Cooking Up Christmas

Keeping his eyes on the path avoiding the puddles, he unlocked the car. He’d forgotten how pretty Esme was. In fact, she was even prettier now than she had been back then. In her teens she’d been gangly — all arms and legs that didn’t seem to work properly. She’d been clumsy, he remembered with a smile. Now she was much more in proportion, had grown into herself. ‘So, how’s life?’ he asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Esme hesitated. ‘Oh, you know … fine.’

The radio kicked out a Christmas song and Esme shivered. Joe reached over and turned the heater on. From the pause, he guessed she didn’t want to talk about it to him which he could understand. He was a stranger.

‘What about you?’ she asked, staring out the window. ‘What have you been up to since school?’

His mind flew to Clara and a sharp pain shot into his heart. ‘The usual stuff,’ he replied, ensuring his voice was level and calm. ‘Uni, a bit of travelling. I went to Australia for a while.’ That was it. That was all he could manage. Before she asked anymore questions, he said, ‘So you want to see the seafront property first? It’s great, but it’s not super-huge. With the budget you’ve got, I’m afraid you won’t get lots and lots of space.’

‘That’s okay. I just need a decent-sized kitchen, that’s all.’ Her voice carried a slightly resigned tone. Joe glanced at her. She had a pretty profile and the mass of red curls were poking out from under her green beanie hat, emphasising the beautiful deep colour of her hair.

‘So you still love cooking and all that sort of stuff?’

‘Yep, I do.’ Esme smiled. ‘Cooking always makes me feel better.

‘You were the only one who paid attention in home economics.’

‘I don’t know why you lot hated it so much.’

He shrugged. ‘We were 15 and knew about microwavable burgers. To us, there was no point in cooking anything else.’

Esme laughed. ‘I suppose not. Though microwavable burgers are super-gross.’

‘They really are,’ he said, laughing too. ‘I have no idea why I ate them. It was like meat-flavoured cardboard in actual cardboard.’

As they sped through the town, from the corner of his eye, Joe saw her watch out of the window. ‘The town hasn’t changed much, has it? Esme asked, glancing towards him.

Apart from some new-build housing developments, it hadn’t. The streets were lined with boring bungalows and quiet suburban cul-de-sacs. A few new coffee shops had opened up on the high street but that was about all. It wasn’t a match for Oxford Street. On the radio the DJ announced another Christmas song. Some people had already started decorating. and here and there large inflatable Santas loomed out of front gardens or from behind hedges. He thought it was a bit early, personally.

Joe drove along the seafront, following the sea to the far end of town and pulled up in front of a beautiful Georgian house that had been divided into flats. Esme climbed out of the car and stood back to admire the large black front door and sash windows. ‘All you have to do is cross the road and you’re right on the beach,’ said Joe. The grey clouds had followed them from the town centre and a light rain began to fall. He pulled out the keys and opened the main door. ‘It’s the top flat.’

Esme climbed the stairs two at a time, almost beating him to the top and he was hopeful she’d like it. He found the front door keys and led them inside. They walked down a small hall, so small in fact, they nearly had to go sideways like a crab, emerging into a tiny sitting room, off which was an even smaller kitchen. Esme’s face clouded. Joe knew that look but gave her a moment to look around. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, when she came back into the sitting room after checking out the rest of the flat, but he could already guess the answer; her eyes weren’t sparkling as they had outside.

‘I don’t think the kitchen area is quite big enough for what I need.’

‘What do you need it for exactly?’ asked Joe, looking confused. He’d assumed this was some kind of weekend or holiday flat where even the most ardent of bakers would lay off the self-catering.

‘I’ll be doing a lot of cooking. So I need some decent workspace.’

‘Right.’ Joe nodded. That was weird. Most people did the minimum amount of cooking in their holiday homes, preferring to eat out. But then Esme had always been different. Looking around, the cooker was squeezed into a corner, the fridge stuck out and there were only three cupboards and a tiny bit of workspace. They’d called it a galley kitchen in the details but even that was pushing it. ‘Are you going to be here a lot then?’

Esme looked down at the floor, her cheeks colouring. ‘I’m, umm, I’m having a bit of a change of direction.’

That didn’t sound too good, but he didn’t want to pry. ‘Oh, okay.’

She was walking around the tiny kitchen opening and closing the cupboard doors. ‘I, umm, I left my job in London and then … then my boyfriend and I broke up, so I’m back here for a bit. I’m trying to make a new start.’

Joe raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t imagined it was anything so bad and was even more surprised that she’d told him so openly. Then he remembered that she’d always been honest and outspoken at school. ‘Sorry. That’s really tough.’

Esme scratched her head underneath her hat. Her eyes were so sad and her pale skin resembled porcelain. A part of him wanted to make her feel better, to let her know she wasn’t alone in her heartbreak, but he couldn’t get the words out. ‘Which one would you like to try next then? I’m guessing this is a no-go?’

Esme gave a polite smile. ‘If this were bigger, it’d be perfect. I’d love to live by the sea.’

‘The only thing I’ve got like this that’s larger is double the price.’

Esme frowned. ‘I know I’ve got limited options.’

‘What about the flat in Palmerston Road? The one above the pizza shop?’ He tried to sound cheerful but was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her thing.

‘I have to be honest, I’m not keen on the pizza place.’

‘It’s not actually in a pizza shop,’ replied Joe, smiling.

‘Above it, then. I bet it smells of greasy pizza all the time,’ Esme said, aimlessly walking to and fro.

‘It doesn’t. It’s quite nice inside. It’ll just get a bit noisy when the pubs kick out. It’s the best pizza place in town.’

Esme’s eyes widened and a smile lit her face. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

‘I am.’ He grinned.

‘Well, I’ll make a note to try it, but I don’t really want to live above it. Besides, I make a mean pizza myself with fresh tomato sauce, basil, olives and sautéed artichokes. It’s really good.’

The thought of it made him hungry. ‘That sounds amazing. I’ve never had things like that on a pizza before. I stick with pepperoni, or tuna if I’m on a diet.’

Esme giggled. ‘I don’t think pizza is a diet dish even if it has tuna on it.’ A slight glow came to her cheeks and she turned one of the brochures over in her hands. ‘What’s the deal with this cottage?’

‘Ahh, now, that’s a bit of an oddity.’ Knowing the state of it, he hesitated. ‘It’s only just come onto the books, so we haven’t had a chance to clean it yet. It belonged to an old woman who passed away. The family are looking for a buyer, but they’re happy to rent it too, just so long as the building’s in use. It doesn’t have central heating, but it is full of character. It’s surrounded by the countryside and I think it’s one of the most unusual properties we’ve ever had. Want to have a look?’

Esme nodded. ‘It sounds interesting.’

‘It just needs a little bit of TLC.’

‘Don’t we all?’ A shadow came over Esme’s face. How she was so positive when she’d had such a terrible time, he didn’t know.

A moment’s silence fell between them and Joe read the brochure for the flat above the pizza shop. To be fair, it did look a bit grubby and the kitchen there was tiny. The owners obviously thought their tenants would survive on pizza from downstairs. He made a mental note to redo the photos when he was finished with Esme. She wandered to the window and took one last look out to sea before following him out of the flat.

Joe drove them to the outskirts of town, leaving behind the unremarkable new-builds and ordinary streets lined with terraced houses. The roads gave way to a narrow country lane, widening here and there for cars to pass. Before long, field upon field lined the sides of the road. Some held horses covered with heavy blankets and they seemed happy enough roaming about in the cold; others were bare and the smell of damp mud followed them. They turned off the main lane and drove down a narrow dirt track until the cottage came into view. They drew closer and Joe saw a smile creep over Esme’s lips.

As decrepit as it was, it was pretty and picturesque, as it said in the brochure. A rose bush climbed up either side of the front door and though no flowers were growing at this time of year, it didn’t look bleak. Small, hardy bushes of rosemary grew around the walls of the house here and there, haphazardly marking the boundary. A couple of tiles were hanging at odd angles on the roof, and the nearest neighbours were a mile and a half east. If she was going to be clattering around in the kitchen at all times of the day or night, which he suspected she would be, there would be no one nearby to bother her. ‘What do you think?’ asked Joe, pulling on the handbrake.

‘It’s like a fairytale.’ Esme grinned at him and climbed out the car. She walked to the door and pulled back some of the bare branches of a rose bush climbing up the outside to reveal a name plaque. Mr Rigby must have missed it when he came to value the property and take the photos. ‘Mistletoe Cottage,’ Esme read aloud. From her tone he wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, then turning back, she grinned.

‘Yeah, that’s the name of the place. Listen, I know it’s quite isolated but all the local supermarkets deliver out here, as well as the takeaways, not that you’ll be needing those.’ He pulled up the collar of his coat as a gust of wind swept around them, but at least the drizzle had eased off. ‘Also it’s only a twenty-minute walk into town.’

‘What’s over there?’ Esme asked, pointing to a large wood on the brow of a nearby hill.

‘That’s Parkin Wood. It’s a great place to walk. There are tracks to follow and streams and stuff. There’s nothing scary over there.’

She nodded and turned again to look at the cottage. ‘I like it.’

‘Just remember what I said about the inside, okay? It’s not modern and new and shiny. It’s all a bit old and dusty.’

Esme frowned. ‘That’s not very estate agenty of you, is it? Aren’t you supposed to be glossing over all the terrible things and telling me it’s a great opportunity or something like that?’

‘It’s a bit late now,’ he said with a smile. ‘You already know about the ancient decor and no central heating.’

‘That’s true.’

His voice softened. ‘If you like it, then great, but I’m not going to give you the hard sell. You need to know warts and all what’s going on with this place.’

She turned to look at him and he was caught by the sincerity in her eyes. ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’ Just as a blush rose up her cheeks, she looked away. ‘Can we have a look inside?’

‘Of course.’ Joe fumbled in his pocket and found the correct keys. He opened the front door and held it for Esme to enter, then switched on the light as it was so dark. Esme gasped.

The open-plan living room was full of old furniture. Two large comfortable-looking sofas sat around a Seventies coffee table in front of an open fire. In the corner, an old lamp with a rose-patterned fringed shade stood next to the window. Only a wooden workbench separated the kitchen and living room. On the other side of this, a long unit with an old-fashioned butlers sink sat underneath a huge window with views out to the back garden. Esme went and peered out. It was hard to see where the garden finished and the fields began; all around there was nothing but green.

Esme glanced at Joe and he saw the light in her eyes. They were a beautiful amber colour, like golden syrup, and her pale skin glowed luminescent in the winter light. Something happened to his heart and he felt it beat for the first time since he and Clara had split up. He shook his head to chase the thoughts away. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s amazing,’ Esme replied, looking around her.

‘It comes with all this stuff, too. You wouldn’t need any furniture.’ Esme focused on the tiny fridge making a strange humming sound. ‘Well, maybe a new fridge. Is this enough workspace for you?’

‘Yes, definitely,’ she answered, running her fingers over the heavy wood of the worktop. Her elegant fingers traced the nicks and dents made over time.

‘Did you want to see upstairs?’

Esme nodded and followed Joe up the rickety wooden stairs. The top floor had two bedrooms and a small bathroom. To say it was dated was an understatement. The bathroom furniture, while clean, was avocado green, and the tiles were salmon pink. The two bedrooms were on the small side; it would be a squeeze to get anything other than a double bed in them. Giant cobwebs lined the corners of every ceiling. The place needed a good clean but was structurally sound. Esme darted here and there while Joe struggled to keep up. ‘What do you think then?’ he asked when, on the landing, she finally stood still.

‘I love it,’ she muttered more to herself than him, then cleared her throat. ‘I love it.’

‘Are you sure?’ Joe asked. She’d had such a rough time, he didn’t want her making a mistake.

‘I am,’ she nodded, enthusiastically. ‘It just feels right. It’s hard to explain.’

Joe stood watching her. The look on her face showed how much she loved it. Her eyes gleamed and she was unable to stay still. She walked back downstairs and he trailed after her. ‘You do remember it hasn’t got any central heating, don’t you?’

‘It’s fine. I’ll just wear lots of jumpers.’ Esme read the brochure again. ‘I’m going to do it. I’m going to take this one.’

‘This one is much cheaper than the rest,’ said Joe, reminding himself he was working. And yet, he wavered, not wanting to add to her already difficult life. ‘Are you sure? You can always have a second viewing another day, if you want?’

Esme gave a wry smile. ‘Why are you trying to dissuade me?’

He clutched the keys and dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘I just want you to know what you’re getting into. We can make some bad decisions when we’re recovering from a broken heart.’

Esme smiled. ‘I’m sure, okay? If there’s one thing you should know about me, Joe Holloway, it’s that I know my own mind. Heartbreak or no.’

‘Yeah, I remember from home economics,’ he replied, smoothing down the back of his hair. ‘You used to argue with the teacher all the time.’ Her using his full name, like the teachers had at school brought a strange tingle to his chest and without really thinking he placed his hand there. ‘Come on then, let’s get the paperwork sorted.’

Chapter 7

Sandchester

The paperwork was signed that afternoon and by the time Saturday evening came, the sky dark and the wind beginning to groan, Esme was officially the new tenant. When she went home and told her mum, she felt a small bubble of excitement about life for the first time since it had all come tumbling down around her. As much as her heart was still shattered into a hundred pieces, she wasn’t one for sulking or staying still. She was lucky to have the money from her parents; not many people would get such a chance, and she was determined to make the best of it. Having said that, her mum still had some reservations.

‘So you’re becoming a hermit?’ asked Carol, furiously cleaning the kitchen table, her features tight with worry. And considering she didn’t furiously clean anything unless she really had to, it showed the depth of her concern.

‘I’m not, Mum. I can still walk into town from there. I just need a torch when it gets dark.’

‘You’ll get murdered,’ Carol replied, her voice rising a little.

‘No, she won’t, dear,’ said Stephen. ‘There was more chance of that happening in London than there is here in Sandchester. She’ll be fine. Well done, love. Good work.’

Esme smiled.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Carol asked, calming down a little. ‘I don’t like the idea of my baby girl being out there in the middle of the woods all on her own.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Esme had replied, getting up from the breakfast bar and giving her mum a big hug. ‘It’s not in the middle of the woods, it’s just on the outskirts of town and I am sure about it. Even if I wasn’t, it’s too late now. I signed the paperwork earlier.’

Leaving the cloth, Carol stood up straighter, a smile beginning to light her face. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better have a drink and celebrate then.’ Stephen opened a bottle of fizz and Esme couldn’t help but count her lucky stars at having such supportive parents. ‘To new beginnings,’ Carol said.

‘To new beginnings,’ Esme repeated and felt a little of her heartbreak soften.

*

Esme moved in the next morning with her few meagre possessions and set about cleaning everything. Everyone had offered to help, including Alice, but for some reason she wanted to do this on her own. When she’d moved in with Leo, he’d been so set on where everything had to go, and knowing how organised he was, she hadn’t argued. He’d always been fastidious and she didn’t want to disrupt his life as she was moving into his place. She wanted to slot into it gently because he’d said it became their place that day, but in reality, it had always been his. This was hers, and Esme wanted to clean the place herself with music blaring out, in a bid to stamp her authority on the cottage, and on her life. Somehow, it felt like an important marker, the start of a new phase, even though she hoped it was only a temporary stop, and she’d be back in London before too long.

When her friends arrived late Sunday morning, when the sky was pale and filled with the watery winter sun, she could see their panicked faces through the windscreen before they’d even got out of the car. Mark, Helena and Lola climbed out, muttering to each other, but Esme couldn’t make out what was said until she opened the solid wood front door.

‘Sweetie, what have you done?’ asked Mark, walking over to give her a hug. A dark scarf was wrapped high around his neck making the bright blue of his eyes stand out against his beautiful olive skin. ‘You’re going to live in a gingerbread house in the middle of nowhere. Like a witch.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Esme replied, crossing her arms over her chest trying not to shiver. She stood next to him facing the cottage and cocked her head. ‘Okay, so it is a bit crazy old lady, but it’s so sweet and cosy inside. And you’ll never guess what it’s called?’

‘What?’ asked Lola.

‘Mistletoe Cottage! How cute is that! It grows in the trees around here as well. Look.’ Esme pointed to a tall tree to the right of the cottage and the bright green mistletoe encircling its branches.

Mark paused. ‘Are you telling me you know different types of plants already? You’re getting countrified.’

‘I’m from the country, Mark. I’ve always been countrified. It just wore off a bit in London. Believe me, I still found myself saying things like “Ooo, it’s going to rain,” every time I came home and saw a cow sitting down.’ Mark stared, astonished.

‘Well, I love it,’ said Lola, smiling. ‘And us country folk always say weird things like that. My mum used to say wind from the east for two weeks at least when we were facing a cold snap—’

‘Or saluting magpies,’ added Esme.

‘Sweet Barbra Streisand,’ Mark mumbled, then smiled broadly. ‘But it is actually very cute, even though it’s in the middle of nowhere. Did you know we couldn’t use the satnav to get here? It tried to take us into a field. We got a very strange look from a horse when we pulled up at its gate. It’s a good job you texted us directions.’

Helena’s eyes were wide as she tried her best to smile. ‘Who was the last person to live here?’

Esme stared at the ground and mumbled, ‘A crazy old lady. But it’s much better now I’ve cleaned up.’

‘I’m telling you now, my sweet,’ said Mark, ‘you are not buying any cats.’

‘Deal,’ Esme replied, and led them inside.

Esme sat on the old worn sofa, now covered with pretty throws and cushions donated by Carol and Alice. Leo hadn’t liked cushions. He found them annoying, so Esme hadn’t ever really bought any, but as this was her home, she could decorate it however she wished. Joe had even said she could paint if she wanted too; the landlord didn’t mind at all. The owners didn’t care what she did as long as the rent was paid and someone was in there so it didn’t get damp. Mark brushed the seat with his hands before sitting and Esme tutted at him before bringing over a tray with steaming cups of tea.

‘It does have a certain something,’ said Lola. ‘It’s old-fashioned and homely.’

‘I think it’s called shabby chic,’ Esme replied.

‘Definitely shabby, sweetie, not so much chic.’ After gawping around, Mark gave Esme a reassuring grin. ‘But I agree, it does have a certain something. It’s bloody cold though.’

‘It doesn’t have central heating,’ Esme replied.

Mark’s astonishment returned and Esme had to stop herself laughing at his incredulous expression. ‘How do you keep warm?’

‘I’ve got a log fire but I don’t know how to light it. So it’s lots of jumpers and this little four-bar fire-thing Dad gave me. I might even treat myself to some thermals.’

‘Jesus wept,’ he replied, shaking his head.

Lola sat forward and took a cup of tea. ‘I’ve been thinking about this whole cookbook thing.’ Esme worried she was going to say she’d changed her mind and now thought it all a terrible idea, or that Esme was mental. ‘I think you should start a blog while you do it and record the recipes you test.’

‘Me? Write a blog?’ Esme fiddled with the corner of a cushion. Technology wasn’t her strong point and whilst she was quite outgoing, did the world care what she had to say?

Helena brightened. ‘Lola, that’s a great idea. Esme, you should totally write a blog, you’d be amazing. And if you’re cooking and stuff, testing recipes, you could post all the ones you’re not going to use in the book.’

Esme considered this new development. Lola did work in marketing, which meant she knew more about this stuff than any of them. If she said it was a good idea, it probably was. She could start a blog with no outlay, but could she write stuff that people actually wanted to read?

‘I think that if you want to publish a recipe book,’ said Lola, ‘it’d be good for you to build your own brand first. Then you’ll be well known, or at least known, when you’re approaching publishers; you’ll have an audience ready-made for them to sell to.’

Esme pictured her name on a website with people writing kind comments about her food, then she’d be mentioned in magazines and on TV shows and soon they’d be referring to her as a blogging sensation now launching her own recipe book. Okay, so maybe that was getting a little bit ahead of herself, but if she was going to embark on fulfilling her dream, she might as well dream big. ‘Okay,’ she said, nodding. ‘Yes, I will. I’ll do it. We need a name though.’

‘You have a name,’ said Mark, teasingly.

‘You know what I mean,’ Esme replied. ‘For the blog. I can’t just call it Esme’s Blog. Even I think that’s boring and I know nothing about marketing.’

‘How about The Easy Cook?’ said Mark. ‘Don’t you say all your recipes are easy to make?’

Helena laughed. ‘No way.’

‘Why not?’

‘It makes me sound like a slapper,’ Esme cut in.

‘What about The Outback Cook?’ offered Lola. ‘You are in the middle of nowhere.’

‘Oh, no.’ Mark shook his head. ‘She’s not Australian and the back of beyond isn’t the same as the outback. People will expect recipes for kangaroo meat or something.’ Esme’s mind shot back to Joe. He’d mentioned travelling to Australia. Then he’d suddenly switched the conversation back to business. It was a stupid thing to say but he’d grown up a lot since she’d seen him last. Not just physically. He’d seemed too old in a way, weighed down almost, but then, being a grown-up did that to you sometimes.