‘You’ve been watching too many of his films,’ she says, thumbing in Nash’s direction.Christopher shushes her, and he swears he sees a tiny grin in the corner of Nash’s mouth.
‘All we need now is the food,’ says Nash, who this whole time has been scribbling down ideas on a piece of paper, whole menus of dishes, what ingredients are essential and what could be substituted.
Christopher has no idea where he’s pulled all this from, but it aches his heart a little, in a good way.Despite Christopher’s accusations of him not being serious the other night, Nash has kept showing up.All this time.He fits in here, Christopher thinks, but quickly banishes the thought.It’s not as if Nash is going to be here much longer.Would he even want that?
He can’t get lost in daydreams and wishes right now.He needs to focus on the real challenge: cooking for God knows how many people tomorrow with hardly any ingredients.
An ominous rumble sounds, growing louder and louder, and for a second Christopher worries that the real danger is some kind of avalanche.But to his relief, it’s just the sound of an enormous tractor pulling up outside the village hall, one giant wheel visible through the window.
And in strides a tiny farmer, carrying what Christopher is pretty sure is at least half an animal, followed by another tiny farmer, carrying bags and bags of potatoes.
‘We heard some rumours of a Christmas dinner,’ Dai says.
‘And we thought you might need something to cook!’Thelma finishes.
The pair of them look like post-Christmas Future Ebenezer Scrooges.
Nash grins, and rushes to take the food from them both.‘Nowthatis a Christmas miracle,’ he confirms.‘And I should know.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Christopher
With the food from Thelma and Dai, and a quick run to the supermarket and corner shops, they havejustenough food to feed everyone tomorrow.Hopefully, Christopher thinks, everyone will just be glad of a hot meal and company, and not mind what ends up on the table.
For starters, there’ll be a cream of vegetable soup using all the sadder bits of veg they rescued from the supermarket.And through a stroke of luck there was only UHT non-dairy cream in stock, so if any vegans show up it’ll work for them, too.Christopher will bake some sourdough loaves to go with the soup.Easy – he’ll just have to be up nice and early to get going on that.
They’ve got what is essentially almostallof one of Thelma’s lamb’s legs to roast, which should be more than enough meat for everyone.Dai threw in a couple of hams, too, which Nash wants to cook first so there’s time for them to cool ahead of slicing.For the vegetarians, they’ll make a kind of Wellington-cum-nut-roast, which Nash insists he has done before.And then there are all the various veggies scrounged from the supermarkets and whatever anyone had going spare, and more potatoes than Christopher has ever seen in his life.
As for dessert, Christopher remembers he has some of the Christmas puds left in the cupboard, ready to age for next year, but they’ll be good to eat now.
As evening really draws in, Nash carries all the food home from the community centre, making several trips, while Christopher unloads the supermarket shopping from the van.He’s just about to unpack the bags, too, when Nash stops him.
‘Don’t you have a gingerbread house to make?’
‘It’s not essential.’
Nash gives him a look he can’t quite place.‘I can handle this.Go make your silly little biscuit building.It’s important to do your traditions, right?’
Something catches in his throat, and Christopher wants to speak, but he’s so tired that all he can really do is nod.He tries not to watch as the shopping piles up, and Nash meticulously organises it, packing things away in the bakery kitchen as though he has been doing so for years.
It’s bordering on night by the time Christopher is finally able to start on the dough for his gingerbread house.If he was being sensible, he would go to bed early, and put this off another day – or until after Christmas.After all, he has to cook a whole Christmas dinner for, best estimate, about twenty-five adults tomorrow.And that’s after a long day of puppy birthing and healing old resentments between former friends, and dealing with annoyingly helpful yet still egotistical and handsome film stars he’d only just slept with.It’s been ...a day.
But because nothing about this is a normal Christmas, baking gingerbread is at least a tradition he can ground himself in.
Funny how much Nash could sense he needed it, really.
Over the last few years, he’d done a real showstopper, mostly because his mother always wanted to give one away for the Christmas fête she organised.If he had time, he’d always make one for himself, too.The thing about making a house out of biscuit is that so much can go wrong, but that’s bizarrely what Christopher likes about it.Every step has to be meticulous – the structural integrity of the biscuit, thedesign of the house, the decorations placed outside, which must not overbalance the building itself.Really, it’s a little like the bakery window displays he likes doing: the balance of bright and edible, the eye-catching and the stable.
Given the general lack of supplies, he’ll have to think on his feet more about decoration, but he falls back on his usual recipe for gingerbread.It’s a dough not dissimilar from apepparkakor, but not as thin, so probably more akin to aspeculoos.He’s tried a few other variations in the past – including golden syrup instead of treacle – but this one feels right.It feels like home.
He feels a little embarrassed when he takes down his notebook of recipes from the supplies shelf, self-consciously flicking through to the right page, slightly spattered with icing sugar and spices.It’s silly but this book feels like the sum of all his hopes and dreams, in some ways.He started filling it out when he was at pâtisserie school, determined that writing things out by hand would help techniques stick in his brain.And now, whenever that dark overwhelm appears, threatening that this dream isn’t going to last becausehow could it, he comes to this book and flicks through the pages, filled with hopes and knowledge and promises to himself.
A stillness settles over him as he measures out all the spices – cinnamon, of course, ground cardamom too, and a kick of ginger.Thelma had also brought a couple of boxes of eggs fresh from her farm, so they go into the mix, yolks so golden-orange they might be red.The lid of the black treacle comes away in a deliciously gooey pop, and the dark syrup folding into all the dry ingredients feels like a kind of alchemy.
As Christopher works the dough, he can’t help but watch Nash from across the kitchen, settled in a contemplative quiet as he makes the plan for tomorrow with all the timings.He’s thorough, and generous with his time and thoughts.
Christopher doesn’t mind the number-juggling part, but he’s really quite glad that Nash has taken the thinking out of tomorrow for him.Naturally, he’ll double check – he’s stillChristopherafter all – but still.As he’ll be the one leading the cooking, he’s glad he’ll have Nash’s plan to work from.
