Cooking Up Christmas. Katie Ginger
she would cry in front of Felicity and David.
‘I’ve been sacked?’ Her voice sounded strange where she had to force the words past the ball of anger and hurt lodged in her throat. It didn’t seem real. Somehow Esme managed to back out of the room while her whole body sparked with suppressed rage. Visibly shaking, she edged passed Felicity and left.
***
The glittering Christmas lights of London sparkled in the evening darkness. Giant snowflake lights hung high in the air, twinkling overhead, but Esme barely noticed them through her tears. She walked into someone, mumbled an apology and carried on with her head down. The heavy crowds of tourists bustled around her and snippets of Christmas songs carried on the air from the shops she passed. Instead of enjoying the wonderful Christmas vibe – that special atmosphere of excitement Esme loved most about London at this time of year – she dipped her head and marched on as fast as she could. By the time she reached her and Leo’s apartment, tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
Unbuttoning her heavy winter coat, she hung it on the rack then loosened her scarf, feeling drained and exhausted. Walking into the kitchen, she knew there was only one thing she could do to make herself feel better. Cook. She’d make Leo’s favourite meal. A nice thick, juicy steak, rare and pink in the middle, and a proper béarnaise sauce with lots of good French butter and fresh tarragon. She’d even make asparagus roasted with sea salt as a side dish. A small smile crept over Esme’s face as she searched the fridge for the ingredients but it was instantly replaced by a frown and cold teardrops on her cheeks. How could things have gone so badly wrong today? She shouldn’t have acted on impulse and marched in there. She should have waited and thought about what to do. Now she’d thrown her job away and her heart was filled with regret.
Leo got up from the sofa. ‘Esme, you’re home.’
‘Yep. And I got fired,’ Esme replied, matter-of-fact, chopping the butter into small cubes before turning to see his face frozen in panic.
‘What?’ He looked even more shocked than she’d expected and walked to the window to stare out, gripping the hair at the back of his head. She’d hoped for a hug but as he stayed where he was, she poured two glasses of wine and took them over. When he turned back he reached for his wine, then his dark grey eyes gazed at her with concern.
‘What happ—’
Esme bit back tears but took a deep breath. ‘Felicity stole my recipe again. One of Grandma’s. She must have overheard me talking about it with Helena at lunch yesterday and then decided to pitch it before I could. When I went to Sasha’s office this evening, she was there saying it was her family recipe. I was so upset, Leo, and I don’t know why, but I went in there and confronted her.’
‘You did what?’
‘I know, I know.’ Esme rubbed her throbbing forehead. ‘I don’t know why I did it either. Well, I do. I did I because it was the right thing to do. She was even claiming it was from her granny and you know how long I’ve waited to share this special recipe but couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
Finally, Leo reached out to her but didn’t pull her into a hug, he touched her hand. He was clearly struggling to process everything she’d said. ‘Are you sure you were right? I mean, I know you’ve said before about her doing this, but couldn’t it just be a coincidence? You can be a bit dramatic sometimes.’
Esme wiped a tear from her cheek. Leo was always saying she was being dramatic when she lost her temper or got upset. His clear, decisive mind didn’t get her passionate, emotional one, and maybe she was being dramatic, but it didn’t stop her being right. ‘A coincidence? No. That’s what she’s claiming but she even said about using maple syrup and chilling the mixture first. She could only’ve known that if she was ear-wigging.’ Esme thrust her hand into her mop of ragged curls. ‘It’s one thing to steal a recipe but another to steal a grandma. She probably doesn’t even have one anymore. I bet she devoured hers like a praying mantis. And she’s tried to make it three layers instead of two. It won’t work as triple layers, it’ll just slide about then fall over, not unless you make the sponge thicker or use something other than double cream as a filling.’
‘What are you going to do?’ He turned to face her, his expression tense.
Esme feigned a hopefulness she didn’t feel. ‘I’m sure I’ll pick something else up quickly, in a few months; or worst-case scenario, I’ll go freelance.’ Suddenly, Leo took her hand and led her to the table.
‘Esme, can you come and sit down, please? I need to talk to you.’ Esme paused. His face was serious as he placed his wine glass down, and her heart thudded in her chest. For the last few months he’d been secretive and she and her friends thought maybe he was going to propose. Was this the moment? Sat on the chair, next to their tiny dining table, he knelt down in front of her and Esme’s heart rocketed up into her throat. She took a big breath in and bit the insides of her cheeks to stop herself grinning like a fool.
‘Esme, I’m sorry, I should have done this weeks ago, the timing is terrible.’ She wanted to shout that it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all. It was perfect timing. Leo raked a hand through his hair and she watched, hoping his hand would reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a tiny box. ‘I know today’s been difficult for you and I …’ He shook his head. ‘I should’ve done this before now.’
Esme bit her lip. She was going to get married!
‘I think we should break up,’ Leo announced.
Her mouth opened then closed again as she stared at him in disbelief. What? What had just happened? Everything fell silent except for the blood pounding in her ears and her short gasps of breath as she tried to control her emotions. Leo’s eyes dropped and he stood up.
‘I just feel we’ve become friends more than husband-and-wife material, don’t you? And I think it’d be the best thing for both of us if we just moved on. Don’t you think so?’
If he’d hoped for some kind of agreement from Esme, he was going to be disappointed. ‘But it’s nearly Christmas,’ she said quietly.
‘It’s not even mid-November, Esme. It’s nowhere near Christmas.’ Leo went to the window. His slightly curmudgeonly attitude to Christmas suddenly seemed far less endearing and much more Scrooge-like, and as if to confirm it, he said, ‘I can give you a few days to move your stuff out, you don’t have to go right now. I’m not a monster.’
Dazed, Esme tried to think but she couldn’t, she could only feel – and all she felt was that she had to get out. She stood and placed her wine glass on the table, then went and picked up her handbag from the sofa. As she retrieved her coat from the rack, Leo said, ‘Esme, where are you going? We can still have dinner and—’
She closed the door softly behind her.
Esme trudged through the rain to the Singapore Sling, ignoring it soaking her hair and running down her face, mixing with her tears. She’d left her hat and scarf at the flat, but wasn’t going back for them. She’d rather get wet. Every fibre of her being felt crushed. As she descended the steps to the cellar bar, leaving the world behind, a drop of rain fell from the sign and trickled down the back of her neck. She wanted to hide. To hibernate below ground and never come out.
After an emergency call to Helena, her friends were with her in half an hour. Esme’s heart, pounded and punched by the day’s events, felt broken and bruised. When she thought of Leo, the last thread of love snapped and her heart deflated like a burst balloon. She could even picture it in her chest all floppy, sad and wrinkled.
Mark, Lola and Helena gathered around Esme, open-mouthed and with drinks untouched as she told them all the details of her day from hell. Dance music thumped in the background and harsh neon lights lit their usual table in the corner. At least the DJ wasn’t playing Christmas songs. The last thing Esme wanted right now was Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ blasting out while her life hit an all-time low. Having finished, Esme couldn’t stop the great sob that emerged in a high-pitched puff of air, making Mark and Helena jump.
‘Christ,