I sat, popping a piece of still-warm bread into my mouth. The crust was nutty and chewy and totally set my taste buds alight.
‘Oh.’ I widened my eyes. ‘That is good.’
‘Told you.’ He dunked a piece of crust in the oil and dabbed it with salt.
The rain was still beating a tattoo on the old mill windows and there wasn’t as much as a sliver of blue to cheer up the sky. It was very intimate in the silence of the empty cookery school: just Tom and me, with the warmth of the oven heating the space around us, the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. The moment felt right to dig into his story.
‘So. Tell me about Salinger’s,’ I said softly. ‘You obviously miss it, so what happened?’
He stared at me for such a long time that I felt a blush creep from the neck of my jumper up to the tips of my ears.
‘It was my dream to open my own place,’ he began. ‘And after Rebecca and I got together, it became hers too. She gave up being a maths teacher, started looking for premises and before I knew it, we were in business. There was no stopping her.’
I blinked at him. Gloria had mentioned a partner; I hadn’t realized it was that sort of partner. ‘So you went into business with your girlfriend?’
He nodded. ‘I won’t be making that mistake twice. I dictated the direction for the food . . .’
Dictated. I could imagine. I hid my smile by shoving a hunk of hot bread into my mouth.
‘But she took over the interior, the décor, the bar, even the name,’ he added darkly. ‘I’ve wanted my name over the door of my own restaurant since I was a wee boy growing up.’
‘You didn’t put up a fight about the name? That’s not like you,’ I teased.
‘She’s very persuasive, or as I now see, manipulative,’ he continued. ‘And her surname is Salinger, which she argued worked better than—’
‘MacDonald’s!’ I let out a snort and then caught sight of his stony face. ‘Sorry.’
‘We could have called it Tom’s.’ He flashed his eyes at me, filled with humour. ‘Anyway, it all went well for the first couple of years. And then . . . Will I tell you the whole miserable story?’
I nodded. So while I finished up the fougasse, secretly wishing I could have chocolate spread on it instead of olive oil, he did. And it was quite miserable.
Business at Salinger’s was brisk, especially after they’d won the much-coveted Michelin star. But also because of his sublime food, Tom hastened to add. He was confident about business and even started looking at venues to open a second restaurant, which Rebecca thought was a great idea. And then he started dropping hints about them having a baby: they were comfortable financially, the right age, in love . . . what better time? Rebecca apparently thought it was a terrible idea, declaring that having a family and a restaurant were mutually exclusive; the demands of a business and the long unsociable hours plus a small child didn’t add up. Tom accepted it reluctantly, right up until he came across Rebecca in the wine cellar late one night with Ryan the sous chef.
‘No,’ I gasped. ‘And were they . . .?’
He looked at me from under his dark brows. ‘Well, they weren’t discussing corkage.’
‘But how can she possibly have been unfaithful with Ryan when she had you?’ I said, full of indignation on his behalf.
Tom laughed and I felt my face heat up.
He told me that Ryan’s father was the CEO of a giant pharmaceutical company and had offered to fund a much larger venture than Salinger’s could ever hope to be.
‘Rebecca had done the maths,’ he said drily, ‘and decided she was better off with Ryan. And she had the audacity to claim responsibility for Salinger’s’ success. So I left them to it, sloped off like a wounded bear with the entire staff probably laughing at me behind my back.’
He checked the time, took the cloth off the bowl and turned the huge fluffy ball of dough out on to a clean surface. He punched it a couple of times. Hard.
‘You just walked away? Letting them get off scot-free?’ I couldn’t believe that of him. It seemed so . . . defeatist.
‘I loved Rebecca. Really loved her.’ He gazed into the middle distance and my heart twisted for him. I was beginning to understand why he had such a touchy side: his professional pride was wounded but not only that, his heart was broken too.
‘But I’m over her. If she walked back in here now, today, I wouldn’t even flinch,’ he said matter-of-factly. I wasn’t sure I believed that. He sat down and raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Your turn.’
‘OK.’ I swallowed, taken aback by his directness. ‘His name was – is – Liam.’
I told him about Chris, and how after he’d called off our engagement it had taken me quite a while to dip my toe back in the water, until I fell for Liam’s charms. And then I told him about my job at Solomon’s and how Liam had used the office party that I hadn’t gone to as an opportunity to cheat on me with Melanie, then present my ideas to our boss and steal the job from under my nose.
‘So I suppose you and I have had similar treatment at the hands of our loved ones,’ I finished with a shrug.
‘Bloody hell.’ He whistled and then pointed to the dough. ‘Actually, I meant your turn to knock it back.’
‘Oh,’ I said, going pink. I took his place in front of the floury work surface.
‘Punch it like you mean it. Take out all your anger on it.’
I picked up the dough and threw it down a couple of times, trying to be angry.
Take that, Liam, I thought, mustering up an inner feistiness. How dare you pass my One, Two, Three Plan off as your own? But it was no good. My beef with him for losing me my job and cheating on me seemed to have evaporated. It was as I’d suspected: I’d never really let myself get too attached to either him or my job at Solomon’s. My grief over Mimi had numbed my nerve endings for a while and I’d been going through the motions without properly loving or feeling. Which explained why, when Rosie tried to make me fight for that promotion, I couldn’t be bothered.
So actually, thanks, Liam, you did me a favour . . .
I pursed my lips and squished the dough into the shape of a smiley mouth.
‘I didn’t just walk away from Salinger’s.’ Tom scratched his beard. ‘I bust Ryan’s nose first. Then I walked away. And then a few hours later I got a call from the police. They’d drop the charges as long as I promised to be a good lad. Straightaway the jungle drums starting beating through restaurant-land about me having left Salinger’s and I got a call from Gloria. So here I am.’
I pressed my knuckles daintily into the dough while Tom greased some tins.
‘But you can start again, you’ll have another restaurant and call it MacDonald’s or Tom’s or whatever you like and meanwhile you’re passing your passion and talent on to others. Come on, cheer up,’ I said, punching his arm with a floury fist.
He brushed his sleeve and a little white cloud drifted to the ground. ‘I know all that. It’s just a bitter pill to swallow.’
‘And that’s why you don’t want to be on Challenge Chester, because it’s a blow to your ego?’
‘I had it all back there for a while. And now Ryan has it: my restaurant, my woman and my Michelin star,’ he said, his voice getting a little bit shouty. ‘And making giant phallus-shaped bread on TV in front of millions, but especially in front of those two, would make me feel like a total knob.’
‘OK, OK,’ I soothed, patting his arm, wishing he’d stop referring to the Eiffel Tower like that. ‘That’s why I’m doing it.’
I set the three tins aside and left them to their final proving.
‘Thank you; I mean that,’ he said, adding quietly, ‘Even though I think you’re mad for volunteering. And brave.’
‘I am, aren’t I?’ I laughed. ‘But it’ll be—’
‘Fun, yes, I’m sure it will.’ He smiled a smile that lit up his entire face and the room. And me.
He wrapped an arm loosely round my shoulders and squeezed. ‘And you’re right, I will run
a restaurant again. On my own. My way.’
I looked up and gave him my most sparkly grin. ‘Yes, Chef.’
Chapter 16
By lunchtime I was heading south to pay a whistle-stop visit to Nottingham, with two loaves of fresh crusty bread on the passenger seat. I’d dropped off Comfrey and Sage with Mags for the day, delivered a clean nightdress and a thermos of Tom’s special coffee to Gloria and now I was battling the elements to stay afloat on the motorway.
Today was the perfect day to schedule in a quick trip home: there was nothing urgent to do at the cookery school now that I’d mastered bread-making. I’d been missing my little house for the last day or so and it would be good to sort out a few boring jobs like paying bills.
My phone began to ring from the depths of my handbag as I passed an articulated lorry. I ignored it – safety first, and all that – and flipped my windscreen wipers up to maximum as the spray from the lorry’s rows of wheels cut a swathe through the surface water and threatened to wash my little car off the road. I stopped at the next service station, treated myself to a skinny latte and a cookie, and saw a missed call from Gabe.
‘Verity! Gloria’s been on the phone,’ he said when I called him back; he sounded worried. ‘She wants to come home to watch some TV film on Saturday.’
‘Ah,’ I said, sliding into a little booth at the busy coffee shop. ‘That’ll be the TV filming at the cookery school. Not the actual TV.’
I told him about my on-screen debut and he laughed. ‘That makes sense. I’d quite like to see that myself.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t; I’ll be nervous enough without an audience, thank you very much.’ I blew a hole in the froth of the latte and took a sip.
‘Where are you anyway?’ Gabe asked. ‘It sounds noisy.’
‘Motorway services on my way home for a few hours. I’ll come over to the boat if you like, I’d love to see Noah. And you.’
‘Verity Bloom, I could kiss you. In fact, I will kiss you. How quickly can you come?’
‘I’m flattered,’ I laughed, breaking off a piece of cookie and dunking it in my coffee. ‘An hour, bit more depending on the rain.’
‘Rain? It’s brilliant sunshine here. And it’s Noah’s first sports day at nursery.’ He paused and I heard him swallow. ‘All the mums will be there.’
And Gabe would be flying solo.
I fumbled to get the lid back on my takeaway coffee cup in my haste to leave. ‘I’m on my way.’
Gabe was right, by the time I’d passed the sign informing me that I was now in Nottinghamshire, the sky ahead of me was forget-me-not blue dotted with marshmallow clouds. And at two o’clock when I squeezed the car into the nursery car park and stepped out into the bright May sunshine, I’d almost forgotten about the Yorkshire rain completely.
The children, some looking far too small to walk, let alone run, were gathered at one end of the field, sitting cross-legged on the floor in teams. Brightly coloured plastic crates of beanbags, balls and other assorted equipment were lined up ready at the starting line. Two long rows of chairs had been set up on the grass alongside a makeshift running track. All appeared to be taken, and the audience, almost exclusively female, had cameras poised to record the fun and games.
‘Aunty Vetty!’
I held my arms out as Noah, in shorts, T-shirt and a green baseball cap, broke ranks and came barrelling towards me.
I caught him mid-leap and swung him round, placing a kiss on his hot pink cheek. I squeezed him as tight as I dared, breathing in his little boy smell of biscuits and sun cream and fresh grass.
‘I have missed you more than chocolate,’ I said, lowering him to the ground.
He giggled and I caught him looking at my bag surreptitiously. I wished I’d brought him some chocolate now; somehow I doubted he’d be impressed with my homemade white loaf.
‘I’ve got my trainers on, look.’ I held up a Nike-clad foot. ‘When do I get to race?’
Gabe’s head appeared above the sea of spectators. He waved and pointed downwards to the seat next to him.
‘I’m in the green team. You can tell by my hat. My favourite is the egg and spoon race,’ explained Noah, taking my hand as we made our way to Gabe.
‘Oh, me too.’ I smiled, wrapping my fingers round his.
‘But they’re not real eggs so no eating them,’ he chanted with a wag of his finger.
‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘And grown-ups have to wait till the end for their go. There’s Daddy! Bye, Aunty Vetty.’ Noah spotted his teacher waving frantically at him and he ran off to join the rest of his team.
Gabe lifted his jumper off the empty seat next to him. ‘I am so glad you’re here,’ he murmured, running a hand through his scruffy sandy hair. ‘I’m feeling grossly outnumbered.’
‘Me too,’ I beamed, wrapping my arms round his neck and kissing his rough cheek. ‘I wouldn’t have missed my godson’s first sports day for the world,’ I added for the benefit of the curious women who’d instantly stopped all conversation as soon as I’d arrived.
‘Thanks.’ He grinned and held out a packet of sweets. ‘Have a wine gum.’
I took a black one and we chatted while we chomped, catching up on each other’s news and discussing Gloria’s predicament in hospital.
‘I thought Noah and I might come up to Plumberry in The Neptune and moor up somewhere nearby. That way we can be around to help out without being a burden.’
‘She’d love that. Although you could always stay next door with Mags.’
Gabe shuddered. ‘Only if there’s a lock on my bedroom door.’
I laughed. ‘She’s all talk; you’d be quite safe.’
He shook his head. ‘Even so, I’ll come under my own steam. I might set off at the weekend; it’ll take us about ten days to get there. Noah will love the adventure and a few days out of nursery won’t hurt.’
I glanced at him sideways, marvelling as I always did at how dramatically he’d changed his life since losing Mimi. He used to have a sporty BMW and drove like a rally-car driver, always in a rush to get places. Now, he was content to meander along England’s waterways for as long as it took. He was an incredible person on so many levels and a brilliant father.
‘What?’ he asked, noticing my warm smile.
I helped myself to another wine gum. ‘Ten days,’ I chuckled. ‘Gloria will definitely be out of hospital by then; I don’t think the nurses can wait to get rid of her.’
‘PARENTS, GRANDPARENTS, FRIENDS, BOYS AND GIRLS!’
A tall willowy lady dressed in a tracksuit began to bellow into a loudhailer. Gabe and I jammed our fingers into our ears as the sound system screeched with feedback.
‘Welcome to the annual Ashdale Nursery sports day. The children have been training hard all week . . .’
The races were soon under way and when Noah came second in the skipping race, I clapped and cheered until I was red in the face and my hands stung. My heart was in my mouth during the egg and spoon race and when he passed close by and I saw the concentration on his face, I clutched Gabe’s hand with nerves. And when he came first in the hula-hoop race I wept tears of unabashed joy and pride and absolute love. So did Gabe.
‘AND NOW LET’S SEE ALL THE MUMMIES JOIN IN,’ squeaked the lady with the loudhailer.
I felt Gabe’s hand cover mine and squeeze it tight. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The heartache we both felt wrapped itself around us like fog.
The women around us groaned and got to their feet slowly. Although one or two of them, I noticed, did slip on some very professional-looking footwear and started doing a few limbering-up exercises.
‘Aunty Vetty!’ Noah had both arms in the air trying to attract my attention. ‘Now you can have a go.’
Gabe and I gazed at each other and the sadness in his grey eyes broke my heart. This should have been Mimi’s moment. She would have been the first up there, probably still wearing her high heels, her jokes, aimed at herself, raising a smile e
ven amongst the most serious competitors.
‘Shall I?’ I said, squeezing Gabe’s hand.
He nodded, tears blurring his eyes. ‘You’re all he’s got.’
Cheer me on, Mimi, I’m doing this for you. And for Noah. If you could send down some celestial good luck that would be great.
‘Yes!’ Noah punched the air as I swallowed the ginormous lump in my throat, got to my feet and made my way to the starting line with the rest of the game-for-a-laugh girls.
‘Is that your mummy?’ a little girl next to Noah wanted to know.
He shook his head. ‘She’s my godmother, but she loves me just the same.’
‘READY, STEADY, GO!’ yelled the only male member of staff, adding a toot on his whistle for good measure.
I flicked the tears off my cheeks and ran as if my life depended on it.
‘Some people take things so seriously,’ I said later that evening, rubbing my ankle where a bruise had appeared.
‘Says the girl who has given me a full ten-minute rundown of how you were robbed of first place.’ Rosie lifted an eyebrow before taking another generous mouthful of my most excellent crusty white bread. ‘And shown me all the pictures.’
After hot dogs and fried onions aboard The Neptune with Gabe and Noah, I’d finally made it back to Heron Drive at eight o’clock. Rosie and I were making the most of the setting sun in the narrow strip of back garden with a cafetière of coffee and slices of my bread and jam.
‘I’d better be getting back soon,’ I said with a yawn.
According to a text from Mags, the rain in Plumberry hadn’t let up all day and I really did not relish driving back in the dark along those windy roads with the wipers going at full pelt.
‘Stay the night,’ Rosie insisted. ‘Then we can have too much wine and regret it in the morning. Please. It’s ages since I did that.’
‘But what about the lodger?’ I said, already calculating what time I’d have to be up in the morning. ‘What’s his name?’
She flapped a hand. ‘Joe. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be at the gym for ages yet.’
The Plumberry School of Comfort Food Page 15
