Page 86 of The Dolce Vita Divas
Juliette pulled a face. ‘No, probably not. It’s like when people say they want to run a pub, but when they do they get cross because people complain about everything and won’t go home at a decent hour. Is there really no one else in the family to take it over?’
‘His mother is eighty-five and lives near Florence, and his two aunts are in their seventies and have the diplomatic skills of Star Wars stormtroopers.’
‘I like the sound of them. Look, are we going to try this millionaire’s shortbread or not? If it’s okay I’ll make some for the Christmas Fair. Janice Newton from The Laurels wants us to call it anOlde Victorian Christmas Fayre, with a y, which always annoys me. I asked if that meant we needed to reopen the workhouse, have starving waifs in the corner and an outbreak of ye olde typhoid, but she just sat there gaping. Now then.’
She took a knife and sliced into the traybake, which looked very appetising, but then all the caramel underneath the chocolate slid out in a puddle, dripping onto the table. I grabbed a couple of plates and some teaspoons.
‘Hmm, it said condensed milk but I didn’t have any so I just used evaporated instead. I don’t think it’s worked, do you?’
‘The shortbread base is nice,’ I said.
I went to get some kitchen roll and a damp cloth, and the next few minutes were very sticky indeed.
‘Never mind, Matthew will eat it. I’ll say it’s millionaire’s surprise and it’s a pudding. Give Matthew a jug of custard and he’d eat bike tyres. Anyway, back to Paulo. So he’s gone to sell the hotel and you’re back here. How does that work if he’s yourtrooo lurve?’
I giggled. ‘One thing at a time. Little steps.’
‘You need to take big steps at your time of life,’ Juliette said, ‘no use messing about. Do you think I could have that cloth? This stuff is sticking my hands to the table. I think I’ve invented a new sort of superglue. Perhaps I should write to the papers.’
‘Firstly, I need to get Alex out of the granny flat. He says he has found a place near his work; he just doesn’t seem in much of a hurry.’
‘You’re too soft on him,’ Juliette said.
‘I know,’ I said, licking some caramel off the back of my hand, ‘but I have a plan.’
‘Oh goody! Tell me all about it.’
* * *
A week later, I organised a family Zoom call, which unbelievably – because my internet was always unpredictable – worked. Bang on two o’clock, Alex logged on from the sitting room in the granny flat and next to his image I could see Kat and Jess sitting in their respective kitchens. I felt a burst of satisfaction and affection for them, all grown up and coping with life. That at least was something to be proud about.
I decided to put my plans into action, or at least put them out there so my children knew what was coming.
‘I’ve decided to make a few changes in my life which might surprise you. And I like to think I’m helping you move on to the next phase,’ I said, staring at my laptop screen with a bright smile, which was supposed to calm their fears. ‘You’re fully formed adults now; all of you are in your thirties. First of all, I want you to know I’m proud of you all, and I love you very much, but I think I am being selfish assuming you are always going to want to come to me for Christmas with your families. Particularly when there are small children involved, you always seem to have to move with a car crammed to the roof with their belongings.’
This was a bit of subtle psychological stuff, gleaned from some magazine article Juliette had read at her hairdressers.
Kat looked puzzled. ‘But we always come to you for Christmas. I don’t even know where half our decorations are.’
‘So do we. I thought it was all arranged? That would mean I’d have to cook a blasted turkey. I haven’t cooked Christmas dinner for – well, ever, actually,’ Jess said.
‘It’s very straightforward, just a matter of preparation and timing,’ I said.
‘Liam says it’s just a roast dinner with knobs on,’ Alex chimed in.
‘How would you know?’ Kat scoffed. ‘Last time I looked, you couldn’t cook a Pot Noodle without assistance. You’re the only person I know with a season ticket to Deliveroo.’
There was then a bit of spirited discussion about this, which looked like it was going to degenerate into an argument, and if I knew them, a long-held grievance about a burnt birthday cake was going to be brought up.
I blew a football whistle – engraved withBest Dad Everwhich I had found at the back of the messy drawer in the kitchen, an item which confirmed my belief about such gifts. And the hubbub ceased.
‘But Mum, that would mean you’d be on your own. Well, apart from Alex, and he’s not much help, is he?’ Jess said. ‘It wouldn’t make any sense.’
‘No, actually, that’s the other thing; well, one of the other things. Perhaps I should have started this discussion in a different place. The fact is, I’m going away for Christmas,’ I said.
There was a stunned silence and the three of them looked blankly at me for a moment.
‘You never go away for Christmas,’ Kat said. ‘You’re always at home. That’s what Dad said you both preferred.’
