Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (17 page)

“Sounds like some perverse interspecies experiment, as well as a complicated faff on. Why didn’t you just buy a frozen ready made one from Aldi? They do a three-bird roast for less than fifteen quid. Three dead birds not good enough for you?”

He settled for giving me a roll of the eyes and a little shake of his head by way of reply. I studied him. For some reason Frank sprang to mind, even though Leo looks and sounds absolutely nothing like him. The thought of Frank brought a familiar feeling - antagonism. It also brought a sudden uncomfortable little insight. I transferred some of my resentment against Frank onto Leo because I felt he was a rival for Shane’s affection in much the same way as Frank had rivalled me for my mother’s affection. It’s weird how old feelings can rule your life and colour your responses to so many other situations.

I cleared my throat. “Leo. I’m sorry about what I said to you when I came in.”

“You apologised already.”

“I know, but I didn’t mean it then. I do now. I was well out of order.”

“You’re always well out of order.” He glanced at me. “It’s done with. You got what you richly deserved. It was balm to my eyes and ears, especially knowing you weren’t enjoying it one little bit. I only wish I could have witnessed what I heard taking place upstairs. Shane sounded like he wasn’t holding back, and about time too.”

I flushed and glared at him, all remorse vanishing. “I don’t want you telling Jak about it.”

“Why would I?”

“You blabbed to him about my episodes. My health and my private life are none of his business. I don’t want him knowing that Shane disciplined me in front of you.”

“For goodness sake, Gilli. He knows you’re a 24/7 Daddy’s boy and that autarchic domestic discipline is part of the deal for you. He gets it. Discipline isn’t a mystery in our circle. We’re all involved in similar lifestyles to some extent, even if we practice it in different ways for different reasons. You’ve seen me spank and flog him.”

“He gets his rocks off on being bound, beaten and humiliated in front of an audience. I don’t want him knowing. He’ll use it to wind me up and then I’ll get into more trouble when I punch his teeth out.”

“I won’t say a word. Incidentally, there’ll be no punching in my house. I’m not having you picking fights with my guests like some street urchin who doesn’t know any better.”

“Tell Jak to keep his mouth shut then. Who’s this Vince character anyway? Is he Jak’s boyfriend or just a friend-friend?”

“Friend and playmate. They met at the Blue Door Dungeon club a while back. Vince is keen to get more involved in the private party scene. Jak is introducing him around.”

“I bet you and Mike have been tripping over yourselves to teach him how to be an obedient little submissive.”

“We’ve played a little, yes, and at least he’s teachable, which is more than you are. Submissiveness and obedience are foreign concepts to you. You’re like a bad dancer, always trying to lead when you should be following. Shane should slap you down and put you in your place far more often than he does. You’ve been petted for too long. You need breaking properly. Anyone would think you were a paper doll the way he handles you sometimes. It’s ridiculous.”

“What Shane should or shouldn’t do to me is none of your damn business. Our relationship has different rules, so butt out.”

“If you’re going to be rude to me again then you can leave my kitchen. I’m not putting up with it.”

“I’m waiting for the coffee.”

“Then wait in silence, you horrible brat. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Ditto.” I crossed my arms, watching as he deftly de-boned the goose and flattened it out. I couldn’t help but admire the skill involved. He reached for the duck and began skinning it. He’d left the skin on the goose, presumably because it was going to be the outer casing for the other meats. I watched as he began to bone the duck. I’d cut the breast meat off a carcass before, but I’d never boned an entire bird the way he was doing it. I broke my silence. “Looks tricky.”

“It’s like most things, it takes a bit of practice. Do you want to have a go?”

“I suppose, seeing as I’ve nothing better to do and I’m stuck here for the duration.”

“Get an apron, then. I’ll finish this duck and you can have a go with the chicken. It isn’t as greasy as duck and there’ll be less chance of the knife slipping. I don’t want your finger ends spoiling my centrepiece. There’s a big bowl of stuffing mix in the fridge, go and get it out.”

I donned one of Leo’s aprons and fetched the bowl of stuffing from the fridge as instructed. “What’s in it?” I sniffed at it. “I can smell citrus.”

“It’s lean organic pork sausage meat blended with fresh breadcrumbs, apricots, almonds and orange mint.”

“Very posh I’m sure. Sage and onion stuffing too plebby for you I suppose. One mustn’t eat what the common folks eat.”

“I hope to God that Shane has bought you a tongue restraint for Christmas. It will be a gift for everyone.”

Mention of Shane reminded me of the coffee. “I’d better take Shane his coffee, before he goes into caffeine withdrawal and starts trembling like a Shaker in a pressure cooker. We’ll have to call the bomb squad to carry out a controlled explosion.”

“There are some homemade amaretto biscuits in that blue tin on the counter. Take some through with the coffee. Shane likes them with coffee.”

“I know, Leo. I make them for him too.” I didn’t actually. I bought them, but still. I knew what my man liked. I didn’t need telling. I decanted the hot, fragrant coffee from the filter jug into the elegant china coffee pot and took it into the conservatory along with a plate of the amaretto biscuits.

Shane raised his brows when he set eyes on my apron. “Been roped into galley duties?”

“Nah. I slaughtered Leo with an electric carving knife. I put this on so I could dismember his body without mucking up my t-shirt.” Shane gave me one of his flinty not amused looks. I sighed. “Don’t worry, we’re sweet. I’m helping make a four-bird roast for dinner tomorrow.” I set the pot and biscuits down on the coffee table.

“Sounds good.” Shane reached for a biscuit.

“It will be now I’m in on the job to keep him right. You know what old folk are like for forgetting things. If not for me he’d be serving up a no bird roast and we’d all be spending Christmas Day playing hunt the turkey.”

Mike laughed. “You soon bounce back, Gilli. I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t encourage him, Mike. He’s cheeky enough as it is.”

Dodging an incoming swat from Dick’s hand, I snatched a biscuit off the plate and scooted back to the kitchen.

Under Leo’s instruction and aided by a boning knife as sharp as a scalpel I did a fair job on de-boning the chicken. It wasn’t as neat as Leo’s job on the goose and duck, but still I was proud. The birds were then layered and wrapped around one another, interspersed with the stuffing mix. Leo then turned Doctor Frankenstein and stitched and trussed the whole package together with butcher’s string. It was a complicated procedure and I couldn’t see myself attempting it any time soon. I gave the chef his due. “It looks incredible, Leo.”

“Not quite finished. I’ll glaze it with homemade marmalade and orange slices before cooking it. Wait until you taste it. It’s fantastic, and well worth the effort. There won’t be a bit of waste on it either. It will carve like a dream.” He hefted the completed joint into a roasting tin and covered it with cling film to store in the fridge ready to be roasted on Christmas Day.

I perched my tender bum on a bar stool and watched as he began cleaning up his work area. “Who else is coming for Christmas, besides Jak and his pal?”

“Just some old friends of mine.”

“That tells me a lot.”

“You’ll meet them in due course. I know you tend to get edgy around new people, so relax and you’ll be fine.” He shoved the steel bowl containing the skin and bones at me. “Get off your tush. Make yourself useful. Dispose of the duck skin and put the rest in a big pan with some chopped onion, carrot, celery and seasoning to make stock for gravy. Put in a couple of peeled, chopped potatoes too. They’ll help give the stock some body. Bring it to the boil, skim off the scum and then turn it down to a simmer.”

“Why is it that I end up as kitchen serf when I come here? There are other people in the house you know.”

“Yes, and they’re only concerned with the eating of food rather than the prepping of it. You at least have an interest in cooking, when you stop moaning and pouting long enough to get on with it. Call it community service for your atrocious manners.”

“I want crediting if the meal turns out well.” I slid from my stool.

“There’s no if about it. It will turn out well because I’m a first rate cook.”

“How humble you are.” I gathered together the requested veg and began to peel and chop.

Leo turned on the radio and began to wash up. Given the date it was reasonable to expect there to be some cheery festive tunes emanating from the radio. For some bizarre reason, the channel Leo had tuned into was hosting a Josh Groban extravaganza. I managed to keep my mouth shut through two of his maudlin songs, but when he started to agonise his way through a song called
‘Remember When It Rained’
I could stand it no longer.

“Can’t you find another station, Leo? I’ll be on fucking suicide watch if I have to listen to any more of this. Every song Groban sings sounds like a tragedy. The man doesn’t know the meaning of cheerful. He could make Jingle Bells sound like a funeral hymn. How the hell he gets to the end of a song without breaking down in tears is beyond me. It’s like music to die to. I bet they play Groban’s songs on turkey farms at this time of year, so they don’t have to bother slaughtering the birds. The turkeys will voluntarily peck themselves to death in a depressed frenzy.”

“All right. Calm down. No need to throw your rattle out of the pram.” He switched the radio off. “There, happy now?”

I gave a curt nod.

“You don’t look it. What’s wrong, why are you crying?”

“Nothing is wrong, and I’m not crying!” I snapped. “It’s the onion making my eyes water.”

“I don’t know how Shane and Dick survive living with you. You’re a moody bloody nightmare. I wouldn’t tolerate it.”

“You haven’t been asked to.”

The onion wasn’t solely responsible for my watering eyes. For some reason Groban’s melodic grizzling had tapped my reserve of personal sadness and brought it flooding back to the surface, along with a fresh measure of anger. I felt like hurling the paring knife across the kitchen. I didn’t. I sniffed, gritted my teeth and got on with the stock.

Leo went into the conservatory to take orders for sandwiches to go with the consommé he had prepared to serve as a light lunch.

By the time he came back, I’d collected myself. I put the stock onto boil and washed the chopping board and the knife. “Want a hand with the sandwiches?”

“I can manage. What do you want, ham or beef?”

“The soup will do for me. I’m not hungry. I had a good breakfast.”

“I’ll make up some extra in case you change your mind.” He got home-roasted ham and beef out of the fridge and began buttering bread.

The stock came to the boil. I got a slotted spoon and skimmed off the unappetising grey scum. I then turned the gas down so the stock could simmer for a couple of hours. “Leo,” I said casually, “you know about folk music don’t you.”

“I’m no expert. I used to enjoy listening to it when I was young, some of it anyway. The pop folk stuff.”

“Have you heard of a song called
The Hills of Ardmorn?”

“No.” He glanced across at me. “Why, are you thinking of treating us to a rendition over the holiday?”

“No. Someone mentioned it to me and I just wondered if you’d heard of it. I haven’t.”

“Sounds like something Silly Wizard might have sung, though I don’t recall them singing a song by that name. I’m sure I’ve got an album of theirs. I’ll have a look later if you like. It would be nice if you did give us a song or two, Gilli. It’s been a while since you deigned to entertain us. You’ve got a sweet voice if not a sweet temperament. People enjoy hearing you sing at gatherings.”

“Take it up with my management. Get them to change the ridiculous no drink rule and I might find my voice again.”

Leo’s voice sharpened. “That rule is for your own good, young man, respect it and the men who put it in place.”

“Respecting them doesn’t mean I have to like all their decisions.”

“Like doesn’t come into it. The fact they made the rule should be enough to guarantee your acquiescence, regardless of why it was made. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You should have come to terms with it by now.”

“So everyone keeps telling me, usually when they’ve got a drink in their hand. It’s fucking amazing how good people are at giving out advice on subjects they have no personal experience of. I’m sick of being told what’s best for me. I want to make my own decisions.”

“Then you’re in the wrong relationship, love.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t you just like to think so.”

“Oh, grow up, you silly lad. I’m not your rival or your enemy. You need to address that massive inferiority complex you’ve got. It’s why you don’t get along with anyone.”

“I get along with plenty of people.”