Page 44 of Can I Tell You Something?
Dinner is a sumptuous, buzzy affair, soundtracked with laughter, clinked glasses and‘bon appétit’. After another seafood course of buttery scallops and fresh pink langoustine, Mark fills the table with bronzed turkey, chestnut stuffing, garlicky greens, truffled mash and crisp sautéed potatoes.
“We couldn’t possibly only have one sort of potatoes now, could we?” Mark says sarcastically as he carves the bird.
“The mash is my favourite,” Hannah smiles. “But Ryan prefers the crispy ones.”
“It’s no contest,” he says, biting down on one with a loud crunch.
“You can judge the winner,” Cheryl says, one hand squeezing my shoulder.
“Oh thanks, no pressure,” I laugh, spooning both onto my plate.
Mark and Cheryl embarrass Hannah and Ryan with stories from their childhood while we eat, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness. A family whose love is abundant and inclusive, whose teasing is well-intentioned and never cruel.
My parents weren’t even disappointed when I messaged to tell them I’d be travelling for the holidays and said they see me when I got back. I make a mental note to video chat with them tomorrow, but for now my full attention wants to be here in this room, with these people.
After clearing the table together, we end up mostly horizontal in the living area, bellies full, hearts warm. The woodburner blazes, carols play on the speaker, and on the coffee table in the centre of the room we begin the traditional Richmond family jigsaw puzzle.
Time passes in a silent haze as we sort pieces into piles by colour, filling out the picture as we go. Mark snoozes in the armchair by the fire, and Hannah’s socked foot finds its way into my lap underneath the table.
“Right, come up if you wantla bûche de Noël,” Cheryl says a while later, pushing up from the floor.
I knowNoëlmeans Christmas, but once again, I have no idea what I’m about to be served. It turns out it’s a yule log, chocolate sponge cake shaped like a fallen tree limb, covered in ridged chocolate frosting, and a dusting of powdered sugar to complete the snowy effect.
“Wow, did you make this?” I ask.
“Oh, heavens no. Why would you bother when thepatisseriemake the best ones in the world? They add chestnuts to their recipe, which makes it extra nutty.”
I burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Ryan says, pouring thick cream on top of his portion.
“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a chestnut in my life and I’ve had them three times today.”
We’re on the home stretch, pressing puzzle pieces into the last section while the fire crackles beside us. Heavy snow is falling outside the window, and I’ve had exactly the right amount of wine.
“Don’t forget your shoes,” Cheryl says, ruffling Ryan’s hair as she and Mark head up to bed.
“Aren’t we a little old for that now?” he laughs.
“Never too old for Christmas magic, my darlings. Sweet dreams.” She blows us all kisses and climbs the stairs as we turn back to our puzzle.
“What’s that about?”
“French children put their shoes in front of the fire on Christmas eve, soPère Noëlcan fill them with treats when he comes down the chimney at night,” Hannah explains.
“That’s cute. Do you do stockings too?”
She shakes her head. “Just shoes. We were always jealous of our friends back home who got stockings with presents, but it turned out they were jealous of our shoes full of chocolate too.”
Ryan reaches for a bowl of nuts, throwing a few into his mouth. “When we were kids, Hannah would always flip out because my feet were bigger, so I got more candy than her.”
“Candy,” she laughs, throwing a cushion at his head. “You’re so American now.”
“That’s it,” he says, throwing it back. “I’m getting up early to steal yourcandy.”
“Well, I got double last year because your lazy arse couldn’t be bothered to come home. And the year before that.” I love the way Hannah says‘arse’in her fancy British accent.
“I’m throwing your shoes down the mountain so you won’t get shit.” He hops up and makes a beeline for the stairs that lead down to the boot room. Hannah bolts after him and a few minutes later they both come back, slightly out of breath, each holding a pair of their trainers. Hannah has an extra pair in her arms. Mine.
