Love At Christmas, Actually: The Little Christmas Kitchen / Driving Home for Christmas / Winter's Fairytale

Her dad made French toast, the crackly radio played The Beatles in the kitchen as he hummed along, wearing his apron with the motorbikes on, his chef hat tipped at a jaunty angle. She’d forgotten how much her father used to make her laugh. Skye loved him immediately, but wouldn’t accept his views on Elvis.

‘Kid, I will show you some music that would make you think Elvis was nothing more than a flash in the pan pop star.’

‘The same has been said about The Beatles, and you’re still listening to them,’ Skye said, shrugging as he set down her breakfast before her.

‘Touché,’ Jonathan agreed, making a face at Megan, who simply shook her head in response.

‘Don’t try and insult the King, Dad, it just won’t work with her.’

‘Nope. No chance.’ Skye shook her head seriously. ‘But amazing toast, Granddad, seriously. Jeremy’s cooking skills are starting to look terrible in comparison.’

Heather, who had been quietly drinking her coffee, overseeing her husband’s cooking, looked up. She shared a significant look with Jonathan.

‘Is Jeremy your…step-father?’ Heather ventured, checking to see how upset Megan was by the question. Her lips got thin and she raised an eyebrow.

‘No!’ Skye laughed, looking to Megan.

‘Oh, no, I mean…you obviously think of him as your father,’ Jonathan said, nodding, then making a face as if to convey just how awkward it was. What if Skye hadn’t known about her parentage? What if Megan had been living with someone who’d raised her child as her own? It wasn’t unheard of. Their assumptions would have screwed it all up.

‘Jeremy’s gay!’ Skye laughed, waiting for Megan to elaborate.

‘He’s Anna’s lodger. He’s lived with us as long as we’ve been there,’ Megan said stiffly, ‘he’s family.’

She watched as her mother’s lip curled. She knew exactly what she was thinking: what kind of den of sin was Anna letting them live in? And she hadn’t even mentioned Jeremy’s job, thank god.

‘He’s wonderful. He’s a writer, working on plays,’ Skye said proudly, and Megan breathed a sigh of relief.

‘And he does drag acts!’ Skye added, as Jonathan coughed, and Heather looked at the ceiling. ‘He’s a really beautiful woman!’

Megan shrugged and realised there was nothing to do but join in. ‘Yeah, he’s got this way with body glitter that just…highlights his non-existent assets.’

‘Megan!’ her mother exclaimed.

‘What, Mum? Going to ask me how I dare to raise my child in such an environment? Because I wasn’t given many options when it came to that, was I?’

The two women stood facing each other, hands on hips, and Skye marvelled at how much of a mirror image they were.

‘Now, now, Megan, we didn’t mean anything,’ her father intercepted. ‘This bloke sounds fascinating, and we’re both glad you have someone in your life you love so much.’

‘We do,’ Skye nodded, then turned to Heather. ‘So what are we doing today, Grandma?’

Heather turned towards Skye, whose little face smiled up at her, eyes wide and curious. Megan saw how torn her mother was – continue the fight and defend herself, or connect with her granddaughter. She sat down and patted Skye’s hand, answering her in an overly cheery tone.

‘Well, we thought we’d go down to the Christmas Fayre in the village, play some games, hear the carols.’ Heather winked. ‘Eat lots of junk food. What do you think?’

Skye nodded. ‘I think it’s the best idea ever, don’t you, Mum?’

Megan nodded, completely aware that her daughter was creating a diversion, especially as she winked at her when she knew Heather wasn’t looking.

They disappeared to get ready for the walk down to the village, and Megan grabbed Skye’s hand.

‘What are you doing, Pink Panther?’

‘What?’ Skye made her eyes wide and innocent, raising her eyebrows. But her smirk gave her away.

‘Your questions, your diversions, your “devoted to grandma” routine. Don’t think you’re fooling me, kid.’

‘I don’t need to fool you, I need to fool them,’ Skye said seriously. ‘It’s sleuthing practice.’

‘Why do you need to practise?’ Megan raised an eyebrow, helping Skye into her padded winter coat. Her two pigtails hung out from the big fur-lined hood, making her suddenly look so much younger, so much more innocent. No doubt Skye had chosen her outfit especially for this purpose, as part of ‘Project Make Grandma Adore Me’. Evil genius.

‘Because skills take practice. Plus, I’m getting you out of situations. So I’m being useful.’

Megan knelt in front of her, holding out her gloves, an eyebrow raised. ‘You don’t have to be useful, my love, because you are absolutely necessary.’

Skye frowned at her, bemused.

‘I just mean you don’t have to keep saving my arse.’ Megan paused. ‘Bum. Don’t tell them I said arse.’

‘Twice,’ Skye grinned, and took her mum’s hand. ‘So, this fayre thing, it happens every Christmas?’

They wandered out to the front of the house to wait for their hosts, who were probably gossiping about Jeremy the Gay Performer whilst getting ready.

‘Yep, every year. It’s pretty fun. Or it was, anyway. Your granddad is extraordinarily gifted with the Hook A Duck games. Get him to win you something.’

Skye’s brow furrowed. ‘Where’s the fun in that? I want to win it for myself.’

Megan grinned, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Two hot chocolates for you today, kid. Or two treats of whatever kind you want.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re a wonderful person, and I’m your mum, and it’s Christmas. So there.’ Megan stuck out her tongue. Her parents arrived, wrapped up in the same winter clothes they’d had since she could remember, and off they went down the steep hill to town.

The village had changed a fair bit in the last ten years, Megan noted. Not necessarily the people, or the feel of it, but a few bits here and there. The existence of a Subway, the Costa Coffee on the corner. There were still the independents, the butchers, the bakery that she hung out in one summer, obsessed with the boy behind the till who gave her free donuts. The strange pottery cafe that no one ever seemed to go to, but never disappeared. They walked past Vittorio’s, a posh Italian restaurant she’d waited tables at every Saturday night since she was sixteen. It looked exactly the same inside, pristine, with the waiters in penguin suits. She’d hated that job. Hated Marco, the owner, and how he talked to them all. But the tips had been good, and the free dinners were almost worth the abuse. Heather had made her give up the job once exam season started, but she wasn’t too bothered by that point. It was strange to think the money she made from Marco had given her and Skye their start. But he was still an arse.

They reached the High Street, where the festivities were in full swing. Market stalls and Christmas lights were everywhere, to a soundtrack of carollers in the middle of the square. They stood before a grand Christmas tree, lit up, sparkling in the dull greyness of the afternoon. The voices were angelic, and yes, there was Mr Turner, still conducting the choir with his audacious movements, always overzealous as he started sweating through his woolly hat.

Skye was holding Heather’s hand as they moved through the crowd, and Megan relaxed, allowing herself to be transported back to the childhood days of the fayre. The year they won the raffle, the year Matty drank so much hot apple cider he was sick behind Santa’s grotto. The year she and Lucas played their own version of Christmas carols in the square to raise money for charity, and everyone was so kind, so generous, so proud of them. She shook the thought away like it was smoke.

‘Hook a duck!’ Skye said loudly, pointing.

Jonathan looked at Megan with glee, rubbing his hands together, then ran off with her daughter, as she dragged him along. That left her slowly walking with her mother.

‘He’s so excited she’s here,’ Heather said by her side, neither taking their eyes away from the pair.

‘She’s so like him. Inquisitive, always wanting an answer. Everything always has to make sense.’ Megan smiled into the distance, thinking of how many answers she had never had for her daughter. Her smile dimmed a little.

‘That must be exhausting.’

‘It’s kind of a thrill.’

‘I…’ Her mother paused. ‘I’m really excited you’re here too. Both of you.’

‘Good.’ She still couldn’t quite bear to have this conversation face to face with her mother, instead of adjacent. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment still sitting in her eyes. ‘At some point we’re going to have to have it all out. You know that, right?’

‘I know,’ her mother said quietly, ‘but it’s nice to pretend until then.’

They day passed pleasantly enough, playing the games, hearing the music. Megan, true to her word, bought Skye both a hot chocolate and a gingerbread cookie. As they were leaving to walk back up the hill, infused with the joyousness of the event, the smell of hot apple cider and the twinkle of the bells on the baby reindeer’s collar as he walked about his pen, Megan was stopped by a hand on her arm.

‘Megan McAllister!’ a woman’s voice called out, and all she could think was please don’t be Belinda. Please. More than that, please don’t be Belinda married to Lucas with hundreds of awful babies. Please, that’s all I’m asking.

She turned around and was faced with the excited bundle of energy that was Estelle Williams. Estelle had been a bit of a dark horse, in that she’d been the librarian at school when Megan was studying, despite only being twenty-three herself. She’d disappeared off to uni, and returned to their little town with a few piercings and tattoos, and a penchant for rockabilly. And became the school librarian. No one could figure out why she’d done it, or why they hired her. But she’d helped Megan with her university applications, and had shown her a ridiculous amount of kindness over the years.

‘Estelle! It’s so great to see you!’ She embraced her.

Estelle looked the same, her red hair in victory curls, her thick framed glasses perched on the end of her pierced nose. Her coat looked like it was straight from Little Red Riding hood, a fitted and flared number with big gold buttons and a black fur trim. She looked like Mrs Santa’s naughty younger sister.

‘I thought that was you, you’re back!’

‘Just for the holidays.’ She pointed over at Skye and her parents. ‘Wanted my little one to meet my parents.’

Estelle grabbed her hand, dark red lipstick curving into a genuine smile. ‘That is wonderful, darling, honestly. You can tell me all about it tomorrow when you meet me for drinks.’

‘I…um…’

Estelle raised a drawn-on eyebrow. ‘Your parents will want to spend time with their grandkid, right? Plus, the Nag’s Head have started doing cocktails. They’re vile but very cheap.’

‘Wow, aren’t we getting sophisticated out in the country?’ Megan laughed, but agreed to meet her at the pub the next night at seven.

When she rejoined Skye and her parents, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Estelle was going to have all sorts of gossip that she really didn’t want to know.

***

December 2004

‘Megan! What’s wrong?’ Estelle pulled out a pack of tissues from her Lulu Guinness bag, sliding them across the desk.

‘I’m…I’m…’ Megan was starting to hyperventilate, and Estelle flipped up the break in the desk to let her through, ushering her into the back room. She placed a ‘librarian on break’ sign on the desk, and followed her.

Megan sat in the swivel chair, head between her legs, alternating between gasping and crying. Her hair, dyed red, was starting to turn back to its natural brown, and she seemed to keep tugging at it in frustration. Estelle grabbed her hands.

‘Come on Megan, you’re scaring me a little. What’s up? I know you’re still waiting for the Cambridge letters, but….’

‘Everything’s changed,’ she breathed, somehow attaining calm composure. She looked Estelle straight in the eye. ‘I’m pregnant.’ It was the first time she’d said it out loud. First time she’d let herself think about it since throwing away the tests in the toilets in Euston station. And of course, she decides to break down at college, in the library.

Estelle’s eyebrows raised only for a second, before she vocalised exactly how Megan felt about it all, ‘Well, shit.’

They sat in silence for a moment, Megan swinging her legs against the scratchy blue material.

‘Is it Lucas’?’

‘No.’

‘Oh…double shit,’ Estelle sighed. ‘Times like this one really wants a cigarette.’

‘Or tequila,’ Megan agreed.

‘So…have you considered your options?’

‘I know I should get rid of…it,’ Megan started. ‘I spent all that time campaigning for the sexual health clinic as part of the GP, and I did that debate where I argued Pro-choice…God, when people find out that I’m a hypocrite…’

‘Woah, not a hypocrite!’ Estelle grabbed her hand. ‘Fighting for rights doesn’t mean you have to make that decision. You believe in choice, remember?’

‘Yeah,’ Megan said hopelessly, ‘I don’t even know why. I know it’s going to screw up my life. Uni will be gone. Lucas and leaving this place…all of it up in smoke with one wiggle of my cervix.’

‘Try long periods of excruciating pain,’ Estelle corrected.

‘And that was just the conception.’

Estelle smiled. ‘See, making jokes. Already we’re getting somewhere.’

‘Everything’s going to change,’ Megan said, feeling the tears well up again.

‘Babe, it already has,’ Estelle told her, and handed her another pack of tissues.

***

Megan had made an effort that night, styled her hair so it sat softly on her shoulders, curling at the ends. She’d put on her black velvet dress, the one she’d bought to wear on Christmas Day, it being tradition in the McAllister household to get dressed up for the big event. But she could always wash it. She was wearing her boots with the chunky heel, had flicked her eyeliner a little more distinctly, somehow still eager to impress Estelle all these years later.

‘Wow.’ Skye looked at her in the mirror as Megan finished applying her make-up.

‘Good?’

‘Really good. You could sing with Jeremy on stage!’ Skye patted her shoulder and ran off to return to the chess board.

With the fear that her daughter thought she looked like a drag queen, Megan pulled on her coat, and walked down the hill to the Nag’s Head, the oldest pub in town. It was pretty much the same inside, warm and comforting, with the fire burning away in the corner, Pluto the black labrador still dozing in front of it at all times. He’d been an excitable puppy the last time she’d been here, chewing on her mic cord and eventually falling asleep on the speaker.

‘Megan!’ Estelle waved from one of the sofas at the back, two drinks sitting in front of her. The stage area was clear, so Megan walked across it, trying not to think about how wonderful it had been to sing there, to feel like a real rock and roll star, playing to a bunch of uninterested retirees and drunk teenagers.

‘I got the drinks in – felt a Pina Colada is fairly inoffensive,’ Estelle gestured, ‘although it tastes less like a Pina Colada and more like someone threw a bunch of rum into some pineapple juice, but I’m not complaining. How are you?’

Megan shrugged. ‘I’m good, I guess. We live in Highgate with my aunt Anna, me and Skye that is, my daughter…’ Megan shook her head, ‘which you knew, obviously.’

‘You ever go off to do that English degree?’

‘Actually, I did a degree part time.’ Megan sipped her drink and shuddered at the sweetness, feeling the alcohol seep into her system. ‘I’m a speech and language therapist now. I work with deaf kids, and children with speech impediments, that kind of stuff.’

Estelle grinned. ‘That seems…so perfect for you. Is this the first time you’ve been back? I’ve been away the last couple of Christmases, so we could have just missed each other…’

‘First time back.’ Megan widened her eyes. ‘And it’s awkward and weird, and I will probably need a good few more of these disgusting cocktails whilst I’m here.’

Estelle snorted into her drink, then raised her glass. ‘To Megan, the returning warrior. Missed you, darlin’.’

They clinked glasses, and Megan felt the familiarity settle around her. Estelle had been a strange one. She’d always looked up to her in school, and then off she went to university, and Megan was sure she’d be famous. Snapped up by a modelling agency, become an actress, or a famous painter or something. Despite the fact that she never actually seemed to do anything artistic. And then she returned a couple of years later to be the school librarian, no questions asked.

‘You still the librarian?’ Megan asked suddenly, then thought it sounded rude, as if she was diminishing Estelle’s life in this small town.

‘Archivist, thank you. I am, but I’m also an English teacher now, if you can believe it.’ Estelle rolled her eyes. ‘I go off to study biomedical science, and end up an English teacher. Go figure.’

‘You like it?’

‘I…I like the students. Most of the time. And I like books, and analysis and when one of the kids comes out with something fantastic,’ Estelle nodded, ‘but then there’s the ones who have been studying Of Mice and Men all year and are still calling it a play, or made it all the way through The Tempest thinking Ariel is the girl mermaid from Disney. It’s…painful.’

‘So why stay?’

Estelle shrugged, delicately adjusting an eyelash. ‘The staff are nice to work with, and I moved back to look after my mum, so it made sense to have something local.’

Megan nodded, the sudden reappearance making sense now. No one could understand why a girl like Estelle would stay in a town like that. She could be anywhere, doing anything.

‘But she passed away a couple of years ago, so I don’t really need to be here any more. Just habit, I guess,’ Estelle said casually, slurping up the last of her drink. ‘Another?’

‘I’ll get them.’ Megan jumped up. ‘Same again?’

‘Surprise me, I’m not fussy,’ Estelle smiled, as Megan walked to the bar. She sensed Estelle didn’t want to talk about her mother, which was fair enough, as no one had ever known that was why she came back. Or why she stayed. And Estelle had kept her secret all those years ago.

Tom the landlord sighed as she asked for two Cosmopolitans. ‘If I give you a bottle of wine for the same price, will you take it? I hate making those bloody things. All my wife’s idea.’

She took pity on him and agreed, and as she paid he looked at her, head tilted to the side.

‘Do I know you, love? You look awful familiar.’

‘I played in a band here a couple of times, but that was a lifetime ago,’ she relented, hoping that wasn’t enough to make him go ‘Oh, you’re Heather and John’s girl, the one who ran off with a bun in the oven.’ But no, he just nodded.

‘We’ve got a good lot on tonight, you know. A bunch of music teachers from the school started a band to relive their youth, sad bastards,’ Tom chuckled to himself. ‘That said, they’re pretty good. Been playing here for years. Quite a following of young girls.’

‘Well. I’ll look forward to that,’ Megan grinned and made her way back to Estelle.

‘They’re still playing music here?’ she asked as she put the wine down, pouring the rosè into the two oversized glasses.

‘Always,’ Estelle grinned, ‘it ranges from the awful to the awesome. A couple of the Year Tens have started a band called The Illusionists. They keep trying to pull scarves out of their guitars whilst they play. It’s awful. They might play tonight and we can boo them!’ She paused. ‘Nothing quite lives up to Megan and the Boys though.’

‘You knew about that?’

‘I was a fan. Came to every gig you guys played here. Your little one got the musical talent?’ Estelle looked at something over Megan’s shoulder, briefly alarmed, and then returned her gaze to Megan.

‘No idea. She’s more interested in becoming a secret detective. Which I worry about because it means she’s terribly good at lying when she wants to. Luckily she’s too moral to use it on me. Seems to be working well at getting extra slices of cake from her grandparents though,’ she shrugged.

They talked about Skye for a little more, and about the school, the changes in the town over the last few years, until the microphone buzzed, and Tom was there, addressing the crowd, looking up at them in the back of the room.

‘Well, unfortunately, our Friday regulars Cludbucket couldn’t perform tonight, probably due to some sort of rock and roll reason, like hangovers, or the clap’ – here the audience hooted and laughed – ‘but they’re rubbish anyway. I’m pleased to present the Nag’s Head’s favourite band…No Education!’

The crowd cheered, teenage girls scooted to the front, but Estelle grabbed her hand. ‘Megan, I’m sorry, they weren’t supposed to be on tonight.’

Megan turned to her, laughing. ‘Don’t worry about it, if they’re better than Cludbucket, and how couldn’t they be with a name like that…’

Megan’s voice faded as she turned to the stage and saw that same boy she’d stood on stage with all those years ago, adjusting his mic and tuning his guitar.

‘I’m Lucas,’ the dark-haired man said, ‘and we’re No Education.’

His eyes scanned the crowd, smiling, and his gaze found hers. His eyes widened for the longest moment, standing in silence, looking as if someone had just taken a frying pan to his face. Then he launched into his set, and didn’t make eye contact again.

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