Twenty minutes later Mags arrived back with Dave in tow, both of them carrying bags full of food. ‘Look who I found wandering the streets,’ she said proudly, putting her arm through his.
He rubbed his neck, which had turned a bit pink. ‘You make me sound as if I’ve been sleeping rough.’
She laughed and smacked his arm playfully. ‘I’d always find a bed for you, David, or squeeze you into mine.’
‘OK, listen up,’ I said, clapping my hands once Tom and Gloria had had a chance to survey the food we’d cobbled together and I’d conferred with Goggles.
‘Chester, your new challenge will be to feed the whole village with a giant Plumberry Paella.’
‘Nice one,’ Chester said, lifting his shades up and giving me a cheeky wink. He was leaning on the edge of the table we’d set up and had managed to keep himself perfectly clean during the barbecue build. I suspected he didn’t do much unless the camera was running . . .
‘Does that include us?’ shouted one of the beards, who by now were all lolling around, drinking beer in the sunshine.
‘Everyone,’ I confirmed.
Now that I looked closer, Gloria was swigging from a beer bottle too. I suppressed a smile; someone had wrapped a blanket over her legs, she had two pink spots in her cheeks and she looked the most relaxed I’d seen her since her accident. I’d have to keep an eye on her and I wasn’t entirely sure she should be drinking alcohol on top of her tablets, but I wasn’t going to be the one to spoil her fun.
‘Mags, your job is to tell as many Plumberry people as you can to get here for a free lunch at one o’clock. Oh, and if you get a chance, spread the word about next week’s competitions too. There’s no landline, so you’ll have to use your mobile and drive round in the car.’
She tapped her nose. ‘I can do better than that. Leave it with me.’
‘I’ll assist,’ Dave offered, raising a hand.
I smiled my thanks and then asked Pixie to show Chester where he could freshen up ready to start cooking.
‘So then, um, I just need to go through the filming part with you, Goggles,’ I said shakily, rubbing my fingers under my eyes in case of mascara streaks. Shouldn’t I have a team of hair and make-up artists to ensure I look my best . . .?
‘Great, I’ll be right with you,’ Goggles nodded. ‘Jonno, what I thought was . . .’
The two of them wandered off to where Tom’s huge grill was beginning to burn vigorously. Cheryl joined Gloria to make a note of all the ingredients we were using so she could put it on the Challenge Chester website and I walked over to our makeshift kitchen, conscious that my legs had begun to wobble.
This was the bit I’d been dreading. Any minute now I’d be on camera, cooking with Chester. At least we no longer had to bake the Eiffel Tower; a giant paella couldn’t really go wrong.
I hoped.
My lungs felt tight all of a sudden and my palms had gone clammy. I shook out a new apron from a plastic packet and tried to tie it round my waist but my hands were shaking.
‘Fiddly thing,’ I tutted. My mouth had gone so dry I could hardly speak.
‘Let me do it,’ Tom’s voice murmured softly against my neck.
He turned me round and tied the apron strings in a bow at the front.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured. I held my hands out in front of me; they were jumping around so much, I doubted I’d even be able to hold a knife. ‘I’m a nervous wreck.’
‘I’ll do it,’ he said softly.
‘You’ve done it,’ I replied, looking down at my apron.
‘I mean, I’ll do the filming; I’ll show Chester how to cook paella.’
‘Really? Are you sure? I mean, after all you said . . .’
He grinned at me, nodding. ‘I’m sure.’
Thank God. I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in what felt like weeks.
‘You’ve made my day,’ I said, undoing my apron instantly.
‘Cooking paella on an open fire for the village is a totally different proposition to cooking that stupid bread thing. Besides, I think it’s time someone did something nice for you. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you put yourself first. You are one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.’
He smiled at me and I glowed inside.
‘Stop being kind,’ I said with a little sniff. ‘I’m not used to it from you.’
Given a choice I’d have preferred ‘lovely’ or maybe ‘wonderful’ to nice. But under the circumstances I was grateful for small mercies. I happily relinquished my cooking duties and stepped away as Chester and Tom got down to business.
It took two hours with all the stopping and starting and reshooting various bits but eventually the thirty large roasting trays that we’d slotted on to the enormous barbeque were all as full as could be with steaming rice, chicken, butter beans and assorted local Plumberry vegetables.
‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Chester, pushing his shades to the top of his head.
‘Cut!’ shouted Goggles. He glared at Chester. ‘Language, mate.’
‘Bloomin’ Nora,’ said Chester again, pointing this time.
We all turned to see what Chester was staring at. I blinked twice and let out a squeak. A massive crowd of people was gathering in the road leading to the cookery school. It looked like the entire village of Plumberry was descending on us for lunch.
‘Gloria,’ I said in a wavering voice, ‘how many bowls do we have?’
Chapter 20
Pixie and I ran inside and rustled up stacks of plastic bowls plus bags and bags of plastic spoons, which we’d bought for the open day last Friday. But it was Bruce who came to the rescue with hundreds of sturdy plastic cups they’d bought to use at festivals. They were the perfect size for a portion of paella. Pixie, Tom and Mags organized a serving system and Goggles insisted that Chester be a part of it too.
‘FHB, folks,’ said Pixie, handing Chester a serving spoon.
‘What does that stand for?’ He winked. ‘Fulwood’s hot body?’
‘You wish,’ she said, raising her eyebrows until they disappeared under her fringe.
‘Family Hold Back,’ said Tom with a laugh. ‘I haven’t heard that for ages.’
‘It’s what my mum always says when extra guests turn up and she panics that we haven’t got enough food,’ Pixie explained to a bemused Chester. ‘The family has to hold back until all the guests have eaten before tucking in. My brother was fifteen before he got a slice of pork pie.’
‘Good plan,’ I said, casting my eye across the queue of people snaking through the car park all waiting eagerly for their free lunch. ‘Although I don’t think the few portions that our little family would take would make much difference to this lot.’
Talk about the feeding of the five thousand; I hadn’t known Plumberry had so many residents. But even though I’d only been here for less than four weeks, I recognized quite a few people: the old couple I’d met when Mags and I were doing our research were there, some of the staff from the greengrocer’s, Pixie’s colleagues at the cheese shop, as well as some familiar faces I’d encountered when walking the dogs. I spotted Len amongst the crowd too.
‘Bloody hell, Mags, how did you manage it?’ I said, pouring her a drink of water. The sun was beating down and we were getting very hot standing next to the ginormous barbecue. ‘The world and his wife have turned up!’
‘I called the radio station, Yorkshire FM.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and took a grateful sip of water. ‘They added it to their morning news bulletin as part of the storm update. They’re going to give our Plumberry Bake Off and Plumberry Signature Dish competitions a plug later too.’
I beamed at her. ‘You’re brilliant! You know that, don’t you?’
‘I am good in a crisis,’ she agreed. ‘But then so are you. Gloria was singing your praises earlier, telling me what a good nurse you are.’
I searched through the crowd to see where the patient was. She was sitting by Dave and they looked deep in c
onversation. I hoped he wasn’t worrying her with things like cash flow so soon after her accident.
‘I love her like a second mum, but I must admit I’d rather she was safe in hospital being looked after by professionals.’
I’d spoken to my own mum earlier in the week and she’d suggested Gloria go into a convalescence home, which in theory might be a good idea if we couldn’t cope. But I knew Gloria would refuse point blank to leave her own cottage now she was back home. We’d just have to manage.
‘She’s fine; stop fretting.’ Mags gave me a bowl of paella and stuck a spoon in it. ‘Here, give this to Len. Don’t tell him it’s paella, he’ll say it’s foreign muck.’
I found Len standing alone staring at the old waterwheel.
‘Lovely to see you here, Len. And you’re looking so smart!’
He had dressed for the occasion in a double-breasted jacket that had three shining military medals pinned to the chest.
‘Heard on the radio you were doing free lunch for villagers and seeing as my Sky isn’t back on yet I thought I’d have a stroll down.’
‘We are indeed. Here you go.’
He lifted his glasses up and squinted at the bowl. ‘What is it?’
‘Pae . . . chicken and rice.’
‘Funny-looking pie.’ He took it from me and nodded at the assembled crowd.
‘This is grand, young lady. I haven’t seen people gather together like this in Plumberry since VE Day.’ He puffed out his chest to better display his medals and flicked a butter bean out of the bowl.
‘Foreign muck,’ he muttered. ‘Except that on VE Day we had dripping sandwiches and beer.’
I glowed with pleasure. ‘Well, we’ve done better than that today.’
He grunted. ‘I miss dripping. Since my wife died I don’t get it any more.’
I pointed him in the direction of the brewers and sent him off for a beer to make up for the disappointment.
Pixie had given up serving and was darting in and amongst the crowd of happy lunchers, taking photos on her phone for the cookery school website, and a queue had formed in front of Chester for selfies and autographs. Two of the brewery boys set up a trestle table selling plastic cups of beer straight from the keg and Annabel from the Plumberry Wine Merchants arrived in her small van and set up another table for wine tastings.
People from the other small businesses had come out to join us, too: I spotted the lady from the candle shop and the two artists who shared the art studio. Len was right; there was a real street-party atmosphere developing and it warmed my heart to think that it was the cookery school that had pulled the community together in such a lovely way after that terrible storm. I stood silently, happy for a moment, hands on hips, soaking up the scene and feeling inordinately proud of what we’d achieved under extremely trying circumstances.
Suddenly burglar alarms on the outside of the buildings all began to flash and ring in unison.
‘Jesus, what’s this – a mass hold-up?’ said Chester, looking worried.
‘The power must have come back on,’ said Tom, sprinting inside.
He turned the cookery school alarm off and gradually all the other bells stopped ringing too.
‘Such a perfect day,’ said Gloria happily, taking a swig from her beer bottle. ‘The weather’s perfect, my cookery school is perfect and Tom’s perfect. Don’t you think Tom’s perfect, Verity?’
‘Well, I . . . he’s very . . . um,’ I stuttered, conscious of Dave watching our exchange with interest.
She squinted at me, shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘I always thought Gabe was perfect too, what do you think?’ she continued.
‘Mimi thought so and that was what mattered,’ I said briskly, wondering how much beer she’d had. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
The landline in reception began to ring out and Mags scurried in to answer it.
Fabulous! The phones were obviously reconnected, which meant that the internet would be back on too. My emails had kept on coming through via my phone, luckily I hadn’t lost service on that this morning, but I made a mental note to check the cookery school computer before I left. Hopefully we’d have more bookings for the Perfect Pasta course next week.
Mags reappeared, holding the phone out to Gloria. ‘It’s Yorkshire FM. They want to interview you.’
Gloria gasped with delight and handed me her beer bottle before grasping the phone in both hands.
‘Gloria Ramsbottom, the Plumberry School of Comfort Food,’ she trilled.
She told whoever it was on the end of the phone about the Challenge Chester filming and the great Plumberry paella and then yelped when she realized she was live on air. She cleared her throat for her parting shot.
‘I set up the cookery school to pass on my love of cooking to others. Food is about sharing good times with the people you care about. Plumberry has proved just how true that is today.’
Tom caught my eye and gave a tiny nod, his face breaking into a warm smile.
I care about you, I thought unexpectedly, feeling my heart flicker.
He held my gaze and the two of us smiled a smile that got bigger and bigger. I’d got to know the man underneath those chef whites this week and I liked what I’d found. A lot. He’d shown me his softer side as well as his passion for cooking spectacular food. And for the first time in a long time, I’d begun to feel passion as well – not only for food, but for life and possibly for love too . . .
‘Right, I think we’re ready for the final shot, folks,’ Goggles shouted.
Chester made a show of stirring one of the roasting trays, touched the back of his hand to his forehead and blew his cheeks out with mock exertion. ‘You challenged Chester to feed an entire village with the famous Plumberry paella.’
I grinned widely; Plumberry paella might not be famous yet, but this time next week, who knows.
Chester then raised his spoon triumphantly. ‘Challenge complete.’
The crowd cheered and clapped. Mags put her fingertips in her mouth and whistled like a pro.
‘And now for the moment of truth.’ He slung his arm round Tom’s shoulders and took a mouthful. He whooped with pleasure and banged the spoon loudly on the edge of the grill. ‘Oh man, that is the bomb!’
Cue more cheering and merriment.
‘We’re good,’ shouted Goggles. ‘Chester, you’re done.’
‘Part-ay,’ yelled Chester, arms in the air.
Someone had set up some speakers and music blared out across the car park, adding a certain something to the atmosphere. Tom seemed to be enjoying it – his head was nodding to the beat as he served yet more paella, beer in hand, sleeves rolled up. Chester and Goggles had finished filming, but Jonno was still wandering round zooming in on conversations and plates of food and right now, the camera was focused on Tom.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind being filmed?’ I whispered, standing out of shot.
His dark eyes glittered with humour. ‘Just try and stop me, I’m having a whale of a time. I’ve even had a few people asking for an outdoor cooking course in the summer. I haven’t had this much fun since . . . well, since I split up with Rebecca.’
Jonno moved away and I stepped closer and nudged him gently in the ribs.
‘See,’ I said with a hint of smugness.
‘What?’
‘You see how much better life is when you let your hair down and have some fun when you’re cooking?’
He groaned. ‘Yes, OK. You win. Jesus, will you ever stop going on about that?’
Just then my phone buzzed with a text message. I whipped it out of my pocket and read it.
It was from Liam.
Got the email. Thanks, Verity, you’re a mate. I’ll leave you alone now. Promise.
‘Good riddance.’ I shoved my phone back and sighed happily. Hopefully that would be the last I heard from him.
‘Nuisance caller?’ Tom raised a concerned eyebrow.
‘You could say that.’ I laughed. ‘It was a
text from my ex.’
His face darkened. ‘The unfaithful, two-timing cheat who nicked your chance at promotion?’
I nodded.
‘What does he want?’
I suppressed a giggle at Tom’s indignation on my behalf. ‘Nothing. Any more.’
I explained to him about Liam’s panic and my offer to send him the plan that I’d done.
‘You should have let him sort out his own mess. He took your livelihood from you, your trust . . . He can’t have his cake and eat it.’
Tom reminded me of Rosie for a second. They were quite alike now that I came to think about it: both ambitious, competitive and, it seemed, highly protective of me. My heart gave a little skip.
‘You’re probably right,’ I said with a shrug. ‘But what does it matter whether I get the credit for it or not? Solomon’s has had enough redundancies just recently. What if my plan could help improve the company’s fortunes? If I can help save even just one job with my marketing plan, then it’s really me who comes out on top, regardless of who knows it.’
Tom stared at me admiringly. ‘I wish I was more like you, Verity. I hate to say this, and excuse my language, but I wouldn’t piss on Salinger’s if it was on fire. I’m done with the place. You genuinely are—’
‘Do not say nice,’ I interrupted. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if that’s not quite the compliment I thought it was. Anyway, that’s the last time I come to Liam’s rescue. If he asks for help again he’ll be sorry. He’s history as far as I’m concerned.’
Tom’s eyes locked on to mine and he took a step closer. My heart pounded with anticipation.
‘In that case—’ he murmured.
But before he could finish, Mags squeezed herself between us.
‘Pardonnez-moi for breaking in on your tête-à-tête,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘but I think Gloria’s had enough for one day.’
Tom and I whipped our heads round to see Gloria fast asleep, her leg still propped up on a second chair and an empty beer bottle dangling loosely from one hand.
The Plumberry School of Comfort Food Page 19
