‘Ahhh,’ came the chorus of realisation from the family, still watching from inside.
Daniel seemed to deflate. ‘Do you see the hopeless situation I’m in?’
‘No, I see the situation you’ve put this poor woman in.’ Nicola uncrossed and recrossed her arms. ‘Rebecca, I am truly sorry for the misunderstanding, and for what I’ve said. However, my first priority is to our son. Rhys doesn’t need to be upset by something like this. It’s an important year for him.’
Rebecca was shaking her head. ‘He’s had a father for nineteen years. I’ve only just … I’ve …’ but her voice cracked and she couldn’t continue. She strode off towards a battered-looking VW Beetle. Nicola turned back towards the house, and the group huddled at the door all pulled away in unison having been caught spying.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Rhys as he joined them in the hallway. The group stared at him guiltily. He pulled off his headphones and leaned in front of Lottie to look out of the window. ‘Who’s that then?’ he asked, pointing at Rebecca’s car reversing erratically across the grass as Daniel jumped in his car and took off after her.
‘It’s, um. Well, she’s …’ Lottie faltered. She’d wanted one last happy family Christmas, but right now she’d settle for one where they got to the end of it without someone being murdered.
‘Can I smell burning?’ asked Rhys.
As if in reply, the smoke alarm began wailing.
‘Dinner,’ said Lottie, almost shouting, and she fled towards the kitchen, thankful to be literally saved by the bell.
As Lottie charged into the kitchen, the Duchess charged out in a blur of fur, and Lottie found herself alone in the smoke-filled room. The shock of it made her take a large breath and she immediately started to cough. Black fumeswere billowing from the oven. She had to hold her hand over her nose and mouth as she opened it. A wave of black smoke met her and she blinked hard as it stung her eyes. The turkey was ablaze. Still coughing, Lottie pulled on the oven gloves and rescued their dinner from the oven, dropping the roasting tray unceremoniously onto the kitchen table. As she let go she realised the flames had spread to the oven gloves. She yelped and wrestled them off.
Joe appeared as if from nowhere, grabbed a tea towel, stuck it under the tap and spread it over the now fully aflame oven gloves, putting out the fire instantly. He then went through the kitchen opening all the windows. The back door was already swinging open from where he’d dashed in. Jessie was standing on the step outside watching. Joe snatched up another tea towel and took up position underneath the fire alarm, frantically waving until it finally stopped shrieking.
‘Oh dear,’ said Angie, who had come to see what all the commotion was about. She was now peering at the turkey. Flames were still dancing across its charred surface. Lottie could see it was taking all her mother’s self-control not to dissolve into hysterics.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ said Lottie. This was enough to cope with without her mother’s unhelpful commentary.
‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ said Angie. ‘I’m a vegan. Remember?’
Lottie could feel her blood beginning to boil. She was almost as hot as the turkey. ‘I hope you’re not hungry because thevegans,’ she made inverted comma signs in the air, ‘are going to have to share with everyone else.’ A quick glance into the open oven reassured her that the vegan wreath Emily had helped her with earlier had survived the blaze. She picked up the charred oven gloves.
‘It’s likeCarry On Christmas,’ said Angie with a hoot.
‘Showing your age, Mother,’ said Lottie.
Joe escorted Jessie through the still-smoky kitchen into the hallway, waved Angie away and shut the kitchen door. He and Lottie stared at the blackened turkey together. ‘It’s completely ruined,’ said Lottie, failing to hide the dismay in her voice.
‘You might want to cross “chef” off your list of possible new career paths,’ joked Joe.
He took a carving fork from the drawer and gave the turkey a prod. He wasn’t helping. ‘Don’t do that, Joe. It’s definitely dead.’
‘And cremated.’ Joe was nodding.
‘Too late for last rites.’
‘We should probably put it in an urn or scatter it on a rose bush in the garden.’
‘Bugger,’ said Lottie with feeling, as Joe inspected the turkey closely.
‘Actually, I don’t think it’s ruined. It must have been the fat that was burning and not the actual turkey, otherwise by now it would be a lump of charcoal.’
Lottie picked up a sharp knife, nudged Joe out of the way and made a small slice into the breast meat. Underneath the dark skin the turkey was indeed fine. Utter relief washed over her. Joe rummaged in the cupboards and without saying anything handed her a roll of aluminium foil. This was clearly where she had gone wrong. She wrapped a large sheet of foil over the turkey and flung it back in the oven.
Now alone, Joe and Lottie glanced awkwardly at each other. A shiver came over Lottie and she busied herself with shutting the back door. She’d need to leave the windows open a while longer, because the smell of theburning fat was still strong. Goodness knows what Nana would have said, although come to think of it, Lottie was sure Nana would have seen the funny side – and hopefully, eventually, she would too.
The silence between them was thick. Dave trotted in and made himself comfortable on the mophead that the Duchess had recently vacated.
Joe was scanning the kitchen – it was the proverbial bombsite. ‘What’s the motto here?’ he asked with laughter in his voice. ‘“Cook like you’re not cleaning up”?’
‘Except I’ll be doing that, too, unless I frogmarch people in here.’ Lottie sighed. It was like being a lone soldier on a battleground surrounded by the enemy – but worse, because she was related to these people.
