Exit. Pt 5
Well the outcome in the end was simple. There was much baking and shopping and consulting with Baba Yaga. Invitations were issued. Offers of dishes were made, and accepted. Even more than a few of the boys, who had initially feigned disinterest, decided to join in, chiefly tempted by discussions of all the various dishes.
The day of the party arrived...fortuitously exams were over, and with holidays looming yet again! everyone would be in a relaxed mood.Steph and Damien and Chrissie looked with a sense of achievment and also pride, at the laden table. Herring Salad from Ellie in Sweden,Marinated Artichokes from Sandro, or perhaps Sandro's Nona. Grecian Baklava and Chian had brought Pork Dumplings. Shamilla had provided a generous platter of samosas. Alex had laboured long over over a bowl of Goulash. And of course, legs of Chicken Kiev from Olga. Pride of place in the centre was none other than the fabulous charlotte malakov. What anguish that had taken on everyone's part to produce exactly as the photo had depicted and Stephanie remembered. It had all been assembled under Baba Yaga's directions, and now she was standing in a corner listening to the chattering of many adolescent voices and many accents.
When Hilary and James touched down the next morning from their trip they were suprised noone was at the airport to greet them. To be honest, a trifle put out after all that shopping and a long tedious flight home. Hilary delved into her brain, trying to remember, unsuccessfully, if it was a cricket morning as they hailed a taxi.
All seemed quiet at home and the car was in the driveway as usual. Full of clothes and shoes which of course was usual when Hilary wasn't around to keep some semblance of order. At least, she mused, she could rely on Chrissie not to smoke or have any wild parties!
They opened the door on a room full of sleeping, straggling adolescents. Her eyes skimmed across sleeping bags and tousled heads and sagging balloons and a table which still had the remnants on some unfamiliar plates with a wafting of cinnamon and cardamon and other exotic flavours. In the corner, in a rocking chair with a balalaika on her lap, was an old old woman. Sleeping too.