head back down.
‘Miserable sod,’ I muttered to myself as I ran down the library steps and hurried home so I’d be back in time for supper.
Chapter Eight
Friday 6th December 2019
Jo – Food
The rain hadn’t eased over night and the wind had picked up, too, by the sounds of it, keening at the bedroom window, which I always like to keep slightly ajar. Magnus snored gently beside me, as did Huckleberry, the heavy tabby cat lying on my legs. I eased the cat off me then climbed out of bed and wrapped myself in my dressing gown before pushing my feet into the sheepskin slippers Magnus gave me for Christmas last year. I went to the window and pushed the curtain aside, pulling the window to. It was still dark outside but it was that early morning sort of darkness rather than the intense black of midnight on this unlit lane set high up in L’Etacq, the sea below us audible, if not visible, in the gloom.
I headed downstairs to the kitchen, switching on lamps and then filling the kettle. I made myself a cup of tea then sat down at the kitchen table with my diary and my recipe books – a daily habit as unbreakable as my father’s morning newspaper habit had been. Even now the thought of Dad made me catch my breath and it had been five years since he died, though truly we’d all grieved for him five years before that when he’d been blighted with that cruel disease – Alzheimer’s. We all thought Mum would fall to pieces after he died and I’d even expected her to move from Marden to Jersey, so she could be near us, but she’s become an adventurer, taking herself off on hiking holidays to places like Nepal and Vietnam. She couldn’t even be tempted to join us for Christmas this year, her heart set on visiting Niagara Falls instead.
After acquainting myself with the day’s ‘to do list’ and deciding what to cook for supper, I made more tea and placed the three mugs on a tray, together with my favourite Scandinavian Christmas cookbook, before heading upstairs, pausing halfway up to peer out of the window. The day was lightening gradually, the pounding grey sea just visible in the distance.
I knocked on Freja’s door but she was sound asleep, so I left one of the steaming mugs on her bedside table and crept along the landing to the master bedroom, where Magnus was now sitting up in bed, propped by pillows and reading a novel.
‘Ah, I was hoping you were getting the tea!’
‘Nothing like it is there? The first cup of the day. What’s your plan today?’
‘Lots of work to be getting on with,’ Magnus said, popping down his novel and taking one of the mugs from me. ‘How about you?’
I brandished the cookery book. ‘Menu planning!’ I smiled. ‘Working out what meals we’re going to have over Christmas.’
‘You will ask the children to help though, won’t you, like we discussed?’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘Magnus, I know you’re only trying to make my life easier but in all honesty, as long as you deal with the cheese and wine, I’m more than happy to do everything else. If I relinquish control of any of the courses we’ll end up with some sort of horrendous hotchpotch and the kids all have enough to do. I remember what it’s like when you’ve got young children. You just want to go home and relax and be fed delicious meals.’
‘You’re too good to them. No wonder we can’t get shot of them.’
‘Well, we’ve got shot of three of them. It’s just Freja who’s returned to the nest.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if more of our little chicks find their way home, either,’ said Magnus and I shot him a concerned look.
‘What do you mean?’
He sighed. ‘The boys both seem settled enough. It’s Astrid I’m worried about. She’s become pricklier and pricklier ever since she had Percy and the strain between her and Xav is obvious. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.’
I thought about the last time I’d seen them together, but it had been ages, Astrid usually coming over on her own with Percy – which in itself said a lot. In fact, it was probably Easter. Xav, usually an absolute bundle of energy (he’s like a dark-skinned version of Chris Evans, the radio DJ, I always think), had been distinctly subdued.
‘Isn’t it tragic, how things go downhill? When you think how madly in