She winced and looked down. ‘I’m sorry, honey, I just can’t do it. I’ve got family who’ve flown over to be here for Christmas—’
‘It’s all right.’ I lifted my hand in a calming gesture. ‘It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine but it is what it is. And what it is, is that I am doomed.’
‘Your mum still might make it back.’
‘How were the roads yesterday?’
Her expression said it all. There went that minor spark of hope. ‘I’ll get on with phoning the butcher eh? Get replacements for those cuts of meat Henry pinched. Then once they’re delivered, I’ll cook my arse off so as much of it is done for you as possible. Yeah?’
The tight band around my chest loosened a fraction. ‘Yes. Thank you, Neeta. I’d appreciate that.’
We were halfway through breakfast when she broke it to me that the butcher didn’t have any more turkeys. They could replace the other cuts of meat but, unsurprisingly, the turkeys were all gone. I should have made Henry return that food. Why did I let him take it? Or at least I should have called the butcher yesterday, like Henry had said he was going to so he could hide the fact that he’d pinched Christmas dinner. If it had been anything else, I could have just taken it off the menu and apologised to the guests, but no turkey? On Christmas Day? I was going to have to go trekking out in the snow again and who knew how long that would take?
I decided to put it out of my head until breakfast was finished. Perhaps my subconscious would work on the problem for me…and when I figured out how to split myself into two people, I could sell the secret to the military.
When Nick came down to breakfast neither his nan nor Stephen were with him. He fetched himself cereal and orange juice from the buffet, sat at a table in front of the windows and looked out over the snowy rear gardens. Whenever I checked on him – which was a lot okay – he hadn’t even touched his food.
I hoped he wasn’t having regrets. I wasn’t. Last night almost felt like a dream now. A really hot, confusing dream – but I remembered enough to be sure that for the remaining days of his stay, I would not object to having him around me…and by that I meant I wanted to plaster myself to his body and not let go.
I sat down with him as soon as I’d done the majority of the serving. I just couldn’t help myself. It looked like a photograph outside: nothing moving, nothing changing, just white-white and grey-blue shapes.
‘Thank you for yesterday,’ I said. ‘I can’t remember if I thanked you for helping me with the mince pies, but it doesn’t matter because you deserve an extra thank you even if I did.’
He turned his head away from the window and gave me a faint smile. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person, or maybe it was Christmas Eve and he was sad. I immediately felt awful. Here I was, sizing him up like a prime steak and he was crashing into his grief, trying to deal with his first Christmas without his mother.
‘It was my pleasure. All of it.’ He reached across the table and stroked his fingertips lightly over the back of my hand, stopping at the cuff of my jumper, and I lit up like one of those touch-sensitive lamps. I glanced around the room and he laughed a little, some colour coming back to his cheeks. ‘Is there a rule prohibiting staff from fraternising with guests?’
‘I was just checking in case anyone needed anything,’ I protested.
‘You should look in this direction then. I need something.’
My gaze locked with his and the heat in it shocked me. Breakfast service had certainly never been this interesting. An intense craving to lean over and kiss him gripped me. I had a feeling it would wake me up more than another cup of coffee.
I am ashamed to admit I flipped my hair over my shoulder before I could stop myself. The only way to save myself from such obviously flirty behaviour was to own it. ‘You’d like something hot?’
‘Yes, please.’ His fingers crept under my sleeve, sliding around to touch the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. Goose bumps raced up my arm.
‘Well…we do full English breakfasts, scrambled eggs, omelette, toast, porridge—’ He laughed, and I was pleased to see the humour back in his face. ‘Is your nan okay?’
‘Yeah, she’s fine. Just sleeping it off…again.’
‘And Stephen?’
‘He finally snapped out of his trance and then kept me up for another hour talking me through the horrors of natural labour.’
‘Oh my God, did Noelle have him helping or something?’
‘No. He was downstairs, they were upstairs, but it was still too close as far as he was concerned.’
‘Poor baby,’ I crooned. ‘Listening to a woman going through agony must’ve been terrible for him.’ I expected him to laugh, it was just a joke, but he frowned down at the tablecloth instead. ‘What did I say?’ He stayed quiet and I dared to ask something further. ‘Is it something to do with why you didn’t want to drive them to the hospital yesterday?’
‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the little marks his glasses left there and then forced a smile. ‘So, what can I do to help you out today? Any more mince pies to bake?’
‘Sadly no. Our other chef is in today, so I’ve just got hideously boring things to do, like turning down rooms and cleaning up after breakfast. And the bar too. I mustn’t forget the bar.’ I tapped my forehead, trying to imprint the to-do list in my brain and the problem I’d been trying to forget resurfaced. I dropped my voice to a whisper. ‘Oh, and I somehow need to find a turkey.’
‘Right. I could do that.’
‘If you’re intending to walk into the village, I can tell you now, you will not find one. Unless you’re planning on mugging a local.’
