‘Well, lucky old you,’ I tutted, dropping the phone back on to the kitchen table. Now what?
Gloria clambered gingerly up to the open French doors.
‘Who were you ringing?’
I squirmed in my seat and wondered whether I dared fib. But Gloria’s gimlet-eyed stare warned against it. ‘The nurse.’
‘Verity, darling, there’s absolutely no need. I promise I’ll take better care,’ she said, pausing to catch her breath. ‘I’ve just been overdoing it. Probably should have stuck to the wheelchair on Wednesday instead of stomping round on crutches so I could poke my nose into people’s baking. Tomorrow I will sit as still as a sphinx and I won’t move a muscle until the physio gets here.’
‘And you’re absolutely sure you’ve been taking all your medication?’
‘Of course!’ she retorted. ‘Now please try not to worry about me, you know I abhor being a nuisance.’
She was on morphine for the pain and had a box of heparin in the fridge, which she had to inject into her leg to prevent blood clots. I’d seen her take the tablets, and she’d assured me she was taking the heparin too, but I always gave her some privacy for that.
I hooked a hand under her elbow for extra support as she hopped up the step and into the kitchen. Together we manoeuvred her into a kitchen chair and she fanned a hand over her pink face. The dogs came in from the garden too. Sage flopped on the cool tiles in the shade and Comfrey pushed his nose into the back of my leg, reminding me that it was his teatime.
I frowned at Gloria, unconvinced, and bent to stroke Comfrey’s ears.
‘I still think I should call the doctor,’ I pleaded. ‘If nothing else to tell him about your constant poking with that chopstick. You might have done some damage.’
She produced the chopstick from her pocket and laid it on the table. ‘Guilty as charged.’
‘I’ll take that,’ I said sternly, putting it out of reach.
‘If you ring the doctor I might end up back in hospital.’ She caught hold of my fingers and gripped me tightly as if her life depended on it. ‘I don’t think I could bear the heat in there again.’
I was with her on that one; the hospital had been incredibly airless. But what if it was the best place for her? What if something wasn’t healing properly down that cast . . .?
Gloria must have sensed my apprehension. She patted her lap and Comfrey jumped straight up.
‘If there’s anything drastically wrong the physiotherapist will pick it up tomorrow, won’t she?’ She kissed the top of Comfrey’s bony head. ‘Now go on to Tom’s before you miss the start of the programme.’
‘Ooh, yes,’ I said as I picked up my bag. ‘Mustn’t be late for our big night.’
Gloria pinched her lips together and looked down at her wrist, twirling her bangles round agitatedly.
‘I meant the cookery school’s big night being on Challenge Chester,’ I said, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. ‘National TV coverage will be massive publicity. Just think of the bookings it’ll bring in!’
Gloria opened her mouth to say something and then appeared to change her mind. ‘Of course, darling, you go,’ she said wearily. ‘Have fun.’
I kissed her cheek and let myself out of the cottage. But her words had unsettled me. Why did she suddenly seem against Tom and me getting to know each other better? What on earth was on her mind?
Chapter 28
I followed the satnav’s clipped instructions to the address in Pudston that Tom had given me, a long two-storey block of flats. I left the car at the roadside, collected my bag from the back seat and set off in search of number eleven.
The closer I got to his flat, the more jittery I felt. This was the first time I’d been alone with a member of the opposite sex since I split with Liam.
Mimi, get me. I’m off to a boy’s house. Wish me luck!
Then a thought struck me. What if Gloria was right? What if the idea of getting friendly with a colleague was a total no-go zone for Tom? Perhaps he’d been secretly gutted when no one else could make it this evening except me?
There was no doorbell at number eleven. I lifted my hand to knock and hesitated, my body gripped with indecision.
Maybe it would be more sensible all round if I left now before he saw me, made up some excuse about Gloria being too ill to leave. Then I wouldn’t be putting him in a difficult position.
On the other hand, I was sure the two of us could have a perfectly nice time watching Challenge Chester together and just getting to know each other. It wasn’t as if I was planning on throwing myself at him.
Good. Fine. I’ll knock.
My hand struck out boldly just as the door opened. My fist flew through thin air and I stumbled over the threshold straight into Tom.
Wow. In a white linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves, worn jeans and barefooted, he looked nicely rumpled, as if he’d just woken up. My stomach performed a loop-the-loop.
‘Hello,’ I said, taking a step back and out of his personal space.
‘Welcome.’ He laughed softly and rubbed his neck. ‘I’d invite you in but you already are.’
‘I’m all set for our TV debut,’ I said, jiggling my bag. ‘I’ve bought beer and lemonade and snacks.’
‘I haven’t had a chance to eat dinner yet. Are you hungry?’
Starving. During the drive over I’d regained my appetite but as he hadn’t officially invited me for dinner, I felt awkward admitting it.
‘No, no,’ I said. ‘But you go ahead and eat. Don’t mind me.’
He stood aside to let me in properly and as I squeezed past him my stomach produced a rumble worthy of the Hogwarts Express.
‘Goodness, no idea where that came from,’ I said, feeling my face grow hot.
He laughed again and gestured for me to follow him into the kitchen. Three paces away.
In my head I’d pictured a typical bachelor pad: a minimalist monochrome space with wooden floors and wall-to-wall technology. But this flat was nothing like that; the hall was small and windowless, the carpet was a vision in paisley swirls and the walls were decorated in a Regency-striped paper. The cramped kitchen had wall tiles patterned with peppers and aubergines and the dated cupboards had sunflower door knobs.
‘Not quite the facilities I’m used to.’ He grinned, nodding towards an elderly electric oven that looked like it was straight out of a 1950s TV commercial. ‘But hunger is the mother of invention, I always find.’
‘Ditto,’ I said, leaning back to watch him. ‘That was how I invented the perfect fish finger sandwich.’
He opened cupboards and took out some glasses. ‘I’m a fan of comfort food too, I just prefer mine with a bit more finesse.’
‘Oh well, if it’s finesse you’re after, look no further,’ I said, producing a bag of cashew nuts, another of chocolate-covered raisins and a third of chilli-flavoured crisps from my bag. I set them on the counter. ‘I bought the posh ones. Not that I’m hungry, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ His lips twitched.
‘But these are for watching TV with,’ I explained.
‘Really. And all these years, I’ve been doing it with my eyes.’
‘And my mother taught me never to arrive anywhere empty handed.’
‘Your mother did a very good job,’ he murmured. He leaned forward, his fingers brushing my cheek as he hooked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. In the silence that followed I could feel my heart thumping.
‘I’ll tell her,’ I said hoarsely. At which point my stomach let out a second thunderous growl.
‘I think we’d better deal with that noise, or we won’t be able to hear Challenge Chester on the TV.’ He grinned and then squatted to look in the fridge. ‘I know you’re not very hungry but how about Eggs Benedict?’
I pretended to think about it. ‘I could manage that.’
‘Great.’ He retrieved a saucepan and a mixing bowl with a clatter from the depths of the cupboards. ‘Do you want to poach the eggs or do the hollandaise?’
‘Neither. I’m a guest,’ I quipped.
No way was I going to show myself up in front of him. I could never get poached eggs right, I always ended up with a pan of white water. Mimi and I used to say it looked like I was cooking ghosts. And I’d never produced a glossy hollandaise sauce in my life. To his surprise I levered myself up to sit on the end of the Formica kitchen worktop. ‘I’ll just sit here.’
I tore open the nuts, popped a handful in my mouth and offered him the bag.
Tom shook his head.
‘Did your mother never tell you it’s rude to stare?’ He moved constantly while he talked, taking out more bowls and another smaller pan, eggs, butter and lemon juice.
Actually, I think she said that if a man ever offered to cook for me, first check he wasn’t gay and second, marry him instantly. But I had no desire to alarm him.
I shook my head. ‘I’m pretty sure my mother would approve of me staring at you.’
He gave me a sideways glance. ‘Oh?’
‘My hollandaise sauce is rubbish.’
He chuckled. ‘Watch and learn, then, my girl. Watch and learn.’
He melted butter, separated eggs and whisked lemon juice. It was a pleasure to watch; he was so skilled and effortless and besides, I couldn’t drag my eyes away from his wild curls and the curve of his mouth and the way he muttered instructions to himself under his breath.
‘So today, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began in a jolly, exaggerated tone, ‘we’re making a classic American dish featuring a smooth and tangy hollandaise sauce, free-range eggs and a lightly toasted muffin.’
My eyes widened in surprise at this change in personality.
‘My guilty pleasure,’ he said in a stage whisper and began to add the melted butter to his beaten eggs. His face broke into a boyish grin. ‘Pretending to present a cookery show. I’ve done it since I was a kid.’
‘Really? Me too!’ I pressed a hand to my chest. ‘That was my favourite thing to do. Well, with Mimi, of course. We set up a video camera in Gloria’s kitchen and took it in turns to do the talking.’
His eyes lit up. ‘I never filmed myself. Just focused on trying not to chop my fingers off while I talked and waved a knife around.’
My heart skipped a beat and a warm sensation filled my chest; how lovely to think we shared such a precious part of our growing up.
‘I still wave knives,’ he laughed. ‘When I’m alone I get quite flamboyant.’
‘Now I’m alone, I don’t do it at all.’
I felt my throat tighten and gently set the bag of nuts back down. There were tears lurking, I could feel them. I squeezed my eyes shut.
For a while after Mimi died, I’d heard her voice in my head giving me instructions. But lately she had been silent. Then again, lately I’d been so busy simply getting on with life and my head had been so full with other things that perhaps I’d stopped hearing her.
When I opened my eyes Tom had set his whisk down. He took my hands in his.
‘Well, that’s a terrible shame,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll have to see what I can do about that.’
I swallowed and dropped my chin to my chest. ‘There’s nothing to be done. It’s just the way it is.’
He placed a feather-light kiss on the back of my fingers, which cheered me up no end, and then released them.
‘The kitchen is out of ham this evening, so we’ll be serving our Eggs Benedict with bacon,’ he said in his presenter’s voice and lowered a couple of rashers on to a griddle pan.
For a simple supper, there certainly seemed to be a lot of pans.
‘But we shall be serving them on lightly toasted muffins, if my assistant would be so kind?’ He nodded towards an enamel bread bin.
‘Me?’ I tapped my fingertip on my chest. But I was Mimi’s assistant . . . I blew out a calming breath. I had been Mimi’s assistant. Maybe I should start doing the things we’d loved doing without her. Start living and loving and celebrating every single moment like it’s a delicious feast.
Despite Gloria’s warning, I could feel my body responding to Tom. And why not? He had a lot going for him. He was passionate. He had a good heart – look how he’d gone back to help Rebecca at Salinger’s even though she’d cheated on him. And right now those deep, dark eyes were inviting me in. All I had to do was jump . . .
Tom made a show of searching the tiny kitchen for other people. ‘Yes, you.’
He held out a hand to help me down and I took it. His forearm was lean and muscular and flecked with dark hair, his hand was warm and there was a smear of butter across his knuckles. I stared at the leather thong around his wrist, the one he wore every day.
‘Are you looking at my mangle?’ He grinned.
‘Your what?’ I stuttered.
‘My man bangle. I read in a magazine it’s called a mangle.’ He twirled the leather strap round his wrist. ‘My goddaughter made it for me and said if I ever took it off a fairy would lose her wings.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t have that happening, can I?’
What do you think of him, Mimi? I hope you approve, because I think . . .
‘Absolutely not,’ I agreed.
Because I think he’s lovely . . .
We had been together nearly every day in the month I’d been in Plumberry and in that time I’d seen him soften like a peach. From those first flinty-eyed days when he’d berated us all for not appreciating his sophisticated canapés to revealing his soft and sweet nature when he’d offered our winner, Aaron, a foot up the ladder on Tuesday. And now this. I mean, fairy wings . . . How adorable was that?
Holding on to his hand, I jumped down and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘That’s on behalf of . . . what’s her name?’
‘Saoirse.’ Tom touched his cheek where I’d kissed him.
‘On behalf of Saoirse for being such an excellent fairy-wing protector.’
‘Thank you . . . Oh, damn, I forgot about the hollandaise.’
He began to whisk it off the heat furiously while I fetched the English muffins.
I held up the packet.
‘Not homemade?’ I said, feigning shock.
‘Whisk this and don’t stop,’ he said with a grin, handing me the whisk, ‘while I start on the eggs.’
‘Yes, Chef,’ I said, tongue in cheek. And then I took a deep breath. ‘Now the secret to a velvety hollandaise sauce, ladies and gentleman, is to get lots of air in and to not overcook it . . .’
Five minutes later we carried our supper into the living room and sat down, balancing our plates on our knees. On the wall opposite the sofa was the biggest TV I’d ever seen. Tom turned it on and found the right channel. ‘Just in time, Challenge Chester starts after these ads.’
I inhaled the lemony scent of the hollandaise. ‘This smells amazing, thank you.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For bringing that sauce back from the brink. And for joining in with my TV show game.’
‘I enjoyed it.’ I shrugged a shoulder casually but inside I was glowing with happiness.
It probably seemed like a small thing to him, but for me, recreating the fun I used to have with Mimi with someone else was a huge milestone. One that I admitted was long overdue.
‘Oh wow,’ I groaned, putting a mouthful of Eggs Benedict into my mouth. ‘I’ve died and gone to food heaven. Food is definitely the way to my heart.’
Tom smiled lazily at me for a long moment before murmuring, ‘Mission complete.’
I didn’t know where to look.
‘You’ll have to give me the recipe,’ I said in between mouthfuls to cover my embarrassment. ‘This is amazing.’ Oh God, now I sounded all Women’s Institute.
‘No, I won’t,’ he murmured. He took both of our plates and set them on the floor. ‘A recipe is just a list of ingredients, but what brings it to life is the memory, the people, the mood. I think that’s what makes a dish amazing.’
He took my face in his hands. My heart literally forgot how to beat.
‘That’s true,’ I managed to sa
y.
I’d never eat hollandaise sauce again without remembering the touch of his rough skin against mine, the way he made my pulse race with just a look and his scent of lemons and spice and warm sexy man.
‘I was nervous before you came,’ he said, reaching for my hand. ‘It’s been a long time since I was alone with a girl. Rebecca and I were together five years.’
I nodded. ‘I felt the same.’
We shared a smile and I squeezed his hand.
He ran the tip of his tongue round his lips nervously. ‘I told myself not to get my fingers burned again. Not in love and not in business either.’
And then my heart began beating again, squeezing fast as adrenalin, mixed with disappointment, began to pump through my body.
‘Absolutely. Very wise. I understand. It’s understandable.’ I was nodding a lot and his mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Me too.’
‘I thought I’d find it very hard to trust someone again.’
‘Again, very wise,’ I agreed. ‘Although I’d like to point out that I’m completely trustworthy. The name Verity means truth in several different languages.’
He was laughing softly now and I closed my mouth, aware that I was in danger of overstating my case.
‘The thing is,’ he murmured, ‘I think you had me the moment I saw you tearing along Plumberry high street shouting “sausages”.’
We both laughed at the memory of me racing after Comfrey and Sage on my first day in the village.
‘So what I’m trying to say is . . .’ He squirmed in his seat, struggling to find the right words.
I stared at his full mouth, and the way he caught his bottom lip between his teeth when he paused and I wished he’d . . .
‘Kiss me,’ I said. My eyes widened in shock. ‘Oh gosh, that just slipped out.’
But I was glad it did because it was all the encouragement he needed. A smile crossed his face and as the opening titles of Challenge Chester began to roll we kissed, gently at first and then more deeply, and I stopped holding my breath, I closed my eyes and forgot all about live tweeting, because live kissing was way much more fun.
The Plumberry School of Comfort Food Page 27
