Notting Hill in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  ‘No, I’m OK, thanks.’ I shot him a look of gratitude.

  He gave me a grave nod and sat down in the chair next to me, pulling out his phone. ‘I’ll just catch up with some emails,’ he said with a surreptitious wink that none of my family could see.

  Bella came and sat down next to me. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Just tired and a bit worried. I can’t stay with Mum all the time. I do have to go to work.’ Then I remembered. ‘Oh, no –’ I turned to Nate ‘– the gingerbread house. Sorry, Nate, I’m going to have to …’ I pulled an apologetic face but, before I could finish, he touched my shoulder.

  ‘Gingerbread house?’ Bella’s eyes brightened.

  ‘Yes, I was going to help Nate’s daughter make one.’

  ‘And … you still can,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Just do it at your mum’s.’ She turned to Nate. ‘Her kitchen is huge.’ Her face lit up. ‘I could bring Ella and Rosa over. I’ve got all the stuff, so I could bring that with me.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Perfect solution. That way, no one is disappointed.’

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Cheeky minx. I could see Nate biting back a smile.

  ‘I’ve got all the sweets and all the icing tubes,’ continued Bella with blithe confidence. ‘And the boiled sweets. You don’t want to have to buy things like golden syrup and cinnamon that are going to live in your cupboard for the next ten years. What time shall I come round?’

  It seemed to take forever to sort out the discharge paperwork, involving an endless wait at the hospital pharmacy before Mum was finally released. The rest of the family were long gone but Nate insisted on waiting with us.

  ‘You really don’t have to,’ I’d whispered a couple of times but he’d simply shrugged and carried on working on his laptop while Mum complained querulously about the wait, the hospital coffee, the colour of her cast and the inefficiency of the NHS. I felt slightly embarrassed by her constant tirade, which wasn’t like her at all.

  ‘I’m sorry about Mum,’ I said while she was seeing the consultant which, hopefully, was the last hurdle.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Nate’s voice held gentle reassurance. ‘She’s in pain and clearly frustrated about being incapacitated.’ He gave me a quick grin. ‘I get the impression she’s quite independent and this has … unbalanced her.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re not kidding. She’s an indomitable old stick. Hates being told what to do and hates inactivity. This is going to drive her round the twist.’

  At last, armed with painkillers, we were able to wheel Mum across the car park to Nate’s car and he helped her up into the car.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said rather regally as she handed him her crutches. ‘This is a very nice car.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nate, closing the door on her and winking at me.

  ‘The address is …’ Mum reeled it off as Nate got into the driving seat, as if he were her own private chauffeur. ‘Do you think you can find it?’

  Nate nodded. ‘I think so.’

  ‘I don’t trust those satellite navigation systems. I can direct you far better. They always take you on the most roundabout route.’

  ‘I live on Lansdowne Road,’ he said. ‘I know the way.’

  ‘Do you?’ Mum looked impressed as she arranged herself in the front seat, sitting with her handbag on her lap, looking all around her with some satisfaction.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nate, starting up the car.

  ‘So what is it you do?’ asked Mum, eyeing the posh dashboard which in comparison to her trusty Fiesta probably looked like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.

  ‘I’m a lawyer.’

  ‘You’re a lawyer?’ asked Mum, looking over her shoulder at me with a decided smirk before asking,’ Where did you do your degree?’

  ‘I went to Warwick.’

  ‘Very good university. Well done.’

  He might have got the golden ticket of approval from Mum, but I winced. Another bloody solicitor. What was it about me that brought them out of the woodwork?

  Nate caught me frowning in the rear-view mirror and looked a little nonplussed.

  ‘Viola has a problem with lawyers. Her last boyfriend was a lawyer as well,’ explained Mum helpfully.

  ‘Some of us are OK,’ said Nate, equally helpfully.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I growled to Mum, sending her a warning look which of course she chose to ignore and she gave me another one of her blithe, have-I-done-something-wrong looks, when she knew full well the boyfriend comment had been pushy.

  Mum turned around and gave me an appraising stare, followed by a very unsubtle nod of approval.

  Thankfully she didn’t make any more observations before Nate pulled up outside the front doors. I hopped out and he came round the car to open Mum’s door.

  ‘Is it OK if I drop you here? I need to get back to pick Grace up,’ he said, looking at his watch.

  ‘Oh, God, yes. I’m so grateful that you’ve brought us home.’

  ‘I meant will you be all right getting upstairs?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a lift and you’ve done more than enough today. I’m really grateful.’

  ‘It’s OK. I got some work done. And I’m glad I was able to help.’ His eyes met mine and there was sympathy in them. ‘Your mum’s quite a character.’

  ‘They all are.’ I sighed. ‘And just a bit … bossy.’

  He raised a sceptical eyebrow before asking, ‘Are you sure it’s OK for Grace and me to come tomorrow? You’re going to have enough on your plate looking after your mum. We can take a rain check.’

  ‘I don’t want to disappoint Grace.’

  ‘I think, under the circumstances, she’ll understand. I’ll explain to her and we can rearrange it for another day.’

  I laid a hand on his forearm. ‘No. Don’t. It will be fine. Mum will shut herself in her study. I promise you she’ll be oblivious and Bella’s bringing her kids over, so I’m going to be making a gingerbread house anyway.’

  ‘You could put her off.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. Honestly. It will give me something to do.’

  Mum rapped on the window and I opened the door.

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.’ She handed me her handbag and held out her arm to Nate.

  He winked at me and helped her down from the car.

  ‘Thank you very much young man for bringing me home. Much more pleasant than some unsavoury taxi. And you’re easier on the eye than most of the drivers.’ She turned to me. ‘Viola, I’m thinking roast chicken for dinner tomorrow. Would your young man and his daughter like to stay for dinner?’ She turned back to Nate. ‘Viola does make wonderful Yorkshire puddings and a very nice gravy.’

  Nate’s lips twitched as he said gravely. ‘I am rather partial to Yorkshire puddings and gravy. That sounds lovely. I’m not one to turn down a decent meal and I haven’t had a nice roast for a long time.’ We shared a look and I wondered if he too was remembering this morning’s eggs and bacon.

  Mum’s less than subtle attempt at matchmaking was positively medieval but then that was her specialist subject.

  *

  ‘Phyllis, you’re home!’ Ursula’s door flew open. ‘Oh, my goodness, look at you. You poor thing. It was broken – I told John it was. I didn’t like the look of it. You’re so brave, Phyllis. I knew it was bad. I knew it.’ Ursula flapped her hands and tweeted like a small agitated sparrow from the doorway of the apartment across the hall, standing in her pale blue fluffy mules.

  ‘Yes. Broken,’ agreed Mum brusquely. ‘But I’ve got a cast. Off in six weeks.’

  ‘Well, if there’s anything I can do, you just let me know. I was saying to John, because I just knew it was broken, that we should think about setting up some sort of bell system, that you could ring if you need anything. And for emergencies in the future. I mean, none of us are getting any younger.’

  ‘I believe we have mobile phones,’ said my mother, swinging her way to the front door with
a sudden burst of speed. ‘Viola?’

  I sprang forward with the front door key.

  ‘Well, you know where I am. You’ve got my number. Perhaps you’d like to come over for dinner. Cooking with those things … it’s going to be mighty difficult.’ Ursula let out a small twittering noise and I saw Mum wince.

  I settled Mum in an armchair by the window and spent the next hour rearranging the furniture to her satisfaction. On her right hand side she was now within easy reach of a high-legged plant stand, which was the perfect height for her cup of tea, mobile phone and bottle of water. To her left was the desk that she’d insisted that I brought through from the study, so that she had complete access to her pens, pencils, paperclips, diary and various folders of research notes. She was currently writing a paper on Margaret of Anjou and a broken leg certainly wasn’t going to slow her down; she was already busy tapping away at her laptop as I huffed and puffed, moving furniture.

  ‘Do you want anything to eat?’ I asked.

  It took her a full minute to look up from her laptop, before she peered over her half-moon glasses at me. She really did look like the quintessential academic.

  ‘No, dear. But you’d better pop down to Waitrose to get a chicken for tomorrow.’ Her eyes suddenly twinkled at me before she added, ‘He’s a very handsome young man. Intelligent too.’

  I laughed. Mum would say that.

  Chapter 10

  The bell on the intercom rang at exactly two o’clock and I buzzed Nate up. When the lift doors opened I saw Grace clinging to her dad’s hand, hopping up and down.

  It hit again, like seeing him for the first time, as he took the first stride out of the lift, that flutter of interest just beneath my breastbone, along with a little hitch in my breath. There was something about him that ticked all my boxes, although, being logical, how could you fancy someone just because of their jawline and the way they walk?

  ‘’lo, Viola,’ called Grace, letting go of her dad’s hand as she rushed forward, waving with a bunch of flowers in her hand. ‘These are for you because you’re the host and you’re making Yorkshire puddings and chicken. Will there be pudding? I like ice cream.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m not sure.’ I hadn’t even thought about dessert. ‘Perhaps after you’ve made the gingerbread, you might not want pudding.’

  ‘Are we really going to make a house? A proper one with icing and a roof. Mummy always made ours. I wasn’t allowed to help because I’d get in the way. It probably won’t look very good if I make it.’ She scrunched her little face into a frown. ‘And will it have sweeties on it?’

  I smiled at her. It made my mad dash over to Bella’s first thing this morning to collect gingerbread essentials worthwhile. Of course when I was relying on her to make this easier, she’d gone and cancelled on me.

  Without thinking, I crouched down in front of Grace, wanting to rub away the deep groove between her fine eyebrows. ‘It doesn’t matter what it looks like, it’s what it tastes like and we’ve got lots of lovely things to stick on, so it’s going to taste delicious.’ I stood up and took her hand and waited for Nate to catch up.

  There was sadness in his eyes as they dwelled on Grace for a second. When he looked up at me I gave him a gentle smile and our gazes held for a wordless moment although plenty was said.

  ‘Hi, Viola, I brought wine as well.’ He held out a bottle.

  ‘Thank you, that’s nice of you. Come on in.’

  After taking their damp coats, hats and scarves and hanging them up, I took them through to the lounge where Mum was already buried in her work and we literally had to stand and wait for her to refocus on real life again.

  ‘Mum, this is Grace.’

  She looked up over her glasses. ‘Ah, the gingerbread crew. Welcome, Grace. Sorry if I don’t get up. Viola probably told you I had a bit of an accident.’

  ‘I like the purple,’ said Grace almost reverentially, reaching out to touch Mum’s cast.

  ‘Yes. It’s very regal. That’s why I chose it. Do you know what regal means?’

  Grace shook her head.

  ‘It’s like royal. Fit for a princess or a prince or a king or a queen.’

  ‘I thought pink was a princess colour.’ I hid a grin. Once again Grace was dressed from head to foot in pink: pink jeans, pink hairband and a pink sweatshirt with a big white bear on the front.

  Mum tilted her head to one side, considering the implications of Grace’s statement for a moment. ‘Well, it can be but purple came first. It was associated with the imperial classes of Rome, Egypt and Persia because only the very wealthy could afford the dye, Tyrian purple, which was traded by the Phoenicians. It came from a sea snail, Bolinus brandaris, which was so rare that it was worth its weight in gold. In fact one …’

  Grace’s mouth dropped open. I think she was too bamboozled to make one of her usual incisive little comments.

  ‘That’s fascinating, Mrs Smith. Are you a historian, by any chance?’ Nate’s eyes slid to the bookshelves which filled the entire wall.

  ‘It’s Dr Smith but yes, I am. Are you interested in history?’ You could see Mum straightening and taking proper notice now at the prospect of a willing victim.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nate. ‘I did a degree in history before I did my law conversion course.’

  ‘I’m going to get our guests a drink,’ I interrupted. ‘Would you like anything?’

  ‘Not just at the moment. Nice to meet you, young lady, and you again, sir.’ Mum nodded in quick dismissal and went back to her laptop screen.

  A dimple appeared in Nate’s cheek and there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes as he turned to me.

  I led the way through the apartment, which had been built in the thirties when rooms were spacious and the layout spread out. Now a property developer would have divided up the same space into three flats. Crossing the large hallway, we went into a big square kitchen. It had been modernised a couple of years ago and now boasted a large central island which was absolutely perfect for communal baking.

  ‘I thought I’d get a head start and I made the walls and roof of the house this morning,’ I said to Grace. Her brow puckered.

  ‘But I saved you a little bit of dough so you could make some gingerbread decorations to hang on the tree.’ I showed the cutters that I’d borrowed from Bella. ‘I’m afraid my cousin and her two daughters were supposed to come over but they … were invited to the cinema.’

  Or rather the girls were and Bella had accepted so that she could have an afternoon to herself to do some Christmas shopping.

  ‘Are they going to see Frozen II? I’ve seen it three times now.’ A calculating look crossed her face. ‘Have you seen it?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You could come with me,’ she offered. ‘Couldn’t she, Daddy?’

  Nate did a very bad job of hiding his laughter. ‘But haven’t you’ve seen it … three times already?’

  Lifting her chin, she regarded me with, from a seven-year-old, terrifying lofty superiority. ‘You can never see Frozen too many times.’

  ‘I’ll check my diary,’ I said.

  ‘Can we make Olaf and Sven decorations?’ she asked.

  Luckily I was clued up on the original Frozen. ‘Yes, we’ve got a snowman and a reindeer cutter.’

  ‘And we can hang them on the tree?’ Grace’s face lit up with wonder as she turned to her dad.

  ‘You have to put a little bit of ribbon through, but yes,’ I said, surprised by her wide-eyed disbelief.

  ‘Can I, Daddy?’ she asked. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ He nodded and the words sounded like a declaration or a promise. There clearly was something in the exchange that I was missing.

  ‘I think we’d better put an apron on; we don’t want your lovely bear to get all messed up, do we?’

  Grace giggled and shook her head as I put on the tiny apron, borrowed from Bella.

  ‘Here are the walls and roof pieces for our house,’ I said as I helped Grace hop up onto one of
the stools at the island so that she could see properly. ‘I had to make them this morning because they needed to cool before you can start doing the fun stuff.’ I paused and pointed to the tray full of coloured icing tubes, Smarties, chocolate buttons, a bowl of royal icing and a packet of chocolate fingers. ‘The decorating.’

  Grace stretched out a tentative finger to touch one of the walls on the cooling trays. ‘And I can help?’ she asked in a high-pitched hopeful voice.

  ‘Well, I hope you will. This is your house.’

  ‘And I can stick things on?’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s your house – you can do whatever you like. I’ve got some suggestions but you decide.’

  She heaved a heavy sigh and sat with her hands clasped together over her heart, her eyes scanning the counter top.

  ‘OK, first up is the roof. I thought the chocolate buttons would make good roof tiles. What do you think?’

  Grace nodded. I dribbled three careful tramlines of royal icing along the surface of the gingerbread and then showed Grace how to stick on the chocolate buttons in small neat rows.

  ‘You have to help, Daddy, so that you know how to do it next time,’ said Grace.

  Nate moved to stand next to her, pulling off his black cashmere sweater to reveal a black T-shirt with some minimalist design of grey and white on it which didn’t distract the eye from the way it clung rather nicely to his body.

  ‘Do you want an apron?’ I asked, rather conscious of his broad chest, hastily lifting my gaze to his eyes. ‘It’s going to be a bit of an icing sugar fest. You don’t want to get icing all over.’ I nodded my head downwards, resolutely keeping my eyes fixed above his collarbone.

  His mouth twitched but he kept his gaze on mine.

  Busted. I could feel my cheeks heating. But, with a body like that, he was probably used to it. Until now, I hadn’t quite appreciated his build: big, broad-shouldered, masculine. Very masculine. That was the dead of winter for you – everyone was always bundled up.

  I wondered for a minute whether he’d see me in a different light today, minus Mafia accessories. I’d tried to make some effort today, without it looking as if I’d made any at all. That barely-there make-up, that actually takes ages to achieve, and my favourite jeans that fit really well and a floaty red blouse that hints at cleavage without being too obvious.