Chapter 14 Jenny
Jenny
J enny pulled a tray of mince pies from the oven and put them on the rack to cool.
She and her mother, with help from Rosie, had been cooking since breakfast for the party, while Jamie and Declan had balanced on ladders stringing lights around the trees in the back garden that Roy the roofer hadn’t had time to do.
It was a cosy family moment, or would have been if it hadn’t been for Hayley, who was fiddling self-consciously with a half-drunk cup of coffee as she watched Jenny and Rosie roll out pastry and assemble mince pies.
When Jenny had asked earlier if she’d like to help, Hayley had shaken her head.
I’m not much of a cook. I’ll probably ruin them and poison everyone.
Jenny had carried on chatting, keeping the conversation neutral, but now she made a decision.
No matter that she occasionally wished secretly that everything could just stay the same for five minutes and not change, that was never going to happen.
And she was honest enough with herself to know that if that did happen, she’d be worried because she wanted her children to have love in their lives, even if it changed the shape of their family.
She’d always considered herself to be the glue that held them all together.
She was the conductor of the family orchestra, drawing all the individuals together, making them aware of each other.
When the children were young, she’d refereed their fights, taught them to listen and pay attention to each other, and help each other when they could.
That had continued to a lesser extent even after they’d left home.
She knew they were busy and sometimes the effort of keeping connections going slipped to the bottom of the priority list, so she sent them small reminders.
Have you remembered Granny’s birthday?
Don’t forget to wish Rosie luck for the performance tonight.
She’d once sent Rosie across London to check on Jamie, who had been ill with flu and wasn’t answering his phone. Rosie had ended up looking after him for three days and she’d never let her brother forget it.
And now it was time for her to draw Hayley in.
It was up to her to accommodate this new version of her family.
Yes, she was upset that Hayley and Jamie had married in secret, but that was history.
Even she could see this was one of those moments when you had to step over your own feelings and move on.
And she had to admit she’d never seen Jamie so relaxed and happy.
Watching him smiling at Hayley and exchanging anecdotes had gone a long way to healing the hurt in her chest.
For better or worse, Hayley was now part of the family, and Jenny could see she was anxious about it. She kept glancing out of the window at Jamie, as if wondering when he was going to rescue her.
Jenny thought back to the Christmas movie she’d watched (admittedly on fast-forward, because she’d been very short on time).
It had included a scene just like this one, where three generations of the same family were baking together in the kitchen, so she’d been hoping this would tick one of the boxes on Hayley’s “Dream Christmas” bucket list. But that wouldn’t happen if Hayley was a spectator.
Being on the fringes of something was awkward.
It gave you time to focus on all the things you were anxious about.
It was important that she felt included.
“Hayley?” She decided to be more proactive. “It would be a great help if you could make cinnamon spice biscuits? They’re a family favourite.” She saw a flicker of panic in Hayley’s eyes.
“I have no idea how. I’ve never baked anything.”
“Never?” Rosie looked intrigued. “What do you do when you’re stressed?”
“I do a workout. I run.” Hayley’s cheeks were pink. “I use exercise, basically.”
“Well, that’s a lot healthier, but nothing beats the comfort of baking,” Rosie said.
Hayley shook her head. “I’d ruin them.”
“You wouldn’t.” Jenny intervened. “And it wouldn’t matter if you did. We’ve all had disasters in the kitchen. Like the time Rosie forgot to put sugar in my birthday cake. Remember that?”
Rosie sniffed. “I was distracted, that’s all. And it wasn’t as bad as that year you used a new method to cook the turkey and it was raw inside. I was glad to be vegetarian.”
Jenny’s mother glanced up from the sandwiches she was making. “I remember that year. Chaos. There was much screaming coming from the kitchen. We didn’t eat lunch until five o’clock.”
“That was awful, I admit it. And I learned a lesson there. If something works, don’t change it.
” Jenny put a clean bowl on the table and removed flour and sugar from the shelves.
“You’ll need mixed spice, ground ginger and cinnamon, Hayley.
You’ll find them in the tiny jars in the cupboard near the fridge. ”
Hayley gave up arguing and hunted for the jars. “You have hundreds of jars.”
“I like to cook. They’re in alphabetical order.”
“In my flat they’re just crammed into a cupboard in total disarray and half of them have gone out of date,” Rosie said. “I aspire to have a kitchen like my mother’s. Maybe one day, when I finally concede to being a grown-up. Mince pies are done. I’m moving on to mini quiches.”
Hayley brought the spice jars back to the table.
“Great. Now we need to find the recipe.” Jenny rooted around in the drawer and found the recipe she’d scribbled out years before.
She didn’t need to look at it, but she wanted Hayley to have a sense of ownership.
“This recipe is easy to follow. I’ve been making these for years.
The children love them and they make great gifts. ”
“Gifts?”
“Yes. Sometimes we put them in jars with a pretty label and give them to friends.” She put the digital scales next to Hayley. “First weigh your dry ingredients. That’s right.” She hovered over Hayley’s shoulder, offering tips and encouragement, as she had when her own children were young.
“This is scary,” Hayley said as she measured spices and added them to the bowl. “You only get once chance to get it right. In my job, if I make a mistake, I can just delete it and start again.”
“You do the same with baking,” Rosie said. “I once threw away an entire batch of cupcakes because I reached a really good part of my book, lost track of time and burned the lot. It happens.”
Hayley laughed and then turned back to the bowl in front of her.
She studied the menu carefully, running her finger along the writing and then she measured and sifted and mixed, asking Jenny questions as she did.
She’s never done this , Jenny thought. She’s never cooked with family.
And suddenly she realised how hard this must be for her. How alien.
A lump of emotion formed in her chest and she cleared her throat.
“That’s it. Now bring it all together in a ball and we’re going to put it in the fridge to chill.”
“The fridge?”
“It makes it easier to work with. While it’s chilling, we can choose our shapes.” She grabbed the tin where she kept the cookie cutters.
“Stars and snowmen,” Rosie said, returning her attention to the quiches she’d been making. She sliced through a piece of smoked salmon. “No sense in breaking with tradition.”
Hayley picked them out. “How about a Christmas tree?”
“Good idea.”
Less than an hour later three trays of cookies were in the oven and Hayley was flushed with satisfaction.
“How long do we cook them for? Having made it this far, I don’t want to burn them.”
“We’ll set a timer so we don’t forget about them and check them after ten minutes. This is where we reward ourselves with a drink. Coffee? Or I could make a festive hot chocolate with a touch of cream and cinnamon?”
“Go for it,” Rosie said. “Hayley needs a crash course in comfort food. And we can run off the calories on the beach later.”
Jenny whipped up four hot chocolates and put them on the table.
In an attempt to create a festive atmosphere, she’d lit a couple of orange-and-clove-scented candles and turned on the fairy lights that she’d persuaded Martin to string around the room the day before.
She’d stopped short of having a Christmas tree in the kitchen, but she’d filled a large earthenware jug with holly, eucalyptus and pine and placed it at the end of the kitchen island.
Hayley seemed enchanted. She kept glancing around her as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
“It’s gorgeous in here.” She slid her hands around the mug, her gaze lingering on the fairy lights and the pinecones. “So Christmassy. It’s like a movie set. And the room smells delicious.”
“That’s your cookies baking. They always smell divine.
” Jenny felt a hum of satisfaction. So far, so good.
And she had to admit it did look pretty.
She wouldn’t normally have bothered turning on fairy lights or lighting candles in the morning but maybe she’d rethink that in future. Hayley was right. It was Christmassy.
“It’s important to make the indoors as comfortable and welcoming as possible in the winter,” she said. “Of course we try and be outdoors as much as we can, but there’s too much to do right now, which is why we’re all in the kitchen.”
“I feel terrible that Jamie and I have made things complicated for you with this party.” Hayley took a sip of hot chocolate. “Everyone has extra work to do because of us.”
Jenny felt a stab of guilt. Had her own feelings showed? “We couldn’t be more excited,” she said firmly.
“That’s true. We’re very excited. I love a party. Any excuse to dress up,” Rosie said. “And don’t feel terrible—that’s what families are for!”
Hayley glanced up briefly. “Is it?”
Jenny wondered if Rosie’s comment had been tactless in the circumstances.
Flustered, she took the plate of sandwiches her mother had made, covered them and slid them into the fridge. “Even if you hadn’t got married, we still would have been celebrating something tonight.”