She propped up her copy of the new Delia by the cooker and relished the peace and quiet achieved by shutting the kitchen door on the rest of the family. Just give me a few minutes, she thought; just let me get this turkey sorted out. This was her first year flying solo, without her mum taking the lead. She started thinking of Christmases past with the two of them in the kitchen, a bolt-hole from the chaos of the rest of the house. A chance to talk and to listen and to understand one another. She hauled her thoughts back to the present. There would be plenty of time to reminisce about Mum, after the turkey was sorted out.
The turkey in question seemed to be taking up a huge amount of room on the worksurface and she was not feeling at all confident about turning it into a delicious traditional Christmas dinner. But she was putting her faith in Delia. And she was pretty confident her mum would be keeping an eye out for her as well.
Right, cover the breast of the turkey in softened butter. OK, that sounds fine. She put a slab of butter in the microwave and turned the dial for 30 seconds or so. At that moment the door flew open and daughter number two rushed in.
“Mum,” she exclaimed. “Grandpa needs another glass of sherry.”
There was so much to worry about in this sentence. Needs, she thought, another glass? It was only 10.30 in the morning. “Where did he get the first one?” she asked.
“He found a bottle in the sideboard?” her daughter replied.
She marched into the sitting room. Her father was sitting, looking slightly glazed, with an empty glass in his hand and an empty bottle on the floor by his chair. She prayed it hadn’t been full. Her parents-in-law were on the sofa with daughter number one, looking at a doll and her son was lying on the floor reading a book. Her husband was conspicuous by his absence.
“You can have a coffee for the time being,” she said to her father. “Anyone else?”
“Tea, please.”
“Can I have a hot chocolate?”
“Sherry for me please.” This from her mother-in-law.
“Just hot drinks for the moment,” she said brightly, seething inside. All she wanted to do was get on with preparing the dinner.
She disappeared back into the kitchen, put the kettle on and started slapping the melted butter over the turkey. Right, cooking time. According to Delia, a 13 kilos turkey should take…13 kilos, blimey that’s way bigger than any of hers. She paused to work it out based on a 6 kilo bird. Oh my God, it’s going to take about 11 hours. We’ll be eating at 10 tonight. That’s after my mother-in-law’s bedtime. Before panic could completely set in, she looked again at the turkey. It was big, but not that big. Surely a 13 kilo turkey wouldn’t even fit in the oven? She stared at it, wait a minute, pounds not kilos. That’s it, 13 pounds.
The door flew open again. “I need batteries for my doll,” announced daughter number one.
“Eh, it’s a doll? Why does it need batteries?”
“Because it cries and talks. Or rather, it should.”
“Of course it does. Ask your father, I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Shouldn’t the turkey be in the oven by now?”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said through gritted teeth. “Go and find your Dad.”
“Where is he?”
That’s a good question, she thought. Where is he? If he’s gone into his shed, I’ll bloody well murder him.
“Try the shed, darling,” she said, turning back to the turkey.
Her daughter left and she grappled once again with cooking times. Luckily, Delia came to the rescue. She had the exact times for a 13 pound turkey. Start to finish 5 and a half hours. Perfect. Her husband walked in.
“Do you know where the batteries are?”
She waved a wooden spoon in his direction. “No, I don’t, and I’m busy. Go and find them.”
“They may be in the shed,” he said vaguely.
“Don’t you dare,” she replied advancing on him with the spoon outstretched. He retreated commendably quickly from the kitchen.
Taking advantage of a lull in the interruptions (she ignored the call of “any sign of my tea” that came from the sitting room), she finished preparing the turkey and wrapped it in its foil parcel. She was about to put it in the oven and set the timer when her son came in.
Before he could speak, she said, “Can you please set the table so we don’t have to think about it later?”
“OK Mum,” he replied. “Do we have nine of everything?”
“You mean eight?”
“I think you’ll find there’s nine.”
“Five of us, grandpa, nana and grandad. That’s eight.”
“What about grandpa’s special friend?”
“The sherry bottle doesn’t need a place setting,” she muttered caustically.
“I mean Angela.”
“Angela? Who the..” she restrained herself and walked through to the sitting room. Sure enough, there was a smartly dressed lady sitting in the second armchair, deep in conversation with her father. She spun around and decided her husband could sort this one out. She had heard him go upstairs, presumably looking for batteries, so she headed up after him. She found him in the bedroom looking suspiciously as though he had just leapt off the bed.
“Can’t find any,” he announced cheerfully.
“Who the bloody hell is Angela?”
“Angela? Oh, wait a minute.” He suddenly looked very sheepish. “I think I may have forgotten to tell you about…”
“Anything else you’ve forgotten to tell me about?” She interrupted crossly. “Should I be expecting some more surprise guests? Have you invited any of the neighbours to join us for a spot of Christmas lunch?” With that she spun on her heel and flounced out spoiling the effect by tripping over the batteryless doll that had fallen onto the floor.
Back in her sanctuary, she finally slid the turkey into the oven and set the timer. With a big sigh, she sat on one of the kitchen chairs and wondered if it was too early to start drinking. At that moment daughter number two came in.
“Grandpa said he’ll have his coffee with milk and one sugar please.”
She launched herself out of the chair, prepared to shoot the messenger and then thought better of it. But it was definitely not too early to start drinking.
Five and a half hours later she glanced around the table at her family; and Angela. Sporadic bursts of happy chatter were interspersed with the serious business of eating and drinking. Everything and everyone were sparkling as the candle flames flickered on the decorations, the glasses and on happy faces. She had done it. She had created this. She raised her glass, looked up and whispered softly, “Thanks Mum.”
- the end -