Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall by Kate Forster

24

Christa drove her car to the pub by the riverside, wiping tears from her cheeks with her gloved hands.

She wanted Marc to tell Avian to leave but she would never ask that. She never understood why some men couldn’t see mean girl behaviour in women. Avian was the ultimate mean girl, whose main purpose in existing was to make other people feel bad about themselves, but Christa also knew that people like Avian had stuff happening in their lives to make them like this. She tried to cut Avian some slack but it was hard.

Avian didn’t seem to really care about the boys the way Christa expected her to. She treated them as though they were an accessory, making them pose for photos with her and then telling them to go away. Then other times she could see her looking at her children wistfully, lovingly. Christa never knew what the woman was thinking and didn’t care enough to ask but she prayed she would leave sooner rather than later.

But deep down this wasn’t about Avian. She could blame her all she liked but this was about Simon. How he bullied her through their marriage. Belittled her and gaslit her constantly until she doubted her ability to even choose her own clothing. Nothing she did was enough for Simon and he was still in her life chipping away at her self- esteem.

She parked her car and looked at the pub. At least she could still dream about what she would do with the place. She had even thought about bringing Zane down to show him her vision.

And then she saw the sign.

Sold.

She started to sob. She knew it wasn’t the only place to build her vision but she had been so attached to it because Petey had told her about it, and because she had shown Marc.

Putting her head on the steering wheel, she cried properly for the first time since she and Simon had split. She cried for her choices and naivety. She cried for her dad. She cried for losing herself to Simon. She cried because she wanted something different than this right now and she cried because she wanted to be with Marc and the boys but Avian would never let that happen. Not when Avian and Simon were a couple. Avian would always be in Christa’s life if she was in Marc’s life.

There was no way she could escape the mother of the boys and nor should she.

When her sobs finally subsided, she wiped her face and looked in the rear-view mirror. She looked like she had run into a wall but that would go. She would lie down when she got home but first she had a call to make.

‘Peggy? Can I ask you a favour? I’m not feeling well, and I’m wondering if you can make a shepherd’s pie for the house. Really? You have one in the freezer? Amazing thank you.’

At least dinner was sorted, she thought as she drove home.

*

Dinner conversation was non-existent as Christa served Peggy’s shepherd’s pie to the table.

‘Is this your version of a shepherd’s pie? Or Peggy’s original?’ asked Marc, looking at the dish.

‘Peggy’s,’ said Christa not looking at him as she handed a plate to Seth.

‘It’s gluggy,’ said Seth, poking it with his fork.

‘Shhh,’ said Marc. ‘It looks very hearty.’

‘Hearty makes me farty,’ said Ethan, putting extra emphasis on his complaint with a huge pretend fart.

Seth laughed and then joined in.

Christa spooned two servings of the potato topping into bowls then handed them to Avian and Simon.

‘Pie, no shepherds,’ she said.

‘I can’t eat this,’ said Avian.

Simon, however, looked thrilled to be having carbs. He poured tomato ketchup on top and started to eat like a Siberian prisoner.

‘Excuse me? What is this shit?’ Avian pushed the bowl away.

‘It’s Peggy’s dish, so if you don’t like it I suggest you speak to her,’ Christa said and went behind the kitchen bench and wiped the surface with extra gusto.

‘Marc, what is going on?’ asked Avian. ‘You shouldn’t let the staff speak to you like that.’

Marc looked at the boys.

‘Boys, you can go and order a pizza and eat it watching some TV, okay?’

‘Thank the Pope,’ said Ethan.

‘Where did you learn that?’ asked Marc, looking around the table.

‘Peggy,’ said Adam and Paul at the same time.

‘Can we also go and order a pizza?’ asked Paul. ‘No offence, Christa, but I think my dinner is forming a gelatinous skin.’

Marc nodded as Adam and Paul fled the kitchen, while Simon took their bowls and shoved the food into his mouth.

‘Why did you bring Simon here?’ Marc asked Avian.

Avian looked unfazed.

‘We’re in a relationships,’ she said.

‘You have dated other men and never even bought them to coffee, let alone Christmas. Did you find out Christa was cooking for us?’

She said nothing.

‘Did you?’ asked Simon, pausing for a moment from the great shovel fest he was having.

‘I heard she was good,’ said Avian. ‘The boys mentioned her and I recognised the name.’

Avian seemed to suddenly be very interested in her cuticles.

‘Simon, did you know?’ Christa asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. ‘But I didn’t think it would be a problem since you are only the help.’

‘The help?’ Christa heard her voice become louder but she couldn’t stop the fury from exploding inside her. ‘You absolute classist wanker.’

‘Don’t be so pissy Christa, it’s not a class thing.’

Christa looked at Marc. ‘Anytime anyone in Britain says it’s not a class thing, it’s a class thing.’

‘I wanted to find out more about you,’ said Avian suddenly.

‘Why?’

‘Because the boys won’t stop talking about you. Because all Simon does do is talk about you, constantly. I had to see what I was up against.’

Christa looked at Simon who seemed to be nonchalant about the revelation. ‘I do talk about you but not in the way you think,’ he said to her.

Christa shook her head in disbelief.

‘I don’t love you, so don’t worry about that,’ he said to Christa.

‘That’s fine. I don’t love you either,’ she said, speaking truthfully.

Simon kept speaking with his mouth full, shoving in potato.

‘I talk about you because I saw great potential in you but you never met it,’ he said. ‘I tried to push you but you couldn’t do it. That’s why we divorced, because I couldn’t keep investing in potential with no reward. I was tired of carrying you.’

The fury Christa felt was unlike anything she had ever known.

‘Oh. My. God,’ she yelled. ‘Me? You carried me? Are you kidding me? All I did was let you take credit for everything I did. The menu, the desserts, the sommelier we brought on, the soufflé that got us the hat.’

‘That soufflé was my recipe,’ he said to Avian and then turned to Marc and continued to speak. ‘We’re using it in the TV show. The contestants have to recreate it and I’ll blind-taste it and chooses the best one.’

‘It wasn’t your recipe, it was mine, and carefully designed; it was a project to make that as perfect as it was,’ Christa said, trying not to cry from frustration.

‘No, it was my recipe,’ Simon insisted.

‘No, it was mine. My soufflé was always better than yours. That’s why you made me make it for A.A. Gill when he came in once.’

‘I didn’t make you, you wanted to impress him.’

Christa gasped. ‘The way you bend the truth to suit the way you want the wind to blow is astonishing. I made the better soufflé and you can’t admit it.’

Simon laughed meanly. ‘Christa, just admit I was better and then we can let it go.’

She glared at him and then she put her hands on the table.

‘Then we will both cook, in tandem, and Marc will decide. He will be the blind-baking judge of Pudding Hall.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ scoffed Simon.

‘Is it? If you believe you are the better chef then prove it. Marc won’t know who cooked what and then we can just let it go and you can rest knowing you beat your ex-wife in the final round of our relationship.’

Simon stared at her. ‘Fine, bring it on. I look forward to proving my point to you and you finally seeing you would never even be here, cooking for a billionaire, if it wasn’t for me. I also look forward to your apology when Marc chooses my soufflé. And the sight of you waving goodbye when you leave Pudding Hall.’

‘You want me to leave if you win?’ she asked, incredulous at his nerve.

‘Yes.’ Simon sneered at her.

‘So you agree to leave if I win?’ she said.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Fine,’ she said. A warm feeling of satisfaction knowing he would soon be gone came over her body. ‘Bring it on.’

He stood up from the table and drained the wine that Adam had left in his glass.

‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight,’ he said and he left the kitchen with Avian scurrying after him.

Marc looked at Christa. ‘Why the hell did you rope me into judging this? I don’t even eat soufflé. I always choose the affogato.’

Christa felt her blood start to simmer down with Simon’s departure.

‘I needed someone more powerful than him. He’s easily impressed by money and success; your word would be final. He’s actually really chauvinistic.’

Marc scoffed. ‘You think so? He’s like something from the 1950s; it’s kind of bizarre to see such old-fashioned ideals.’

Christa sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘He makes me so furious. I shouldn’t have taken the bait.’

‘I get it. They know us and they know where to place the cuts, because they know where the old wounds are.’

They were quiet as they sat in thought.

‘So, can you win?’ Marc finally asked.

Christa looked him in the eye and a knowing look crept over her face. ‘Absobloodylutely.’