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

pulled low. The white cat was prowling the rocks.

      She heard the soft pad of plimsolls on the concrete floor, then Dimitri say, ‘Hey Sophie.’ Then, ‘Ooh that looks good.’

      ‘It’s Ella’s lunch. Hands off, you.’ Her mum laughed, then said, ‘Ella, you’re back on in an hour and a half so you’d better eat this. Lunch will be busier because we have a boat trip docking at one. But Agatha will be here, so–’ she held her arms wide as if that may or may not make things better. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve had to take Pedro’s breakfast out of your wages.’

      Ella was sometimes hired out to clients by the minute. She had earned a twenty percent salary bonus last Christmas and was due a lump sum incentive for bringing in one of their most lucrative clients at the beginning of the year. But, it suddenly hit her, the wages she’d earned that morning seemed like the most important she’d ever received and the idea of them being docked, because of her laxness, was unimaginable. Had Maddy ever had her pay docked, she wondered?

      Her mum slid the plate of Greek salad, taramasalata, humous and pitta bread along with plump olives, roasted garlic and strips of oily, soft red peppers onto the table and walked away.

      ‘She really hates me.’ Ella sighed.

      ‘She doesn’t hate you.’ Dimitri leaned forward and scooped some humous onto an olive, ‘She’s testing you.’

      Ella shook her head. ‘Rubbish.’

      Dimitri shrugged a shoulder. ‘Whatever you say.’

      Ella looked at the food, she was starving, the tzatziki was calling to her. But she was blowed if she was eating in front of Dimitri, showing him how hungry she was. And… what was that about another shift? She glanced back towards where her mum was sitting with her granny, filling little pastry parcels with chopped mushrooms and onions.

      As she turned back to look out to sea again her stomach did a massive rumble and Dimitri laughed. ‘Eat something for god’s sake, you look like you’re about to collapse.’

      She glanced at the food, then out to sea, then back at Dimitri who was urging her on with his brows raised. And then it just seemed too much effort to hold back any longer.

      Sitting forward she slathered a piece of pitta bread with taramasalata and took a bite, involuntarily closing her eyes as she savoured every second – the warm, freshly made bread, the sharp tang of the pale pink paste. Then she was popping an olive into her mouth, shovelling some peppers onto her fork, mixing humous with tzatziki and seeing how many little garlic cloves and bits of feta from the salad she could balance on the strip of bread and still cram into her mouth.

      Dimitri sat back, his arms folded across his chest and watched, a smile twitching the corners of his lips.

      When Ella had taken the edge off her immediate hunger, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, ‘Why do you think she’s testing me?’

      ‘Well.’ A look of smug satisfaction at her question played across Dimitri’s face, ‘As far as I can tell, Ella, you haven’t exactly been that present in her life. The stories I heard always involved you jetting in on a speedboat and leaving half an hour later after a cursory chat with the family.’

      Ella took a sip of water and let the comments hang in the air for a moment before saying, ‘Go on.’ Her spine tingling, defensive.

      ‘And then you appear out of the blue just before Christmas having clearly had a row with your husband.’

      ‘We have not had a row.’

      Dimitri just laughed. Then spread his arms wide like he couldn’t care less either way. ‘All I can say is, if I was her, I would be wondering why you were here. Whether you were just using the place to run away. And if that was the case, well, I’d feel maybe a little put out.’

      ‘Well it’s lucky that isn’t the case isn’t it?’ Ella said quickly. Then got annoyed with herself because her guards were so clearly up. Annoyed because she hadn’t realised quite how obvious she was nor how blind she had been about her mother.

      ‘Isn’t it just.’ Dimitri said, eyes amused. Then after a pause where he stared straight at her and she had to look away, he stood up and said, ‘I have to go to work. Enjoy your break.’

      She watched him lope across the concourse. Remembered how she used to watch him as a teenager, desperate for him to notice her. How she’d make Maddy turn around and walk back the way they’d just come if she happened to see his scooter whizz past them. There had been photos of his wedding on Maddy’s Facebook page and Ella had zoomed right in on them, studying one in particular of the bride, her back to the camera, her dress hitched as she walked up the hill to the church and Dimitri, waiting for her, staring down in an open-collared shirt and trousers, a grin splitting his mouth in two.

      She had stared for ages, enough time for someone at work to come out and tell her she was late for a meeting, absorbing the expression on his face, inspecting the girl walking. Could she just see the side of her face? If she zoomed in far enough it did look like she was laughing. Ella had felt jealous of women in magazines before; at their perfection, but she’d never before felt jealous of a photograph. Never of an expression.

       CHAPTER 12

      MADDY

      The lost luggage had tipped Maddy over the edge. She’d held it together while filling in the form but then cried all the way in the taxi to Ella’s flat. There she had sat down on the sofa in the dark, pulled a blanket soft as fur over her and gone to sleep.

      When she woke up, her first thought had been why was there a Christmas tree on the floor in front of the bookshelves. But that had only caught her attention for a second because, glancing round the rest of the apartment, she realised there was so much more be astounded by. In front of her was a TV the size of a cinema screen mounted on a pristine white wall. On her right were three windows, floor to ceiling, opening out onto a balcony that was at road level but set back from the pavement as, she noticed getting up and peering out and down, there was a basement flat below her that had a little courtyard garden. Behind the huge grey sofa, that was long enough and wide enough for her to have an incredibly comfortable night’s sleep, was a dining table to seat eight and chairs so gorgeously designed, the wood so soft that they made her need to run her hand along them. Apart from the tree lying on the floor the only nod to Christmas was in the corner, above the table, where a bunch of silver and gold tissue paper pompoms hung from a hook in the ceiling. A huge white rug covered great slabs of floorboard and as Maddy walked barefoot across the varnished boards she found herself in the wide open hallway, a bathroom that looked like it was from a hotel off to her left, the bedroom next to that, she deduced from the barely open door, and then in front of her was the kitchen. She took a couple of steps forward, almost unable to believe quite how stunning it was. Marble topped work surfaces hugged the walls and in the centre an island unit similar to her mum’s but still seemingly fresh out the box. The double oven sparkled, the huge industrial hobs glistened, the white porcelain sink with its fancy taps looked unused. Walking forward, Maddy ran her fingers over the marble, then the kettle that was all dials and lights and see-through, the Nespresso machine, the juicer, the pasta maker, the fish boiler, the bread maker, the Dualit toaster, the Phillipe Starck lemon squeezer, the Sabatier knives, the open shelves stacked with Sophie Conran bowls and plates, Tiffany wine glasses, a modern crystal decanter and matching tumblers. None of it, aside from perhaps the glasses, looked like it had ever been touched. She pulled open the huge Smeg fridge, empty apart from six bottles of Bollinger, a pint of milk, HP sauce and Chanel Rouge nail varnish. Maddy went over to the other side of the room and opened the cupboards behind the kitchen table, one after the other, finding beautifully folded sheets, towels, tea-towels. Then what looked like wedding presents still in boxes – more glasses, more china. The other cupboards were empty save for some Quaker oats and a half box of Alpen with no added sugar or salt. On the big glass table was a fruit bowl but in it was a collection of multi-coloured Christmas baubles and a bunch of fairy lights. She stood with her hands resting on the edge of the island and looked