Chapter 8
‘There you are.’ William plucked an apron from a row of pegs behind the kitchen door and flung it at Jake. With his sleeves rolled up, William resumed stuffing the turkey.
Jake put the apron over his head and in one deft movement tied the apron behind his waist, then in front. He clapped his hands together. ‘Right, where shall I start?’ He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the task ahead.
‘Open the oven door, will you?’ said William, breathing hard as he hoisted the roasting tray, containing a huge turkey, surrounded by potatoes, off the work top and aimed for the oven.
Jake did just that. He waited until William had positioned the roasting tray in the oven and then closed the oven door.
William adjusted the oven temperature and then reached for a packet of flour, dropping some on his black patent shoes as he passed it to Jake.
Jake smiled.
‘What?’ William followed Jake’s gaze down to his shoes. ‘Well, you know how I hate slippers. They make me feel old.’ William wagged a playful finger at Jake, warning him against a smart retort. ‘I don’t need anybody reminding me I am old, thank you very much.’
Jake shook his head. ‘No, it’s not that – it’s your shoes. They’re covered in flour. It brought back a memory.’ Jake elaborated, ‘When I was a kid, you used to come home from work, walk in the kitchen and bake something.’
‘You remember,’ William commented. He momentarily disappeared into the larder and appeared a few moments later with an armful of vegetables.
‘I used to sit there,’ Jake pointed a floury finger towards the patch of floor directly beneath the table, ‘and watch for you. I always knew it was you because of your black patent shoes.’
William laughed heartily. ‘I recall that the tablecloth came down to your shoulders. You could hardly see me, apart from my shoes, that is, so you thought that you were doing a pretty good job of hiding.’
Jake laughed. ‘I was pathetic, wasn’t I?’
‘No.’ His tone became noticeably more serious. ‘You were unhappy – don’t you remember?’
‘I remember sitting under the table, following your shoes and trying to work out by the splatter on them what you were baking. What I could never figure out was why, when you left the kitchen, there was never anything there to eat.’
‘Ah! After all these years, I’ve been rumbled.’ He winked at Jake and reached for the sharp knife and a carrot.
‘What do you mean?’ Jake got the butter out of the fridge.
‘I wasn’t going into the kitchen to cook.’ William diced the carrot.
Jake momentarily stopped kneading the butter and flour. ‘What were you doing – exactly?’
‘I was looking for you.’ William selected another plump carrot and diced.
‘For me?’
‘Yes.’ He scooped the vegetables into a pan of boiling water. ‘I always found you in the exact same spot, under the kitchen table.’ William opened a bag of potatoes and began to peel.
‘I don’t understand …’
‘It started not soon after your mother passed away. We noticed you’d be quite happily playing or eating or reading, and then …’ William stopped what he was doing, momentarily lost in thought. ‘It was the darndest thing.’ He stared across the room at Jake. ‘You would go and sit under this table, quite motionless, looking, waiting … watching, I suspected, for your mother’s familiar feet to walk right through that door and start preparing a meal, just as you had watched her all your young life, in this house.’
William sighed heavily. ‘You were just too young to fully comprehend what it meant – death. You couldn’t understand that gone is gone, and no amount of sitting under that kitchen table wishing was going to bring her back. But that’s exactly where I’d find you, almost every night, waiting in your pyjamas. Waiting for the impossible.’
William reached for a potato. ‘Of course, back then I couldn’t cook a bean, you know.’ He smiled at Jake ruefully.
‘So what on earth were you doing?’ Jake watched William peeling the spud.
‘Trying to reach you.’ There was a fondness in his eyes that warmed Jake’s heart.
‘What happened?’ Jake absently kneaded the butter and flour as he struggled to find the memories. All he could remember were those floury black patent shoes.
‘I’d go in the kitchen, take out random ingredients from the cupboard and look as though I were cooking in the hope that I could break the spell and get you out from under that table.’
‘You did that, after a long day in the office?’
‘Whenever I was home and we found you under that table – yes, of course.’ William stopped what he was doing and focused all his attention on Jake. ‘We’d consulted bereavement counsellors, the so-called experts, and all they could offer were reassurances that you were dealing with it in your own way – that it was a normal and natural part of the bereavement process. It was your unique way of coping and every child was just that – unique, as well as strong and resilient. Give it time, they said. So I did. I gave you as much of my time as I could with little clue as to what I was doing, but with the best of intentions that perhaps by just being there for you I was at least doing something.’
Jake stared at this man, who could show such love and devotion to a child who wasn’t his own.
‘Then one day, one special day – it must have been very late when I came in to make myself a coffee after a long day at work – there you were, sitting cross-legged as usual under that table. So I put my apron on and started fluffing about with ingredients. But this time I decided to actually try and make something for a change.’ He chortled. ‘I was absolutely useless. Tried to make myself a pie and all I succeeded in doing was making a mess. I distinctly remember cursing at the blasted cookbook. I had completely forgotten about you under the table when a little voice piped up: you’re doing it all wrong . And there you were, standing right beside me, a look of annoyance on your little face.’ William stood there, staring into space, smiling at the memory.
‘Then what happened?’ Jake prompted him, all cooking in the kitchen now temporarily suspended while they reminisced.
William looked at Jake. ‘I froze. After all that time trying to coax you from under the table, and there I was, feeling like a complete fool, mentally going over the rather colourful language I had just let rip. So I just stood there like a lemon and watched you drag a chair from the table over to where I was standing, climb up and take stock of my ingredients – discarding some and adding others until you were satisfied. Then, together we cooked the pie. Actually, you provided a running commentary on how to cook the pie, and I followed instructions.’ William guffawed.
Jake smiled.
‘And that’s how it began.’ William smiled ruefully. ‘Whenever I found you in the kitchen under the table I would put on an apron, open a page in your mother’s cookery book and start to get out some ingredients – and by that time, you would be dragging a chair over and I would get that tut-tut expression of yours that said I was doing it all wrong. And so we would cook, recipe after recipe, until one day I came in after work and Ellie and Marcus said that immediately on hearing my car you had raced into the kitchen. I remember opening the kitchen door and there you were, standing on a chair, cookbook open, ingredients laid out, apron on, and a smile on your face that I hadn’t seen in a long, long time.’
Jake stared at him. ‘I don’t remember that at all.’
William didn’t appear surprised. ‘You know, sometimes the mind can play strange tricks on us, making us believe things that just aren’t true, making us do things that to the casual observer may seem quite irrational, insane even. But for that person, for you,’ he lowered his voice, ‘how you behaved … for that short time, I think your survival from the depths of grief depended on that peculiar routine of ours.’
Jake was quite blown away by the significance of it all. ‘I know we’ve always cooked together, ever since I can remember. I figured it was because you liked to cook. I guess I just kind of accepted that some boys went fishing with their fathers, and others, well … baked.’
‘Believe me,’ said William, ‘in the beginning, fishing would have been a heck of a lot more appealing. I mean, honestly, do I look like the natural choice for this sort of thing?’
Jake stood back and surveyed this ruddy-faced, big-built broad-shouldered Scot, who was wearing a bright red pinny tied around his ample waist. Jake’s brow furrowed. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? William actually looked quite funny.
William caught the smile on Jake’s lips. ‘There, you see? That’s why nobody – and I mean nobody , knows – I’d be a laughing stock. I’ve got a reputation to consider, you know.’ William waved the wooden spoon at Jake.
Jake laughed harder.
‘But damn and blast it all, now I love cooking, and it’s all your fault.’ William gave Jake’s arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘And it’s a damn good way to relax and unwind to boot.’
Those were Jake’s sentiments exactly.
‘How’s that pastry coming along?’ said William, indicating that it was time for them to stop reminiscing and return to the task at hand.
‘It’s coming,’ said Jake, unable to shake off the smile creasing his lips. William always had been a sucker for good old-fashioned, home-made mince pies.
They spent the remainder of the morning, and half the afternoon, preparing the meal with no interruptions, which didn’t surprise either of them; Grace, Eleanor and Marcus always did their best to avoid the kitchen at all costs. Everybody was quite happy to leave them to it which, as far as Jake and William were concerned, was just fine; this was their time and territory, just the two of them working quietly and efficiently like a well-oiled cooking machine.
‘Shall I set the table?’ Eleanor’s unexpected voice broke their concentration. She poked her head around the kitchen door, not venturing completely in.
‘Ellie!’ exclaimed Jake, delighted to see her. He stopped what he was doing immediately and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘How was the shopping trip?’
She studied him guardedly. ‘Oh, right. The shopping trip. It was … great.’ Her eyes darted to William. ‘Shall I set the table, Dad?’
Jake stared at her. She never said that about shopping. She detested shopping.
‘Thank you, Ellie – that would be helpful. Oh, and can you extract Marcus from his hiding place and tell him I need him to come and help out?’
She smiled at that and let the door swing shut behind her.
Jake stared at the door. It was great? What is she up to? He wondered. When he finally realised he wouldn’t get any answers, no matter how long he stood staring at the kitchen door, Jake turned away to find William looking at him quizzically. William said nothing, which made Jake feel even more uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right between Jake and Ellie, and it was becoming apparent to those around them – first Marcus, now William.
Jake tried to brush it aside, reasoning that it was just the anticipation of telling everyone the news. But this explanation didn’t fit easily with Eleanor’s recent behaviour. Jake had the distinct impression that she was hiding something from him.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Marcus’s bored voice sounded out from behind the closed kitchen door. He didn’t exactly sound thrilled to be summoned to the kitchen.
‘If he wasn’t such a whizz in the boardroom,’ William remarked, ‘I’d give Marcus a boot up his lazy …’
‘I heard that.’ Marcus swung the door wide. The look on his face said he didn’t give a fig.
‘Ellie’s setting the table, but she’s going to need a hand placing the presents under the tree.’
‘Oh, no!’ Jake stared at Marcus.
‘Tut-tut.’ Marcus shook his head at Jake. ‘I think someone has forgotten their presents. Or maybe we were just too lazy to bother.’ He gave a satisfied grin and let the door swing shut.
‘Jake, it’s not important,’ said William, waving it away with his hand. ‘I know you’ve been working hard lately and …’
‘Yes, but that’s not the point, is it?’ Jake said crossly. William knew Marcus worked every hour god sent too.
‘Jake, what’s important is that you brought yourself, that’s all. No gift can replace that.’
Jake looked at him, taking in his words and realising he had brought a gift. And not only that, it fulfilled all the criteria; he had made it – with a little help from Ellie, of course – and you couldn’t buy it. They had made a baby – their gift was a grandchild.
Jake grinned insanely at William.
‘Whatever you’re on,’ said William sternly, noting Jake’s joyful expression, ‘I want you to hand it over right now !’ His face cracked into a smile. But Jake knew that William could still sense the distinct atmosphere in the room that had arisen when Ellie had appeared.
Jake caught William’s gaze drifting to the door. He wondered what William was thinking; whether he had found it troubling, seeing Ellie standing at the door a moment earlier, avoiding eye contact with her husband. William had once said to him that he always felt secure in the knowledge that they were all settled and happy. That was all he had ever wished for at Christmas for his family, and each Christmas he had got his wish.
Jake’s gaze shifted to the door. He hoped, god willing, that for his own sake, and for William’s, this Christmas would be no different.