I quicken my pace towards the sound of loud voices that are coming through Mrs Simpson’s open door.
‘This is the last straw, Rosemary. I can’t go on worrying like this.’
‘But I rang you on Friday – you didn’t have to come here and you don’t have to worry about me.’
‘But I do worry – you know that. I need to know that you’re safe. Now get your things and come with me.’
‘No, I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.’
My heart jolts in my chest. Mum said she would take care of Mrs Simpson and deal with Mr Kruffs. Where is she?
Then I remember. She had a meeting with Boots today over the final packaging of her ‘Mum’s Survival Kit’. And now Mrs Simpson is all alone to face him!
I march up the steps to the house.
‘It’s for your own good, you know that! I’m just trying to help. Just come and have a look. It’s a lovely place, I swear—’
‘What’s going on here?’ I try to make my voice sound older.
Mrs Simpson is slumped on her sofa, her nephew pacing the room in front of her. Her face is a mask of defiance.
‘You?’ Mr Kruffs gives me a glare that could melt glass. But just then, I have an idea. I reach into my pocket and take out mum’s old mobile phone. Before anyone even moves, I’ve snapped a photo.
‘Yes, me.’ I smile grimly. ‘Scarlett.’
‘What are you doing with that?’ He nods at the phone in my hand.
‘Just a picture that the “grey vote” might be interested in,’ I say. ‘Since you’re acting for your aunt’s own good like you said.’
Rosemary lifts her cane almost like a ‘thumbs up’ gesture. ‘Scarlett,’ she says. ‘You always seem to be in the right place at the right time.’
‘I try.’ I grin at her.
Mr Kruffs checks his watch. ‘This is ludicrous, Rosemary. You know I have to go to London tomorrow.’
‘She’s not stopping you,’ I say, trying not to let my voice squeak with nerves.
‘Stay out of this.’ He waves his hand like I’m a pesky fly.
‘But Emory . . .’ Mrs Simpson’s voice gains strength, ‘I’ve been trying to tell you. You don’t have to worry about me any more. I’ve found people to look after me. New friends. Scarlett and her mother.’
‘Oh? Friends that set your kitchen on fire? And I don’t see any mother – where is she then?’ he says. ‘When I came here just now, you were out wandering in the street. Why did your “new friends” let you do that?’
‘I wasn’t out wandering,’ she protests. ‘I was coming back from the corner shop. I needed more flour – we’re baking a cake.’
‘Baking a cake?’ Mr Kruffs dark eyes look ready to pop. ‘Since when do you cook again, Rosemary? I thought all that died with Marianne.’
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her lips begin to quiver.
‘That’s so cruel!’ I blurt out, stepping forward. ‘Talking about her daughter like that. That’s just awful.’
‘All right, all right.’ He backs down. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. But you don’t seem to have a clue why I’m here.’
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘Mrs Simpson told you to go – so why are you still here?’
‘Please stop, both of you,’ Mrs Simpson says sternly. ‘This isn’t helping.’
Mr Kruffs and I both look at her, then at each other. In an instant, he pulls himself back into politician mode. I swallow hard, trying to think about how Gretchen would act.
‘You seem to think I’m some kind of monster,’ he says to me, his voice quieter, ‘when really all I want to do is get my aunt somewhere safe. I called in a few favours and found her a place at a fantastic care home. It’s only about fifteen minutes from here. She’ll have her own room, with round-the-clock care. There are lots of social events, and even a kitchen where she could cook if she wants. This is her one chance – places like this don’t crop up very often. I only want her to go over there this evening and have a quick look. If she likes it and then sells the house, she could be settled there for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again.’
I breathe out slowly. ‘She doesn’t want to go. She wants to stay here, in her own home. And we’re going to look after her. Between Mum, and me and my friends, and maybe hiring a carer to help out – we can do it. And she’s going to look after us too. Kind of like a grandma.’
Mrs Simpson hobbles forward and takes her nephew’s arm. ‘It’s true, Emory,’ she says. ‘Catch your train tomorrow and don’t worry about me. I’ll ring you up and you can join us for dinner sometime later this week.’
He shakes his head in temporary defeat. ‘All right, I’ll go – for now. But I think you’re all living in cloud cuckoo land.’
I step aside as he blusters out of the door and slams it behind him.
It takes me a second to realize that I’m shaking. I steady myself against the door frame. Rosemary sinks back on to the sofa like a tired, wounded animal. We look at each other.
‘He’s awful to you,’ I gulp.
She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. ‘He just wants to do the right thing,’ she says. ‘But I’m so tired of fighting. Maybe I should just—’
‘No, Mrs Simpson, don’t give up. You can’t. It’s too bad that Mum wasn’t here. She would have sorted him out.’
‘You did a pretty good job yourself.’ She opens her eyes. The fire seems to be relit in them.
‘Thanks.’ I smile. ‘And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve got this.’ I hold up the phone. ‘Evidence that he’s bullying you. He won’t want that getting out.’
She squeezes my hand. ‘Keep it if you like, but I don’t think you’ll need it. Now, where are those friends of yours?’
I check my watch. ‘They should be here any minute,’ I say. ‘And by the way, that new member I told you about is going to be joining us tonight. His name is Nick. Are we still OK to help him make a cake for his mum?’
‘By all means,’ Mrs Simpson says, giving me a little wink. ‘There’s no reason why a boy shouldn’t make a cake, or benefit from what else you’re learning if he’s interested. Though in my experience, we’d better start tripling the recipes . . .’
Right on cue there’s a knock at the door. My heart lurches for a moment as I worry that maybe Mr Kruffs has come back. To my relief, I open the door and find that it’s The Secret Cooking Club there in force: Violet, Gretchen and Alison – and standing behind them, Nick Farr. ‘Hi, Scarlett,’ he says. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, my cheeks turning crimson. ‘I am now.’
HUNDREDS AND THOUSANDS
‘Wow, this place is amazing,’ Nick says, on entering Rosemary’s Kitchen.
‘Thank you, young man,’ Mrs Simpson says. She smiles at him and then at me, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Now, I understand that today we will be baking cakes.’
‘Yeah,’ Nick says. ‘It’s for my mum. She’s turning forty.’
‘A spring chicken,’ Mrs Simpson says.
‘Mum went to art college before she had kids. She used to be a painter. I’m thinking we could make a cake with lots of different coloured layers. Is that kind of thing possible?’
Mrs Simpson beams. ‘I’m glad I bought two extra bags of flour if that’s what you want.’ She waves her cane. ‘And if you want colour, try the bottom cupboard by the cooker. I’m sure this young lady’ – she points her stick at Violet – ‘will be happy to help you with the decorating.’
Smiling proudly at the compliment from our mentor, Violet goes to get the icing colours.
We mix, colour and bake, mix, colour and bake. Six layers in different flavours and rainbow colours; three separate cakes. A big cake for Nick’s mum, a small cake for us, and a big rectangular rainbow cake for school. It’s hard work, and even Nick the star rugby player is sweating before long. The first layers come out of the oven to cool, and Mrs Simpson oversees the decoration assembly line led by Violet and Alison. They
’ve made three different kinds of icing – fondant, royal and buttercream, and have filled at least a dozen different piping bags to decorate the cakes. Rosemary’s Kitchen looks like a cross between an artist’s studio and a swish London bakery. I take one set of cake tins to the sink to wash them out.
‘Here, let me help with that,’ Nick says.
‘Sure,’ I say, handing him a cake tin.
‘I can’t believe how much fun this is.’ He picks up a sponge and cleans off the tin. ‘It’s kind of like science lab and my junior chemistry set all rolled into one.’
‘It is fun,’ I say. ‘And I’m so glad you joined us.’
Just then, our sudsy fingers touch under the water and my whole body starts to tingle. Nick looks at me, and I blush. The moment is over, but it happened. Me, touching a boy’s hand!
Two hours later, our special cakes are finally finished. We cut open our small cake, and everyone marvels at the rainbow layers in vivid colours. And more importantly, it tastes delicious.
Nick has brought his camera, and when we’re done sampling our creations, he sets it on automatic timer. We all cluster behind the table around Mrs Simpson. The cakes look fantastic – white icing, decorated with rows and swirls of rainbow icing, glitter flower petals, and multi-coloured sprinkles called ‘hundreds and thousands’.
‘Smile!’ Nick says. The camera flashes. We’re all sticky and messy and happy, and there are sprinkles everywhere – hundreds and thousands.
‘You girls – and boy – have a real flair for baking,’ Mrs Simpson says. It’s high praise coming from her, and we all look at each other and smile. The problems of the day seem long banished into the cloudy night outside.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow to collect the one for school,’ I say.
‘Are you selling it?’ Mrs Simpson asks.
‘No,’ Violet says. ‘We’ll give it away. “Free samples from The Secret Cooking Club.”’ She smiles.
‘You have a good heart,’ Mrs Simpson says. ‘All of you.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. At that moment I feel like I can do anything.
At home that night, I find Mum upstairs in her room. She’s fast asleep, and while she’s kicked off her shoes on to the floor, she’s still dressed in a beige linen suit, slightly crumpled.
I kiss her forehead and she stirs in her sleep. ‘Scarlett?’ she murmurs.
‘Yes, Mum, it’s me.’
Her eyes open. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs earlier. I was just so tired.’
‘That’s OK. I texted you that I was going to be late too.’
‘Oh, I should have checked. I guess I’m not very good at being a mum.’
‘It’s OK, Mum.’ I take her hand and give it a quick squeeze. ‘How was your meeting with Boots?’
‘Good, thanks for asking. They liked my ideas for the marketing campaign, and they’re going to run with it.’
‘Great, Mum.’ I let go of her hand and turn to leave.
‘How’s Rosemary? Did you see her?’
‘Um, she’s fine.’ I go over to the bed and sit on it. ‘But Mr Kruffs came over. He was really angry – a total bully. I tried to help Mrs Simpson stand up to him, but it was really hard.’
Mum props herself up on one elbow and pushes her hair from her face. ‘I should have been here. Rosemary should have someone to watch over her. But . . .’ She sighs. ‘I don’t even spend enough time with you and your sister. How can I look after Rosemary too?’ She breathes out wearily. ‘I had no business promising her anything really – it might mean I’ve only gone and made things worse.’
‘We just need to find someone to look in on her every day. Like a nurse or a carer. Gretchen says that’s what they did for her grandma.’
‘But who’s going to pay for that? Can Mrs Simpson afford it?’
‘Well, she can pay some of it, I think. But I’ve thought of another way we might be able to help.’
I tell Mum my idea. She listens intently, her face lighting up.
‘That’s sounds like a really interesting idea, Scarlett.’ She pauses for a moment, her brain ticking into blogging mode. ‘I’ve got a few suggestions if you want to hear them . . .’
THE BAKE-A-THON
One month later . . .
15 November: 5 p.m.
I can’t believe that The Secret Cooking Club Online has been up and running for a whole month already! Thanks so much to my 451 friends and followers – you are amazing – please keep writing in and sending photos of the lovely things you are making. And don’t forget – when you leave free samples in your school canteen, leave a note with our web address.
Now for a few bits of news:
First, the countdown to the online bake-a-thon has begun. Only seven days to go! Click below to sign up and enter.
Second, I’m happy to announce that my mum – yes, you heard that right – is helping us in our push for 1000 followers. She’s going to link my blog to hers and publicize us on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. She thinks that together we can raise loads of money to help Mrs Simpson, and raise awareness so that other elderly people can get the care they need.
Third, we helped our newest member make the most AMAZING rainbow layer cake for his mum. She couldn’t BELIEVE he could bake something that good. So go on, everybody, have a go – you might enjoy it!
I can’t believe how much better things have got between Mum and me. I finally told her about The Secret Cooking Club, and also that I accidentally started a fire at our neighbour’s house. She was surprised – to say the least – especially about the website. Things got a little tense again, but we got through it. And now it’s almost like we’re partners – and that seems to suit both of us down to the ground.
And you know what’s surprised me most? It’s that Mum can actually cook! For my birthday she made me a two-tiered cake with purple icing, strawberries and jelly babies on top – and it tasted really delicious. She and Rosemary sometimes spend hours in the kitchen, making real, healthy, home-cooked meals for me and my sister and my friends. And my friends and I do the same for her. We’re finally learning how to respect each other. And it feels good – really good. Maybe now that I’m thirteen, I’m finally growing up.
16 November: 8 p.m. Guest Blog by ‘Shh . . . Mum’s the Word’
I’ve never written a guest blog before on a 13-year-old’s website, and all credit to my daughter for trusting me to do so when I’ve done little to earn that trust over the last three years. I want to say to ‘The Little Cook’ that I love you and am proud of you. But seriously . . . Help! My daughter’s bake-a-thon is turning my kitchen into a tip!
17 November: 6 p.m. Guest Blog by ‘The Little Cook’ on ‘Shh . . . Mum’s the Word.’
You all know who I am – and way more about my life than I want. But now that I’ve found my own voice and Mum and I have talked through things, I feel a lot better about myself and Mum. I don’t even mind her writing stuff (the good stuff, at least) about me – well, not too much anyway. But if you want the real story, check out my blog.
The best thing that has come out of all this is our neighbour – she’s become almost like an adopted grandmother. We’re trying really hard to raise money for people like her – elderly people living alone – so that they can all have a few more home comforts. And if possible, we want to help these older people get together to share yummy food and treats and make new friends. Click here for more information on our online bake-a-thon.
If you think this is a great cause, click on the donation link below and show your support.
Oh, and stay tuned for the bake-a-thon. If you’re lucky, you’ll have a member of The Secret Cooking Club near you to make something scrummy. We are dedicated to sharing happiness and friendship through baking. Even if you’re (gasp!) a grown-up, we’d still be pleased to have you as a member. Here’s that link again . . .
OK, so the blog is doing really well, and I’m enjoying ‘meeting’ so many new people and connecting with them. But as much as The Secr
et Cooking Club Online is proving to be a success, the bake-athon is keeping me awake at night. We’re making tons and tons of food – not only for the school canteen, but for other schools, and for the hospital, and a few of the old people’s homes in the area and for a couple of lunch clubs set up specially for older people. In other words, it’s a big job. The good thing is that it’s not just us – there are twelve people at our school who have ‘joined up’. I don’t know who they all are (because we have anonymous user names) but hardly a day goes by when there’s not something delicious left in the canteen at lunchtime. Every day, I get from three to ten new followers on the blog.
Mrs Simpson is an interesting mix of grandmother, drill sergeant and kind fairy godmother. The one thing she insists on is that the blog doesn’t get in the way of the main event – learning how to cook, and sharing what we cook, not just as pictures, but in real life with as many people as possible.
But not everything is going quite so well. For one thing, Mrs Simpson is getting a lot of headaches, and sometimes she loses her balance and seems to forget things. And Mr Kruffs is still in the picture, even though he seems to accept that Mrs Simpson is not going anywhere – for the moment, at least.
As soon as he got back from London, he turned up and paid another visit to Mrs Simpson. He came by her house and caught us with our hands in the cookie jar – or at least the cookie dough (Mrs Simpson was helping us to make chocolate-covered gingerbread people). And right away, you could tell that he wasn’t too impressed.
He launched into his usual tirade – about how places at the ‘nice home’ don’t come up very often, and wasn’t Mrs Simpson tired of having to struggle through every day on her own? He also wasn’t very happy when I told him that we hadn’t had time to look into getting a carer yet for his aunt. But then the really bad thing happened.
The Secret Cooking Club Page 15
