Page 42 of How We Began

I’m officially a domestic goddess! Nigella Lawson, you can take your porn foody programmes and eat your heart out. The bird is finally in the oven. It is now 2 p.m. The king is on in an hour. So that gives me just enough time to prep my veggies and then I’ll be able to sit down and toast His Highness with a glass of Bristol Cream.

(2.45 p.m.)

Oooh! I love being by myself. It truly is liberating. I’ve had the music cranked up and have been singing away to all my faves. I’ve also peeled enough potatoes to feed a small army. The brussel sprouts were a bit of a pain. Not sure I’ll bother to do those ever again.

(3.30 p.m.)

Bugger-it! I forgot the king!

(5 p.m.)

I was in the middle of belting out some Avril Lavigne (“Keep Holding On” as sung by a strangled cat) and using my veggie peeler as an impromptu microphone when I heard the front door open.

What the hell? I was supposed to be here by myself. My mouth dropped open as Tristan’s blond head ducked around the doorframe interrupting my Avril moment.

“Got space for a few more, Avril?” he asked. “You know your singing can be heard right down in the car park, right?”

Funny.

I dropped the peeler on the floor as I watched Meredith walk through the door closely followed by Ben.

What?

My brain couldn’t process it at all.

BEN IS HERE. HERE IN MY FLAT ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

He gave me a very sheepish smile, accompanied by a shrug. I’m not sure if I imagined it, but I think he checked to see if I was holding a sharp knife.

“I thought you were in Dorset?” I said, my legs starting to wobble. Not just a wobble, a full-on knee jerk, Elvis on crack.

“I was, but then I heard you were cooking, and that’s something I can’t miss.” I stood there mesmerized, watching him, my mouth hanging open as he stepped towards me unwinding his blue scarf from around his neck. Then I launched myself at him, them. All of them.

They came. For me.

Ben’s hug lingered on my body, palms hot on my back as he slid his hands to my jaw and cradled my face as he stared deep in my eyes. For the briefest moment, I stood there and allowed myself to be held by him before finding the willpower to move away. The physical pull between us was undeniable. After a month of not touching him, leaning my body against his made mine ache like I’d finally walked into my home after months stranded at sea. We just fit together.

I glanced at my brother. When did the change happen? When did we get to the point that I would be glad to see him? That I’d be happy that he’d turn up unexpectedly, towing behind him two of my favourite people? We grinned at each other.

“According to Delia, dinner will be served at approximately 11:45,” I announced in my best hostess voice. My announcement was received with sniggers from my new guests. I glared at them all as I grabbed extra glasses out of the cupboard and handed them around, adding, “Delia suggests that if dinner is going to be late, we all get snot-flying drunk on sherry instead.”

Never have I regretted a box of mince pies and a chocolate orange more.

He’s here though. Ben is here and I have no idea what to think or feel.

(6.30 p.m.)

Sherry went. Mince pies went. Ben sat and rubbed my feet while we chilled in the lounge.

Apparently you’re supposed to baste the bird. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t done it.

I still don’t know what it means.

Ben gave me one of his amused ‘How did you survive so long?’ looks and took over turkey duty.

Dinner is rescheduled for 12.15 a.m—Boxing Day

(10.00 p.m.)