Page 1 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
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1
Christa Playfoot shivered in the cold December air as she adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder. Checking the pocket of her pink puffa coat once again for the keys, she noted that the silver spoon key ring that Simon had given to her when they opened the restaurant was cold to the touch. She had always said he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so he attached it to the keys to their restaurant as a joke. Only he had laughed.
Looking at the restaurant from a distance, she saw the navy gloss wooden features on the outside of the old building, with white window boxes she had filled each season with different flowers. Magenta pink geraniums in the summer. Pots of creamy butter-coloured daffodils in the spring. Warm amber violas for autumn, and vibrant red poinsettias for Christmas. Now the window boxes were empty and there was aFor Leasesign above the blue and white striped awning. She had once dreamed of having a restaurant in London, and now letting go of the dream was proving to be more painful that she had ever imagined.
Her thumb ran over the bowl of the spoon in her pocket. She had always felt this gift was actually a little dig at her for coming from poverty and was Simon’s reminder she would be nothing without his silver touch.
Perhaps that was true. Simon’s family had bankrolled the restaurant and she had been so excited to build something with him, she had ignored the fact there were no specific ownership papers.
And now she was handing back the keys in exchange for almost nothing. Maybe enough to put down a deposit on a flat in London but she didn’t have a job, only restaurant reviews that mentioned him first in every single one. No bank would loan her money because she made a wonderful soufflé, even if minor royals had taken a photo of it for Instagram when they came to Playfoot’s.
Now Simon no longer wanted to work in the restaurant, because he had a fancy new role as a television judge on a cooking show calledBlind Baking. Never mind that she was the pastry chef in the relationship, her desserts winning awards and acclaim, instead the production company had called Simon because he was posh, witty, and handsome. Not to mention he had been voted ‘Spiciest Man in Cooking’, wearing an apron and nothing else on the front cover of a magazine.
She should be a judge on a TV show calledBlind Datingwhere she could advise the female contestants to never give over their financial choices to a man who spends more time in the bathroom than you before you go out and asks how he looks before he comments on your outfit.
When Christa had seen the magazine cover of Simon stripped bare, she knew their marriage was truly over. Simon was on a trajectory to fame and Christa was still trying to decide if being a chef was her true calling now she had lost the restaurant. She loved to feed people more than anything else but all the pomp and ceremony of restaurants made her anxious. She much preferred a meal around a kitchen table with wine and laughter, swapping stories with friends until late in the evening.
The streetlamps switched on above her and Christa noticed the Christmas decorations were up in the street. The red bows and green garlands usually cheered her but today her heart ached. There was a hollow feeling that sometimes took her by surprise when it returned unannounced like now. The sense of a piece missing inside her but she did not know what to put there. It had followed her around ever since she could remember, popping up uninvited.
She walked to the front of the restaurant where the lights were off. Pressing her face against the window she saw Simon sitting at the table with a bottle of wine open in the dim light and a woman sitting opposite him. They were laughing and the woman’s hand was on his knee.
She opened the door and stood in the doorway inviting the cold air in. The weather report was threatening snow for Christmas but she would believe it when she saw it. Every year they said it would snow and it never came until after New Year when she would have to be back at work.
‘Christa, come in, you must be freezing,’ Simon said benevolently, giving her a look as though she was the little match girl down to her last strike.
‘No thanks, I’m late for something,’ she lied.
Simon gestured to the woman sitting opposite him. ‘Christa, this is Avian. She’s a producer on my new TV show.’
His new TV show? As though it was all about him. God she hated him.
The woman looked Christa up and down and she saw a little smirk on her face.
‘Oh, hey babe. So, you’re Christa. Simon speaks of you with such good vibes.’ Her California hippy act wasn’t fooling Christa. Oh yes, they were definitely together.
Christa couldn’t help herself. ‘Avian?’ she asked. ‘What an unusual name.’
‘It’s French for bird,’ said the woman as though Christa was an idiot. ‘My mother lived in Paris for a year.’
‘No, it’s English for birdlike,’ corrected Christa. ‘L’oiseauis French for bird. I worked there for two years in fine dining before Simon and I opened this.’ She gestured around her at the restaurant.
‘Avian loves food, don’t you, babe?’ said Simon.
Looking at how thin this woman was, Christa doubted this morsel of information very much.
She was so thin it pained Christa to see the bones on her chest jutting out like a ladder. With her long hair and a face carefully made up in the artful way that looked like she wasn’t wearing any makeup she was a beautiful woman and the exact opposite of Christa. Christa pushed away the comparisons because she liked how she looked, with her short dark hair, cropped in a pixie cut, and bright blue eyes with eyelashes usually only bestowed on undeserving boys. And she was healthy and didn’t really drink very much and had never smoked, so all things considered she was in pretty good shape, she told herself.
Simon used to tell her she was chubby. He had called her Chubs at Le Cordon Bleu, which he said was cute. It wasn’t cute.
Christa wasn’t angry with this woman, she reminded herself, she was angry with Simon and she was angry with herself for staying so long when she knew the marriage was over a long time ago. What she couldn’t work out was why she had stayed so long in a loveless marriage that was purely a business relationship – except she didn’t have equal shares – until it was too late.
‘So you’re a TV producer? That’s amazing,’ said Christa, trying to be nice but wanting to run as far away as she could.
‘Is it?’ asked Avian who then picked up her phone, showing Christa their brief tête-à-tête was over.
Simon glanced from Christa to Avian and back again. He was terrible with uncomfortable moments. She paused to make him do the work for once. She was forever filling in the gaps in their marriage, their business and their communication. Let him carry the weight of this moment with his little bird-inspired friend. He shifted in his chair. ‘So, you all set then?’
