Chapter Six
The Ghost of Christmas Passed
Gemma busied herself tidying the living area and restoring some order to the kitchen. She could hear nothing from the studio below the house, so ventured upstairs, where she made Matt’s bed and cleaned his bathroom. She drew the line at hanging up his discarded clothes, and, as she navigated the stairs, laden with discarded mugs, she wondered whether she could stick the role out, doddle or not.
Turning on the lamps in the sitting area, Gemma switched off the overhead light. Satisfied with the more homely ambience, she gave her attention to the log burner. It was as she held the taper to a firelighter that something brushed against her leg and she froze, the long match falling unheeded from her grasp.
Glancing over her shoulder, Gemma’s gaze fell on a pair of jeans-clad legs. Her eyes flicked up to meet Matt’s amused look.
‘What are you doing?’
He scooped up the cushion he’d dropped by her leg.
‘Making you jump. Watch that flame.’ He pointed at the hearth, and Gemma snatched the taper up. It had caught some of the newspaper she’d balled up, and she picked up the thick glove used for opening the door when it was hot.
‘Tiresome man,’ she muttered as she beat out the small flame and swept the loose ash towards the hearth. Thankfully, the firelighters had taken, and she ignored Matt, stacking kindling onto the flames and adding a log.
‘You got a boat then.’ He gestured towards the window.
‘She’s a darling,’ Gemma enthused. She’d loved coming up the river and couldn’t wait to use it again.
‘She?’ Matt rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve named her.’
Gemma got to her feet. ‘Most boats already have a name, didn’t you know that?’
‘So what is it?’
‘ Last Chance .’
Matt laughed. ‘Seriously?’
‘But she will be known as Elsie. LC – get it?’
Matt merely shook his head and disappeared into the hall, and Gemma studied her ash-spattered jeans and grubby hands. She’d go back to the cottage to freshen up and collect Anna’s instruction folder. The quicker she fed him, the sooner she would be done for the day.
‘Something smells good.’
Gemma refrained from warning Matt to make the most of it as she placed the dish of boeuf bourguignon next to the dauphinoise potatoes and the pièce de résistance : a small bowl of peas, which she eyed proudly. Her first ever attempt at cooking a vegetable – dropping some frozen peas into boiling water and them not shrivelling into little grey bullets. The combined aroma of garlic, red wine and bouquet garni wafted around the kitchen, and Gemma inhaled deeply. Her tummy reciprocated with a growl of anticipation.
Not for you , she cautioned silently.
She ferried the dishes out to the conservatory, placing a warmed plate on a mat depicting an old boatyard before adjusting the dimmer switch so the room was bathed in gentle light. Matt sauntered in, a bottle of red wine in his grasp, but as he poured some into a glass he frowned.
Gemma threw a wary glance at the table. What had she forgotten?
‘Aren’t you eating?’
She laughed out of sheer relief. ‘Not with you, no.’
To her surprise, Matt’s face fell.
‘Oh. Okay.’ He placed the wine and glass on the table and pulled out one of the heavy chairs, sinking into it, and Gemma returned to the kitchen to check on the pudding – or, rather, the pinkish-beige mush swimming around in the dish. It did not look good.
‘Inedible,’ she scolded it. ‘How could you do that to me, after all my efforts?’ She hurried to inspect the contents of the fridge.
Ten minutes later, she opened the door to the conservatory. Matt was reading something on his phone.
‘It’ll go cold.’ Gemma gestured towards the untouched dishes.
Matt looked up. ‘What will? Oh.’ His gaze landed on the feast before him.
‘I’m afraid it’s fruit salad for afters today.’ She placed a bowl of hastily prepared fruit on the table.
Matt’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s it?’
‘Well, there’s ice cream in the freezer if you want some. I’ll come back later to clear up.’
Gemma’s tummy gave another ominous growl as she sped through the living room and shot over to the cottage, head bowed against a sudden cold shower of rain.
Shaking herself like a dog, she opened her own fridge. She’d stocked up on ready meals, so she popped a cottage pie in the microwave and went to change into her loungewear.
Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, catching up on Married at First Sight , she tucked into her speedy supper, wiping her finger round the bowl and licking it. It may not be to Anna’s standards, but it had been tasty enough.
She was about to dig her spoon into a tiramisu when her phone pinged: a WhatsApp from Matt.
I’m going to bed. Leave the washing up.
Why? So the house elves could do it? Gemma sighed. There was about as much likelihood of Matt offering to help as of Oliver taking up ballet.
She messaged back:
The dishes need to soak. I’ll pop over.
There was no response, and Gemma’s brow furrowed. It was only nine o’clock. Weren’t musicians usually night owls?
She ate her dessert far too quickly, contemplated getting dressed again, but decided not to bother. If Matt had gone to bed, it hardly mattered.
There was no sound as she made her way along the hallway, although lights still shone from under the door to the living room, and she opened it with caution.
The room was empty, the log burner almost out, and Gemma headed to the conservatory.
‘Oh, what a shame!’
It was obvious Matt had put some of the delicious meal, lovingly prepared by his sister, onto his plate, but there was little evidence he’d eaten any of it. Rather, it looked like it had been moved around the plate with the fork, which lay on top of the potatoes. The bottle of wine was missing, as was Matt’s glass.
Mourning the loss of such a meal, Gemma ferried the dishes back into the kitchen. Then, with a swift look towards the door, she scooped a spoonful of each dish onto a plate, microwaved it and settled on the sofa to enjoy.
She’d finished drying the oven dishes when a thud came from upstairs.
‘He’s probably flat on his back, snoring like a bear,’ Gemma muttered to the circular window as she returned to the conservatory to wipe the table down.
She plumped the cushions on the sofa and closed the flues on the log burner.
‘Enough for tonight.’
As she passed the bottom of the staircase, however, she heard another, louder thud.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Gemma took the stairs slowly. The door of Matt’s room was ajar and flickering light illuminated the slumped form on the bed, but Gemma’s eye was drawn to the floor. The now empty wine bottle lay on its side, as though it had fallen from Matt’s listless grasp, and she scooped it up before looking around. What had caused the second thud?
The muted TV was the source of the light, and she tried not to notice Matt’s toned naked torso, relieved to see there was a sheet tangled round his legs, concealing whether or not he wore anything on his lower half, as she hunted for the remote.
Gemma bit back on an expletive as her foot connected with the solid wooden leg of the bed, and she bent down to rub her toes, spotting something on the floor on the other side of the bed. Keeping one eye on the slumbering man, she walked round to retrieve it, then held it up to the light from the TV.
It was a hardback book entitled The Quest for Political Stability , and probably the source of the first thump she’d heard, when it hit the floor. Or the wall. It didn’t seem like something that would be of interest to Matt. Perhaps a previous guest had left it in the room?
Placing the book on the bedside table, she spotted the remote. Matt was half lying on it. Did housekeeping duties necessitate giving your potentially naked boss a shove so you could retrieve it? Mrs Clegg hadn’t mentioned ever having to do that to Oliver…
A faint purring noise emanated from the sleeping man, whose mouth was slightly open, his cheek nestled against his pillow. Encouraged that he was deeply asleep, Gemma used the bottom of the wine bottle to push Matt off the remote, and snatched it before letting him go. She froze when he rolled over onto his front, exposing his back to her. The sheet, thankfully, remained sufficiently entangled around his legs to roll with him, although it only just covered his rear.
Downstairs, she dropped the wine bottle into the recycling outside the back door, unsurprised to see it join a cluster of other empties. Was Matt trying to drown his sorrows, or was the alcohol a prop of another nature?
Gemma dashed across to the cottage, thankful the rain had stopped and ready for bed herself. It had been a long day, and tomorrow she’d face her first real challenge: making breakfast from scratch, with no Anna to help her.
Hopefully, Matt would be too hungover to face food…
Despite continuing to harbour misgivings over working for Matt, Gemma found her mood considerably lighter the next morning. She’d scribbled in one of her new notebooks for hours on the previous evening, making notes inspired by her photos of the Netherlands – she’d visited Amsterdam and The Hague and on her way to Belgium had also visited Maastricht, a town that she’d fallen in love with. She looked forward to writing more once her duties were done.
Gemma half listened to the radio as she made herself a mug of tea and trotted to and fro, laying the table in the conservatory, but her ears pricked up when one of the duo presenting the local breakfast show mentioned Christmas, debating how soon was too soon to play a festive track. Apparently, now was perfectly acceptable.
As Mariah Carey’s voice soared to the rafters, Gemma turned up the volume and joined in, almost skipping across the room to straighten some cushions.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
Gemma started, the word ‘Christmas’ fading from her lips. She hadn’t heard Matt, and one glance at his face was enough to wish she hadn’t seen him either.
‘Morning.’
‘I need coffee.’
Gemma eyed the smart-looking machine warily. She had no clue how to operate it and a previous search had produced no instruction booklet.
‘Can’t you turn that row off?’ Matt glared at the radio.
Gemma turned it down, but not off. ‘This is one of my favourite Christmas songs ever. Besides,’ she offered consolingly, ‘it’ll be over in a minute or so.’
‘Or now, even.’ Matt flicked the switch with a smirk.
‘Mean,’ Gemma muttered, firing up the coffee machine and staring at the impressive digital panel as it sprang into life.
‘It’s not even the middle of November.’
At least he can use a calendar…
Gemma studied the machine, baffled. ‘It says “add water”, but where?’
Matt came to stand beside her. ‘Have you never used one of these?’
Thinking of her parents’ house, where tea reigned supreme, Gemma shook her head. ‘Nope.’
He pulled a panel towards him, revealing that it was, in fact, the front of a plastic container, which he proceeded to fill with water before returning it.
‘Coffee beans go here’ – he pointed to the top of the machine – ‘milk in here’ – another compartment. ‘Choose the type of coffee.’ He pressed ‘flat white’ and placed a cup below a spout whose purpose was, at least, obvious. ‘And go.’
The final button fired the machine into action, with a satisfying hiss and a rumble as the beans were ground.
‘Nice,’ Gemma intoned.
Matt said nothing until the drink was ready, then took it from the machine and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply as steam rose from the mug. Gemma admired his profile, which was rather pleasant: high cheekbones, not dissimilar to Anna’s, surprisingly thick lashes for a man, and a firm jaw.
He took a sip of coffee and turned away. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
Toast? Bowl of cereal?
‘What do you usually have?’
‘Nothing.’
I can do that!
Then Gemma recalled the uneaten dinner from the previous night. No wonder he was so thin…
‘You must eat. It’s not good for you to skip meals.’
Matt paused. ‘Tempt me, then.’
She stared at Matt’s back. She knew he meant with food, but the sudden urge to have him be attracted to her caught Gemma unawares and heat flooded her cheeks. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking at her, but out of the circular window, and she flicked the switch on the radio again, turning the volume lower. ‘Go and chill in the conservatory, I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.’
Tugging the folder from the kitchen drawer, Gemma found the section Anna had created on light and healthy breakfasts. Did she know her brother didn’t eat properly? Tongue between her teeth, her concentration fiercely upon an attempt to make a tasty omelette, she didn’t see the small boat enter the creek at a sedate pace.
‘Damn,’ she muttered five minutes later. Gemma glanced towards the conservatory. Thankfully, Matt had closed the door, probably in fear of more Christmas tunes on the radio, and wouldn’t smell the aroma of burned egg.
Heart pounding over getting her second attempt anywhere near edible, Gemma started when the door to the hallway opened and Anna entered.
‘Oh my God, you life-saver! I’ve killed three eggs and the rest deserve to fulfil their destiny.’
‘I told Matt something had come for him and, as we’ve got the boat back, I said I’d drop it over before the tide was too far out.’ Anna waved the package she held. ‘I’ll watch and give you instructions. That way, you’ll learn better.’
They worked side by side, and a reasonable-looking ham and cheese omelette landed on the plate at the second attempt.
Consumed by relief, Gemma beamed at Anna. ‘Thank you! Can you come and stay? Pretty please?’
Anna laughed. ‘No chance. Butter that toast, and I’ll pop a bit of a garnish on the plate.’
‘Here you go!’ Gemma placed the offering on the table with a flourish. Matt stood looking out over the creek, the now empty cup clutched in his hands, but he flicked a glance over his shoulder.
‘Thanks. How come Oliver’s boat’s here?’
‘Anna brought something for you. Eat while it’s hot. We’re having a clean-up.’
Matt, however, walked past Gemma into the kitchen, and she sent the omelette an apologetic look.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered to it. ‘You did your best, but he’s a hard egg to crack.’
Wandering back into the other room, she found Matt hugging his sister, who then handed him the package. He walked over to the circular window, and dropped into the adjacent armchair as he stared at the item he held.
‘He looks anxious,’ Gemma said quietly to Anna as they resumed their cleaning.
‘No idea what it is, but he’s been incredibly tense about this whole reunion thing.’
‘Maybe it’s a gift from his bandmates.’
‘Perhaps,’ murmured Anna as she started to empty the dishwasher.
Gemma eyed Matt across the room. He’d opened the end of the large envelope now, and peered inside, but his countenance had frozen, grey and still as a grave, so she turned back to help Anna, feeling she’d witnessed the true depiction of a haunted soul.