However
many lists you make Christmas Day doesn’t always go according to plan, does it?
Read on …
CHRISTMAS LISTS
Fourteen!
Jess looked at the notebook page she’d headed
‘Guests’, and counted again to make sure.
Mum, Dad, Michael and his new girlfriend,
Samantha (wonder what she’s like? – hopefully an improvement on his previous
one), Emily (if Emily’s got back together with Rob she would have said?),
Auntie Meg and the three cousins.
It was good that Samantha would be joining
them as, counting the five of themselves, that came to fourteen. An unlucky
number might spoil the day.
But – fourteen! She’d never cooked for so
many people before. In fact, she hardly ever cooked from scratch. What were
ready-meals and takeaways for if not to make working mums’ lives easier?
But obviously they weren’t an option on
Christmas Day. Certainly not for the family who, every twenty-fifth of
December, were cooked for by someone who could give Delia a run for her money.
Mum.
She always did Christmas lunch and it was
always perfect. Everything hot and ready when it should be. The turkey succulent,
the roast potatoes crisp. The best gravy in the world and the creamiest bread
sauce. Her own mother’s famous stuffing recipe. Parsnips and sprouts even the children
would eat.
This Christmas, though, they’d told Mum that,
with her dodgy hips, she had to sit down and be waited on for a change. Jess
and her siblings, Emily and Michael, talked it over, and Jess said she would
host because she was the oldest – and because she lived in a house whereas the
other two lived in flats and Mum wouldn’t get up the stairs. She waved away
their offers of help. How hard could it be?
Lists were the answer – using them was how
she ran other areas of her life. This notebook had a sparkly cover and she’d
designed a label saying ‘Christmas lists’ and stuck it on. It seemed an
efficient way to start.
So, the guest list was finalised. Tick.
She paused for a moment to think about how
she’d do Christmas her way.
At Mum and Dad’s there was only room for six
at the dining table. On Christmas Day, a garden table and chairs were taken
indoors for the children and one or two adults. Everyone else ate from trays.
Not that Mum sat down much – she was always bobbing about making sure everyone
had enough and pressing second helpings on them. And there was usually a child
who wandered off to play with presents, or wanted to sit on someone’s knee.
It was a squash and a bit of a muddle but
everyone was happy and neither Jess nor Michael or Emily thought that
Christmases would ever be any different.
But this one would, and Jess had in mind the
rooms you saw in glossy magazines. Her dining table sat eight and she planned
to borrow one from neighbours who were spending Christmas away. And she would
make the house, as she did every year, look beautifully festive.
She turned to the next page in the notebook.
Decorations. As Jess was a department store
window dresser this was very much her comfort zone. A dark-green spruce tree
with white and silver baubles. Piles of red-ribbon-wrapped parcels underneath.
(Present list in a separate notebook all ticked off since the beginning of
November.) Real ivy framing the pictures and mirrors. Fairylights everywhere. As
good as done. Tick.
It would be nice to be able to show off her
decorating flair. As they all went to Mum and Dad’s every Christmas the others
never saw how she transformed her home. At the parents’ house it was always the
same – the artificial tree they’d had forever, and paper chains everyone was
set to make the minute they arrived. A lovely family tradition of course but
hardly glamorous.
She hadn’t decided yet on a look for the
tables. Cool, sophisticated Scandinavian perhaps? But there had to be food on them
too.
She began a new page headed Christmas Lunch.
Sub-headings: Starter, Main, Dessert.
This morning she’d bought a Christmas recipe
book and the December issue of a supermarket magazine.
If she was very, very organised everything would
be fine.
She opened the book and flicked straight past
the turkey section. Mum was too hard an act to follow and she wasn’t even going
to try.
No one was vegetarian – unless maybe Michael’s
Samantha? She must remember to ask. She had a quick look down the recipe index.
Chestnuts and cranberries in puff pastry. That sounded gorgeous. She wrote it
down, and immediately crossed it out. Dad scoffed at vegetarian cuisine.
Chicken? Too everyday. Beef? Two of the
cousins didn’t eat red meat. Just as well. Beef for fourteen would mean taking
out a second mortgage. Ham? She wasn’t very keen on it herself. Goose? One
serves four? That was no use. The quail recipe looked scrumptious but she didn’t
fancy stuffing one of the little birds never mind fourteen. Salmon? The children
wouldn’t eat fish.
Thank goodness Mum made Christmas puds when
she was still on her feet, and had given them to her last week. Along with a
couple of supermarket cheesecakes that she could pretend were homemade that was
dessert sorted. Tick.
Oh, Auntie Meg always brought bottles of red
and white, and soft drinks for the children and the drivers. Jess wrote Wine
etc on the list. Tick.
She put the book aside and flicked through the magazine. For
a ‘stress-free’ Christmas starter a chef suggested that you ‘simply griddle
forty fresh prawns’. What?! If you had staff, maybe, but in a normal family
kitchen? Imagine griddling anything while keeping an eye on the oven and
worrying if you’d done enough roasties. And who had room in the fridge for forty
fresh prawns at that time of year? Anyway, she didn’t have a griddle.
The chef’s other suggestion was beetroot and
goat’s cheese tartlets. Jess grimaced at the thought of the mess on the
tablecloth when the children spat them out as undoubtedly they would.
She clapped a hand to her forehead.
Brainwave! Everyone loved Mum’s lentil soup. There would be a batch in her freezer
that could ‘simply’ be heated up on the day. The magazine went into the bin.
Tada!
Starter: lentil soup. Tick.
Back to the main course. Jess opened the recipe book again and
cautiously turned to the Traditional
Turkey chapter. It began with a frightening countdown to getting everything
ready for two o’clock – a timetable beginning at 8 a.m. with every minute
accounted for in between.
The pictures of the beautifully set table
made her realise with horror that she didn’t have fourteen plates – never mind
matching plates – nor enough cutlery. Or chairs.
She gave up. It was time to call in the
cavalry.
The house
looked as glossy as she had imagined it, and her husband was keeping the
children entertained in the front room. Jess waved a piece of paper at Michael
and Emily. The turkey and trimmings timetable looked much more manageable now
that she’d divided the tasks between the three of them, each person’s
highlighted in a different colour.
Along with dishes and a couple of chairs,
Emily had brought a homemade trifle – ‘It’s not rocket science, Jess. We can’t
have supermarket cheesecakes for Christmas lunch. What were you thinking?’
Emily had been very short-tempered ever since she and Rob broke up, just when
she thought he might propose.
Michael’s contribution was two stools, and
cutlery he’d bought in a pound shop, which wasn’t exactly what Jess had in mind
– but he proved to be a dab hand at peeling vegetables and wrapping bacon
around chipolatas. Emily and he had forbidden Jess to ask Mum for lentil soup –
Michael said Samantha would bring a starter as her contribution.
Jess dug out hardly used wedding presents. It
was rather satisfying whizzing up crumbs in the food processor for the bread
sauce and watching them swell up in warm, seasoned milk. She must remember to
take out the bay leaf and the cloves. And it was extremely satisfying to tick
tasks off that wretched timetable.
At one o’clock came the first ring of the
doorbell – the Jingle Bell chimes her husband had insisted on fitting for the
children’s amusement. Jess threw off the Santa apron she’d put over her new
dress and went to answer it.
Dad, grinning, rang the doorbell again so he
could hear the chimes and went back to the car to help Mum out.
As they’d anticipated she wanted to see how
they were getting on in the kitchen so Michael stood barring the way.
‘Everything’s under control, Mum! Go and sit down, see the kids.’
Mum laughed and held up a packet. ‘I’ve
remembered to bring the strips for the paper chains.’ She hobbled through to
the lounge and Jess smiled as she heard the welcome she got from the children.
The doorbell rang again.
A pretty brunette stood there, her arms full
of brightly wrapped parcels. ‘Jess? Love the chimes! I’m Samantha. Thank you
for asking me.’ She had a lovely friendly smile and Jess took to her
immediately.
‘It was such fun choosing presents for the
children.’ Samantha thrust the parcels at Jess. ‘I’m longing to meet them. I’ll
get the food out of the car.’
This girl was perfect for Michael! He loved
playing with his nephews and niece and Jess knew he wanted kids of his own.
She left the front door ajar and took the
parcels through with instructions that they weren’t to be opened until their
giver was there.
Samantha came back up the path with two
trays, each covered with a cloth. ‘Can I give you these? I’ve got something
else to bring in.’
Jess carried the trays into the kitchen. One
of them had a fresh salty smell – something fishy maybe.
‘Is that Samantha?’ Michael asked.
‘She’ll just be a minute,’ Jess said. The
doorbell rang followed by a commotion and a loud bark. ‘What on earth’s that?’
She went into the hall to be confronted by
Auntie Meg and her family – and a large dog. One of the cousins held its lead
and tried to control it as it leapt up to greet Jess enthusiastically.
‘I’m sorry about Bonzo,’ Auntie Meg
apologised. ‘Our next-door-neighbour was taken into hospital last night and
asked us to look after him. We didn’t feel we could leave him on his own. He’s
very gentle, good with kids. Oh, love your Jingle Bells bell, by the way!’
Jess opened her mouth to reply but Samantha
came in and had to be introduced, and then Auntie Meg and the cousins took
Bonzo through to the lounge before Jess could suggest he might be put in the
utility room. The children’s shouts of glee could be heard at the other end of
the street.
In the kitchen Samantha took a griddle pan
out of a bag. ‘I didn’t know if you had one,’ she said. ‘I hope you like
prawns. I saw a recipe in a magazine – it’s very simple.’
Jess had a sinking feeling she knew what was
on the other tray.
Michael was lifting the cloth. ‘I did
remember to tell you that Samantha’s vegetarian, didn’t I?’ he said to Jess.
‘Mmm, these look good.’
‘Beetroot and goat’s cheese,’ Samantha said.
‘They just need warmed up a little. Oh – Jess, there was a man at the gate.
Sort of lurking. I don’t know if he’s still there.’
‘I’ll go and see,’ Michael said, but Emily had
twitched aside the curtain and with a cry she pushed passed her brother and ran
out.
Michael took her place by the window. ‘Rob,’
he said. ‘Down on one knee by the looks of it.’ He winked at Samantha. ‘Come
and meet Mum and Dad.’
The big
table looked more jumble sale than chic Scandinavian – what with the various
china patterns, Michael’s bargain cutlery, and an assortment of chairs around
it. The smaller table was already in disarray as Samantha’s presents and the
paper they’d come in were added to the mix. The youngest child was sitting, not
without protest, in the old high chair, her own seat now being required for
Rob.
Bonzo’s tail had evidently been wagging
against the Christmas tree to the detriment of some of the white and silver
baubles. The paper-chain work party had been busy and there were now sticky
orange and purple additions to the ivy frames.
Jess swallowed hard. Everyone had commented
on the tinny Jingle Bell door chimes but no one had said anything about her
decorations. And she’d got a mark on her dress because she’d forgotten to put
the Santa apron back on.
She sat down beside Mum, her work in the
kitchen done for the moment – Michael and Samantha were in charge of the
starters.
‘Lovely to have a real tree,’ Mum said. ‘Hope
the needles don’t shed too much.’
On the other side of the table Dad picked up
a Scandinavian candleholder. ‘Nice bit of glass, Jess. Get them cheap at work?’
‘Dad! Be careful!’
Too late. The candle toppled out and set fire
to Dad’s napkin.
With presence of mind born of years of
experience Mum threw her sparkling apple juice over it. ‘There, love. No harm
done. Maybe blow the others out to be on the safe side?’
Her beautiful table. It was a wreck and the
meal hadn’t even started.
With Michael tooting a fanfare he and Samantha
came in carrying four large platters, two for each table.
Samantha sat on Jess’s other side. ‘Michael
says you’re a window dresser. That’s why the house looks so stunning,’ she
said.
Jess smiled gratefully at her, feeling a
little better. Michael better hang on to this girl!
She waited in trepidation for Dad and the
children to make tactless comments about the starters. But Dad popped a tartlet
in his mouth, nodded and reached for another. Michael showed her middle child
how to extract the prawn from the shell – he seemed delighted with the process
and, while not eating them himself, insisted on preparing them for others. The
eldest one had indeed removed beetroot and goat’s cheese from his mouth to the
tablecloth but the littlest was already on her third tartlet. In no time the
platters were empty except for prawn shells.
Now it was up to Jess, and Emily, who
commandeered Rob to carve the turkey, to serve up the main course. A rummage in
the freezer had produced some vegetarian sausages which Jess microwaved for
Samantha. Not very Christmassy, but they’d go with the veg and potatoes. That
chestnut and cranberry recipe she’d read – hopefully Samantha would be with
them next year too and she’d make it for her then.
When she tried the gravy it didn’t taste
anything like Mum’s and as she carried the bread sauce through she remembered
too late about the bay leaf. And the cloves. The older two children shuddered
at the sight of the sprouts. The little one, full of beetroot and goat’s
cheese, refused everything, extricated herself from the high chair and went to
sit on top of Bonzo.
But all the food was hot and on the table.
There was nothing else to do except try to find her appetite.
Mum put her fork down for a moment. ‘It is
nice to have all this done for you.’ She raised her voice to be heard above the
hubbub. ‘Thank you, my dears.’
Dad stopped eating too. ‘Very tasty. Just as
good as your mum’s.’ He held up his ginger beer to make a toast.
Jess raised her glass of wine to him, finally
relaxing.
Happy Christmas. Tick
© Kate Blackadder
First published in The People’s Friend
I hope you enjoyed Christmas Lists – here's my novel Stella's Christmas Wish, currently 99p.
Happy list-making!
