The Worst Thanks Giving #Amwriting

'How the hell was I supposed to know that?!' Emma was distraught. She had spent most of last night and all of this morning preparing a lavish feast for her new American boyfriend, to try and make him feel at home this Thanksgiving. I had received a panicked call from her at some ungodly hour, begging me to come over. Oh, and could I swing by the 24 hour Tesco and pick up the biggest turkey I could find, NOT frozen and definitely freerange.

It was at that point I realised that she wasn't in imminent danger of death or assault, and that I did in fact have time to have a wash, get dressed and pour some coffee down my throat before I ventured out in to the cold grey London streets. It was so early that there were no commuters around, just me and the naked trees which bowed in the wind as I passed, as if begging to borrow my scarf and gloves.

When I arrived an hour later, presenting Emma with a turkey which was smaller than my cat, she burst in to tears. 'Hey Em, um. This was all they had', I offered the sad little bird with an apologetic shrug. She let me in and as soon as I reached the kitchen my eyes and nose were confronted with the noxious chemical smell of burning plastic, my ears grated at the sound of the extractor fan on full blast. Despite the hot oven, there was a vicious chill from the wide open window, which seemed to be pushing the stink back in, determined not to let any of the ruined air out to pollute the Putney breeze. 'what the fuck Em, what is that smell?'

Still sobbing, she sank onto one of the fold up chairs she had set at the most elaborately decorated table I had ever seen. 'Kirstie Allsopp eat your heart out' I muttered. Emma shot me a dark look. 'fuck off. I just wanted it to be nice'. 'It IS nice' I offered. 'It looks like something out of Dickens!'

I sighed and went over to give her a hug. 'What happened?' 'I put the turkey in the over this morning. It needs 7 hours to cook.' Her voice was calmer now, but still a little shaky. I wasn't sure her maths was quite right, it was a turkey, not an ostrich. Now probably wasn't the time to mention that.

'OK, so... what is that god awfull smell?' 'Apparently there was a bag of shitbits inside the bird still. A plastic bag. Which is now melted all over the inside of the bird'.

'shitbits?' I had started chuckling as soon as she had said it. 'shitbits??' I said it again, this time not trying to hold back the laughter, 'you mean the giblets?' She looked at me, mouth starting to curl up a the edges. 'Yeah, whatever they're fucking called. They're all melted and gross and plasticky inside my bastard turkey, I mean, what kind of idiot fucking farmer uses a PLASTIC bag to line the inside of a turkey?'

Oh my. I was on the verge of loosing it. 'Um, Em, you're meant to take the bag out. The 'shitbits' are meant to be used to make the gravy...' A look crossed her face. A moment of recognition, of remembering. 'Shit' her head dropped to her hands. 'shit shit shittety shit.' She looked back up at me. 'how the hell was I supposed to know that?'

'Um... ' I had nothing useful to say, I was too busy wiping my eyes. I put the kettle on. All of the laughing appeared to have used up my caffeine stores. I took out a couple of mugs, and looked around for some ground coffee. All she had was nasty instant stuff. All this fuss over a turkey and she hasn't even got any decent coffee in. No sense of priority.

I handed her a cup and sat on the chair opposite. 'OK chick, what now? Let's get 'operation: save thanksgiving' under way so that Andy need never know what a terrible cook you are and that you nearly poisoned him' She gave me the V's whilst issuing the order to 'do whatever the fuck needs doing to that tragic excuse for a bird you brought me, so that I can actually get the bloody thing cooked before midnight' 'Right you are boss' and so we spent the next hour pottering amiably in the kitchen. It was just like old times, I mused as I handed her the turkey baster. Except this time she was using the baster for the turkey, and a boy for the baby.