Page 9 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
The smell of lasagna filled the kitchen. Kate lifted the lid on the cake box. Ten beautifully crafted patisserie cakes lay side by side like tiny works of edible art. She smiled to herself as she pulled the curtains closed in the sitting room and queued up the BBC.
“Mr. Darcy, I’m coming to get you,” she said.
THE SECOND DATE OF CHRISTMAS
•••••
Christmas Cookery and Weeping Vegans
Two mornings later, the postman knocked, just as Kate was cleaning her brushes, after color-washing her early-morning sketches.
The sun rose a little before eight a.m. in December. Kate enjoyed the transformation of the landscape, as the winter sun crept across the fields in a voile of pale gold, chasing away the last vestiges of misty dawn; ice-crystalline blades of grass bent at the knees as the sun’s scant warmth whittled the frost.
It was an enchanted time of day and, when she could, Kate made sure she was out with camera and sketchbook to catch it.
“Looks like a package from your mum,” said Joe the postman.
“Looks like it,” said Kate.
“How’s she getting on these days?”
“Oh, you know,” said Kate. “Causing a Spanish whirlwind.”
“She’s a character, all right,” Joe said. And then: “Bummer about you getting stood up.”
“Yes,” Kate echoed. “Bummer.”
“Just changed his mind, did he?” Joe went on. “Didn’t like the look of you, maybe?”
“Maybe.” She tugged the package out of Joe’s hands a little more roughly than was necessary.
Kate made herself a coffee and opened the package. There had been an unfortunate incident three years ago, with a gift that—unbeknown to Kate—was a wheel of Cabrales cheese. After two weeks festering under the Christmas tree, in the warmth of the open fire, the smell was so pungent, Kate had begun to wonder if the builders had bricked a body up in the walls of her new kitchen extension.
A similar incident the following year with a selection of Spanish deli meats had taught Kate never to save her mother’s gifts until Christmas Day.
She needn’t have worried this year. The only edibles were the chocolate kind: a bar with cacao nibs and almond shards, a bag of chocolate-coated almonds, and a tin of drinking chocolate, all of which made Kate salivate.
As well as these, there were two self-help books:Find Love before You’re FortyandIs That My Body-Clock Ticking?
Thank you, Mother, thought Kate. Beneath these was a bottle of Chanel perfume wrapped in what could only be described as porn-star lingerie: a push-up bra with see-through fabric where her nipples would be, and a pair of matching crotchless panties.
Kate texted her mum:
Thanks for the presents. Interesting underwear!
•••••
“Don’t be disheartened just because one wholly let you down.” Laura’s voice crackled through the phone loudspeaker.
“I’m not,” Kate assured her. “I’m just going to finish off these mince pies for Matt and then I’ll get ready.”
“I still don’t know why you didn’t just come up anyway; the banqueting hall looked amazing, even if I do say so myself,” said Laura. “What are you wearing?”
“What, now?” Kate asked. “Are you being pervy?”
“No, dumb-arse,” said Laura. “For the date!”
Kate dusted the rolling pin with icing sugar and began to roll out the pastry.
