The Little Christmas Kitchen: A wonderfully festive, feel-good read. Jenny Oliver

Coco, and spritzing herself with Chanel Mademoiselle while Ella schlepped around taking breakfast orders from her peers – made her lips tighten in frustration.

      ‘Maddy’s apparently having a wonderful time.’ she said as she walked into the kitchen.

      Her mum looked up from where she was grilling strips of thin streaky bacon so it snapped, crisp. Pans of eggs were sizzling and fat red tomatoes spat and hissed in bubbling olive oil. The big table at the end of the jetty was filled by a group of artists who came every winter to paint, and couldn’t start without one of Sophie’s infamous full English breakfasts.

      ‘Is that a new order?’ her mum said without any comment about Maddy, and nodded her head towards the top sheet of Ella’s pad.

      The atmosphere between them had been frosty since Ella had offered Maddy the money. She’d booked the next available flight to Heathrow so they’d only spent one night together in the room above the taverna – Ella in the big bed, Maddy on the small single. Ella had got undressed in the bathroom and then got into bed with her book. The only thing they’d said to each other was, ‘Night’ before rolling over to face in opposite directions.

      But when Ella had woken up in the middle of the night, the room so black that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, she had turned over and heard Maddy say, ‘Are you awake?’

      She hadn’t replied.

      ‘I’m kind of scared.’ Maddy whispered. ‘Not really scared, just a bit.’

      Silence.

      ‘You remember when we flew to see Dad and Mum made us wear sticky name badges with our address and phone numbers on them?’ She laughed softly, ‘I kind of want a name badge. I think I’ll be ok though. I hope so. When I imagined going I had you there in my imagination. You know, just in case.’

      Ella heard Maddy roll over, bunch the covers up around her. ‘I suppose there’s always Dad…’ she carried on, then paused before she said, ‘I don’t know if he’d see me though.’ Her voice going up at the end of her whisper as if it was a question.

      Ella still didn’t say anything. But she had lain awake for hours afterwards thinking that she should have replied.

      ‘Ella–’ her mum called, ‘Can you make the coffee?’

      ‘What?’ Ella looked up from where she’d been staring at her pad.

      ‘The coffee? The jugs are in the corner, remember I showed you?’

      ‘Oh right. Yes.’ Ella and Max had a housekeeper who came most mornings to clean their flat, iron Max’s shirts and make them breakfast. As a throwback from Max’s boarding school days, he liked a bowl of porridge followed by a bacon sandwich and HP sauce every morning and when he’d realised that Ella could make neither porridge nor coffee or make bacon just the way he liked it, he’d hired Rose – a middle-aged woman with a huge chest who reminded him of his house mistress.

      ‘Ella, what are you doing?’ her mum asked as she walked past her carrying a tray piled high with plates of eggs, bowls of glistening mushrooms and stacks of golden, buttery toast. ‘That’s too much. You take the plunger out before you put the coffee in. Jesus, Ella do you not know how to make coffee?’

      Ella didn’t drink hot drinks. She never had. She couldn’t understand why people would want to drink anything hot. Her mum had always given her an orange juice when everyone else had had tea.

      The idea that her mum had forgotten that made her silent.

      ‘I don’t know how you and Max live sometimes.’ She shook her head. ‘Here, coffee, water, plunger. Ok?’ Then she strode out, clearly stressed, balancing the tray of food while scooping up two jugs of freshly squeezed juice that clanked together as she walked.

      Ella’s phone rang as she was spooning out coffee powder.

      ‘Max?’ she said, the line was crackly.

      ‘Ella?’ She heard him say. ‘Ella–’

      ‘Hang on Max, I can’t hear you. Let me just go outside.’ She hurried out the back door and stood by the sea wall, looking out at the fishing boats. ‘Max, hi.’

      ‘Ella I think Amanda’s husband is going to call you. Don’t believe anything he says. He’s been looking for a way to stop her getting a penny.’

      ‘Max, he said–’

      ‘It’s bullshit. Whatever he said, Ella, it’s bullshit. He’s set this whole thing up. It’s divorce tactics. The sly bastard is just securing his cash. Ok? Listen to me, Ella. When are you coming home?’

      ‘Christ as soon as I can.’ She sighed. ‘My mum has me waitressing.’

      There was a pause and then a booming laugh down the other end of the phone. ‘I like that idea. Are you wearing a pinny?’

      Ella smirked. ‘Maybe.’

      ‘Love it.’ Max laughed again and then the signal cut out.

      ‘Damn this island.’ Ella sighed, looking at the one bar on her phone.

      ‘Ella!’ Her mum was in the doorway. ‘The coffee?’

      ‘Oh sorry.’ She sauntered back in. ‘Sorry, I had to take a call.’

      ‘You never have to take a call on your shift.’ Her mum’s cheeks were pink, brown curls were falling loose from the elastic band she tied them up in as she took over the coffee making duty.

      ‘Excuse me–’ a voice said from the doorway. ‘Just wondering on our breakfasts.’ Pedro was standing, legs apart, arms crossed.

      ‘Oh shit.’ Ella looked down at her pad. ‘Sorry I didn’t give you the order…’ she said to her mum.

      ‘We have been waiting.’ he said curtly.

      ‘I know, I’m really sorry.’

      ‘This is pretty shoddy. We have a boat trip booked.’ He glanced at his watch.

      ‘Pedro, I’ll make it now.’ her mum said with a huge, apologetic smile as she poured boiling water in the percolator. ‘Don’t worry it’ll be quick. You’ll get the boat, it’s – what – at quarter to isn’t it?’

      Pedro clearly liked the fact her mum knew his name, had remembered him as a customer, ‘Thanks Sophie.’ he said, chest puffed out.

      ‘Come on,’ she ushered him out the kitchen, taking the pots of coffee with her. ‘And it’ll be on the house,’ she said, ‘how’s the holiday going? Nice to see you off-season.’

      ‘Well, with these prices and this weather, I mean, who can resist. And the hotel’s doing turkey. Christ knows where they’ve got them all. Do they even have turkeys in Greece?’

      At the end of her shift Ella slumped down on one of the chairs that faced out to sea, pushed her sweaty hair out of her eyes and retied it in a big scruffy ponytail, then shut her eyes and put her head back. When she opened them she saw all the coloured lights strung above her and the curled brown leaves of the vine.

      She had never been so exhausted in all her life. She kicked one of her shoes off and saw that the back of her heel was rubbed raw. Her hand was burnt where she’d pulled the grill pan out without considering how hot it would be. Her arms were stained with splodges of coffee and her fingers sticky from the remains of jam on people’s plates.

      A shadow fell across her table.

      ‘Ok?’ Dimitri asked.

      ‘Never better.’ She raised a brow then turned to look out at the sea as he kicked a chair out and sat down. ‘Please do, join me.’ she muttered, sarcastic.

      ‘Woah! Someone’s had a bad morning.’ He laughed.

      Ella was so tired she couldn’t really open her mouth properly to reply, so