The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of Spain

by Alice Ross

  ‘Oh, believe me, there is. You have no idea what was at stake yesterday. But, thanks in no small part to you and your wonderful cookery club, the deal will be signed, sealed and delivered today.’

  ‘Well,’ said Trish, accepting the flowers from him, ‘I’m pleased you didn’t tell us how much was riding on it beforehand. We’d have gone to pieces.’

  Steve laughed, then, in a rather sheepish tone, said, ‘To be honest, I was going to ask you out again anyway, after the slightly strange evening last time. The thank you is just an excuse. And this time, you choose the restaurant, or the chip shop, or the burger van. I am entirely at your disposal.’

  Trish smiled, aware of a lovely fluttery sensation in her stomach. ‘Okay. Thank you. I’d love to.’

  ‘Thursday okay?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Pick you up at seven?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘See you Thursday then,’ he said. Smiling.

  ‘You will,’ replied Trish. Smiling. ‘And thank you for the flowers. They’re gorgeous.’

  ‘My pleasure. Right. I’d better go then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They smiled at each other for several more seconds before a bee buzzed past Steve’s ear, breaking the moment. As he took his reluctant leave, Trish had reluctantly closed the door when Amber appeared at the top of the stairs – all sticky-up hair and wide eyes.

  ‘Was that Miguel’s dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he bring you those flowers?’

  ‘No. He brought us the flowers. To thank us for helping him yesterday.’

  Amber regarded the bunch warily. ‘Hmph,’ she harrumphed. ‘I don’t know what Dad’s going to say about this.’

  ‘He’s not going to say anything because there’s nothing to say,’ retorted Trish. ‘And even if there were, it’s none of his business.’

  ‘Ugh. Honestly,’ puffed Amber, before turning on her heel and stomping back to her room.

  One hour later, the flowers divided into several vases, and Trish wiping down the kitchen bench, Ian sauntered in from the garden, beads of sweat running down his forehead and a dark patch of perspiration on the protruding part of his stomach. Zooming in on that part of his anatomy, Trish noticed just how much it did protrude. Evidently, life with the fragrant Chloe must be calorific.

  ‘Nice flowers. Who are they from?’ he asked.

  Before Trish could reply, Amber blasted into the room. ‘They’re a thank you from someone Mum and I helped out. No biggie,’ she announced, tossing a warning look in Trish’s direction.

  ‘Oh. Right,’ said Ian. Then, obviously happy with the retort, ‘Okay if I nip upstairs for a shower?’

  Fresh from the shower half an hour later, Ian stood in front of Trish, minus the spikes in his hair. ‘Be honest. Do you think it looks better like this?’

  At the kitchen table, Trish wrinkled her nose. How could a man whose partner had just suffered a miscarriage be remotely concerned with his bloody hair?

  ‘I think it’s better without all that crap gunking it up,’ he said. Before ambling over to the fridge and helping himself to yogurt, without waiting for her opinion, or asking her permission.

  By the time Ian left to go and see Chloe that evening, Trish’s head was thumping. And not only because of lack of sleep. After the man’s monumental outpouring of grief during the twilight hours, he seemed to have recovered remarkably well – and in such a short time. He and Amber had spent the afternoon playing some stupid computer game, which had resulted in much raucous laugher. Again, not normal behaviour – she would’ve thought – for someone who’d experienced such a recent trauma. But what did she know, she chided herself. Thankfully, she’d never been in that position so had no right to judge anyone’s reaction.

  ‘I’ll come back and let you know how she is,’ had been his parting words.

  To which Trish had merely nodded.

  Less than ninety minutes later, he reappeared, looking very deflated.

  ‘How was she?’ Trish asked.

  He puffed out a woeful breath. ‘She wants me to give her some space. Hormones all over the place apparently. Not fair to inflict them on me. You don’t mind if I stay here until she sorts herself out, do you? I really don’t feel like being on my own.’

  ‘Of course we don’t mind,’ chipped in Amber, throwing her arms around her father. ‘You can stay as long as you like. Can’t he, Mum?’

  Having the sinking feeling of disappearing into a pit of quicksand, Trish didn’t reply.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Blimey. There really isn’t a dull one in your house, is there?’ exclaimed Connie the next day, Trish having ferried Amber to her paper round just to escape the house – or, more specifically, Ian – for an hour. ‘Awful news about the miscarriage, though. Ian must be in a right state.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he’s acting really strangely. As is Chloe. Apparently, she doesn’t want to see him because her hormones are all over the place.’

  ‘Hmm. That does sound weird. You’d think she’d want him with her for support.’

  ‘I know. It sounds like an excuse to be rid of him to me. Meanwhile, he’s hanging around my house “fixing” things.’

  ‘Well, I suppose if she doesn’t want him in the flat, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘He doesn’t. And for all I’d love to send him on his way, I don’t feel I can in the circumstances. I wish he’d go back to work but he’s taken a week’s leave, which means—’

  ‘Good morning.’

  Trish broke off and spun round to find a lycra-clad Steve grinning at her.

  Instinctively, she mirrored his smile. ‘Morning.’

  Another smiley moment ensued.

  Broken by Connie.

  ‘Usual is it, Steve?’

  ‘What? Oh. Yes. Yes, please,’ he blustered, dragging his eyes from Trish’s. Connie handed him his drink, which he duly paid for.

  ‘I’ll see you Thursday,’ he said to Trish. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Me too,’ she replied, beaming at him.

  ‘Bye then.’

  ‘Bye.’

  ‘Blimey,’ snorted Connie, the moment he left. ‘You two need to get a room. There’s so much electricity buzzing about in here, I’m surprised the circuit board hasn’t popped.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ tutted Trish, slightly appalled she’d made her feelings so obvious.

  ‘You two are the daft ones,’ tittered Connie. ‘Daft about each other, from what I’ve just seen.’

  Driving back to Cornfield – with Amber in an extremely good mood, which Trish suspected had much to do with Ian being in temporary residence – Connie’s “daft about each other” observation rattled around Trish’s head.

  She really did like Steve. And she certainly fancied the lycra pants off him. But with all this stuff going on with Ian, was now really the time to even consider becoming involved with another man? It looked to her very much like Chloe and Ian might be splitting up. In which case, there loomed the possibility that he might want to come back; start again; wipe the slate clean; forgive and forget. Judging by how happy Amber was at having her father back in the roost, the child would be willing to do all of the above. But, after almost a year on her own, would Trish?

  The next day, following Trish’s receipt of an extremely large cheque from Steve’s bank for the services of the cookery club, Kate invited them all round for coffee. Trish had baked a fresh batch of olive-oil biscuits to take with her, which Ian, to her grave irritation, had attempted to help with. In the end, she’d suggested he varnish the garden shed. Not because she couldn’t do it herself, but because she’d wanted him out of her hair before she did him some serious damage – possibly with a pencil.

  It was the first time Trish had been to Kate’s house and, as expected, she found it the epitome of chaos – every room strewn with toys, clothes, potties, remnants of food, and half-dressed children being
pursued by the beautiful Domenique.

  ‘Goodness,’ gasped Trish, following Kate through to the kitchen, and executing an emergency stop as a small child, with a thatch of blonde hair, hurled an apple across the room.

  ‘Just a normal morning in the Ellis household,’ breezed Kate, looking exhausted. ‘We’re in the kitchen. Which is slightly more orderly, I think.’

  In the kitchen, Trish discovered Connie and Melody already at the battered pine table.

  ‘Sit here,’ instructed Kate, swiping a pile of clothes from a chair and dumping it on another pile in a laundry basket on the floor.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Trish.

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Kate, now proffering a cafetière.

  ‘Please. And I’ve brought biscuits.’

  ‘Olive-oil biscuits?’ asked Melody.

  ‘Yep.’

  As Trish tugged the container from her bag, Melody punched the air. ‘As sad as it is, I had a dream about your olive-oil biscuits the night we’d been at Steve’s. And I’ve been craving one ever since.’

  Trish laughed. ‘Well, the biscuits aren’t my only offering. Steve did say we’d be handsomely rewarded by the bank for our efforts, and he wasn’t joking. The cheque they sent was in my name so I cashed it this morning and have drawn out the cash equivalent, which I’ve divided up between us.’ She handed them all an envelope.

  ‘All of this can’t just be for me,’ gasped Kate, peeling open her envelope and gawping at the number of notes inside.

  ‘It is.’

  Melody’s beautiful turquoise eyes almost vacated her gorgeous head as she did the same. ‘Wow. That is serious dosh and, as my bump and I already have everything we need, I’m going to donate this to the animal shelter where my dog, Tilly, came from. They’re really struggling at the moment and need every penny.’

  ‘Give them mine as well,’ said Kate, handing over her wodge. ‘They do brilliant work there.’

  Connie pulled a face. ‘I feel a real Scrooge, but as my life is currently transient, and I have an inkling of an idea to sort it out, I’d really like to keep my share to help further my plans.’

  ‘You go for it,’ instructed Melody. ‘And don’t feel bad. If it wasn’t for you setting up the club, Steve would never have contacted us, we wouldn’t have had any pay, and the charity wouldn’t be getting anything.’

  ‘Thanks. I still feel bad, but when I earn my first zillion, the shelter will be the first to benefit.’

  ‘Knowing how capable you are, that’ll probably be sometime next year,’ said Trish. ‘The charity can have whatever’s left of mine once I work out how much I need to give Amber. I promised her she’d earn enough to buy a new iPhone, without having any idea how much an iPhone costs.’

  ‘Sounds like first-class parenting to me,’ chuckled Kate. ‘I should watch and learn.’

  ‘At your peril. I’m making it up as I go along. With some help from Ian now, as he appears to have moved back in.’

  ‘No,’ gasped Melody, snapping a biscuit in two. ‘Your life’s more exciting than a year’s worth of Eastenders.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel exciting. It feels extremely stressful. And completely knackering. Chloe lost the baby at the weekend and now she doesn’t want to see Ian. And he doesn’t seem remotely interested in seeing her.’

  ‘That’s a bit weird. You’d think a tragedy like that would’ve brought them closer together.’

  ‘I know. But from what I can gather, they weren’t getting along too well before that.’

  ‘Do you think he might want to come back?’

  Trish shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Nor do I know if I’d want him back.’

  ‘Big decision,’ puffed Kate. ‘I don’t think I could take a man back after he’d cheated on me.’

  At which point Domenique, the au pair, crashed into the room – a howling child under each arm.

  Having no desire to return to her own house – with its resident moping Ian – Trish offered to help Domenique with the children while Kate took care of some business at her veterinary practice. She and Domenique were attempting to finish dressing the twins when the au pair’s phone beeped with a text.

  Trish had no idea who’d sent it, but she couldn’t help noticing the slight flush to the girl’s cheeks, and the triumphant smile playing about her lips as she read it.

  By the time Thursday rolled around, Ian was still hanging around the house; Amber was still skipping about the house; and Trish was slowly going round the bend in the house. Deeming it wisest to say nothing about her date with Steve that evening, her announcement at lunchtime that they would both have to sort themselves out with dinner as she was going out was met with a glower from Amber. And pure astonishment from Ian.

  ‘Out?’ he echoed, in the same tone Trish could imagine him using had she announced she’d been selected for the Olympic synchronised swimming team. Then, with a knowing nod, ‘Oh. To your cookery club.’

  ‘No, actually. To dinner. With a friend.’

  Amber snorted out a breath in the manner of an angry bull. Then, contorting her lips into a smile, she turned to her father. ‘Mum does have friends, you know, Dad. She is, like, allowed to go out, you know.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Of course she is. I didn’t mean she wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, that’s just as well, isn’t it?’ chipped in Trish. ‘Because whatever you meant, I’m going anyway.’

  Trish had chosen a lovely country pub for her second date with Steve.

  ‘You’re going to think I’m just saying it,’ he said, when she informed him of her venue choice, ‘but that’s my favourite pub in the whole world. Well, the bits I’ve been to anyway.’

  ‘You’re just saying it,’ giggled Trish, clipping on her seatbelt.

  Despite hiding away in her study all afternoon and doing a phenomenal amount of work – more to keep out of Ian and Amber’s way than because she was experiencing a spurt of productivity – she’d really been looking forward to the evening, willing the hands of the clock to turn just that bit quicker.

  With her sartorial preparations complete, she’d waited in her bedroom for Steve to arrive, hurtling down the stairs at breakneck speed and calling out “I’m off” the minute he pulled up outside.

  She’d just jumped into Steve’s Jag and closed the door when she spotted Ian, peeping out from behind the living-room curtain. As much as she was loathe to admit it, the sight awarded her a stab of perverse satisfaction.

  ‘So, how’s the week been so far?’ Steve asked, as he drove down the road.

  ‘I think “eventful” would sum it up,’ replied Trish.

  ‘Good eventful or bad eventful?’

  ‘Strange eventful.’

  ‘Now I’m intrigued. Want to talk about it?’

  ‘Want to hear about it?’

  ‘Absolutely, now that you’ve whet my whistle.’

  ‘Okay,’ began Trish. ‘Here goes. But please stop me if it becomes a bit much…’

  ‘So, Ian’s still at your house?’ asked an evidently bemused Steve, when Trish had finished filling him in on developments.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. He’s commandeered the spare room until Chloe wags her little finger, or whatever it is twenty-seven-year-olds wag these days.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t wag anything? Which sounds to me like a distinct possibility.’

  Trish heaved a sigh. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  Despite the Ian and Chloe situation having dominated the conversation for the first twenty minutes, the pair weren’t mentioned again for the remainder of the evening. Instead, the conversation flowed from childhoods, to food, to favourite films. Once, Steve had been greeted by name by the pub manager.

  ‘This is his favourite pub, you know?’ the proprietor boasted to Trish.

  ‘So he said,’ she giggled, winking at her beaming date.

  ‘I had a great night,’ Steve said, when he dropped her home later.

  ‘Me too.’

  In the car, their eyes locked. Trish’s
heart began hammering. Steve leaned a shade closer to her. She leaned a shade closer to him. He tilted his head. She parted her lips. Then, as the living-room light suddenly flashed on, they jumped apart.

  ‘I’d, er, better go in,’ sighed Trish, crushed with disappointment.

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  Entering the house, disappointment turned to anger. Trish didn’t know who’d switched on the light, but she’d wager the entire payment from Steve’s bank that it was Ian. She found him at the kitchen table, looking like butter wouldn’t melt.

  ‘Nice evening?’ he asked, through a tight smile.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Good food?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ Her scallops had been sublime but she didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

  ‘Can we, um, have a chat?’

  Her heart plummeted. She really wasn’t in the mood. ‘What about?’ As if she didn’t know.

  Ian assumed a serious expression. ‘Chloe and I have agreed to split. As tragic as the miscarriage has been for us both…’ Trish blinked. ‘…We’ve decided it’s for the best. We haven’t been getting on for weeks and this has brought everything to a head. It’s like fate is trying to tell us something.’

  Trish arched a brow. ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘That I should never have left. I made a huge mistake. And if you’ll have me, I’d like to come back.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trish couldn’t sleep a wink. Bloody Ian. He certainly chose his moments. And most of them were unfortunately at stupid o’clock at night. She couldn’t believe how his “coming back” proposal had evoked so little emotion in her. Only a matter of weeks ago – before Amber’s paper round, therefore before she’d met Connie and joined the cookery club, and met Steve – Trish could have imagined herself bursting into tears of gratitude at such a proposition; being dizzy with joy at the possibility of rebuilding the life they’d once had; at making Amber happy again. But now she no longer knew if she wanted that life back; nor if it had been as great as she’d considered it at the time. There was no denying Ian had always been a good father, but had he been a good husband? He’d certainly provided well for the family, and had always been by her side on notable occasions like Amber’s first day at school, nativity plays, sports days and the like. But now, viewing him in a different light – one that highlighted his flaws – Trish questioned his credibility as a spouse. And the more she questioned, the more it occurred to her that Ian was nothing more than a big kid – happy to play along when things were going well, but unable to cope when the going became tough. When his mother had become terminally ill a few years ago, it had been Trish who’d contacted the relevant authorities, sorted out the necessary help, and sat up with her all night when she’d been lonely and scared. And when Amber had been briefly bullied at school, it had been Trish who’d liaised with the Head, Trish who’d sorted it all out. Trish who, she now realised, sorted out anything tedious or unpleasant: problems with the house, problems with the cars, problems with the bank. And, for the last ten months, she’d been the one expected to sort out the aftermath of their marriage break-up – namely Amber – despite Ian being the one who’d caused the problems. Did she really want to go back to that? Plus, there was another factor: Steve. Not that they were having a relationship. They hadn’t even kissed. In fact, when they did kiss, it might turn out to be a huge disappointment. And even if it wasn’t, it didn’t guarantee a long and happy future together. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure she wanted a long and happy future with Steve, or any man come to that. Certainly, if it was a toss-up between being treated like a doormat again – exactly how, she now realised, Ian had treated her during their marriage – or being on her own, she’d opt for the latter in a flash. But perhaps, if she laid down some rules, things with Ian could be different. Better. Was it therefore worth giving him a second chance to find out for certain?