all in the spurious name of Jesus,’ he pontificated. ‘And I think you’ll find that actually, according to Aramaic texts, Jesus wasn’t even born in December but on a date in the Hebrew calendar that actually corresponds to September. So, if we’re going to be picky about it …’
‘Oh yes, do let’s be picky about it,’ Little Sophie murmured to Sam, and they exchanged an eye roll so exaggerated and scathing that it could only have come from two sixteen-year-olds already tested way beyond their boredom threshold.
‘… I mean, really, is one Christmas-themed tweet, in all its banality, going to sell books or is it simply going to be part of the problem …?’
Mattie wriggled her right leg because her calf was cramping. Was anyone even listening to Tom? Judging from their glazed expressions, Nina scrutinising her fingernails for any signs of chipped polish, Posy shifting uncomfortably because she’d been on her feet for too long, Verity gazing into the middle distance, then no. Everyone had stopped listening. Had stopped caring. Had stopped having the will to live.
Someone needed to step up and rescue them and it looked like Mattie was going to be that person. ‘Please, I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she fibbed. ‘It’s just that I have some dough proving that I really need to get back to.’
‘I wasn’t finished,’ Tom snapped, but Mattie had delicious festive-themed snacks so she was going to win.
‘Anyway, let’s talk about my Christmas bakes,’ she said, leaning forward with her cake tiers aloft. It was quite gratifying the way that everyone perked up, except Tom, who shot her a look that was blacker than a coalmine in a power-cut. She held up the left-hand tier. ‘These are my savouries. Vegan friendly, individual red cabbage and Brussels sprout tarts, turkey and cranberry Scotch eggs and, instead of my usual sausage roll, for Christmas I’m doing a pig-in-blanket roll. A pork and sage sausage wrapped in home-cured bacon and encased in puff pastry. Here, help yourselves!’
‘Truly, we are living in miraculous times,’ Nina mumbled around the end of a pig-in-blanket roll. ‘This is one of the three best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.’
‘These Scotch eggs, I don’t care if they give me heartburn, it will all have been worth it,’ Posy said and Mattie smiled modestly, though her smile became very thin when she saw Tom taking one of her vegan tartlets and giving it a suspicious look.
‘Then for my sweet selection,’ she held the right-hand tier aloft, ‘I’m doing miniature salted caramel Yule logs, mince pies with a clementine-infused pastry and what look like little Christmas puddings but actually they’re red velvet cake balls,’ Mattie explained, sending her sweet treats round the sofas again. ‘Then throughout December, I’ll also have additional items. For instance, cranberry and orange flavoured shortbread and Christmas spiced buns.’
Again, there was lots of praise and moans of ecstasy and Verity declaring that she hated all mince pies except for Mattie’s mince pies.
‘Good, so glad was all sorted,’ Mattie said, gathering up her empty tiers. ‘We can get some shots up on the Happy Ever After insta and also, Verity, mulled wine, we don’t need an alcohol license for that, do we?’
‘We kind of do,’ Verity said unhappily because she’d have to be the one to sort it out. Anyway, Mattie’s contribution to the Christmas brainstorm was done.
She turned to leave but Posy’s voice called her back.
‘What about cupcakes?’ she asked in an innocent voice, though she knew full well Mattie’s feelings about cupcakes. ‘Go on. One Christmas-themed cupcake. For me. Because I’m pregnant.’
‘I don’t do cupcakes,’ Mattie reminded her, as she’d been reminding Posy at regular intervals ever since she’d first signed the lease on the tearooms. ‘Cupcakes are a triumph of buttercream over bland sponge and they represent everything that is repugnant about a regressive representation of femininity and God, Posy, I’ve given you a whole other selection of Christmas-themed goodies, so stop going on about bloody cupcakes.’
Posy wilted and rubbed her bump in a forlorn manner – Mattie was a terrible person who said mean things to pregnant ladies. ‘I was only asking,’ Posy said in a tiny voice.
‘I know.’ It was no use, Mattie’s blood was up and all this talk about Christmas and now cupcakes was making the red mist descend in a way that it hadn’t for ages. ‘It’s just, you know, I hate cupcakes and I really don’t like Christmas either, so can we just drop it, please?’
‘Consider it dropped,’ Posy said, though she was sounding rather sulky now.
‘Sorry,’ Mattie offered weakly.
‘You’re such an Eeyore,’ Verity said, her face red with the effort it took to confront someone. ‘Honestly, Mattie, you seem to hate so many things, but I’m at a loss to know what you really love.’
‘I love lots of things,’ Mattie protested, though she couldn’t think of a single one when she was put on the spot like this. ‘Lots and lots of things.’
‘Very’s right,’ Posy said, abandoning her flipchart to sink gratefully onto the sofa next to Verity. ‘You’re so negative about everything. You don’t like romance, you don’t like Paris, or Christmas, or cupcakes. What else is there in life but romance and Paris and Christmas and cupcakes?’
‘I have my reasons,’ Mattie said, because she did, and they were no business of anyone gathered on the sofas in front of her. Also, though she was proud to proclaim the tearooms as a sovereign state within the Happy Ever After continent, Mattie often felt like she was speaking a foreign language when she was dealing with the Happy Ever After staff. They always made her welcome, invited her along to the pub, but they’d all known each other for years, had a deep, complex, shared history and a love of romantic novels, so it was no wonder that Mattie sometimes felt as if she was on the outside looking in.
But at this precise moment in time she felt like an enemy alien. Misunderstood and mistrusted.
‘Come on, people, let’s not fight,’ Nina said in a jolly, very un-Nina-like voice. ‘It’s meant to be the season of goodwill and all that, so let’s not fall out over the fact that Mattie hates the season of goodwill.’
Tom had been silent, for which Mattie was grateful, if somewhat surprised that he wasn’t chiming in with his own observations on how she was a Christmas killjoy who despised all that was good in the world. Now he stretched out his legs again. ‘I think you’ll find that I hated the season of goodwill first and Mattie is just jumping on my bandwagon.’
Was that … was Tom actually attempting to take Mattie out of the line of fire, or was he genuinely cross that Mattie’s Christmas-hating was getting all the attention? As usual with Tom, it was impossible to tell.
‘I have that dough proving,’ Mattie said stiffly, though that mythical dough would have proved so much by now that it would have colonised most of the kitchen. ‘And FYI, I like lots of things, including kneading dough.’ Mostly because she could work out all her aggression about the many things she hated while she was kneading it.
There was nothing left to say and the atmosphere was so deflated and awkward that Mattie couldn’t wait to hurry back to the safe space of her kitchen. She was just stepping through from Classics to Regency when she heard Nina, who didn’t possess an indoor voice, say, ‘I don’t know why you and Mattie are at each other’s throats all the time, Tom, when
