A Beginner's Guide To Christmas

Christmas Eve: Baking

Trying not to slosh Dad's tea over my hand, I climbed the stairs and gazed up at the black hole that was the loft. A ladder was propped up against the opening and the sounds of DIY could be heard from within. I prayed Dad wouldn't ask me to help - I was more use in the kitchen than I was at hammering and stuff. 

'Dad? There's a cup of tea here for you.' 

The banging ceased and Dad peered down at me, his face grimy with sweat and dust. 'Ruth, love. I didn't know you were here. Gideon with you? I could do with a hand up here.' 

Ha! Keep dreaming, Dad. 'He'll be here in a bit.' But I doubted very much he'd get stuck in. It wasn't in his nature to be helpful. 'Shall I pass this up to you?' My eyes followed the rungs of the ladder up to the loft and I swayed slightly, feeling dizzy. 

'Wait there, love. I'll come down. About time I had a break anyway.' 

'You don't fancy doing a bit of baking, do you?' 

Dad chuckled as he descended the ladder. It had been worth a shot, however slim. 

Leaving Dad to slurp his tea, I returned to the kitchen, pausing on the threshold as I took in the ingredients and equipment once again. Mum had left the recipe on the counter and I edged towards it as though it were an unexploded bomb and not an innocent page torn out of a magazine. I didn't dare pick it up as I scanned the instructions. 

Oh. It actually looked simple enough. I was being ridiculous. I was baking a few biscuits, not the royal wedding cake. 

Lesson 7: Never underestimate a recipe, no matter how basic it appears. 

'Oh, bollocks.' 

I was wearing Mum's union jack apron, my sleeves were rolled up and my fingers were full of clumps of flour and butter. Gloopy Golden syrup had pooled on the counter and I'd spilled half a bottle of ground cinnamon, but at least the kitchen had a real Christmassy smell.  

And then there was the bag of sugar, untouched as I'd forgotten to add it. 

Lesson 8: Read recipes really carefully and don't skip any steps. 

Did it really matter? How important was the sugar and would anybody really notice if it was missing? 

'How's it going in here?' 

I jumped in front of the counter, shielding the mess I'd made as Mum appeared in the doorway. 

'Yeah, fine. Good actually. It's easy, this baking malarkey, isn't it?' I laughed but turned away as it morphed into a whimper. Of course the sugar was important. 

'Good because Stephen's just phoned. They've landed and will be here soon.' 

Yes! At least I'd have someone to share the burden of Christmas with now. 

Mum left me to work out how to get the sugar into the mixture when I'd already kneaded it into a ball of dough. I didn't have the time or inclination to start again so I weighed the sugar, dumped it into the bowl and resumed kneading, hoping the sugar would be incorporated in the process. By some miracle, most of it ended up in the dough and I referred to the recipe once more. 

Lesson 9: Seriously, read the recipe thoroughly before you begin. 

The dough was to be wrapped in cling film and put in the fridge for at least an hour. I didn't have an hour so I shoved it in the fridge long enough to have a cup of coffee before I tackled the rolling out. I thought this would be the fun bit. I'd always loved playing with play dough and plasticine when I was a kid and this was pretty much the same but with the added bonus of being able to eat it afterwards. 

I was wrong. It was a bloody nightmare with the dough alternating with sticking to the rolling pin and the counter top, and crumbling into tiny unusable bits. I managed to clump together enough to make half a dozen snowmen before I gave up and dumped the rest of the dough in the bin. 

'Bastard biscuits,' I muttered as I nudged the oven door shut and began clearing up. I'd finished washing up and was drying my hands on a tea towel when I heard chaos erupt in the hallway. Stephen was here! Forgetting I was still wearing a butter encrusted apron, I flung myself into the cramped hallway where my brother, his family and an array of suitcases were squeezed. Stephen, Aubrey and the kids lived in New York so we didn't get to see them very often. This would be the first Christmas we'd spent together in years. And it was all in my disastrous hands.