Page 15 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
‘I don’t know,’ said Ethan shrugging and Christa wondered what sort of parent the man was. And then she remembered her own father, passed our drunk on the floor outside their flat, Christa trying to drag him inside even though she was only eleven. And the landlady coming upstairs to tell her that he had urinated on the landing and Christa had to clean it up. She had, telling him in the morning, and he’d promised to never do it again, which was a lie. She brought herself back to the room and away from young Christa. She didn’t often go back and look at her past because it was painful and complicated but lately the memories had been coming up more often that she liked.
‘Okay, no more horror movie references – now we make fettucine. Do you know what fettucine means in Italian?’
The boys shook their heads. ‘Nope.’
‘Little ribbons,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that lovely?’
‘Like sinew and veins,’ said Seth. ‘I saw that on a medical show.’
Christa rolled her eyes. This wasn’t going to be easy after all.
5
Marc Ferrier was in a revolting mood. The figures he and Adam had worked on didn’t add up and the research he was waiting for was late. And there was a stranger in the house. The new cook, whom he’d caught standing outside his study, staring in like a lunatic. He hated being around new people; he found himself often tongue tied and then saying the wrong thing. This is why he had Adam to do the legwork on these matters. It was just a shame he had yelled when she arrived. He had set the tone for their professional relationship, he was afraid.
There was a knock at the door of his study.
‘Come in,’ he said, and then it opened.
Peggy stood in the doorway, reminding him of a menacing hedgehog.
‘Yes?’ he asked carefully. Why did she make him feel like he hadn’t done his homework?
‘I have concerns about the cook,’ she stated grandly.
‘Why? Did she ask for wallpaper in her room?’ He was only half joking. But he didn’t want to have to deal with this when he had work pressures to iron out.
‘She is encouraging the boys to lark about the kitchen and they’re making a mess, which I will have to clean up in the morning. They are making food and skating and generally being nuisances.’
‘For God’s sake,’ he spat out and stormed past Peggy and down to the kitchen. He couldn’t leave those boys alone for a moment. He knew they needed to be in school but he wasn’t sure they were staying for longer than the Christmas period and a nanny or babysitter was out of the question. If he did hire one they would have terrorised them away. They knew exactly what to do to cause chaos and confusion.
He pushed open the kitchen door and spoke firmly to the boys.
‘What are you two doing? Peggy said you’re in the way.’
Christa, who was cooking, looked up at him. ‘The boys aren’t in the way. Not in the slightest bit. I invited them to learn how to make pasta.’ She smiled at him, which disarmed him. ‘We’re making fettucine, which means, boys?’
‘Little ribbons,’ answered the children in unison.
Marc found himself lost for a response. The boys were sitting calmly at the bench, with the cook on the other side, and ingredients between them.
‘You’re here to cook, not to childmind,’ he snapped at her, unsure why this woman unnerved him. ‘Leave Christa alone. You have a room filled with video games; go and use them.’
The boys jumped off the kitchen stools and skated away in silence, hockey sticks and camera in hand.
Christa looked at him and at the pasta dough on the bench.
‘Are you going to stay help me knead this then? It is for your dinner after all.’ She pointed at the dough.
Marc caught her eye and held it for what felt like the longest time.
She straightened her shoulders, stared him down and smiled. A slow, disarming smile that threw him completely.
‘Let me guess? You’re joking again?’ he said.
‘Maybe,’ she answered with a small laugh.
He finally spoke. ‘If my children get in the way, please let me know.’
