THE COSY SUPPER

Anneke is relieved that dinner has been a success, Luke is on his second helping of the pork stew, one of the few recipes her mother passed on to her. She has had a busy day preparing the food, baking bread and getting a guest room ready for Luke.

Margaret has insisted on candlelight for the kitchen supper, saying it would help create the atmosphere of a bistro. Anneke suspects that Margaret thinks subdued light is flattering. The physical effects of ageing can be harder for those once considered beautiful.

The air in the kitchen feels thick, the warmth from the Aga intensified by the soup which has been simmering on the hot plate. Anneke wishes she could rest her forehead against the cold, dark glass of the windowpane. The dense, spicy odour of the broth fills the room, a smell which for some reason always reminds her of Christmas.

Margaret, Luke and John are tucking into the soup and eating hunks of warm, crusty loaf, smeared with butter. Margaret’s nose and cheeks are shining in the candlelight.

Luke arrived with two bottles of champagne, clearly having anticipated that the public meeting would go well. He is in high spirits as he regales Margaret with his version of events.

‘It was a fantastic evening – loads of people turned out, but it was quite surreal, Margaret. People arrived wearing the heads of animals and bats. I thought I was in the midst of some bizarre village festival.’

‘Bats?’ says Margaret, raising her eyebrows and looking pointedly at John.

‘Jo was there,’ says John quietly. ‘She and others are concerned about the environmental impact.’

‘That’s why we are relying on you, mate, to sort everything.’

Anneke notices a muscle pulsing in John’s cheek.

‘I can organise composting toilets, but I can’t control how ten thousand people might behave.’

‘You worry too much, mate.’

‘Ten thousand,’ echoes Margaret. ‘I didn’t realise it would be that many. We so need this to be a success.’

Margaret seems more concerned for her house than her daughter, thinks Anneke as

she goes into the pantry to retrieve the platter of cheeses she set out earlier. She rinses a bunch of wine-red grapes in a colander, adds them to the platter and opens a packet of crackers which she scatters on an oval plate. One of the cheeses is a local delicacy, wrapped in nettles, another a rich Cornish blue. The label on the chutney jar is written in her curly script ‘Christmas Chutney November 2018’.

Luke tips his bowl as he scrapes it clean and puts down his spoon with a satisfied sigh. He dabs his mouth with a linen napkin. ‘Anneke, that was delicious.’

‘Yes dear, it was very tasty,’ adds Margaret. ‘Could you serve the cheese and biscuits now please?’

Anneke nods. ‘Of course.’

John stands to collect the soup bowls. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

Anneke can feel the heat creeping up from her neck when he smiles at her and takes the bowls to the dishwasher.

‘A refill?’ Luke has the second bottle of Cristal poised over Margaret’s glass.

‘You’re spoiling me,’ giggles Margaret.

She is already looking flushed, thinks Anneke.

‘John, a top up?’ Luke holds out the bottle.

John resumes his seat. ‘No thanks, I’m driving.’

‘I think we should raise our glasses,’ grins Luke, his veneers dazzling in the candle light. ‘To Greenfest.’

‘To Greenfest,’ Margaret chinks her glass against Luke’s. ‘Are you not toasting, John?’

John lifts his glass and gives Margaret’s a token nudge before putting it back on the table. ‘There’s an awful lot of work to do before it happens.’

‘John, don’t be such a gloom.’ She takes another sip.

‘The meeting went well, despite the animal impersonations. You must agree mate.’ Luke stares intently at John, as if willing him to back him up.

After a short silence John says, ‘By the end of it they were eating out of your hands…mate.’

Luke is oblivious to the edge in John’s voice. ‘Anneke, stop working so hard and come and join the celebrations.’ Luke winks at her.

‘No thank you, I do not drink. Perhaps it is time for some coffee Mrs Clemens?’

Margaret waves a hand in dismissal. ‘In a little while, thank you. Now go through the figures again for me Luke. How much will we clear, after expenses?’

Anneke notices a flash from the security light and sees movement in the yard. She grips the porcelain sink as the back door flies open and a blast of cold air violates the room. There is a crash as the dented brass door knob bounces against the internal wall. Jo stands in the doorway with flushed cheeks and strands of auburn hair protruding from her orange bobble hat; a colourful imposter with her old green waxed coat and rainbow striped scarf. She walks up to the kitchen table, pulling off her multi-coloured mittens with her teeth. Her eyes look glazed. ‘What a cosy little scene – the co-conspirators having supper.’

Margaret places her glass on the table with care. ‘Luke, I think you have met my daughter – Josephine.’

Luke’s smile has frozen but he recovers himself. ‘Of course, yes, a couple of times.’

He stands and heads around the table towards Jo who now has her hands on her hips. He proffers his neatly manicured hand, which Jo stares at and then ignores.

‘Please shut the door,’ says Margaret quietly. ‘You are letting the warmth out.’ Margaret is twisting her napkin in her hands, her knuckles white.

Jo turns and kicks the door shut with her hefty boot. The sound reverberates in the  silent kitchen. She turns back and stares at her mother with defiance. She reminds Anneke of an insolent teenager.

‘I apologise, Luke,’ says Margaret with her eyes fixed on Jo, ‘I had hoped my daughter might have reached maturity by now.’

‘Why do you always have to do that?’ cries Jo struggling out of her back-pack which she throws on the table. Anneke fears for the lead crystal wine glasses but stays rooted to the spot.

‘Do what?’

‘Put me down.’

‘Oh grow up.’

Anneke looks from one to the other. Where is the love? She busies herself – reaching into the wall cupboard for the coffee canister.

John gets to his feet and goes over to Jo, who is digging around in the bag. ‘Hey Jo,’ he touches her gently on the sleeve of her coat. ‘Do you think it might be better to have this conversation another time?’

Jo shrugs off his hand. ‘Leave me alone. I know whose side you’re on.’ She throws a pile of leaflets on the table, where they slide and scatter amidst the butter and breadcrumbs. ‘Since you didn’t have the guts to come to the meeting, I’ve come to you, Mother. Your vanity project is going to be devastating. All the wildlife – the pipistrelles -’ Her voice is thin and high pitched with emotion.

Margaret stares unseeingly at the leaflets and sighs. ‘You are just like your father – love to make a scene.’

‘Don’t bring Daddy into this.’

Margaret’s voice comes from deep within her chest. ‘You put your father on a pedestal, but there are things you neither know nor understand.’

John clears his throat. ‘Luke – some fresh air…?’ John tips his head towards the door.

Luke picks up John’s cue. ‘Good idea, mate. I’ll just get my coat. A vape before coffee.’ The two men head out towards the hallway.

Margaret continues, ‘if you want to talk to me Jo, come back in the morning. You’ve clearly been drinking.’

‘That’s rich coming from you. Everyone in the village knows about your gin habit.’

‘How dare you.’ Margaret’s voice is barely audible as she stands, her chair scraping on the slate floor. Anneke presses herself into a dark corner, wishing she was closer to the exit.

The two women face each other, Jo the taller by several inches. ‘I was never good enough.’ She swallows hard. ‘I bet you wish it was me that died.’

‘Your father spoilt you. He ruined you.’

‘He loved me. You only had time for Roly. If you hadn’t bought him that stupid car he’d still be here.’

Margaret puts her napkin to her mouth and whispers, ‘It was a tragic accident.’

‘He was pissed. And we know where he got that from.’ Jo is jabbing her finger in her mother’s face now, with each word.

‘You were there. You should have stopped him driving. Why didn’t you take his car keys?’ Anneke notices that Margaret’s hands are shaking.

‘You evil bitch,’ screams Jo.

Margaret’s shoulders slump and she seems smaller and older. She turns away from her daughter, slowly shaking her head.

‘Please. Just go.’

Jo grabs her rucksack from the table, turns abruptly, then wrenches at the door handle and disappears into the cold, dark night.

Margaret leans heavily against the table. Anneke moves towards her and puts her arm around her, gently, as Margaret turns her head into her shoulder. Anneke rubs her gently on the back, feeling the hard knots of her spine through her blouse.            

Margaret lifts her head and looks at Anneke with an anguished expression. ‘How on earth did it come to this?’

*

Chapter 18