‘Right. Yes.’ Zach at last jogged off down the hallway. ‘Em, wait! I can explain.’
Chapter Fifteen
Lottie busied herself in the kitchen and was pleased with how dinner was coming along. It was slightly worrying that everything seemed to be under control – it probably meant she’d forgotten something vital. She checked her plan and timings. It was all on track. As per Emily’s mum’s instructions, she liberally basted the turkey with goose fat and reverently returned it to the warmth of the old cooker.
Angie’s head popped round the door. ‘Did you find those batteries?’
‘No, sorry, I’ve only got the little ones. I think Zach used the last big ones for one of Jessie’s new toys.’
‘Great, which toy?’
Angie’s enthusiasm had Lottie suspicious. ‘That noisy robot thing. Why?’
‘No reason,’ said Angie and she was gone.
Lottie had no sooner turned back to the cooker than a bump and bang announced Uncle Bernard powering into the kitchen, catching the doorframe on the way in. ‘I’ve come to check on the ham,’ he bellowed. He’d been on the sherry since breakfast, which definitely impacted on his driving skills and probably wasn’t wise on his medication.
‘It’s in the fridge. We don’t need it until teatime,’ said Lottie.
‘What time is dinner?’ asked Daniel, strolling in with his eyes glued to his phone.
‘Usual time. Why?’ asked Lottie, as she hopped up to sit on the worktop to avoid being run over by Uncle Bernard, who was now lapping the kitchen.
‘Thought I might … um … pop out afterwards. Or possibly before.’ Uncle Daniel pulled out a chair and blocked Lottie’s route to the cooker. ‘Have I got time before dinner?’
Lottie was getting flustered; she was meant to be making the stuffing. ‘That depends on where you need to be and how long you’re staying for.’
‘Ah, yes. I suppose.’ Daniel returned to his phone.
A door banged and the sound echoed down the hallway. Someone wasn’t happy. Zach appeared in the doorway. ‘That didn’t go well,’ he said, all saggy-shouldered.
Lottie didn’t have time to comfort him now. ‘I’m sure Emily will come around.’ She reread the ingredients and instructions for the stuffing for the fifth time.
‘Should I slice the ham now?’ Uncle Bernard had his head in the fridge – Lottie wasn’t sure if he was asking her or not. ‘It’d be all ready to go into sandwiches then.’ He hummed ‘Jingle Bells’ as if pondering his options. ‘Where’s the electric knife thingy?’ he asked, spinning his chair ominously in Lottie’s direction.
A vision of a Christmas Day massacre as Uncle Bernard careered around in his out-of-control wheelchair brandishing the electric carving knife shot into Lottie’s mind. She couldn’t risk that. ‘I think it died,’ she said. She couldn’t look him in the eye; he’d know she was lying.
‘That’s a shame.’ Uncle Bernard looked sad.
‘I’ll have a check later,’ said Lottie, relenting. ‘I might be wrong.’
‘Where’s the robot? I can’t find it and Jessie has disappeared,’ said Angie, marching in with her hands on her hips.
‘Enough!’ said Lottie, and they all jolted at her raised voice. ‘I can’t concentrate if everyone is asking me questions.’
‘Should we go, Button?’ asked Uncle Bernard.
‘Yes, please,’ said Lottie, composing herself.
Angie had a face like she’d swallowed holly. ‘But I just need—’
‘Shoo,’ said Bernard, and he ran her out of the kitchen with his wheelchair on its highest speed setting.
‘Thank you,’ called Lottie. She was grateful to Uncle Bernard, although she feared the day could still end in a hail of bullets – or her mince pies, which could probably do a similar level of damage.
Lottie made the stuffing using step-by-step instructions from Emily’s mum. It was much easier now everyone had disappeared. She moved back to view everything bubbling merrily on the stove and breathed a little sigh of relief. She hoped it wasn’t tempting fate, but she seemed to be on track.
She scanned her list. Next up: lay the table. Their Christmas table was always something special, and this year was no exception. Lottie had sat down weeks ago with Nana and they had chosen the colour scheme, so she wanted to make sure it was just right.
