Page 19 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Part of the large garden was a devoted vegetable plot that Mac had nurtured since Kate could remember. Although he had his own garden at the cottage, he still came up to work the garden at the old house. Year round they were never short of vegetables. And when they had a glut the neighbors benefited too.
Kate grabbed her Polaroid camera and snapped the basket. She pinned the photograph to her ideas board. She shuffled out of her coat and hat, dropped her overnight rucksack and bag of pinecones in the corner of the kitchen, and grabbed a pencil and her sketchbook.
The feather-fronded carrot tops curled shyly around one another as their orange bodies kinked and curved with the pale parsnips that shared their bed. The celeriac sprouted leggy roots through its armored skin like one of H. G. Wells’s monsters.
Hours later she was still drawing; pencil lines had been joined by washes of color and detail in black fine-line pen. Sketches were strewn about the table: flashes of green vibrant against shades of calm stone and amber. This was how a fabric design was born. Anything could inspire it. Just when she thought she’d no spark in her today, a basket of bent, muddy vegetables had come to the rescue.
Absent-mindedly she grabbed her coffee cup and swigged.
“Eurgh!” she exclaimed. Kate was not a fan of cold coffee, not unless it came with ice and a shot of Baileys at least. She got up and went to the cupboard, grabbing a coffee pod, and fired up the coffee machine. She realized she was still wearing her boots; she was just in the middle of wrestling them off when the phone rang. It was Laura.
“Hello, traitor,” said Kate.
“What?”
“You told Matt about my date,” said Kate. “He’s named him ‘the weeping vegan’!”
Laura laughed.
“That is brilliant,” she said.
“Laura!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Laura. “I didn’t think it was a secret. And anyway, you probably would have told him eventually. You know, when you can see the funny side of it.”
“Icansee the funny side of it,” said Kate. “I just don’t want him laughing about me behind my back.”
“I don’t think Matt is the type to laugh behind your back,” said Laura.
Kate sighed.
“No, neither do I,” she said resignedly. “Not when he can laugh at my face.”
Kate’s other boot shot off with force and slid along the floor, leaving a mud trail on the wood.
“Anyway,” said Laura. “Why are we talking about Matt? I didn’t call to talk about Matt. I’ve got about five minutes before Charley wakes up from his nap and Mina realizes I’m not watching CBeebies with her. What and who is tonight’s date?”
Kate held the phone between ear and shoulder as she cleaned the floor. “It’s ice skating and my date’s name is Anthony.”
“Ice skating?” screeched Laura. “You?” In the background a baby began to wail. “Why would you choose ice skating?”
“The alternatives were go-carting or mince pie making,” Kate explained. “I make enough mince pies as it is, and driving the Mini is like go-carting.”
“And it wouldn’t hurt to be a damsel in distress on the ice,” said Laura sardonically.
The wailing became more urgent.
“Oh shit!” said Laura. “Okay, talk fast, tell me about Anthony.”
“Six foot three, dark brown hair, short but sort of quiffy at the front, brown eyes, fireman, two kids, single father, divorced,” Kate reeled off.
“No wonder you wanted to ice skate.”
The wailing was a siren now, shrill and relentless. Kate could hear Laura panting as she ran up the stairs.
“And a fireman!” she said. “Mummy’s coming, Charley! Well, he sounds promising. Does he know you can’t stand up on the ice?”
The wailing was close to the earpiece now; Laura had Charley in her arms. In the distance a little girl’s voice sounded shrilly, “Muuuuummmmy! Where are you?”
