‘Oh. Dazzle? Wow, that’s amazing. I used to read it all the time.’ I’m genuinely impressed. Come to think of it, Sophie is dressed impeccably – as I guess she should be, representing such a stylish magazine as Dazzle.
‘But you don’t read it now?’ Her tone is a little accusatory.
‘Er, well, sometimes I do,’ I say awkwardly. Dazzle is pretty much all fashion, which I was well into in my teens. But since the accident, my twenties have been much more about covering up …
Sophie is looking quite put out. But maybe that’s just her normal expression. Still, better not mention I only ever flick through Dazzle now when I find a copy in the dentist’s surgery.
‘My mum insists on giving me her back copies of The People’s Friend. Any good?’ offers Poppy. I glance at her. She’s gazing innocently at Sophie but I’m fairly certain she has her tongue firmly in her cheek.
Sophie doesn’t even dignify this with a reply.
‘How’s the hotel?’ Poppy asks. She turns to me. ‘Sophie and her boyfriend are staying at the same place as Alex. You know, when I first came here, it was just a sad, rundown old cottage. And look at it now! A gorgeous boutique hotel! Sylvia’s done a superb job transforming it, don’t you think?’
‘It does look lovely,’ I agree. ‘Especially all decorated for Christmas.’
Sophie wrinkles her perfect nose. ‘It’s okay I suppose, although the rooms are quite small. It’s not a patch on The Lawns,’ she adds, naming a five-star hotel twenty miles from here. Renowned for its elegance and attention to detail, it also boasts a Michelin-starred chef. ‘We stayed there a few nights ago.’ Sophie gives a theatrical sigh. ‘So romantic. The bedrooms are big enough to host a party!’ She picks up one of the mince pies and holds it aloft, examining it with her pinky finger in the air. She takes a tiny bite, chews doubtfully, then drops the rest in the bin.
Walking out, she calls back, ‘A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’
Poppy and I stare after her with our mouths literally hanging open.
‘What a bloody cheek! That woman thinks she’s royalty just because she edits a fashion magazine,’ mutters Poppy once she’s gone. ‘And as for her romantic night at The Lawns – excuse me while I puke!’ She shakes her head wearily. ‘I’m just not in the mood to hear about love’s young dream at the moment.’
I heave a sigh. ‘I know what you mean.’
I’d like to ask Poppy about her relationship with Jed but I definitely don’t know her well enough yet – and she is my boss, after all.
‘God, I’m starving. What time is it?’ Poppy glances at her watch, then crosses the kitchen, pulls the fridge door open and peers inside. She brings out a Tupperware box and sniffs the contents. ‘Kedgeree leftovers. Would you like some?’
‘No, thanks. You go ahead.’ I grin as she gets a fork and starts chomping through the fish and rice concoction in the box. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer it hot?’
She grins. ‘Not bothered. I can’t seem to stop eating these days. It must be the worry.’
‘Worry?’
She shrugs. ‘That I won’t be able to fulfil this contract. There’s so much depending on it. I want to take the business to the next level – perhaps even start employing a couple of full-time staff. But if this doesn’t work out …’ She shakes her head and munches faster.
‘It’ll be fine. We’ll do it.’ I try to sound reassuring, although I have absolutely no idea if it will be fine.
‘I thought we could have trifle for dessert,’ she says. ‘I found a box in the cupboard. Nice and quick.’
I feel a big surge of relief. Yes! I can make trifle from a box! We have it every Christmas when I’m at Mum and Dad’s!
Poppy presents me with a lovely cut-glass bowl, the box and a tin. I pat the canned fruit cocktail happily. You can’t go wrong with a tin!
‘Shall we make the custard from scratch?’ she asks.
I stare at her blankly then glance at the box. I didn’t know you could make custard from scratch.
She nods. ‘I know, I know. You’re right. Far too time-consuming! Let’s just stick to the packet variety.’ She opens the trifle box and looks inside, drawing out the packets of jelly and custard that I happen to know you just add hot water to. Even I can do that!
Poppy grins, pops the packets back into the box and hands it to me. ‘There you go!’
And there, indeed, I went. With a huge feeling of relief.
I make the trifle in no time, according to the instructions, and when Poppy asks me to whip some cream for the top, I casually ask where she keeps her ‘balloon whisk’. (I learned about balloon whisks when I was watching cookery demos on YouTube.)
Peeling a load of prawns for the starter is easy by comparison.
Every time I need to go to the fridge for something, I peer at my trifle with pride.
First dessert made. And I think I got away with it!
From about seven o’clock, there are lots of comings and goings out in the hall but I’m too busy trying to present the prawn cocktails with panache (like they do on MasterChef) to pay much attention. Soon, the kitchen is filled with the delicious aroma of Poppy’s lasagne and, before I know what’s happening, she’s loading the starters onto a large tray and carrying them through to the dining room.
I watch them go like an anxious mum dropping her kids for their first day at a new school. When the dishes come back empty with no report of complaints, a feeling of sheer relief rushes through me, making me feel quite light-headed. Maybe I’ll be able to do this!
When it comes to dessert, Poppy insists I should carry my trifle into the dining room myself. It will be a good chance, she says, for me to meet all the guests.
I’m a little nervous but at least I already know Jed and Alex, and I’ve met Sophie. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to Alex seeing my beautiful trifle because then he’ll realise I’m not quite such a flop in the kitchen, after all …
My hands feel a little sweaty from nerves so I run them down my jeans a few times and pick up the bowl. Walking through the hallway, I’m concentrating so hard on not tripping over any rugs that I’m not even looking at the diners.
‘Presenting … Roxy’s trifle everyone!’ says Poppy.
I look up and meet Alex’s eye. He gives me a big encouraging smile and a sly wink, which bolsters my confidence. He’s had the haircut he promised. It suits him short.
My gaze slides to Sophie. She’s eyeing the trifle with a wary look as if she’s worried I might poison her. Her head is resting on the shoulder of the man next to her.
A second later, my eyes collide with his and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
‘Jackson?’ I gasp, my knees turning to blancmange.
‘Roxy?’ growls Jackson, shock written all over his handsome face.
The blood rushes to my head and I think I might keel over.
I manage to save myself but not the trifle, which slides out of my damp grasp and lands on the wooden floor with a spectacular, rainbow-coloured crash.
Flo