A Recipe for Disaster

by Belinda Missen

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Zoe. Leave this with me. She’s outside. Just don’t choke her – it’ll look bad in front of the customers.’

  ‘You are hilarious, Ol.’

  I hadn’t seen Zoe since the afternoon I’d caught Peter cheating. Her text messages in the week following left me with no doubt where I stood in her life. There were a few raging voicemails for good measure, but I hadn’t heard from her since. I poked my head out of the kitchen and peered through the front window. She stood on the footpath with her small army of children and a posy of flowers. I washed my hands, hung my apron, and left via the side door.

  The relief on her face when she saw me was palpable, like she’d been strung up for weeks and I’d cut the cords. I felt indifferent. I’d read all her texts, listened to all her voicemails and, even if I had done something wrong, some of them crossed a line I wasn’t comfortable with.

  ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ Her hand bounced in front of her.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m okay. I think,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I am doing really well, thank you. Day by day, things are kicking along nicely. It’s good to be back in the fold.’ I looked back at the café, the gold lettering on the windows, every seat full, and my husband beaming like a lighthouse behind the counter. Life was sweet.

  ‘It’s so amazing, Lucy, it really is. I’m so excited for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I shoved my hands in my pockets. ‘You should come in for lunch one day. I’m sure we could wrangle up a spare table somewhere.’

  ‘Only if you let me apologise.’ She thrust the blooms in my face like an overexcited child. ‘I am so sorry. So, so sorry. I’ve been a right chop.’

  ‘That’s a word for it.’

  ‘Instead of being angry with you, I should have been thanking you.’

  ‘That’s not entirely true.’ I cringed. ‘I did ruin your marriage.’

  ‘No, but it is true. I’d been seesawing on the issue for months and, stupidly, chose to believe him when he told me no.’

  ‘In fairness, I probably would, too. It’s no small thing.’ The flowers dropped by my side. ‘I should have kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘No, Lucy.’ She shook her head. ‘No. You did the right thing. I would tell you if I saw Oliver doing something. You were right.’

  ‘Putting a bomb under your marriage isn’t something I’m proud of.’

  ‘You didn’t do that. It was already there. I was just pretending I couldn’t find the matches and, when I did, he hid them on me again. So, thank you. I’m glad I know. If I’m honest, I always did.’

  ‘We’d been bouncing the idea back and forth.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Her face sprung to life. ‘So, thank you, and sorry.’

  ‘Are you okay, though? Really? What’s life like?’

  ‘It’s not so bad, really. To be honest, it’s been refreshing. The kids are doing well splitting weekends and the like. Lawyers are looking after the rest.’

  ‘Do you need anything?’ I asked. ‘Can I help with anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just my friend.’

  ‘I’m still here,’ I said, and I meant it.

  ‘Bye, Lucy.’ One by one, her boys give me a grubby-fingered wave and followed her.

  As I made my way to the front door, inspecting the bouquet, she leapt on me, wrangling me into a bear hug. If she squeezed any harder, she might have made a whoopee cushion of my lungs.

  ‘I missed you,’ she squeaked, disappearing back down the street.

  Archie, the last one around the corner, turned and waved at me again. He looked like he’d eaten a mouthful of dirt, or had at least been rolling in it. Still didn’t make him any cuter.

  My heart felt a little bit lighter as I stepped inside, as if a weight had been lifted. It had been an odd few weeks without Zoe in my life, without the random texts, memes, and grotty pictures she’d share, but I’d assumed that was the end. I’d done the wrong thing, and would have to learn to mind my mouth next time around. Meeting in the middle was the best outcome. Funny, that.

  Oliver’s voice carried through the kitchen, the metal clang of utensils, mixing bowls, and preparation. He was knocking out the last of the lunch orders, two staff ready to run them to tables, which they did with a wipe of the bench and a hot shoe shuffle.

  ‘How’d you go?’ He unravelled his apron and slouched against the bench.

  I held up the cellophane-wrapped bouquet. ‘I have flowers.’

  ‘It’s a start, I guess.’

  ‘Small steps, right?’ I asked.

  ‘It works.’

  ‘It does. Come here.’ He hugged me.

  It was my favourite thing in the world to do lately, at least when I was clothed, anyway. My head fit underneath his chin, and I held on for dear life while he cocooned me with a hand on my head and arms around my shoulders.

  ‘So, I know it’s only Thursday night, but I thought I might invite some people for dinner.’

  ‘Not at home,’ I grumbled, breathing in what was left of his aftershave. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘No, here. We’ve got some leftovers. I can raid the wine cabinet.’

  ‘Are you going to cook for me?’ I asked.

  He planted a kiss on my forehead. ‘I cook for you every night.’

  ‘You smell like bed, like sleep.’

  ‘I would love to have a nap right now.’

  That’s exactly what we did. I dropped the Jenkins cake at one of the cheeriest funerals I had ever seen, complete with live band and clairvoyant, snuck a coffee break in by the beach, and returned to the café. When the kitchen was clean from service, and there was nothing left to make except coffee and plating up desserts, we left Robbie in charge and slipped home for an hour in bed. Normally that would mean a bout of fondling, sex, and the after-effects, but I was asleep before my head dinted the pillow.

  * * *

  Oliver drew the last of the blinds and returned inside. The sun had gone down, staff and customers were a thing of the past, and we had our own dinner to worry about now. My parents were first to arrive, Oliver spending the first thirty minutes of their visit batting Mum away from fridges, appliances, and ovens. The settings weren’t “just like home”, he assured her. I’d have thought he’d know by now there was no telling her.

  Patrick slipped in the door quietly, followed by Iain and his small child army. Add to them Zoe and her brood with their last-minute invite and we were pulling suggestions from hats, trying to decide on a name for the football team they could carry through to victory. The kids were all just as tenacious as each other, so would have no trouble winning. They were also plonked at the other end of the table with pencils, colouring books, and their small selection of Apple products.

  Between the occasional curse word and dropped plate, Oliver presented his slapped-together dinner of today’s leftovers. Had he not constantly downplayed himself, no one would have known it was an off-the-cuff meal. Presented on share plates, his favourite, we had a plethora of choice. From entrées to desserts, refreshed baguettes and local pure butter, we ate like kings. Or queens, whatever your fancy.

  ‘All right, okay.’ Oliver shuffled in his seat. ‘I want to say some words.’

  ‘Yes, speech, speech.’ Patrick tapped at his glass. ‘Avail us with your newfound knowledge, oh cultured one of the world.’

  ‘A toast.’ Oliver thrust his glass towards the centre of the table. ‘My wife.’

  ‘Wife.’ Mum was ready to combust. I was sure tonight was the night. She dabbed at her eyes with Dad’s handkerchief.

  ‘You are incredible,’ Oliver started. Patrick whistled. ‘Patient, kind, far more talented than me, and you are the most forgiving, amazing person that I know. You have offered me things I do not deserve, and I love you more every moment for that. This success is yours, and only yours.’

  My heart was full. My life was around the table. Patrick looked wonderfully smug. My parents laughed
at a lame joke told at my expense, and Iain had orbited towards Zoe, who was in an unusually shy mood. I was getting way ahead of myself in a red wine haze, but the thought of those two together made my head spin. They were two strong-willed people, let alone the combined numbers around the dinner table. Then, there was Oliver.

  What could I say about him that I hadn’t said before? Nothing in life was perfect, least of all either of us, but we were heading in the right direction. Time apart had proved to be for the best. It had allowed us to grow and change, find our footings and learn to do things on our own, before coming together bigger and stronger, and a little more forgiving, because that’s what life was: good kneading. The push and the pull, the rest, and hoping things came together when the oven got hot.

  I once thought success was measured on a personal level, not owing to anyone else. But, looking around that night, success was so much more. It was a team effort, from the people who sat with you, who were there when you needed them, through the tears, trials, and tribulations that life threw at you. They reflected your truths, your character. Sometimes you didn’t want to hear their opinions, but they were essential. Those people kept you on kilter.

  If you happened to love one of them completely, if you’d survived the hurricane of life and come out on top, then that was success.

  Acknowledgements

  A book is not a solo journey, though it feels like it at times, and there are people I want to thank for helping me on my path to publishing.

  Hannah Membrey – thank you for pointing me towards Twitter. Without that, I would not be here at all. Thank you for sitting in a hotel in Sydney while I bashed out the first few chapters of Lucy & Oliver’s story, for the brainstorming, and helping me through this.

  Nadine Hancock – thank you for reading this over and over and over, in all its different guises and stages of completion. Your honesty and willingness to help is always appreciated.

  All the readers who bought, read, reviewed, and asked for more of my self-published work, your support has never been forgotten, nor has it been taken for granted. It’s a hard market, and having you all there made it worthwhile. I hope you enjoy this, and I hope that I can bring you some more of those old characters in the future (as well as new ones, of course!).

  To Hannah, and everyone else at HQ Digital UK, you’ve been an amazing team to work with. Your advice, support, and late-night phone calls have helped turn a first draft into something amazing.

  Last but absolutely not least, my husband Shane: I love you. Thank you for letting me write, even when it looked like I’d done nothing all day, and sometimes probably hadn’t! You are the coolest thing about me, and I hope I can give back some of what you’ve given me. Oh, and thanks for letting me drag you around the world. London is always a good idea!

  About the Author

  BELINDA MISSEN is a reader, author, and sometimes blogger. When she’s not busy writing or reading, she can be found travelling the Great Ocean Road and beyond looking for inspiration. She lives with her husband, cats, and collection of books in regional Victoria, Australia.

  The next book from Belinda is coming in January 2019.

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  Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book – we hope you enjoyed it! If you did, we’d be so appreciative if you left a review.

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