No!Emily wanted to shout.No, I can’t wait a minute longer, but I also probably won’t be able to pee if I know you’re all hovering outside waiting for me to finish. She gave her sweetest smile. ‘Of course. Take as long as you need.’
‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you over the next few days,’ said Angie, with a smile that would challenge Cruella De Vil for malevolence.
Emily nodded and tried to look happy about the prospect as she retreated along the corridor.
Lottie had been avoiding the difficult conversation of where Great Uncle Bernard was going to move to when the house was sold. She had tried a couple of times to go over it in her head, but each time it had seemed so harsh that at the age of seventy-two and in wobbly health he was being forced out of somewhere that had been his home for the last twenty-odd years. Lottie had decided that she would encourage her mother and her uncle to have that conversation with Bernard over Christmas. They would be far better at it than she would be, and hopefully they had already thought through some suitable options for the elderly man.
A whirring of the motorised wheelchair announced Bernard’s arrival. ‘Hi, Uncle Bernie. You okay?’ said Lottie, without turning around.
‘I’m grand, as always. How are you getting on?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Lottie, but the manic giggle that followed gave away that she wasn’t. Despite her list, everything already felt out of control. That feeling hadn’t been helped in the least by the shock return of Joe, who kept popping up in her mind like a cork bobbing to the surface.
‘Have you cooked the ham?’
‘I don’t think it needs cooking. Does it?’ Lottie had struggled to get the huge joint that had been part of the order Nana had arranged into the fridge.
‘It does. Rose did it in the pressure cooker.’
Lottie knew her eyes had gone into cartoon mode. She hated the pressure cooker. It made a weird hissing noise like it was about to explode, and seeing as terrorists used them to make bombs they were obviously a dangerous piece of kit. ‘I’m not using that thing. It’s lethal.’
‘Ah, don’t be a wuss. I’ll show you.’ And Bernard powered off towards the utility room. Lottie added ‘cookham’ to her lengthy to-do list and then swiftly ticked it off, which gave her a little buzz of satisfaction. Although looking at all the other things still to do, it was a tad misplaced.
Bernard came back in with the pressure cooker on his lap and the large vacuum-sealed ham balanced precariously on top. ‘I don’t want to be bothering you, Lottie, but you have defrosted the bird. Haven’t you?’
‘Bum,’ said Lottie, dashing past him and wrenching open the giant chest freezer where the turkey almost sneered back at her. She managed to lug it out without falling in and plonked the heavy solid mass on the kitchen table with a thud. They both stared at the imposing frozen lump.
‘Hot water,’ said Bernard.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Sit it in hot water to defrost overnight. It’ll be fine.’
‘It has to be, otherwise it’s salmonella all round.’ Lottie ran her fingers through her short hair. ‘Or Marmite sandwiches.’
‘Ew, I don’t know which of those would be worse.’ Bernard pulled a face and moved round to the cooker. How had she forgotten the turkey? And if she’d forgotten that what else had she missed off her list? ‘It’s okay if Dayea joins us for dinner tomorrow, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Um …’ Lottie was frantically scanning her list but not really taking any of it in.
‘Because I’ve already invited her.’
‘In which case it’s absolutely fine,’ said Lottie, giving the old man a pat on the shoulder. It was a very big turkey and, assuming it did defrost in time, then there would be enough to go around.
‘Champion,’ said Uncle Bernard. ‘You know Rose wouldbe proud of you standing up to everyone over this.’ He looked at her with sincere eyes and hugged the ham. ‘You did the right thing, Lottie. Families should be together at Christmas, despite how much they think they shouldn’t be.’
Lottie had a lump in her throat almost as big as the turkey, so she just gave him another pat on the shoulder.
Chapter Six
Lottie was busy making sausage rolls. She appeared to have more flour on herself than anywhere else. Nana’s handwritten recipe had very few instructions. ‘Knead pastry’ was an example. No explanation of what type of pastry or for how long to knead it or exactly what kneading was for that matter. Lottie had thumped it about a bit and now, despite the abundance of flour, it was firmly attached to the worktop. Lottie huffed and a cloud of flour plumed in front of her. She decided she and flour were not a good combination. This was stupidly hard.
Footsteps coming down the stairs at high speed announced Jessie’s arrival. ‘Hiya,’ said the little girl, running into the kitchen. ‘Where’s the Duchess? I couldn’t find her before.’
‘I don’t know where she’s got to. She had a bit of a fright earlier and she’s had two baths today so I think she’s hiding. Why don’t you help me instead?’ asked Lottie. Jessie nodded happily. ‘Great. Please can you lay the table in the snug with the white tablecloth and the pretty mats? They’re in the sideboard in the dining room.’ She didn’t get a reply because Jessie was already running off.
Lottie crossed ‘lay table’ off her list. She had anotherlook at the sausage roll recipe, and seeing Nana’s neat handwriting afresh spiked at the sadness inside her. She took a moment to compose herself. It would be ridiculous to cry over a sausage roll recipe.
The clang of the bell pull sounded through the house. She pulled back her shoulders, grabbed a damp sponge and rubbed at her hands as she went to the front door.
