Page 22 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
‘I will do what needs to be done when I’m ready, thank you.’
Christa nodded. ‘Of course, your house, your décor, your timeline.’
He went to speak and then closed his mouth again.
Christa couldn’t help herself. ‘My dad hated Christmas but he learned to love it because I loved it and he made sure I had nice memories, even if he struggled with the season. He didn’t let his own rubbish times affect mine. I was always grateful he put my emotional needs above his own.’
Marc nearly snarled at her, his lip curling. ‘Thank you for your therapy lesson, Christa, but you’re here to cook.’
Christa rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t help yourself can you?’
‘What?’ he said, his eyes narrowed.
‘When people suggest things, or when things aren’t in your control, you act like this. You apologised to me and now you do this again.’
‘It is not your business whether I have a Christmas tree or not.’
She shrugged at him. ‘I know it’s not, but take it from me, your kids will remember not having a tree more than having a tree.’
Marc stalked away and Christa felt a flush through her body. She never spoke to anyone like that but Marc just really made her want to speak her truth. After so many years of not being herself, this new improved version was both thrilling and terrifying.
Men like Marc Ferrier never liked an idea that didn’t come from themselves. He was rude, imperious and moody. Clearly his previous brightness was a rare emotional eclipse. Marc seemed to not like Christmas for whatever reason. Perhaps it had been a hard time for him at some point but it didn’t mean he should deprive the boys of the enjoyment of this time of the year.
At least she could have some fun besides cooking and she could see if there were people in York to help.
She couldn’t help thinking about all the food in the fridges downstairs that would go to waste. There was no way they could eat it all before it went out of date and was ruined.
Christa took off the robe and climbed into bed, and googled Marc Ferrier on her phone.
Notoriously private.
Very few photos of him. None of his ex-wife and children.
He was worth nearly one billion dollars.
Christa put down her phone. It was so much money it was stupid, she thought. No one needed that amount of money and she wondered what he did to help people. That was too much money to spend in a lifetime, just as there was too much food downstairs to eat.
She looked up whether he did any charity work but there was nothing listed. For some reason it made her angry that he wasn’t doing anything to help the world – to fight hunger and poverty.
She turned out the light and lay in bed thinking about all the things she could cook with the food that could go to the homeless or the vulnerable. He wouldn’t even know that it was gone and besides, she reasoned, she wasn’t stealing the food, she was redistributing it, like Robin Hood but of the kitchen.
The thought thrilled her as she pulled the covers up under her chin. Having so much to give away and help so many people? It was a dream come true. She just had to hide it from Marc and the rest of the house. Anyway, who would notice a few things missing from such an overstocked kitchen?
*
Only the twins came to breakfast and they requested pancakes and bacon and maple syrup, which Christa whipped up in no time. She had been up early checking the contents of the fridge, working out what to cook and when before the food went off.
She could make a hearty stew with the beef and Thai chicken patties. And she had a lovely recipe for a goat curry, which she could serve with some naan bread.
She had so many ideas but she also had to see where the need was in York.
There was always need in every city. Always children in shelters, like she had been, eating nervously, looking around and hoping there wasn’t a fight over the gravy or apple pie. Men missing their children, mothers trying to find enough to buy their children something for under the broken tree, if there was a tree.
She hadn’t seen Marc that morning but she had given Peggy a tray with coffee, muesli, fruit and yogurt as requested.
Peggy was now supervising the cleaners who had arrived, looking terrified of her and waiting by the front door.
Christa wasn’t sure where dust would dare to settle under Peggy’s watchful eye but she was grateful Peggy was occupied so she could do some planning for cooking for the house and for organising where she could distribute the excess food.
