by Jules Wake
‘I’ll be OK,’ said Nate with another one of those amused smiles as he leaned forward to help Grace select a few chocolate buttons. I’d forgotten the flipping question. Apron. That was it.
I stepped back to watch the two of them, one dark and one blonde head bent together as they carefully applied the sweets. The tip of Grace’s tongue poked out as she concentrated hard.
‘While you two are doing that I’ll open the chocolate fingers. They’re going to be the logs on the back and side walls of the house, because this is a log cabin style.
‘I like chocolate fingers,’ said Grace, her small fingers slipping a chocolate button in her mouth with the quickness of a lively squirrel.
‘And chocolate buttons, I think,’ I said with a smile.
Her eyes darted away with guilt.
‘It’s all right; it’s very important that you check the quality of the ingredients.’ I took a chocolate button and popped it into my mouth. ‘Mmm, my favourites.’
Nate took one as well. ‘These are good ones.’
Grace’s shoulders relaxed as she picked up another button and popped it into her mouth with a little, ‘Mmm.’
Grace and I left Nate to do the rest of the roof panels while we started sticking the chocolate fingers to the walls. It was actually quite repetitive and laborious, but Grace was very diligent and precise, almost a little too determined for everything to be perfect, but the overall effect was evident very quickly.
‘We could put a bit of snow on the roof,’ I said, handing Grace one of the small icing tubes.
‘What, me?’ she asked, shaking her head and refusing to touch the small tube. ‘I might make a mess.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘It’s your house, and I always think it looks a bit better if it’s not perfect. Anyone can make a perfect cake or a perfect gingerbread house, but that’s boring; how will anyone know that this is the house that Grace built, unless it has a personal touch?
‘OK,’ said Grace, radiating suspicion as she took the tube from me, looking a little fearful. ‘But what if I do make a bad mess?’
‘Well, if you’re really not happy we can scrape the icing off with a knife and start again.’ I paused and winked at her, my heart pinching a little at the worried expression on her upturned face. ‘Or we can blame Daddy.’
Grace let out a delighted laugh. ‘OK.’ With her tongue poking out between her lips, she squeezed the tube and with painful slowness put tiny smears of white icing on the small brown discs.
‘Thank you,’ mouthed Nate over her head, with heartfelt gratitude.
For a moment I felt like he’d handed me some big prize as I smiled back at him.
I’d deliberately kept the design simple because I’d discovered over the years of Bella and Tina’s overweening ambition that when it comes to decoration, less is most definitely more. The fancy little white lines of piping around the doors and windows in all the pictures look fabulous but, unless you have serious Bake Off skills, they are almost impossible to achieve. I always found that the little lines of icing from the tubes tended to curl up away from the gingerbread like caterpillars with a life of their own. My strategy of sticking things on seemed to work best and created the best effect and was by far the easiest way to make the outside of the house look good.
‘And now if we attach Smarties around the door they’ll look like coloured fairy lights.’ I put blobs of icing round the doorway in readiness for Grace to stick the Smarties on. I’d already pre-selected the green and red ones in advance, to give the correct festive feel and also to make it seem less prescriptive. Despite trying to reassure her, I could see that it was really important to Grace that this house looked good. If it turned out too wonky, too messy or too untidy, I knew it would be a disappointment to her, although she’d probably never breathe a word.
‘Almost there,’ I said as she applied the last of the Smarties to the doorway. ‘This is going to look ace.’
‘When can we stick it together?’ asked Grace.
‘Well, it’s best to let the icing set so that nothing falls off. I usually leave it overnight in an airtight container. I’ll give you some icing to take home and maybe you and Svetlana …’ I looked at Nate; I didn’t know if she was due back or not this weekend ‘… or Daddy can glue it together tomorrow after school.’
‘Svetlana’s due back tomorrow morning,’ said Nate, adding with a naughty grin, ‘I’m sure she’ll be able to help.
‘Chicken,’ I teased.
Grace looked up at her dad, an anxious line appearing above her wrinkled nose again, and he pulled a worried face. ‘What if it breaks?’
‘It shouldn’t if you’re very careful. With all the icing and decoration it will be quite strong. And if it does the icing is just like glue, you can stick it back together.’ I was deliberately upbeat and enthusiastic and then felt guilty because it could go horribly wrong and I couldn’t bear the thought of Grace being so disappointed.
Her mouth folded into a mutinous line. ‘Can’t you come?’
‘I’m working tomorrow night in the theatre …’ the sight of her immediate quiet resignation tweaked my heart and I felt a little ache for her ‘… but I could pop round after school, if it’s all right with Daddy.’
He shot me a grateful smile. ‘That would be great. You seem to be an expert. And I’d hate all this hard work to be ruined by my inadequacy.’
‘Yes, Daddy, you’re not very good in the kitchen.’ Grace put a hand to her mouth and whispered, ‘He burns lots of things, not just bacon.’
‘Oh, dear,’ I said.
‘Thanks, Grace, you’re doing a great PR job for me.’
‘I don’t know what that means,’ she said, surreptitiously palming a chocolate finger under the table onto her lap.
‘It means that you’re telling Viola all my bad habits instead of my good ones.’
She scrunched up her face. ‘He’s very good at kissing.’
‘I-is he?’ I asked. Nate and I immediately looked at each other. It should have been funny, but somehow neither of us seemed to be able to laugh it off. Instead there was an awkward pause like a bump in the road.
‘And cuddles. When I’m feeling sad, he kisses my nose.’
God, this child was going to finish me off.
Nate came over to Grace, touched the tip of her nose before bending to kiss it and then took the chocolate finger she’d secreted on her lap and offered it to her.
She bit at it, giving him an adoring grin. ‘I love you, Daddy.’
Mascara warning. I blinked my eyes.
‘And I love you too, sweetie.’
‘Who loves you?’ asked Grace, turning to me, waving half her chocolate finger at me, her own fingers smeared with chocolate and icing sugar.
‘Lots of people,’ I said with a big smile, feeling stupidly envious. The love Nate had for his daughter filled the room, the pure emotion almost tangible. I wanted that. Mum and Dad loved me, of course they did, they just weren’t into displays of affection like this. They were practical, sensible people. They didn’t need to say it for me to know … but I guess everyone likes to hear the words sometimes.
Nate caught my eye again and he gave me a piercing stare. God, was he some kind of mind-reader or something? He had a real talent for reading me.
And I was getting melancholy and silly, which wasn’t me at all.
‘Right, I think we’re nearly done. We’ll tidy up and then you can help me lay the table. That chicken is starting to smell delicious and I need to make gravy and put the Yorkshires in.’
‘Can I do anything?’ asked Nate.
‘You could just check and see if Mum needs anything, if you don’t mind. And you could open the wine. She’ll probably love a glass. You brought a good one. She’s rather partial to a Chablis.’ For some reason I felt a little teary, which was ridiculous and silly and stupid. I turned my back on the pair of them under the pretext of filling up the washing-up bowl.
‘And what are you p
artial to?’ asked Nate. ‘The wine is for you.’
‘That’s a lovely one.’
‘Yes, but what’s your favourite?’
‘I like a red, a fruity Cabernet Sauvignon.’
‘I’ll remember that.’ His soft voice sent a little tremor through me. For next time?
With a swallow, I managed to get my stupid runaway emotions back under control and turned around with a bright smile. ‘How are you at washing up, young Grace?’
Kitted out with a pair of far too large rubber gloves, Grace stood on a chair at the sink, happily playing with the bubbles and swishing the utensils we’d used around in the water. I’d probably have to wash them again but it kept her occupied while I wiped down all the surfaces, tidied up and put the pudding tins in the second oven with the fat to heat up.
With the Yorkshire puds in, I took Grace into the dining room and she helped me lay the table, with that careful grown-up concentration she applied to everything.
Nate had returned to pour a glass of wine for Mum but hadn’t come back after that, to my surprise. Was Mum grilling him on his history knowledge or his intentions towards me? Paul was the only man I’d ever brought to meet them.
With everything almost ready to go and Grace occupied drawing on a notepad, I popped into the lounge to find Mum and Nate deep in conversation about Game of Thrones.
‘I never fancied it,’ said Mum. ‘But you’ve intrigued me. Ah, Viola, Nate’s been telling me that Game of Thrones has lots of parallels with The Wars of the Roses and that one of the main characters … what was her name again? I must write it down …’
‘Cersei Lannister,’ said Nate.
‘Yes, well, she has parallels with Margaret of Anjou. Fancy that. I think I’m going to have to take a look.’
With that surprising declaration, she lifted her glass in toast to Nate.
‘Would you like to come and sit down for supper?’
There were empty plates all round. Conversation had bowled along quite merrily; Nate fed Mum’s desire to dominate the conversation, bringing most things back to history, for which I was grateful, while Grace and I talked about school and her school friends.
‘That was yummy, Viola,’ said Grace, neatly placing her knife and fork together and picking up her napkin and wiping her mouth. She had impeccable manners.
‘It was,’ said Nate. ‘Especially the Yorkshires.’
‘Good hot oven,’ said Mum. ‘Nothing to it really. As long as you get the fat nice and hot before you put the batter in. Shame about the vegetables, though.’ She poked at the solitary carrot lying in the bowl in the middle of the table.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, heavy on the irony. There was no pleasing some. ‘But these are better for you.’
I’d planned to bake the carrots with butter and black pepper, just the way she liked them, but had forgotten to prepare them in time, along with the parsnips, which hadn’t been roasted in honey and mustard as per her preference. Instead we’d had steamed carrots and hastily boiled frozen peas. I hadn’t even got as far as peeling the parsnips.
‘I thought it was all delicious and I’m very grateful. It’s been a while since we had a home-cooked roast dinner.’
‘I miss roast chicken, Daddy. Do you think you could learn not to burn things? Maybe Viola could teach you?’ There was no mistaking the hopeful tilt of her head as she put her chin in her hand and leaned on the table, or the slightly thoughtful expression.
This time the pause was painful. Nate’s eyes were shuttered and he took his time folding his napkin.
Luckily, before I could answer, Mum chipped in. ‘You’ll need to be better organised when you do Christmas lunch.’
I turned my head quickly to face her.
‘Well, who do you think is going to do it?’ Mum pointed downwards at her leg. ‘Your father?’ Actually, Dad was quite a good cook but she never seemed to be able to give him the credit for it.
‘I’m going to need you to do it this year. In fact you’re going to have to take over everything.’
‘But …’
‘Seriously, Viola, I’m not going anywhere with this leg. It’ll give me time to really get on with my work; I might even get a first draft done by the New Year – that would make breaking a leg almost worth it.
‘Besides, there’s not that much to do; I’ll give you lists. It’s the thinking about everything that’s the hard part. All you’ll have to do is buy the food, sort the turkey out. You’ll need to go to Lidgates – they have the best Kelly Bronzes. Oh, and you’ll have to get the tree. Put it up. I can wrap presents but you’ll have to buy them for me … Don’t look so worried; I’ll tell you what to buy for everyone.’
I opened my mouth. Oh, God, I could see this being the worst Christmas ever.
‘Or you could get a lot of things online,’ suggested Nate without glancing my way.
‘Online?’ Mum levelled one of her famous history professor stares at him over her glasses.
Impressively, he didn’t so much as quail; he could teach those poor undergrads on Mum’s course a thing or two. ‘I find you often save a lot of money doing it that way.’
‘Oh.’ She stroked her chin in her classic considering pose. Mum had a lot of studied gestures, as befitting her position. ‘Maybe you could be right.’ This was one massive concession. Other people were rarely, if ever, right.
‘And you often find you have a lot more choice as well. It’s easier to compare prices and …’ Nate’s voice lifted; he was really selling this ‘… you often have customer reviews of the products.’
Thank you, thank you, Nate. If he saved me from this one thing, it would make a huge difference; I had plenty of shopping of my own to do. Although, thanks to Tilly, I’d already decided on posh make-up for my cousins and their elder children, which would be one trip to John Lewis on Oxford Street, which I was already dreading. And, on top of everything, I still had the flipping nativity to sort out.
He still didn’t look at me and I felt a tiny sense of foreboding.
Nate helped me clear up, taking everything from the dining room through to the kitchen.
As I began to stack the dishwasher, he brought the last of the plates through.
‘Thanks for today. Grace has had a wonderful time.’
‘Bless her, she’s a real sweetie.’ I wondered whether to say anything about her obvious anxieties; I wouldn’t be telling Nate anything he didn’t already know. ‘I hope she enjoyed herself. I think the house is going to look wonderful, not too perfect.’
He sighed. ‘You noticed.’
‘Yes.’
‘Everything has to be perfect because that’s the way Elaine likes things. Grace … misses her mum. It’s … it’s not easy for her. Elaine’s a very talented lawyer, very driven and ambitious. It takes its toll on family life. Grace was disappointed a lot.’ He pulled a face. ‘And now Elaine’s in New York.’
The grim expression on his face put me off asking if that meant a permanent end to their marriage. Were they divorced or separated?
‘Grace likes you,’ he suddenly said, although, from the way he said it, I knew it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
He sighed. I almost wanted to hold up a hand and stop him there because I could already see what was coming. The talk.
‘And I like you …’ He pushed his hair back from his forehead. Yup, definitely the talk. ‘I’m sorry if I might have given you the wrong impression. The thing is, I can’t afford to … well, I’m not in the right place for a relationship at the moment.’
I reached out and placed a hand on his forearm, anxious to reassure him and ease away the strain around his mouth. ‘Don’t worry. It’s fine.’
‘Grace likes you but she’s really vulnerable right now. Desperate for love but wary at the same time. Today might have been a mistake. I feel like I’ve dangled a carrot in front of her which I shouldn’t have done.’
Ouch. I managed not to flinch.
‘Sorry, that’s not fair. You’re good
with her, not overpromising or fussing. Down-to-earth and honest. I really like that about you.’ His eyes met mine with candid approval and, despite his words, my stomach still did that stupid hopeful flip. ‘It wasn’t a mistake … but I don’t want her to get her hopes up. You have a demanding job, lots of family obligations. You’re not the right person for me right now.’
Ouch again. That told me.
‘I understand,’ I said with a smile, my heart contracting with sadness. Not just because there was no future for us but also that his world was so fragile. Grace was desperate for love and affection but scared to trust. Part of me wanted to say, Take a chance on me, let me prove that I could be steadfast and true, but another recognised that, in his own way, he was as damaged as Grace, although I wasn’t so sure he knew it.
Chapter 11
I handed George’s script to him and gave him a big smile. ‘Ready?’
Then I noticed that his usual ebullience was missing.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked in a gentle voice, horrified to see his lower lip start to tremble. ‘George, this isn’t like you. You’ve got this.’ I put out a hand to fist bump against his but his mouth crumpled. ‘Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?’
With an audible gulp, he wiped a muddy hand across his eyes. It was then I noticed that his uniform was quite grubby, the white shirt more grey than white and a greasy stain on his sweatshirt.
‘Haven’t been practising.’ He waved a hand at the boys standing nearby. ‘Patrick’s mum helped him and Jack’s. They practised all over the weekend.’
My heart sank; I couldn’t win. To save paper and photocopying time as the ladies in the office always seemed so busy, I’d sent lines home with the children who had them, rather than whole scripts, so that they could start learning their lines. We’d made a good start the previous week and I’d managed to get into the school to rehearse on the Tuesday and Thursday, although with no backup.
