aga, not a nineteen seventies relic. Damn that bloody Aga, it’s ruined my life. I swear to God, from now on I’m only ever using a microwave.’
‘I know,’ Alex said, brightly, ‘we could burn the turkey to keep warm.’
Katy wailed again, and Alex shrugged. ‘It was a joke! What, too soon?’
Lydia repressed a smile. ‘Okay, come on, let’s just pop it in for a trial run. I know it looks gigantic, but I’m sure it’s got a bit of … give.’
With Katy taking one cold, clammy leg and wing, and Lydia the other, they approached the oven as Joanna opened its door, taking out all trays and the spare oven shelf – anything that might impede the bird’s safe entry to its destiny.
The neck and wings just about eased in, but then as they reached the pinnacle of the breast, it wedged firmly stuck. Wrinkling her nose, Lydia popped her hand inside its bottom and managed to ram it in another centimetre or two, and that was most definitely that.
‘Oh nooo,’ Katy groaned. ‘Christmas is ruined! Again!’
‘Hold your horses,’ Lydia said, washing her hands in freezing water, as she thought of Will’s wise words. ‘This isn’t over yet. We’re going to cook this mother fucker if it kills us.’
‘It probably will,’ Alex said. ‘It’s going to take ten days in an industrial oven to cook that bastard through.’
‘We can do this,’ Lydia rallied them. ‘We are smart, capable women. With jobs and banks accounts. We can get this turkey in that oven.’
‘Um, in case anyone hasn’t noticed, getting it in isn’t our immediate problem,’ Joanna said, repressing a giggle with the back of her hand. ‘Our immediate problem is getting the bastard out again.’
Katy handed round the rubber gloves, and with sleeves rolled up, they set about dislodging the bird. They tried pulling, they formed a chain and attempted a sort of tug of war with the oven, but it seemed reluctant to give up its prize, and the creature would not budge. Alex came up with the idea of using some sort of crowbar device, and so a variety of spoons and spatulas were used to attempt to lever the poor creature out, succeeding only in making it look all the more forlorn.
‘And this is why I know I can never be a lesbian,’ Joanna said, causing everybody to stop and stare at her for a second, before they began their epic battle once again.
‘Please stop attacking it,’ Alex said. ‘I feel like I should call the RSPCA, post mortem division.’
‘That’s it,’ Katy said, throwing her gloves on the floor in a gesture of defeat. ‘That’s it. I’m going to kill myself. Goodbye.’
‘I’ve got it!’ Lydia shouted.
‘What?’ Alex asked her.
‘When you moved in, we all bought you housewarming gifts, didn’t we? I got you some lovely photo frames, Alex got you that cookery book and Joanna gave you an electric carving knife that was on special offer at work.’
‘It was not on special offer,’ Joanna protested. ‘It was the end of the line. And anyway, since when has an arty farty photo frame saved Christmas?’
‘Anyway, we’ll just cut the fucker up,’ Lydia said. ‘And then we can cook it in bits for our added convenience. Where’s the knife?’
Looking nearly as forlorn as the turkey, Katy dragged a chair from under the kitchen table across the flagstones to the storage cupboard in the corner, opened the door, and climbed up on the chair. She took out a box, passing it down to Lydia. And then another box, followed by an assortment of plastic bags, and then, standing on her very tiptoes to reach right to the back of the highest shelf, she rooted around with her fingertips until she managed to edge out Joanna’s electric carving knife, still boxed and shrink wrapped.
‘Oh, I see,’ Joanna said. ‘Thanks very
much.’
‘What? I was saving it for best,’ Katy muttered, handing the knife to Lydia, who expertly de-boxed it with a bread knife.
‘You have to plug it in!’ she said, unwinding the cord.
‘Yeah, that’s why it’s called electric. It’s not magic.’
‘You couldn’t get them a cordless one?’
‘You’d still have to charge it up, whereas this way, it’s instant. It’s better.’ Joanna smiled primly. Fortunately, there was a plug next to the cooker, which looked like it might have been wired shortly after electricity was discovered, but still, taking her life into her own hands, Lydia plugged it in and put a large soup pan at her feet to catch the offcuts.
‘Turn away, Katy, you might not want to see this.’
As Lydia mercilessly lay into the bird, hacking at it with relentless brutality, while Katy buried her face in Joanna’s neck and Alex heaved in the sink, it occurred to Lydia that perhaps she was the only person in the entire world, the universe even, who at that precise moment in time was actually finding violently dismembering a turkey a welcome distraction. At last, Lydia dropped the final section into the pan, with a wet thud.
The four women stared at its remains for some time, heads bowed in respect.
‘Look at it this way,’ Joanna said finally, ‘it’s perfect for turkey stew.’
Katy started to laugh, a little chuckle at first, but then it soon evolved into hysterical gales of laughter as she bent over double, pointing at the butchered turkey. ‘I was going baste it in orange and cranberry,’ she half sobbed. ‘I was going to present it on my grandmother’s carving plate, surrounded by all the trimmings and garnished with holly, and now … now it looks like it should be Exhibit A on Crimewatch!’ They watched in horror as Katy’s laughter turned to tears, and she sank onto a chair at the kitchen table, burying her head in her arms, her shoulders heaving as she gasped in ragged breaths.
Lydia, Alex and Joanna exchanged glances.
‘Hey,’ Alex said, putting an arm around Katy’s shaking shoulders, ‘at least this has happened with us, your best friends, and not with real guests. We don’t care what the turkey looks like as long as it tastes good. And actually we don’t even care if it tastes good, as long as there is wine.’
‘But I wanted it to be … to be … perfect,’ Katy said with a hiccup. ‘I wanted just one thing about this hell-hole to be perfect, so that you’d think that … that … that everything was perfect!’
‘Everything is perfect, isn’t it?’ Lydia asked her, pulling up a chair beside her. ‘Perfectish, anyway?’
‘No!’ Katy cried, ticking off each complaint on her trembling fingers. ‘Everything’s horrible. The house isn’t at all how I wanted it, Jim’s paid too much to get things done wrong, and not saved enough for the basics like heating and hot water and a … a … kitchen with a fucking oven that works. We’ve got no bookings beyond New Year, and we’re no way ready for the ones we do have, and … and I never see Jim, he’s always swanning off doing his own thing, it’s like he’s on holiday! The kids never sleep, I feel like I never stop and … none of the mums at the village school talk to me, and I’m so lonely, I’m so, so lonely.’
‘Oh, Katy.’ Lydia took her friend’s hand, rubbing it briskly between hers. ‘I think we could all see you were a bit frazzled, but we had no idea you felt this badly.’
‘I feel like such a fool,’ Katy said, palming away the tears that wouldn’t stop now they had started. ‘This was my idea, my dream. I thought I could do it; make a go of it. But it’s a nightmare, a nightmare. I want London. I want Thursday evening Pilates and NCT coffee mornings. I hate the country!’
‘Well, you can’t go on like this,’ Alex said, grimly. ‘Where’s Jim? I’ll go and beat him up for you.’
‘Or, alternatively, you could just talk to him,’ Lydia said, carefully. ‘I mean, I know Jim can be a bit of a, well, a dick, but he loves you and the children. He’s probably just got a bit caught up in the Boy’s Own adventure of it all, and hasn’t noticed how much pressure you’re under.’
‘It’s not like he can’t handle pressure,’ Joanna said. ‘Didn’t he used to handle millions at his old job?’
‘That’s exactly it. As far as he’s concerned, he’s retired,’ Katy said. ‘This is supposed to be like a hobby, a bit of fun between trips to the pub and larking about with his new friends. He doesn’t understand that we need to make money from it, and soon, and that I need some real help from him.’
‘But you haven’t actually said any of this to him?’ Alex asked her.
‘It’s almost like I haven’t had time,’ Katy said, calmer now. ‘My feet don’t seem to touch the ground. Besides, this was my dream, my idea. I feel like I’ve failed if I go to him and say I can’t cope.’
‘Honestly, Katy, I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think they are,’ Lydia told her gently. ‘This house is stunning, and perhaps it’s not exactly how you want it yet, but what house is after, what, six months? And yes, you’ve made some mistakes. Perhaps getting a new heating system and kitchen should have come before the full-size billiard table. But, well, at least during his trips to the pub Jim has made friends with a very talented builder, who I’m sure will get it sorted for you at a reasonable price. And as for the kitchen, I know that right now you think that oven over there is your nemesis, but look at all the lovely meals you’ve cooked us since we’ve been here.’
‘Lyds is right,’ Joanna said. ‘Your trouble, darling, is that you are a perfectionist. I know because I’m one myself. You put too much pressure on yourself to be right all the time, and take it from me, that’s not just possible.’
‘Especially not in Jo’s case,’ Alex said very seriously, eliciting the ghost of a smile from Katy.
‘Look,’ Lydia said. ‘If anyone is guilty of wanting a picture book perfect Christmas, then it’s me. Most of my life, I’ve wanted to walk right onto the set of Miracle on 34th Street – you know, the original black and white version, not the sappy re-make – or It’s a Wonderful Life, and feel the magic that everyone always bangs on about.’
‘And I so wanted to be the one to give it to you, but this is more like Nightmare on Elm Street!’ Katy wailed.
‘I know, Katy, and that’s really sweet, and when Stephen and I pulled up here, I thought I’d never seen anything more beautiful than this house, all lit up in the snow. But a pretty house and a whole turkey isn’t the reason I risked life and limb to get here. I came because if there is one thing I think I’m finally learning in life, it’s that Christmas isn’t about how the turkey looks, or whether or not you can feel your toes. It’s about being with the people you love and who love you best. The sort of people you can murder a dead turkey with and laugh about it afterwards. And we are all here to help you, aren’t we, girls?’
Katy looked around as Joanna and Alex nodded.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sniffing and smiling simultaneously. ‘I do feel better just for admitting that everything isn’t exactly as I’d hoped. I really do. And I will talk to Jim, you’re right. I can’t complain about him being insensitive and stupid when the very fact that he is insensitive and stupid means he wouldn’t notice that he’s being insensitive and stupid in the first place.’
‘Exactly,’ Lydia nodded. ‘I think …’
‘Oh, Lyds, I wish I were together and strong like you. You’ve always got everything sorted. Great job, great man, no complications. You know exactly what you want and you go for it.’
‘Are you sure you are talking about flaky, incurable romantic, always impulsively foolish Lydia there and not another sensible person of the same name?’ Alex asked her.
As her friends chuckled fondly at the far more apt description, it came as more of a surprise to Lydia than anyone to find that now she was the one in tears, burying her head in her arms.
‘What?’ Katy asked her.
‘What?’ Alex demanded. ‘I was only joking!’
‘Tell them,’ Joanna nodded sage
ly. ‘Get it off your chest.’
‘You told her?’ Alex looked offended. ‘What did you tell her that you didn’t me?’
‘It’s Stephen,’ Lydia said, the words tumbling out of her before she could stop them. ‘He’s so nice and good and kind and handsome and I found an engagement ring in his sock drawer.’ There were gasps of delight and excitement from her friends. ‘But it’s no good! I want to want to marry him, more than anything, but I just don’t. I don’t even think I love him any more! I wonder if I ever did …’
With her head in her hands Lydia waited for the flood of friendly support and advice to wash over her, as it had done for Katy, but there was only silence.
‘Um,’ Katy said.
‘The thing is …’ Lydia heard Joanna say.
‘Lyds.’ Alex tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Mate.’
Lydia looked up, fearing what she was going to see even before she took her fingers away from her eyes. Stephen was standing in the doorway, and the look on his face told he’d heard every single word she’d said.
‘The boiler’s working again,’ Stephen said, the muscles in his jaw taught. ‘Will said he’d need to get a part in the New Year to fix it for good, but it will be fine for now. Right. Okay, I’ll be off, then.’
Lydia watched in shock as he grabbed his coat and marched out of the back door into the latest flurry of thick snow tumbling erratically from the sky. Then she scrambled to her feet, going after him, leaving her friends staring at each other with horrified expressions as freezing air whipped in through the door that she left gaping open. When she caught up with Stephen, he was scooping inches of snow off the Prius with his bare hands.
‘Stephen, wait,’ she said. ‘Look, look around you. You’re not going anywhere in this, especially not in that.’
‘Oh,’ Stephen said. ‘So you secretly hate the Prius too, do you? When were you planning on telling it that it was over between you? Before or after it had made an idiot of itself proposing to you in front of all your friends on Christmas Day?’
‘Oh, Stephen.’ Lydia grabbed his arms but he shook her off, tears filling his eyes.
The Night Before Christmas Page 14
