Chapter 16
‘Mum, Dad and Granny Pat were going to be all by themselves, and it’s Easter Sunday.
’ Lola’s look of defiance was tempered somewhat by the biting of her full lower lip, a sign, I knew, that she was anxious as to my reaction to the extra uninvited guests at my table.
‘You’ve always said no one should ever be by themselves at Christmas, Mum. ’
‘It’s Easter, Lola!’ I glared in her direction.
‘Same thing, really.’ Lola pouted. ‘All about Jesus and being nice to people. And inviting people for lunch when they haven’t got a nice turkey of their own in the oven.
We sing a hymn at school about sharing bread with starving friends…
’ She started to sing the words, but stopped as I shot her a warning look.
‘I’ll lay the extra places on the table, Mum, and I’ll wash up… ’ she went on.
‘We have a dishwasher,’ I said, folding my arms.
‘….and I can organise an Easter egg hunt for all of us,’ Lola added as Pat Butterworth, not in the least put out at being the centre of the current dispute, set off to make herself at home in the sitting room with a large glass of sherry. ‘I can provide the entertainment.’
‘It appears we have a surfeit of Easter eggs.’ My eyes left Lola’s face and came to rest on Jayden, standing in the doorway, his arms stretched to the limit – like a contestant on that ancient kids’ TV game of Crackerjack – around a towering pile of Easter eggs.
Jayden had obviously been into the local Co-op, buying up all they had left in order to make his uninvited appearance back in Beddingfield meet with some modicum of approval. ‘What are you doing here, Jayden?’
‘Lola invited me.’ Jayden looked hopeful.
‘Lola did?’ I turned back to her.
‘She saw me next door, trying to get in,’ Jayden explained. ‘Looking for your mum.’
‘Mum’s not here.’
‘Well, I can see that. Where is she?’
‘I’m here.’ Mum had walked into the kitchen and, as I exchanged glances with Robyn, I had to admit it was quite an entrance.
Dressed in a simple black-and-grey striped long-sleeved shift dress and black heels, her long dark hair a shiny curtain to her shoulders, Mum was the epitome of style and elegance.
‘I don’t believe you have an invitation, Jayden,’ Mum said pleasantly, adjusting her own cache of Easter eggs.
‘Come on, Lisa,’ Jayden almost crooned, smiling winningly in her direction. ‘Since when do I need an invitation to see my own wife and family?’
‘You never married Mum, Jayden, so don’t give us that,’ I snapped. Seeing Kamran hovering behind Mum, his own arms laden with – very much more upmarket – Easter eggs, champagne and flowers, I smiled in my dad’s direction. ‘Have you met Kamran, Mum’s fiancé, Jayden?’
Jayden’s face fell in shock, at the same time as five of the chocolate eggs fell to the floor, Arthur immediately moving over to sniff at the contents. Jayden and Kamran turned to each other, squaring up, but smiling politely, unable to shake hands with all the goodies they were holding.
‘Where’s Sorrel?’ Jayden asked Mum, as Kamran, his arms obviously aching, headed for the fridge with the bottles.
‘Do put those eggs down, Jayden.’ Mum shook her head in his direction. ‘You can see this isn’t a good time.’
‘Oh, let him stay.’ Robyn and Lola spoke as one, and Lola went to help relieve her grandfather of the boxes of eggs.
‘It’s very trendy to have one’s exes at family gatherings with one’s present partner,’ Robyn went on.
‘I read an article once in the Sunday Times: India Knight does it all the time. She says—’
‘Oh, you’d be happy to have that ex of Fabian’s here, would you?’ I sent a derisory whisper in Robyn’s direction.
‘Bit different, that…’ Robyn started, glaring back at me.
She broke off as Dean, speaking for the first time since coming in uninvited with his mother and Lola, nodded in agreement. ‘Hear, hear, no reason to carry grudges…’
‘Hear, hear?’ I glared at Dean. ‘Hear bloody hear? You’re not in sodding parliament, Dean.’
‘Where’s Sorrel? This is a special lunch for her.’ Robyn repeated Jayden’s question as the others stood around, not quite sure where to put themselves.
‘And what have you done with Fabian? Have you left him behind?’
‘We set off together.’ Robyn frowned. ‘He said he was popping up to The White House before heading down here. He’s not been up to the place for a couple of days and wanted to see how the kitchens were coming along. He’s so excited – it’s all he thinks about.’
‘I’m here,’ Sorrel shouted, appearing at the door before attempting to battle her way through the Easter-egg-laden crowd.
This was beginning to resemble some sort of on-stage farce: one door opening as another closed.
I began to count on my fingers: I’d originally catered for seven, but with Dean, his mother and Jayden, we were now up to ten.
Could I even fit ten round the kitchen table?
Oh, forget ten, here was another body. Everyone turned as Sorrel pulled Joel Sinclair through the doorway where he’d been hovering on the doorstep, introducing himself to Arthur rather than making his presence known and adding to the confusion in the kitchen.
‘Joel, how lovely to see you.’ Robyn went to give the boy a kiss on the cheek (should a teacher be so familiar with one of her pupils? I wondered) and everyone turned again.
‘I did try to ring you, Jess,’ Sorrel said.
Joel, handing over a bunch of primroses, murmured, ‘Look, if this is a bad time, Mrs Butterworth…’
Seeing the sixteen-year-old’s utter embarrassment, and that he was obviously about to turn and leave, I took the proffered spring flowers from him and ushered him towards Kamran, Mum and Robyn, who were pouring champagne into crystal flutes.
‘You’re very welcome, Joel,’ I said gently.
‘You’ve had a bad time recently, I know.
Oh, and please, it’s Jess.’ I patted Joel’s arm and headed for the fridge.
* * *
‘What exactly is this, Jess?’ Pat Butterworth poked suspiciously at her starter, her elbow knocking over Kamran’s glass of water as she did so.
‘It’s a chicken, black olive and truffle terrine with baby leeks, Pat,’ I managed to get out through gritted teeth as I mopped the table with kitchen paper.
Thank goodness I’d made plenty, the long terrine more than enough to feed the eleven we’d ended up with.
Well, ten. Fabian hadn’t yet put in an appearance and Robyn, despite several phone calls, didn’t appear to know where he’d got to.
‘And is it foreign?’ I was brought back from wondering where Fabian was by Pat’s plaintive tones.
‘Foreign?’
‘Well, you know, it doesn’t look very English, does it?
’ Pat actually sniffed at her forkful of food before nibbling cautiously at the contents like a rabbit, her nose twitching both at the starter’s fragrance and taste.
‘You see, our Dean likes to have Yorkshire pudding as a starter. You know, before the roast. Well, we all do. It’s traditional, isn’t it? ’
‘Yorkshire pudding as a starter?’ Kamran smiled at Pat, pouring wine for her. ‘Never heard of that one.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you?’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Kamran appeared puzzled.
‘Well, you know, you’re not from Yorkshire, are you? Not English even.’
Kamran laughed politely. ‘I think my birth certificate says I was born here in Yorkshire. And in England.’
Pat sipped at her glass of wine, screwing up her face at the beautiful amber liquid which obviously didn’t meet with her approval.
‘D’you think I could have a cup of tea, Jessica?
Wine does have a tendency to make me bilious.
And then I’ll be awake all night as well with cramp and restless legs.
I’m a total martyr to my legs in the middle of the night. ’
‘Tea?’ I stared, fork halfway to my mouth, momentarily distracted from the starter, which I knew was just right: it was fabulous, tasted heavenly. I added a tick to my mental scoreboard.
‘I’ll make you one, Granny Pat.’ Lola slid from the cork-topped stool that had been brought over from Lisa’s bathroom, not meeting my eyes.
‘Well, yes, that’s what it will say on your birth certificate,’ Pat went on. ‘But, I mean, you’re not English, are you? I’m sure where you lot all come from it’s all very exotic and the like… and I’m not saying anything against it… you know?’
‘Not really, no, I don’t know. Do go on.’ Kamran smiled and cocked his head questioningly at the older woman.
Pat looked somewhat disdainfully round at the rest of the guests who were, to my delight, tucking into the starter with relish.
‘I mean, how many of these people round this table can call themselves English?’ She looked pointedly across at Jayden and then at Joel manfully trying to engage in conversation with Mum while breaking his bread roll politely, butter on the side of his plate, and who, up until today, had not actually met any of our family.
Apart from Robyn, of course. ‘Me and our Dean are the only really fully white folk here.’ Pat Butterworth paused, pleased to see she now appeared to have a bit of an audience.
‘Black lives matter, Pat.’ Sorrel shook her head at the woman.
‘And black olives matter too.’ Kamran grinned, chasing the last morsel of black olive round his plate with his fork. ‘Jess,’ he called up the table, ‘we have to have this on the menu at The White House.’
‘The thing is’ – Pat wasn’t letting it go – ‘and I’m sure you can understand this, I do sometimes feel I’m an ethnic minority – isn’t that what it’s called?
– in my own country. It’s come to a pretty pass when England’s ended up with a prime minister who isn’t English.
I was reading only this morning in the paper—’
‘So, who’d you like in charge, Patricia?’ Jayden leaned across the table towards Pat, adopting an over-emphasised Jamaican patois for effect, despite my glaring in his direction.