Page 75 of A Not So Quiet Christmas
Chapter 45
The clock was ticking and I didn’t have time for a pity party. I slammed the oven door shut and rose to my feet. I picked up my phone off the counter and clicked to video call Jules, knowing that if anyone could salvage the situation, it would be her. “Come on, come on,” I said, hoping for a few words of wisdom as I waited for her face to appear on the screen. The ringing tone continued. She wasn’t picking up.
My shoulders slumped. Of course, she wasn’t. Thanks to our Christmas swap she was taking things easy that year. Unlike me, she had no guests to consider and was, no doubt, having a long lie-in, with Harry making her breakfast in bed. I told myself to let them enjoy their leisurely morning and that I’d been relying on Jules far too much of late. It was time to stand on my own two feet. Whatever the day threw at me, I was more than capable of handling everything.
Ending the call, I drummed my fingers on the kitchen top as my brain tried to figure out what to do next. My eyes landed on the numerous notes I’d made, and I scoffed. Were it not for that schedule, I’d have at least been able to wrap a few spuds in tinfoil, throw them on the lounge’s open fire and serve up baked potatoes. As it was, in my desire to be organised, I’d none left. They’d all been parboiled and had a good fluffing up.
Exiting the room, I told myself I could be worrying about nothing. For all I knew, the power cut could be peculiar to Aunt Lillian’s alone. With no clue where the cottage’s fuse box was housed, I rushed upstairs to throw on some clothes again, before heading back down to the front door and stepping outside. “Wow,” I said. As my eyes widened at the scene that met me, I didn’t think I’d ever seen so much snow.
Trudging down the garden path, snowflakes fell all around me. I struggled to see where the pathway ended and the road began. Drifts had built up against doors, and rooftops were covered, inches thick. My heart sank as I scanned the neighbouring houses. There wasn’t a single twinkling Christmas tree light in sight. I filled my cheeks with cold air and slowly exhaled. Taking in the scene once more, all it needed was a strong wind and the village would be in the midst of a blizzard. No wonder there’d been a power cut.
Again, I tried to reassure myself, insisting that just because Bluebell Row had suffered an outage, that didn’t mean the entire village had and as such, I could potentially use someone else’s oven. Supposing there was only one way to find out, I made my way back inside. Closing the door behind me, I headed straight to the kitchen and picking up my phone for a second time, I dialled Lizzie’s number.
“Not you too?” she said, immediately upon answering.
I closed my eyes for a second, my hopes dashed. “I’m afraid so,” I said, trying to sound positive.
“I’m sure it won’t last long,” Lizzie said to the sound of Seb playing in the background. “I shouldn’t think the electricity board will want to let customers down on Christmas Day.”
“You’re right,” I replied. “There’d be a riot if they did.” Although I didn’t have a clue what I would feed everyone if the energy supply didn’t come back. I couldn’t give my guests a hot cup of tea, let alone Christmas lunch with all the trimmings.
After ending the call, I made my way into the living room where Frank lay peacefully in front of the fire, clearly immune to the turmoil I felt. Plonking myself down on a chair, I took in the table before me. Tempted to grab a bottle of wine to drown my sorrows, the crystal glasses might still be operative, but with no food to serve, the perfectly laid crockery and shiny silverware had been rendered useless. I couldn’t even send for takeaway. Unlike in London where every type of food going could be ordered with one quick swipe on a phone, Little Leatherington’s nearest restaurant was miles away and considering the weather, even if I could organise delivery, I’d have put money on the village being cut-off. I rested my chin in my hand. Gone were the pictures of us all sat around enjoying a magnificent lunch. The best I could offer were peanut butter sandwiches and a slice of Christmas cake. I sighed, hoping none of my guests had a nut allergy.
I thought back to how happy I’d been that morning. Cavorting around in the back garden making snow angels. As I sat there at that table though, my feelings couldn’t have been more opposite and not for the first time since landing in Little Leatherington, I wanted to scurry back to London. The power cut wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t help but feel I’d let everyone down.
I told myself I was being self-indulgent and that there had to be something I could do, even if that meant standing outside for hours barbequing the damn turkey. Which would have been an option had I seen an actual barbeque hanging around Number 3, Bluebell Row. Having had more than a good scout about the place, that seemed to be the one and only item Jules’s Aunt Lillian didn’t have. I sat up straight, realising I had seen something else that might be of use.
I got up from my seat and hastening out into the back garden, made my way down the path to the workshop. Letting myself in, I scanned the space until my eyes rested on the camping stove I was looking for. Heading straight for it, I assessed the two-ring burner and pleased to see a connecting hose, my hands traced it to an attached red propane cylinder that sat on the floor. All the connections appeared fine, and there were no holes in the rubber piping. I smiled and picking up the whole ensemble, carried it back to the house.
I placed the stove and cylinder on the kitchen counter and grabbing a sponge, gave everything a good wipe over, before retrieving the fire matches from the lounge. Ready to test everything, I felt a tad nervous as I slowly turned the cylinder’s regulator to release its propane supply. Thanks to the morning I was having, an explosion wouldn’t have come as a surprise. Relieved to find nothing had blown up, I allowed myself to breathe, but that was short-lived, and my pulse quickened once more as I moved on to the next step. Striking a match, I positioned it against one of the stove rings and yet again holding my breath and squinting, I gradually pressed and twisted the hob dial. I leant back as if that would somehow protect me from a second potential detonation, until after a moment, a circle of tiny blue flames suddenly appeared. Turning the dial to full, I watched the camping stove properly fire up and I let out a triumphant laugh. It seemed my guests weren’t going to starve, after all.
I turned off the gas until I was ready to start cooking, knowing first I had to decide what to make. As I looked at the giant turkey, I told myself there was no point letting it go to waste and I picked up my phone and hit Google, hoping to find an alternative Christmas lunch. Turkey risotto, Turkey kofte, Turkey tonnato, Gennaro’s turkey Milanese…
Finally, I stopped scrolling as a particular recipe caught my attention. Scanning its method, I smiled, victorious, pleased to see it wasn’t too complex for a newbie chef like me. Checking its ingredients, I opened the kitchen cupboard doors and began scouting for everything I needed. With so many necessary herbs and spices, I wasn’t surprised to find I was a few items short. With no clue as to where I could pick them up, I refused to let a few missing food components put me off. Even if the village shop wasn’t open on Christmas Day, I was making that dish no matter what.
I picked up my phone again and clicked to make a call. “Oliver,” I said, determined, as the man answered. “I need your help.”
