Page 69 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
Jamie’s phone suddenly pings. He gives the screen a cursory glance, then double-takes. Anna sees his eyes widen as he opens the text.
“Everything OK?”
“Look.” He turns the phone. It’s a picture of a little girl by a Christmas tree, opening her presents. “It’s from Lajla. It says Merry Christmas.”
“Sounds like a bit of a breakthrough, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t give her a present,” he suddenly says, looking the most worried she’s ever seen him.
Anna instinctively puts her hand on his, then instantly removes it again. She can’t cope with the spark. He didn’t miss it either, and turns his hand over, palm upwards, fingers lightly curved, creating a space for hers. An invite. She looks at it, considers it, then slides her hand into her lap. “Jamie, don’t worry about it,” she says, reassuring and distracting him. “Lajla won’t be expecting anything. You weren’t expecting her to send you a photo, were you?”
“No.” He moves his offered hand to play with his fork.
“Maybe this is Lajla reaching out. An olive branch, or moving things on a small step at a time. And Nikoline won’t notice you haven’t given her a gift.”
“Right. Right, sure.” He’s flustered but still gazing at the picture. It’s a lovely shot and one where she particularly looks like her father. Anna suspects this will be his screensaver within minutes.
“On the subject of goodwill and olive branches, you should be honest with your dad and tell him the whole story about why you’re here.” She sees a cloud cross his face, but ploughs on. “Explain about Nikoline, and he’ll get it. He’ll understand why you’re so set on staying. And he might also be delighted to have a granddaughter. You think it’s too much of a mess, but life is messy, your dad already knows that. If you won’t give him the full picture, then how can he support you?”
Jamie keeps his eyes on the photo, deep in thought. She might have spoiled the evening by overstepping, but it needed to be said. Finally he gives a small grunt and says, “I’ll think about it.” Then, he takes a sip of the wine, shows her the screen again and asks, “What will they be doing this evening?”
“Pretty much what we’ve just done,” says Anna brightly, feeling the mood lighten again. “Unless they’re uber-traditionalists and then they’ll have started with a rice pudding, which is what they did in olden times to fill the stomach before the more expensive food, so they didn’t have to buy as much. But normally nowadays, they’ll have had family dinner, presumably with Lajla’s parents, and they’ll have had duck, like us, or perhaps goose or roast pork with crackling, with the same sides we’ve had. Then dessert at the end and when they’ve finished eating, they’ll hold hands and walk around the Christmas tree singing carols.”
“Really?” asks Jamie, incredulous, “Singing?”
“Sooo much singing! You’ve been to parties over here. You’ve experienced the singing.”
“And that spreads to Christmas, does it?”
“Very much. So, you sing carols as you walk around the tree, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, depending on thesong.”
“Sounds like a treat,” says Jamie with a smirk. She does not believe he means this.
“I cannot imagine doing it with someone who hasn’t grown up like this,” says Anna, already feeling the blush creep up her face. “And then after the singing has finished, people open their presents and, again, it depends on the family how they do it. Some will take it in turns, opening one by one, so everyone gets to see what everyone has received, or for some it’s a free-for-all and everyone just opens their gifts at the same time. Then they drink lots of port, while the kids play with their things. And there’s no need to get up ridiculously early on Christmas morning.” Danish Christmas 101 over, Anna stands. “Ready for dessert?”
“Is this the secret thing you were doing when you sent me out this afternoon?”
“Busted. But we did need port and a good red wine, so it wasn’t a wasted trip.”
She heads into the kitchen and pulls out from the fridge two small glass bowls. Each is full of what looks like tufts of whipped cream.
“Taa-daaaah!Risalamande,” she says.
“What the what now?”
“It’s French.Riz à l’amande. Rice with almonds.” She explains it like it is totally obvious.
“OK,” says Jamie slowly, “and what do we do?”
“Well, you can look at, but not touch, the two bowls while I heat some cherry sauce. Then you get to pick which of these two bowls you’d like. It’s rice that’s been boiled in milk and vanilla, cooled and mixed with chopped almonds and then folded into whipped cream. Somewhere in one of these bowls is a whole almond and whoever finds it wins the prize.”
“Like the sixpence in a Christmas pudding?”
“I guess so. This is going on in every home, but they might have one big bowl and then people scoop out a spoonful. Seeing there’s just two of us I did two bowls, and you can pick. But no touching, Jamie, no prodding with a spoon, nothing devious or underhand. I’m going to turn my back and trust you while I heat the cherry sauce.”
“Fine. Got it,” says Jamie. “But I can look from all angles, right?” He’s looking mischievous, so Anna waves a wooden spoon at him in a threatening way, or at least as threatening as a wooden spoon can be.
It must work as he sits peacefully in his chair watching her, swilling the Barolo around in his glass, while she warms the sauce and transfers it to a pretty crystal bowl, all the while hyper-sensitive to his gaze. As she places it on the table, he selects the dessert bowl to the right.
