Bess served the lamb cutlets along with buttery, herbed new potatoes and fresh greens and took the plates over to the table. But she soon leapt up again.
‘I almost forgot! It’s Christmas Eve, so… what do you fancy? I have red wine to go perfectly with cutlets.’ She pulled open the cupboard where it was kept before moving on to another. ‘Or… I think I have a bottle of Prosecco at the back of this cupboard…’ She reached in and standing on tiptoes, managed to grab a hold of the glass bottle’s body.
‘I’ll pop this in the freezer,’ she said. ‘It won’t take long to chill.’
Bess had had both bottles of alcohol for a while; she didn’t often drink at home. Her drinks usually happened at the pub when what she was craving more than a beverage was the company.
Marianne picked up the jug of mint sauce and added some to her plate, eyes not leaving the dinner. ‘Not for me, thank you.’
‘You sure?’
‘Completely sure.’
Bess shrugged. She considered pouring herself a glass but drinking alone wasn’t quite as attractive as having company, so she left the Prosecco and the bottle of red where they were. ‘I won’t either. Probably better seeing as I have work tomorrow.’
‘I admire you all, you know. You, Gio, Marco. You all do such a wonderful job, saving lives, putting your own at risk.’
‘Gio is missing it a lot.’ She sliced into a piece of lamb.
‘He’s like a bear with a sore head some days.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘This lamb is so tender; it’s delicious.’ Marianne speared another piece onto her fork. ‘You’re a good cook. I’m terrible.’
‘Not true, you’ve been cooking dinners for Gio, I hear.’
‘Basic stuff any moron could plonk in the oven or in a pan.’
‘You’re selling yourself short.’
‘You know what I’d really like to do?’ Marianne asked between mouthfuls. ‘I’d like to cook my boys a belated Christmas dinner. When Marco and my grandkids finally come to visit, I want to do the boys and them a turkey, the full works.’
‘That sounds like a lovely idea. I’d be happy to give you some tips if you need me to.’
‘Could you teach me how to do a Christmas dinner? I’ve done a few over the years but not for some time; I’m not the best.’
‘I’d love to help you out. I’m working for a few days, I’ll need to see when I’m at Mum’s for our belated Christmas, but we’ll definitely pick a day and do some cooking.’
It felt good to help, it mattered, and Bess knew it was partly her burgeoning friendship with Marianne but also how much she wanted things to go right for Gio.
They chatted over their meal, the constant conversation something else Bess was getting used to. She was a talker in her own right but sometimes, she yearned to zone out and hadn’t realised how much she needed to until she had someone living with her. She’d come to realise the best place to zone out was in her bedroom. Marianne seemed to respect the boundaries of the bedroom door and likewise, Bess did the same. It took Bess back to her student days: your bedroom your only sanctuary and everywhere else sheer bedlam with noise and bodies lazing about everywhere.
Marianne caught sight of some of the items pinned to Bess’s pinboard behind the counter. She pointed to the photo of Besstaken next to some stunning, ultramodern architecture. ‘Where’s that?’
‘Dubai.’
‘It looks hot.’
Bess had a long-sleeved, floaty dress on, her curls pinned up, her cheeks pink. ‘It was. I’d give anything for a bit of hot weather right now.’
‘I love the sunshine too. Never been as far as Dubai, mind you, but I’m not a winter person.’
‘I actually love the seasons. And winter has its perks, like when the frost glistens on the rooftops, when you’re all bundled up beneath clear blue skies and the sun is so bright, it bounces off the ground.’
Marianne smiled. ‘A friend of mine went to Lapland once, saw Santa. She says that was for her daughter’s benefit but I’m no fool.’
‘I’d love it too. It wouldn’t matter whether I was five or fifty. I’d try snow shoeing, or ride on the back of a sled pulled by huskies. Can you imagine?’
