Jeannie glared at him. Not the best timing, Cal.
‘I didn’t have time,’ Martha answered. ‘But I managed to get Toots in there.’ She pointed to the inside.
We all bent down to look into the windows. Sure enough, there was a little gingerbread lady under a napkin.
‘Goodness me!’ Jeannie’s voice rose two octaves. ‘Do you think that’s funny, Martha?’
Martha looked at her with a deadpan expression. ‘No, I do not,’ she replied seriously, ‘I was trying to make it accurate.’
I gave Martha a squeeze on the shoulder in solidarity, but grimaced to myself.Oh Martha darling, you’re certainly not going to win now.
Mine sat next to Martha’s and was literally and figuratively a world away. I’d crushed up biscuits to make sand around the house, using blue, green and pink icing to pipe tropical flowers and palm trees onto the side of the house. The four gingerbread men wore surf shorts and dresses.
‘Very summery, Olivia. What was your inspiration?’
I wanted to tell her the truth, which was that it was obviously inspired by the new life awaiting us the other side of the world, but instead I said, ‘Your famous tropical Christmas parties, Jeannie.’
She smiled at that. ‘Very nice.’
Callum bumped shoulders with me and mouthed,‘Bullshit’, and I served him a self-satisfied smile.
Clem’s was next. Decorated in blue and white, it was a gingerbread house fit for a snow queen. She had stuck lollipops around the outside, creating a pathway to the house amidst the crushed peppermint snow. Glistening white and blue gumdrops interspersed the intricate latticework on the roof, and piped on the walls were whirling snowflakes.
‘Well… I think we know who our winner is… yet again,’ said Jeannie, although she didn’t sound too happy about it.
Clem beamed, a glistening sheen of sweat on her brow.
‘You’ve outdone yourself, Clementine,’ said Jeannie, rallying. ‘Worked up a real sweat, too, by the looks of it! Well deserved. Here—’ She handed her a magnum of champagne with a big red bow, and a box of Fortnum & Mason chocolates. ‘I wouldn’t share this with Fergus if I were you.’
‘Thank you.’ Clem took them, cradling them like two babies. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a lie down. I think I’ve overexerted myself.’
‘I should think you have,’ Jeannie said dryly.
Clem headed out, clutching her prizes and walking straight past Fergus, who was dozing in his chair.
‘Well,’ Jeannie said, clapping her hands together. ‘Who’s for some hot cocoa with marshmallows?’
As we retreated to the sitting room, Mrs Harlow was coming down the stairs, arms laden with sheets. As Miles hurried over to help her, I couldn’t help notice the strange look on her face.
* * *
Later that evening, no one wanted a big dinner after consuming too much sweet stuff during the gingerbread competition. Instead, Mimi and the twins opted to graze on the leftovers from lunch and head to their rooms. I rustled up beans on toast for me, Miles and the kids, glad of some time to ourselves.
Miles turned to Callum and Martha, both engrossed in their devices. ‘How are you both?’ he asked solemnly.
Martha looked up. ‘I’m okay.’ She shrugged.
‘Cal?’ Miles ventured. ‘How are you doing?’
Callum bit his bottom lip as he concentrated hard on whatever he was doing. ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ he said absently.
‘Please, will you put them down for a second? I want to talk to you.’ The kids clocked Miles’s sober expression and did as they were told. ‘I want you to know something…’
He put his arm around me and gripped me tightly. I had no idea what he was about to say and my stomach did a somersault.
‘I hope that your mother and I have raised you in a loving, harmonious household. We’ve tried to shield you somewhat from the goings-on in our wider families…’ He trailed off, looking to me as if seeking permission to say what he was about to say. I nodded my encouragement. ‘I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that the way the Weisses deal with things is to repress and bury our feelings deep so that we are perceived as strong, resilient overachievers. And your mother’s family, well…’
‘They like to brawl,’ I finished his sentence for him, knowing he wouldn’t want to talk badly about my family. ‘They love nothing more than a punch-up on a Friday night if someone so much as looks at them the wrong way.’
