“They’re coming!” I say. “Harvey and his mummy will be here soon.”
At that moment the doorbell rings, and there they are on the doorstep, both with festive sweaters and massive smiles and—oh, wow, is that a snowflake drifting through the air?
“I know!” says Steph, following my excited gaze. “Snow! Well…snow-ish,” she amends. “I’ve seen about five snowflakes.”
“Five is better than none!” I say. “Look, Minnie, snow! Snow at Christmas!”
The two children both peer obediently at the sky, and we all wait breathlessly…but it looks like the sky has shut up shop.
“Maybe the snow will come later,” I say at last. “You can go and play.”
“Nice costume, Mrs. Santa!” says Steph, as we go inside.
“What, this old thing?” I pluck at my red-and-white outfit with a grin. “I just, you know, threw it on.”
Soon I’m making coffee for Steph while she rips the packaging off what looks like a million packets of doughnuts. She’s also brought wooden skewers and cocktail sticks to fix them together.
“Happy Christmas,” she says, toasting her coffee cup with mine. “We’re going to nail this bastard.”
While Minnie and Harvey run around playing hide-and-seek, Steph and I start creating a doughnut construction, which it turns out is an incredibly calming and therapeutic activity. After we’ve used about forty doughnuts, we stand back to assess our work.
“It’s quite good,” I say, wanting to be positive. “Except it doesn’t look that much like a turkey.”
It doesn’t look anything like a turkey, is the truth. It could be the Easter Bunny or Mount Everest.
“It doesn’t look much like a turkey yet,” rejoins Steph. “But we haven’t done the finishing touches. Have you got any Play-Doh?”
Within about ten minutes, Steph has commandeered all Minnie’s Play-Doh and put the two children to work, rolling out shapes on the table. Soon she’s adding orange Play-Doh wings to the doughnut turkey. Then black claws. And then big googly eyes.
“Oh my God,” I say, staring at it in a mixture of horror and admiration. “It’s looking at me.”
“And a beak…” says Steph, carefully adding a big pointy red Play-Doh shape. “There. Behold—the vegan turkey!”
I must admit, it definitely looks like a turkey now. Or at least a bird. A creepy, freaky doughnut/Play-Doh bird that will probably give us all nightmares for life.
“Result!” I say, and lift my hand to high-five Steph. “You’ve got a new career if you want it.”
“Purveyor of vegan turkeys,” says Steph with a nod. “Yes, I think I’d do well.”
Her face is pink and there’s a piece of Play-Doh stuck to her cheek, and she looks like she’s having the time of her life. “What shall we call it, kids?” she adds.
“Peppa Pig,” suggests Harvey promptly, and I snort with laughter.
“OK, Peppa Pig it is,” I say. “Peppa Pig the vegan turkey.”
“Is this your one and only turkey for Christmas?” asks Steph, looking a bit concerned. “Or have you got a real one too?”
“We’ve got a real one too,” I say. “At least, we haven’t got it yet, but it’s coming at five P.M. today.”
And if they substitute thirty jars of turkey paste, I add to myself, I will literally murder someone.
I carefully move the turkey to the counter and cover it with a cardboard box so that none of the guests will see it. Then I start laying out gingerbread kits all round the kitchen table. I can see the odd snowflake out of the window, and suddenly I do feel like I’m in a Christmas movie. God bless us every one. All that. Surely my guests will feel the same?
There are still a few minutes till everyone’s due to arrive, so I make some more coffee and pile some leftover doughnuts onto a plate. Then I adjourn with Steph to the sitting room, while Harvey and Minnie start pushing monster trucks up and down the hall.
“So, let me fill you in on who’s coming today,” I begin. “There’s Suze and Tarkie and their three, who you already know. There’s my parents and their neighbors Janice and Martin. And there’s my sister, Jess, plus her husband, Tom, if he’s made it back from Chile. He’s also the son of Janice and Martin,” I add. “That’s how Jess and Tom met.”
“Wow,” says Steph, taking all this in. “So you’re a pretty close-knit group.”
“I suppose so.” I nod.
“Nice big Christmas table.” She smiles.
“It will be.” I lean forward impulsively. “Steph, please come too. You and Harvey. Come here for Christmas. There’s plenty of room, we’d all love