Chapter Eleven - Emma

Tea was delicious, but it went on forever. I've now got about an hour to myself before we reassemble and do it all over again for dinner. My belly is stuffed full of hot chocolate and chips and tarts and tea and too many cakes. I have no idea where mom's homemade pumpkin soup is going to fit into the mix.

I'll find space, though. Have to. Nothing offends mom quite like someone turning down food. I am not going to rock the boat like that this evening. Especially not after today has turned out to be so much nicer than expected. I head up to my room and change into a pair of soft, stretchy flares with an elastic waist, leaving my worn jeans in front of the overflowing wardrobe. I want to try on the chucky silver rings I bought from the craft stall at the market. As I rummage through my tote bags, I remember that I've still got hold of all Regina's shopping too. I retrieve my rings, chuck them on to my bed, and gather the bags to take up to her room.

She was a bit strange on our drive back home. All quiet and stiff, and kind of frosty with me. I wondered whether our nice afternoon together fluke had been, whether Regina could only sustain being warm and friendly for a few hours at a time, but she did look exhausted, slumped there in the passenger seat, and I thought maybe she was just emotionally drained after sharing that story about her dad. I decided to give her benefit of the doubt. At least for twenty minutes. I was surprisingly relieved when she brightened up again once we got home. The mood swings are little bit odd, but I can't see how fluctuating emotions might tie in with being a gold-digger, so I am not too worried now since the amounted she bought seems like she's loaded.

I can hear Regina and Henry chatting before I reach their room, just a general shape of two voices and lots of laughter. It's nice to hear. I get to their door and raise my hand to knock, but my curiosity takes over once I realize I can make out their conversation now, and ileave my hand hovering.

"No, no, really," Regina is saying, "I want to hear more about your afternoon at work." She pauses and laughs then, "don't look at me like that. I am really interested. Didn't you finally get your end-of-year figures back?"

"We did," Henry's voice is level, "nothing too interesting."

Another pause. Another laugh from Regina. "You're lying, aren't you? They were great, weren't they? Please tell me they were great!"

"They were great!" Henry says, finally laughing along. "Really, really great. We've had a fantastic year, with loads of click-through from the new website. Business is booming!"

"That's the best news ever," Regina cries. "I am so pleased for you. And for me, of course. Celebration is in order, Henry. I could buy us most expensive wine." Regina added a joke that Henry should buy new jewelry since they are pretending to be sweethearts.

Henry keeps chuckling. On the other side of the door, I can't see how funny all of this. Regina might be passing this off as a playful joke, but it troubles me that she could even consider asking to be rewarded for Henry's hard work. It isn't her business that they are celebrating, isn't it? The light, casual way she's discussing all of this suggest that it's a common occurrence for her to ask about profits and how they might benefit her more than him. Nothing of this makes sense.

"Oh, by the way," Regina says, serious now. "I noticed the standing lamp in the corridor earlier, and I was meaning to ask you where it's from. It's gorgeous."

"I am not sure to b honest. I'll ask grams," Henry says.

"Would you? Something like that would look perfect in my place."

I feel my body tensing up. Not only is she angling for jewelry, but now the family antiques as well, so that she can decorate her place in the country style. I don't like this. I don't know how she's aspiring that fits into our lifestyle.

Suddenly, I can't bear to hear another word. I drop the bags in a heap and stalk back down the corridor. Past the lamp that I bought Regina's attention in this morning. Down the stairs I climbed with the spoils of her shopping bags then into my room.

I launch myself at the bed. My new silver rings dig into my belly. I squirm around, my right left slipping off the single bed and my left leg brushing against the overlapping tapestries on the wall. I huff and flop on to my back.

I was actually starting to like her.

What an idiot.

By the time I'm making my way downstairs for dinner, I'm calm. Or, rather, I'm able to do a decent enough impression of a person who is calm. I took a nice, hot shower, and now I am ready to get on with my evening. It's going to be a long night. I am just going to ignore Regina for the night and focus on myself.

To kick things off, I'm going to impress everyone with the fantastic job I did setting up the dining room earlier. I can't wait to see their reactions to the place being all done up ahead of schedule. I took a seat at the table and wait compliments.

"My apologies for the mess in here," mom says as she breezes into the room. "Hopefully I've got it cleaned up nicely enough for you all. The room was in such a state when we woke up this morning! There were old tablecloths in a heap on the floor, and the new cloth was all wrinkled. The garland from the fireplace was cluttering on the table. I had no idea what could have possible happened in here, but I think I managed to tidy it all up for us."

I stare at her as she straightens out the already straight tablecloth.

I don't think I'll bother saying it was me who did all that.

Don't think I'll bother saying anything at all.

"Oh please," Regina pipes up with added little joke, "it looks incredible in here. If you truly think this was messy, Mrs. Nolan, you should see Henry's office. I could never keep up our place as pristine as you keep this house."

"I'm not that bad, Regina," Henry chuckles while eyeing Regina.

Mom practically swoons. Henry looks on with pure adoration as he chuckles about the mess in his office. I turn away from them.

"You know," I say, "if there any other scruffy spots around the house, I'm happy to help you do some cleaning tomorrow, mom." I take a napkin and lay it carefully in my lap, "or I'll do it myself, if you fancy a bit of a rest."

The boys refuse to sit down at the dining table and kept running around the table like a game. Mom and dad doesn't seem to mind it when their grandsons play. I offered to help when Belle couldn't get them to listen to her, "here, let me help" at the exact same as Regina.

No one so much as glances my way. I was already halfway out of my chair, and I'm left hovering in a squat, and they all focus on Regina. I sit back down. I let the conversation move on to talk of how hyper the boys have been lately and manage to refrain from pointing out that they've been this energetic since the day they were born. I slurp down a few spoonsful of rich, creamy soup.

"This is so delicious," I say over the chatter.

Mom finally looks up at me and smiles, "thank you! I got the stock going as soon we got back home earlier today. It is so handy full use of the bigger kitchen at the Granny's diner.

I lean forward, "you know, you could probably make more use of the kitchen when Granny's open. Have you considered offering meals for the guests? Other than breakfast and cake, I mean."

"Cake?! One of the boys' yelps. "Is there a cake?!"

Belle and Mr. Gold settled down the boys, "there isn't any cake, boys. You've already eaten it."

Mom offered more cake but Belle snaps at her and said no. I sighs again and tune out as the conversation returns to exactly where it was before I tried to get involved. Shame. I was going to introduce my idea about hosting for their business. It was kind of brilliant. We would set aside one evening every month to serve a special tasting menu as a fundraising for orphans and everyone can have their own dining recipes and showcase their unique recipe of their own design and style. It's a perfect way to attract more buyers and foodies then their business would be blooming even more.

After several minutes, I find an opening and try again. "So I was having a chat with my old friend, an chef recently. He has his own catering company, doing authentic Indian dishes …"

Dad calls, "I so would love his curry."

"Right," I force myself to smile. "Yeah. His curries are really fab…" and everyone jumps in about the curry and different foods. Great.

"There's always the way, isn't it?" he chuckles. "As soon as someone mentions curry, you fancy curry."

"Absolutely," mom agrees.

Hands down the best takeaway," Henry reckons.

"No, that'd be a Chinese."

"What about sushi?"

"or kebabs?"

"No votes for pizza?"

"Italian style or American style?"

"Whichever one is thin crust."

"I'm partial to a good burrito."

"I like Thai!"

"Has anyone mentioned pizza yet?"

I feel my cheeks burning and the back of my neck prickling. I leave them to it. There is no point interrupting their casual, impromptu chat about takeaway foods to deliver my "casual" and "impromptu" business presentation. Nobody would bloody listen anyway. I have a feeling my forced grin is starting to look like gritted teeth, so I left my face relax. Reach for a bread roll that I don't really want and set about buttering it.

Once I've finished that roll and half of another, I'm ready to have another go. I'm just going to come right out with my idea. I wait until there's a proper pause in conversation, and then I launch into it. I get about five words in, "I have this great idea …"

"Sorry," Henry interrupts, grabbing his loudly ringing mobile. "Don't mind me. It's just a work call. I have to take it. Sorry. Ignore me."

Yet he lets it keep ringing at top volume as he saunters out of the room. I am going to have this talk with him soon.

"Where were we?" Mom asks once he's gone. "Oh yes, Regina. Weren't you telling us about your trip to the theatre, dear?"

Seriously? Irritation keeps rising. Neck gets hotter. Belly tightens.

Regina looks right at me.

Her gaze surprises me. Freezes me almost. Her eyes are full of sympathy.

"Actually," she says gently while trying to point my way, "I think Emma was talking."

Does she mean …? Am I supposed to …? Hang on. Is Regina really trying to guide everyone's attention away from herself and towards me? It seems impossible, but she is still looking at me, almost expectantly now. Like she's waiting for me to talk and urging me to ….

"I guess not," she looks away. Shakes off her own interruption. Dives right into telling everyone about her theatre trip for the second time tonight. Holding court happily. What just happened?

"I became a bit obsessed with the director, and immediately booked tickets to the next play he had in the works," she bangs on. "it was even better, if you'll believe it. The acting, the stage design, the plot twist. Phenomenal. I had to go and see it again before it closed with Henry and then once again for good luck." She laughs, "in the end, I visited the West End four times in as many weeks."

Ugh. Is she appearing to be humble, or did I freeze moment there?

Mom's lapping it up, of course. Lauding Regina for being so cultured. Wishing she herself could go to the theatre more often. Waxing lyrical about the sheer joy of all singing, all-dancing musicals.

And that's when I zoning out. This is officially one cheesy conversation. This whole chat has been beyond ridiculous and irritating, and clearly the only way for me to remain sane is to block Regina out as I'd tended to do. I tear a chuck off my bread roll and wait for another opportunity to talk. I can make room for myself in this conversation, thank you very much. I'll give it one more go. No more freezing. Take it back to basics. Simply offer to do a bit of cooking.

"So, mom," I finally say, several long minutes later. "I was thinking that I could help you make Christmas dinner this year. I could do some of the roast for you, and I could take the vegetarian option off your hands too. Thought I'd make a nice pie instead. Maybe with some…"

"Sorry about that, everyone," Henry comes striding back over to the table, phone in hand, "one of my clients needed a bit of reassurance form me. You know what they say: there's no rest for the wicked!"

There's a little ripple of laughter, and jokey reassurances that Henry isn't wicked. Regina is looking at me again, unsmiling. She again helps a little to get everyone attention at my way, "Emma was just saying that she's going to make a pie for Christmas," she says quite loudly.

I stare back at her. So, she was trying to help me speak before? And she is again. Could it be that while I've been trying to ignore Regina, she's been only person paying attention to me?!

"We were talking earlier about making the pie together," she continues after a long beat of silence. "We thought since we're the only two veggies at the table, it would nie for us to sort out our own centerpiece for the big day. Not that you wouldn't have made us something delicious, Mrs. Nolan. This way, you'll have one less thing to worry about."

Mom brings a hand to her heart, "Oh, Regina. You are such a sweet girl. What a lovely offer. How thoughtful of you!"

My pleasant surprise is immediately replaced by anger as I watch Regina get all the credit for my idea, well it is actually our idea, but now she's totally taken it over. That must be why she jumped in just now. It was nothing to do with helping me out, and everything to do with further impressing my parents. It's always a fucking bloody act with this woman, and I nearly fell for it. Again!

Fuck. Enough is enough. I've had enough of this.

I've had enough of everyone.

Unfortunately, mom keeps prattling on, "I would love to have you in the kitchen with me, Regina. And you Emma. Thank you, girls. What a lovely offer. I must admit that the cooking is not my forte, although I have tried my best over the years. I take great pride in cooking every single element of our Christmas dinner from scratch. Even the Christmas pudding! There is no greater joy as a woman than cooking for your family."

"Yeah, if you live in the 1950s."

Everyone at the table turns to look at me. Mom narrows her eyes, glaring right at me.

"If wanting to spoil my family at Christmas with home-cooked meal is old fashioned, then I am a proud traditionalist. Thank you, Emma." She sniffs, then turns her head away. "Can I get anyone more soup? There are more bread rolls in the kitchen if we're running low. Henry, darling, let me refill your bowl. Come on, just a little drop. Pass me the bowl."

Just like that, everybody moves on. Henry hands his bowl over to Emma for seconds then mom demands more bowls to dole out more seconds. Dad ignores everyone and instruct Regina to tell him some more about her marketing business.

Naturally, I have no role to play here. Everyone has moved on without me. I only managed to get their attention for two seconds, and of course those were the two seconds I spent on snarky. Hot-headed, tempestuous Emma strikes again.

I push my napkin off my lap and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I know one way to get my family to notice me, and that is exposing the snake in their midst. The one they've all been fawning over all evening. Treating like a member of the family. Better than their actual daughter, but not for long. I am done with sitting around and waiting. This is going to be the last dinner that woman eats in our house.

My new, old goal is simple.

GET. REGINA. FUCKING. OUT.