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Max
Our usual Sunday family lunch is dinner instead, and we are all stuffed. Parsnip soup, leg of lamb and mashed potatoes, buttered peas as none of us like the mushy variety, cauliflower cheese, and chocolate stout cake adorned with candied orange, caramel ganache, and orange ice cream, based on one served at Stravaigin in Glasgow. And that’s when I discover Cress’ guilty pleasure—skooshy cream. Mum, of course, would never serve it. We have proper whipped cream here.
“Have some cake,” I say to Cress, who is covertly unbuttoning her jeans.
She glares. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”
Ian comes back from the sideboard with a vast slab of cake, two scoops of ice cream, and globs of whipped cream.
“It looks good?” She sounds doubtful as she gazes covetously at his plate.“
“You may have as much as you like.” Mum’s voice brims with invitation. “I fell in love with this cake the last time we were in Glasgow. Was it in 2012, Brian? The Creative Macintosh Festival?”
Choking slightly, Dad waves a hand while trying to swallow a huge bite of cake. “Yes. Lovely weekend. Max, you need to take Cress over to Glasgow when you visit again. Have tea at the Willow Rooms and finish up with dinner at Stravaigin. Where we had the cake. Your mother wheedled the recipe out of the chef.”
I nod. “Cake?” I ask Cress again.
“A tiny piece. And do you have Redi Whip?”
“What’s that?” Felicity, leans forward, her eyes glowing with interest.
“Whipped cream in a spray can,” Cress explains.
“Oooooh, skooshy cream. We love that,” Liz and Frank’s littlest one bubbles. “Babushka, why don’t you have skooshy cream?”
Mum rolls her eyes, then scowls. “I will only say this once. Real cream only in my house. If your parents,” she glares at Frank and Liz, “want to give you disgusting aerosol cream, that is their business. You will not have it here.”
Felicity, undaunted, turns back to Cress, “Why do you call it Redi Whip?”
“It’s the brand name.” Cress smiles. “But it’s because it’s already whipped and ready to eat.”
“Logical,” Les snickers.
“Disgusting,” is Ian’s rejoinder.
“Well, I like the texture. It’s thicker and you can make nice designs with it.” She pauses, tipping her head to the side. Then she smiles at Mum. “I’ll take a dollop of whipped cream on the cake.”
I hand her the plate with a sliver of cake, a smidge of ice cream, and a small spoonful of cream.
“Thank you.” When our fingers touch, an electric current courses through me. Her eyes mist. Is it love, or is it cake?
Ian raps the tabletop. “I thought we’d climb tomorrow, but Max has some sort of work meeting. We’ll go climbing on Tuesday.”
Meggy shouts across the table, “Where are we going?”
“Huntly’s Cave.” Frank grins. We all know it’s his favorite climb. “It’s close and a pleasant climb.”
“RAF Grantown developed the climbing routes.” Dad’s voice is full of pride when he tells Cress and JL
“Why?” Cress asks.
“Climbing is part of the training program,” Dad explains. “We have a force development center here, not an airbase.” He sighs, running his fingers through his short hair. “After my second crash, they assigned there me for a while. Conveniently close to home while I convalesced.” He gets up, his limp noticeable, and goes to the sideboard for another cuppa, shutting down the discussion.
“Frank and I have already packed the gear into the Rover.” Ian’s a bit offhand, knowing Dad won’t mind.
“We don’t need to haul anything tomorrow and I think Max is using one of his cars for Cress’ driving lesson,” Dad tells him.
By now, Dad has returned to his seat. “A guide was leading a group of people on a hike through some mountains. He pointed at a fairly majestic looking peak and said, ‘This one is most popular with mountain climbers. Most days, you have a few teams doing a climb. The ascent, depending on your skill level, can take between two and five hours. The descent, again depending on your skill level, takes anywhere between four hours and thirty seconds.’”
