Friday
20th December
23.
Marshmallows this way …
Friday begins with another breakfast tussle between Milo and Bill, but this time there’s a variation. Bill is nowhere around, but he’s bagged his pitch first and left Keef to oversee. Whoever the baker with the cool writing is has sent little labels and jars of home made jams, several cards of instructions on how to make perfect waffles. Then there are bowls full of mixture, six electric waffle makers and flour sifters filled with icing sugar.
There’s also a bowl of gluten free and egg free mixture so Scout, Solomon and Sailor have no excuse not to join in. All I can say is, for anyone thinking of giving seven kids waffle irons and strawberry jam and telling them to get on with it – unless you want your kitchen to look like world war three just happened, then don’t. It makes the hot chocolate topping destruction that Milo walked in on look like a hiccough.
I wave an instruction card splattered with jam and waffle mix at Tiff and Tansy. ‘We could do with your laminator for these.’ And they nod back, their mouths bursting with apricot jam and waffles.
As for me, Willow comes gliding by with a strong recommendation for blueberries to balance my aura, so I’m not going to argue. And waffles are one of those things – it’s easy to forget how delicious they are. You can go months, or even years without eating them, but once I close my teeth on the crisp golden crunch and get the softness of the icing sugar exploding on my tongue, all complimented by a large clump of blueberry jam – I seriously can’t stop eating them. As far as the sugar-free breakfast brigade go, they can’t know icing sugar counts because they’re shaking it on their waffles like there’s no tomorrow.
Whoever thought up this breakfast did not anticipate the clearing up time either. It’s a good thing we don’t need a fast getaway for the day’s activities, because Fliss and I are still wiping jam out of the cracks between the floorboards and waffle mix out of Oscar’s hair at lunchtime. But however energetic and unable to switch off Libby is, holidays are about chilling. Today Libby’s holed up in the laundry sorting through parcels leaving everyone else free to run on slowmo. And for once, that’s okay.
We carry on making our deccies, then Tiff and Tansy come and help me and Merwyn hang the pink and orange stars on our tree. Mostly I think they just want to check I’m telling the truth about not having Bill tucked under my duvet. Obviously I wouldn’t have, Keef already told us, he’s gone off up towards St Austell making gin deliveries. Next we go up to their room and cover their tree with their super-pretty newspaper stars and fill in the gaps with silver and gold baubles from Bill’s boxes of randomness. And then we go to their tower alcove for a little make up trial.
It’s very low key. Scraping my hair back out of the way in a headband like Tiff suggests is completely impossible for now. I push my hair back, and offer her my face, just for a few seconds to begin with, because my stomach’s wrenching so hard. I manage a touch of foundation, a whisk of powder off a brush. Then Tiff stands back, swishes her lovely pink tulle skirt with sequins in it. She smiles and says, ‘Not so bad?’ And actually she’s right.
And then Willow’s lot sit down to watch101 Dálmatasagain joined by Oscar and Harriet who don’t give a damn they can’t understand it and are doing a great job pretending to be bilingual. So Fliss comes into the tower room too and we all try out the latest nude lippy shades, and Tansy has a go at our eyebrows, and we all end up looking like we had an accident in the dark with a Sharpie and have to go and scrub them off.
Obviously we’re just marking time, letting our appetites build for the big event of today, the night time market. As we pile out of the cars down on the seafront car park in St Aidan later, it’s after six but it’s been dark for hours. The half moon is spreading its beam across the sky, lighting the clouds from behind, making them luminous, and sending shimmers across the glassy blackness of the sea below. As the wind tosses salt spray in our faces we can hear the waves rolling in and crashing up the beach, randomly splattering out over the railings and onto the promenade. As we make our way along to the harbour, the light strings between the lamp posts are swinging wildly, and below them the wide pavement is heaving with people, most of them wearing Santa hats, all of them shrinking inside the bulk of their padded jackets against the chilly air slicing off the water. As we pass the ice rink full of skaters Fliss and I are bumping a pushchair each over the cobbles.
We push towards the stalls, lured by the smells of sweet caramelised almonds, garlicky cheese and roasting sausages. As I hear a familiar voice behind me, I turn to see Bill. ‘No falling over tonight, okay?’
I pull my hat down to stop my ears getting freeze blasted by the cold. ‘No more disasters for me, I’ve had enough, thanks.’
He’s got his hands deep in his pockets and as I catch a glimpse of his open jacket for a nanosecond I can’t help thinking how it would feel to be wrapped up inside there with him. Knowing he’s not with Gemma makes me feel less of a traitor. But I’m kicking myself even more. If I learned one thing from George it was to avoid posh guys who ski. But even if I did want to be with someone like Bill, if he was out of my league before – and he totally was – he’ll be out of my universe with my face as it is now. Realistically I’d probably have more chance with Ian Somerhalder. I’m asking myself why the hell I’m wasting brain time with thoughts like that when we come to Miranda and Ambrose, who’ve stopped right in front of us.
Fliss pulls to a halt next to them. ‘Hurry up you two, you don’t want to miss those roasted chestnuts.’
Miranda raises her eyebrows. ‘Ambie’s thinking he’d prefer dinner up at The Harbourside Hotel.’
Fliss lets out a cry. ‘I thought Christmas markets were your favourite, we couldn’t get you away from the one in Brighton last year.’
Miranda comes in closer and lowers her voice. ‘Apparently he’s not keen on street vendors or crowds or the salmonella.’
Miranda’s whispering, but Fliss’s protest is loud. ‘Aren’t the food and the bustle the best parts? Surely, you can eat at the Harbourside any time, this is only one night.’
Miranda’s putting a brave face on this, but her smile is a little too bright to be real. ‘It’s fine, he’s decided, I’d better run.’ He’s already backing into the shadows without her. If she doesn’t go soon, she’ll lose him.
As she hurries away, Milo leaps from behind us. ‘Actually, I think I’ll join them … if that’s okay with everyone?’ He’s looking at me.
I ignore the double thumbs up Tiff is giving me and answer Milo. ‘You need to be there, we totally understand, we’ll see you back home.’
Fliss is rolling her eyes. ‘Poor Mum. Let’s hope they serve gooseberry crumble for you Milo.’ I get where she’s coming from. What exactly is Milo planning to do if Ambie does propose … throw himself on top of the ring before Miranda gets it onto her finger?
Bill’s straight in with the directions. ‘Left through the harbour, and up the hill. There’s an exclusive outdoor terrace with a patio heater, you can look down on the rest of us from there.’ He turns to us. ‘And I have to nip up to the Parrot and Pirate to see about a gin order, so I’ll catch you later too.’
Then as Bill wanders off, I catch the ping of Fliss’s message tone. ‘Hey, and we have signal.’
She pauses, pulls her phone out of her pocket, as she looks at the screen she’s hissing under her breath. ‘Damn, what the hell is he playing at?’
I check that Tiff and Tansy are far enough in front not to hear, and murmur back over Harriet’s head. ‘Rob?’ He’s supposed to be arriving tomorrow.
She lets out a breath. ‘That’s him saying he’s staying on to work Monday, possibly Tuesday too.’ Her voice is small and she pulls her hood up further and wipes her cuff across her nose. ‘I’m starting to think he won’t turn up here at all. All the signs say he’s baubles deep in a Christmas fling with someone from the office. I mean, what if this is him leaving us?’
