‘I’ve got a few inside, you can have one of those.’
When they stepped into thekitchen Ginny was enveloped in a feeling she hadn’t expected after all this time, a feeling of belonging that emanated from the walls of the home she’d been in more times than she could remember. What with the Christmas tree already in situ in the corner, the smell of lemons from the bowl on the side nearest the door, and the sounds of a busy farm beyond the windows, this place had always had away of drawing you into its heart.
Lucas wasn’t in any rush to find her a jar of sauce and instead took out some orange juice from the fridge to add to the line-up of other ingredients – brown sugar, white sugar, a colander filled with cranberries.
‘Watch, and learn.’ He pushed up the sleeves of a denim-blue shirt to expose strong forearms and hands she remembered touching her in a way thatwould make even the reddest cranberry blush.
Lucas turned on the heat beneath a pan and threw in the sugars, some water and the orange juice. Ginny joined him and took the spoon to stir it all while he made sure the cranberries were definitely as good as his mum had claimed. ‘My reputation is on the line,’ he said when he saw her watching what he was doing. He looked so serious she thought hemeant it until his expression creased into a smile.
As she stirred the pot, Ginny thought about some of the things Lucas had done for her over the years when they were together – the time they went sledging in the fields near Butterbury and he bought her handwarmers for her gloves because she hated it when her gloves got wet and her skin turned red. Or the day he’d turned up to see her on herbirthday even though getting there from his university had meant a long and uncomfortable coach ride for the sake of one day, after which he’d had to get up in the middle of the night to go back ready for a test. It was her first birthday without her dad and he’d gone to all that effort to make sure she didn’t spend it alone.
‘Penny for them?’ he asked.
As she reminisced she’d gone into a dazestirring the dissolving sugars but she wasn’t about to share her thoughts out loud, the way she remembered how kind he was, how gentle and thoughtful, how she wondered whether she’d been crazy to ever let him go. ‘I was just wondering … what made you Mr Cranberry Sauce?’ she said, glossing over what had really been going through her mind.
He went over to one of the wider cupboards to find theramekins to pour the sauce into while it cooled down. ‘I should get a T-shirt made with that caption.’ He brought back eight ramekins, all nestled in his strong palms, and slotted them onto the worktop before setting them out one by one. ‘The task fell to me the first year I was home for Christmas. Mum had the flu, Dad took charge of the turkey, I went for the cranberry sauce. Can’t remember whynow but after that I offered to make it in bulk, put it in jars, and we could sell it around Christmas time.’
He leaned closer, his breath on her cheek as he said, ‘Time to throw in the cranberries.’ He did the honours now the mixture was bubbling and took over the stirring.
She peered into the pan to see the berries slowly disappearing. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying but it’s a bit thin.’
‘You’re trying to tell me how to make my own cranberry sauce?’
‘Well when you put it that way …’
He lifted out a spoonful. ‘Blow on it first, then tell me what you think of the taste.’
Conscious he was watching her lips as she blew gently across the mixture on the spoon she tentatively let the flavours explode on her tongue and nodded her approval. It was sweet but not overly so, with the rightbalance of the fruit coming through.
‘It’ll thicken up once it cools.’ He poured it into the awaiting ramekins. ‘Then before it gets too thick I’ll put it into the jars and pop it into the fridge to finish setting.’
He went over to the fridge and took out a jar. ‘For you.’ When he handed it to her his fingertips ran across part of her palm and she shivered.
‘We’re making sliders.’
Puzzlementcrossed his face. ‘Sliders?’
‘For lunch, today I mean. That’s what this is for.’ She stumbled over her words, holding out the jar he’d just given her. One minute she was relaxed in his company, the next she remembered they weren’t the Lucas and Ginny from all those years ago.
‘Well I’ve not had it with sliders but I’m sure they’ll be good. I hope you like it.’
‘I’d better go.’ She debated grabbingher coat first or putting down the jar first and eventually did the latter. And once her scarf was looped around her neck, she held the jar up again and escaped out of the farmhouse into the cold.
‘It was good to spend time with you, Ginny.’ When she turned back to face him his body filled the doorway, his arm reaching to the top of the frame resting on it casually. ‘Send my regards to your grandad,I’ll pop in again soon.’
‘Will do, and thank you for the cranberry sauce.’ And she rushed away, only daring to take a breath once she turned out of the driveway and onto the pavement of the main road.
‘You girls have spoiled me rotten,’ said Ivor. ‘And I love every second of it.’
They were sitting in the residents’ lounge and the spread the girls had brought along with them – including thedelicious cranberry sauce from the Abneys’ farm – had tongues wagging and envious comments coming their way, much to Ivor’s amusement.
‘You’re lucky to have such good friends here, Grandad.’ Fern smiled.
‘I am indeed. And at my age making new friends is a hard thing to do.’
‘Were you worried about coming here and not knowing a soul?’ Ginny asked.
‘Not worried. A little anxious maybe, but mostlyexcited. Your mother wanted me to go and live with her but that wouldn’t be right.’
