Comfort and Joy Read online

  Harriet aimed for the cheesemonger’s and Tom and I headed towards the restaurant. I peered in through the windows. There seemed to be nothing amiss. Luckily the floors were the original flagstones from when the building had been the village pub, so they were pretty indestructible, but the oak tables and chairs could be vulnerable, as could the electrics if they got wet.

  ‘Looks like we’re OK for now, apart from the lack of power of course,’ said Tom, letting out a breath. ‘There is very little in the fridges but once we’ve got dinner underway, I might come back to rescue some meat from the freezer and store it at the cookery school, it that’s OK?’

  ‘Of course. The rain has stopped just in time,’ I said, squeezing his arm and kissing the dogs’ quivering noses. ‘What a relief.’

  ‘My shop is OK too,’ said Harriet, catching us up a couple of minutes later. ‘And I even had chance to pop in and collect the secret ingredient for my mum’s special stuffing recipe.’

  ‘What is it?’ I said, trying to peer into the bag.

  Harriet tapped her nose. ‘Ah-ha, then it wouldn’t be secret.’

  ‘Just a wild guess, but is it cheese?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Nobody likes a smarty pants, MacDonald,’ she replied stoutly, tucking the parcel into the side pocket of her bag.

  There was a roadblock at each end of the run of shops preventing traffic from driving through the centre of the village and a small group of men in uniforms directed by a man in a long flowing black coat were unloading sandbags from an army truck and piling them up near the war memorial. The thought of these army people and probably countless others like them giving up their Christmas morning working outside to help others brought a lump to my throat.

  Two girls in one of the flats above the shops had their window open and were shouting to a couple of lads I recognized in the flat opposite, seemingly having a great time. I could see movement inside the clothes shop, I spotted Pete opening the door of the greengrocer’s and two men in suits shaking their heads outside the mini supermarket. And coming towards us, sidestepping the roadblock, were Jack and Annabel.

  Harriet and I waved and shouted to them. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  They looked up at the sound of our voices. Jack had his hands full but Annabel beamed and waved back at us.

  ‘Merry Christmas, darlings!’ she called.

  We met up with them by the army truck and we kissed our hellos. Tom put the dogs down and they scrambled to get to Jack, who in their experience usually had some sort of meaty treat about his person. He was their undisputed favourite man in the village. The man in the long black coat turned out to be Plumberry’s vicar wearing fisherman’s waders underneath his cassock, and he took a break from his sandbag stacking to wander over.

  ‘Morning, Vicar,’ I said after he’d wished us all a happy and holy Christmas. ‘Not your normal Christmas duties, are they?’

  He chuckled. ‘Keeping my flock safe, young Verity, that’s my job. Some days are just more hands-on than others.’

  Annabel, Harriet and I all exchanged ‘how cute is he?’ looks. I wasn’t a church-goer myself, but I’d met him at my friend’s funeral in the summer and I knew just how dedicated he was to his parish. Giving up his Christmas morning to help others was such a generous thing to do. He was widowed and I wondered who was looking after him; I hated to think of anyone being lonely at Christmas.

  ‘This lot is for public use,’ he added, pointing at the wall of sandbags. ‘So help yourselves.’

  Jack instantly handed his bags to Annabel, who looked a little bit disgruntled at the weight of them, and threw a sandbag over his shoulder as if it was full of feathers. Just then the church bells began to ring and whilst it wasn’t particularly Christmassy, it did add a sense of occasion to the day.

  ‘I adore the sound of church bells.’ Annabel sighed, shifting the weight of what looked like their turkey from one hip to another.

  ‘Are you all coming for Christmas morning service?’ the vicar asked.

  Harriet began inspecting her nails.

  Annabel shook her head guiltily. ‘We were going to but …’

  ‘We’re off to the cookery school; it’s got electricity courtesy of the emergency generator,’ I explained. ‘We might be one of the only places with power in Plumberry. Please tell your parishioners that they’re welcome to come and use an oven.’

  ‘That’ll be a godsend for folk,’ exclaimed the vicar, clapping his hands together and adding with a wink, ‘I’ll spread the word.’

  He was lovely; I looked at Tom cautiously and opened my mouth to ask him something.

  Tom wrapped an arm round my waist and grinned. ‘We’re cooking a big Christmas lunch at the cookery school, Vicar, if you’d care to join us?’

  I leaned against Tom and kissed his cheek; he’d taken the words out of my mouth.

  ‘A kind thought,’ the vicar replied, slapping Tom on the shoulder. ‘But I’m volunteering for the charity Hot Dinners today; we usually eat after all the guests have been fed. But thank you.’

  ‘Oh!’ Harriet piped up. ‘Hot Dinners were on the news; they’re suffering from a lack of electricity like the rest of us. I wanted to help too but I’ve been trying to call them and no one’s picking up.’

  While Tom joined Jack in laying sandbags across the front of the restaurant, the cheesemonger’s and the wine merchant’s, Harriet filled the vicar in on the plan to cook her turkey at the cookery school and somehow donate it to the charity. The vicar swiftly produced a Bluetooth earpiece from the folds of his cassock and rang the number of someone called Ravi, one of the charity’s organizers, on his mobile phone.

  ‘Harriet,’ beamed the vicar a few moments later, tapping on his touchscreen, ‘you might just have saved Christmas for the local homeless. Ravi has some sort of four-wheel-drive vehicle which can cope with floods, apparently. I’m to give you his number, then you ring him when the food’s ready and he’ll come and get it. I’m also to tell you Ravi says you’re an angel.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, wide-eyed, ‘how lovely.’

  ‘In that case, the angel had better get cooking,’ I said, nudging her into action. ‘She’s a virgin turkey roaster.’

  Harriet was still pink and giggly when she, Annabel and I reached the cookery school.

  Christmas morning at the cookery school

  My lovely cookery school and the other artisan businesses set in neighbouring buildings belonging to the old mill looked like they were perched on the edge of a lake. The car park was totally flooded and as we walked, we sent ripples of water towards the glass front doors.

  ‘The Christmas lights are all on at the cookery school. YAY!’ yelled Harriet.

  It was true – thank goodness – which meant that our trusty generator had kicked in just as it should. The Plumberry School of Comfort Food had never looked more inviting.

  ‘I knew there was a reason for being too lazy to take all the decorations down yesterday,’ I said cheerily.

  Fairy lights twinkled through every window upstairs; the small artificial tree on Mags’s desk with the multi-coloured lights shone merrily and even the two bay trees in pots at the front doors which I’d covered with solar lights were giving off a dim glow.

  ‘Enfin,’ Annabel added with a dreamy sigh, stepping gingerly through the water, ‘a properly Christmassy sight. I can handle the rain and the power cut, but I’d so wanted this Christmas to be special for Jack and me. So far it’s been a bit of a wash-out, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

  ‘Has he rearranged to see Asha and Finn as soon as the weather improves?’ I asked as we paddled across the car park.

  ‘He’s such a natural father, it’s heart-breaking that he can’t be with his children every Christmas and he had so many surprises planned for them.’

  Which didn’t answer my question.

  ‘Oh dear.’ I frowned at her and was about to probe further when suddenly her welly slipped on something beneath the water. Her foot skidded out in front of her until she
was almost doing the splits.

  ‘Oh help,’ she yelped, grabbing onto my arm.

  ‘Careful!’ I cried. ‘Don’t drop—’

  But it was too late, she had flung her bags into the air in her panic and there was a clink, crash, thud as all of the ingredients for her Christmas dinner landed in the water.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said with a sob in her voice, looking down at her wet trousers. ‘This is the last straw.’

  Harriet and I gave each other bewildered sideways looks as we scooped up the floating turkey, sausages, various bottles and other assorted foods; this was so unlike Annabel, she was normally very stoical.

  ‘I know what you need,’ I said when we finally made it to the front door with one soggy sobbing Annabel and Harriet laden down like a pack horse, ‘a hot cup of sweet tea and a piece of my home-made fudge.’

  At which point Annabel threw up in the pot of a bay tree. Which rather confirmed my suspicions.

  Judging by the almost undetectable arching of Harriet’s left eyebrow, she’d picked up on it too, but by telepathic mutual consent we said nothing and simply ushered Annabel inside, divested her of wet clothes and left her to clean herself up in the downstairs bathrooms while I dealt with the bags of food and Harriet put the kettle on.

  ‘Ginger is good for … nausea, isn’t it?’ said Harriet knowingly, as she rifled through the boxes of tea in the kitchen prep area.

  ‘I think so, and I’m a firm believer in the power of tea and a biscuit,’ I said, and then plastered on a bright smile as I heard Annabel join us. ‘There you are. Feeling better?’

  She nodded and tugged the hem of her loose linen shirt down over her knickers. I took her wet jeans from her and hung them over the radiator.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said sheepishly. ‘Haven’t eaten yet this morning and … anyway.’

  She shut her mouth with a finality that brooked no further questioning.

  ‘Try this.’ Harriet handed her a cup of ginger tea.

  Annabel sipped it and did her best not to wince. ‘Delicieux.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any clothes I could borrow?’

  ‘Only a cookery school apron, I’m afraid?’

  ‘Oh well.’ She shrugged and gave us a mischievous smile. ‘Jack will think all his Christmases have come at once.’

  The three of us laughed as she tied one on and did a twirl. Thankfully her shirt was long enough for her to retain a modicum of decency, but it was still quite a cheeky sight from the back.

  ‘WHO GOES THERE!’

  Suddenly the door was flung back on its hinges and Pixie appeared, wild-eyed and brandishing a rolling pin. Annabel screamed and slopped her tea over the floor and Harriet’s knees gave way and she slumped backwards against the table with a yelp.

  ‘Pixie!’ I gasped, clutching my chest. ‘You scared us.’

  ‘Well, you frightened the hell out of me!’ she said crossly, lowering her weapon. ‘I was fast asleep and I thought we—’

  ‘Asleep?’ I retorted, taking in her crumpled T-shirt and jeans –yesterday’s outfit, if I wasn’t very much mistaken. ‘Here?’

  She rubbed her eyes. She always looked so different without her thick black glasses, much softer and more girlie, which, she always maintained, was why she’d never wear contact lenses.

  ‘I ended up staying longer than planned last night by which time the water was quite deep and I thought it was safer to stay here than cycle home, so I camped in your office.’ She shot me a defiant look. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, bending down to mop up Annabel’s spilt tea.

  There was more to that story than met the eye, but I’d wait to get her on her own before I delved any deeper. Right now we needed to get cracking; half the village could be on their way any minute to use the ovens, plus I wasn’t entirely sure how we were going to get Harriet’s beast of a turkey cooked before Boxing Day let alone in time for this Ravi to collect in a few hours.

  I explained what was going on to Pixie – who wasn’t even aware there was a power cut, but did thankfully, have a spare pair of leggings to lend to Annabel – and then between us, we lugged the food upstairs to the teaching kitchen (discreetly giving Annabel just a light bag) and prepared ourselves for the onslaught. I was glad of Pixie’s presence; not only is she one of the most enthusiastic people I know, she’s also a grafter and Christmas Day or not, I knew she’d roll up her sleeves and pitch in to help.

  ‘This Christmas is turning out shedloads better than I thought it would,’ trilled Pixie gleefully.

  ‘Good,’ I said, giving her a swift hug and making a mental note to ask what she’d been expecting that was so terrible.

  She connected her phone to the wireless speaker system and selected her Christmas playlist on Spotify. It was a bit more alternative than my usual tastes, and slightly more frenetic, but it did set the pace and before long we were all busy doing something.

  I skipped round the twenty student workstations turning on all the ovens while Harriet and Pixie sorted out a stack of roasting trays big enough for turkeys. Annabel, I noticed, having thrown away the more delicate food items that had landed in the flood water, had taken up residence at one of the deep window sills and was gazing pensively out over the river that ran along the back of the cookery school.

  ‘Ok?’ I said, rubbing her back gently.

  She still looked a bit pale to me and I wished I’d got a nice comfy chair for her to relax into.

  ‘Don’t tell Jack about me, you know, being ill, will you, darling?’ she said, biting her lip.

  ‘Of course not.’ I held her gaze. ‘That’s your prerogative.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, going pink.

  So I was right …

  On cue, Tom and Jack came running up the stairs.

  ‘I don’t mean to worry anyone,’ Tom said breathlessly, ‘but the vicar reckons demand for oven space may well outstrip supply.’

  Jack plonked a kiss on Annabel’s cheek. ‘In that case, I’m staking my claim on the Aga downstairs. And I’ve got some work to do first. I’m going to bone, roll and stuff my beauty.’

  ‘Ooh, can I watch?’ said Pixie, who I noticed had managed to brush her hair, take off her old make-up and reapply some more. ‘I’d love to have a go at deboning.’

  ‘And I’m making more tea and coffee,’ Annabel said, taking a note of everyone’s orders.

  Jack helped himself to a boning knife and a large chopping board and within seconds he’d sliced along the breastbone of the turkey and was letting Pixie snap off the wing tips.

  Tom joined me at the window, slipped an arm around my waist and held me close.

  ‘I spoke to my folks, on the walk over just now,’ he said. ‘Wished them a happy Christmas from both of us.’

  I smiled encouragingly but I couldn’t help feeling a bit envious. He could pick up the phone and speak to his family whenever he chose without having to factor in a seven-hour time difference; I couldn’t wait to phone mine.

  ‘Mum said to be sure to wish you a happy Christmas and thanks for the Cath Kidston handbag. She says she’ll be the envy of everyone at line dancing with that on her arm. And my dad loves the thermal boots; apparently he’s out in the fields in them already, on the pretext of walking the dog. As of now you’re their favourite potential daughter-in-law ever.’

  My heart tweaked with pride. No offence to Tom but he hadn’t had a clue what to buy his parents and was all for sending them a voucher for Argos.

  ‘Everything about that makes me very happy to hear,’ I said, turning and wrapping my arms round his neck. ‘Choosing the perfect gifts for other people is one of my favourite things about Christmas.’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Is there anything about Christmas that isn’t your favourite thing?’

  ‘The washing-up,’ I said decisively.

  ‘Tom or Jack?’ came a plaintive cry from Harriet who was valiantly trying to squeeze Kevin the turkey into a tray. ‘Ho
w long will it take to cook this monster?’

  Jack wiped his hands on his apron and he and Tom went to stare at the giant bird.

  Tom inhaled sharply and raked a hand across his stubble. ‘At a guess, I’d say—’

  ‘Too long for Hot Dinners to wait,’ Jack finished for him.

  ‘Agreed,’ Tom put in.

  ‘Yikes!’ Harriet pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Now what? Chop its legs off?’

  Tom lifted the turkey up and pretended to stagger under the weight of it.

  ‘OK, well, it might need to be done in halves but I’d say spatchcock – Jack?’

  Jack scratched his head. ‘That’ll be the biggest spatchcocked bird I’ve ever seen, but yes, I think it’s our only option.’

  ‘Spatch what?’ said Harriet, looking horrified.

  ‘Ooh, can I watch?’ Pixie abandoned her deboning task and scurried over. ‘Hey, Verity, every day’s a school day, isn’t it?’

  I grinned at her; her enthusiasm was infectious. Since I’d taken over at the cookery school in the summer, I’d encouraged her to enrol in some formal training and her skills were coming on in leaps and bounds. Tom had initially found her casual attitude a bit of an issue, but even he thought she had a spark of something special too these days.

  ‘Sure, watch and learn, ladies.’ Jack rolled up his sleeves and then looked up as Annabel arrived at the top of the stairs carrying a tray of tea. She set it down on a table near the window. ‘Have you got those sausages, love? Someone can squeeze them out of their skins to make my sage and onion stuffing while I’m doing this.’

  ‘Ah, about the sausages.’ Annabel winced. ‘They went for a skinny dip in the lake and I had to ditch them.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jack uncertainly.

  ‘Never fear,’ said Harriet, retrieving the paper bag she’d brought from the cheesemonger’s earlier. ‘I have the world’s best recipe for turkey stuffing right here and no sausage meat required. Jack, you spatchcock and I’ll stuff. A sentence I don’t expect to repeat. Ever.’