“Have you told your mum about Damian yet?” I ask, even though this is none of my business.
“Not yet,” says Steph after a pause, and I bite my lip. Because it’s not for me to tell her what to do. But it’s Christmas. And her family doesn’t even know she’s on her own.
“If I were your mum, I’d want to know,” I venture, and I see something flicker across Steph’s face. Then I worry that I’ve overstepped the mark, so I quickly add, “Did I see Damian just now?”
“Yes.” Steph’s face falls. “With her.”
“I thought she looked really ugly,” I say seriously, and Steph bursts out laughing.
“Becky, you’re deluded.”
“I’m not. She’s gross.”
“She’s about twenty-three and she’s stunning. Did you see her hair? Did you see her bum?”
I want to say, “No, Damian’s big fat hand was in the way,” but that would be unhelpful. Instead, I decide to change the subject.
“Harvey was amazing in the play,” I say. “He’s got such a gorgeous smile!”
“Oh, was he?” A wistful light comes over Steph’s face. “I couldn’t go. I’ve taken too much time off work recently. But there’ll be a DVD, won’t there?”
I stare at her, stricken. She didn’t even go. And there I was, feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t see Minnie in my costume.
“Steph, what are you doing tomorrow?” I ask on impulse. “Would you and Harvey like to come to a gingerbread-house-making party?”
“Really?” Her face brightens. “We’d love to!”
“Great!” I say. “I’ll text you the details. We’re wearing Christmas sweaters and making gingerbread houses and…well, that’s it.”
“Is it a family tradition?”
“Not exactly. It’s…a new tradition.”
I won’t add, “Which I’ve invented to reconcile my warring Christmas guests.”
“It’s really kind of you to include us.” Steph suddenly reaches across the plastic table and clasps my hand. “Thanks, Becky. For everything. Can I bring something tomorrow?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Just yourselves.”
Steph shakes her head firmly. “People always say that, but there must be something. What’s the thing you most want right now? And not world peace.”
“A vegan turkey,” I say honestly. “If you’ve got one of those, I’d be super grateful.”
Steph stares at me in surprise. “Are you vegan?”
“No, but my sister is,” I explain. “And I ordered her a vegan turkey. But they canceled, so I thought I’d make one….” I relate the whole sorry story, and by the time I get to the painted loo rolls, Steph is laughing so hard she spurts tea out her nose.
“What are you like?” she says. “Just serve risotto like the woman said! Have an easy life!”
“I don’t want to have an easy life,” I say stubbornly. “I want to serve a vegan turkey.”
“Well, then, make it out of…” Steph casts around. “What can you make a turkey out of?”
“Exactly! That’s the problem! I tried mushrooms and cardboard. That didn’t work.”
There’s silence—then Steph exclaims, “Wait!” She plucks a packet of doughnuts out of her bag, peers at the label, then jabs her finger at it triumphantly. “Thought so. These are vegan. Use them!”
I follow her gaze and see a sticker printed with NEW RECIPE—NOW VEGAN!
“Doughnuts?” I say, bewildered. “I can’t make a vegan Christmas turkey out of doughnuts.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with doughnuts? Everyone loves doughnuts.” Steph starts giggling, and that sets me off—and for a moment neither of us can talk for hysterics.
“OK, I’ll do it,” I say at last, still snuffling. “I’ll do it. Why not?”
“And I’ll help,” says Steph. Her face is flushed from laughing and she looks more positive than I’ve seen her for ages. “I’ll come early tomorrow, and I’ll bring the doughnuts—and we’ll make the most kick-ass vegan doughnut turkey you’ve ever seen.”
As I wait for Steph to arrive the next morning, I actually feel buoyant. The house looks utterly Christmassy. The Christmas tree lights are twinkling and all my garlands are firmly in place and I’ve hung the piñata up in the sitting room.
I’m also wearing a brilliant Mrs. Santa outfit, which I spotted in the supermarket on my way out yesterday. It’s bright red with white fur and even has a little shoulder cape with a clever mobile-phone-sized pocket. Meanwhile, Minnie looks adorable in her Christmas sweater. It’s decorated all over with satin ribbons tied in bows, just like a gift.
“You are a gift,” I say, giving her a tight hug, whereupon she wriggles free and says, “Doughnuts?”
OK, so it was a mistake to tell Minnie about the doughnut turkey. She woke up at 5:00 A.M. and ran into the bedroom, demanding, “Doughnuts!