The Worst Case Scenario Cookery Club

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘Just thirty seconds a side. We’re colouring the beef, not cooking it.’

  Alex laid his beef on a plate to cool a little while he made sure his students weren’t going too far with their searing.

  ‘Perfect, Bella,’ he said. She beamed.

  When all three students had seared their beef correctly, Alex had them brush the meat with a delicate layer of mustard.

  ‘Not too much, Chopper! Unless you want to make your guests’ eyes water.’

  Liz scraped half of her mustard off.

  While the beef was set aside to cool, Alex showed them the next stage. He chopped a couple of shallots into tiny pieces. He put a generous helping of mushrooms into a food processor and pulsed it until it was a sort of pesto. Together with the shallots, this was then cooked to reduce the moisture.

  ‘Why do we need to cook everything before we put it together?’ Liz asked. ‘It’s all going into the oven at the end.’

  ‘And if you haven’t cooked the mushrooms, you’ll end up with a soggy mess,’ Alex said. ‘Which is why we’re also going to add a layer of Parma ham.’

  ‘What could you write with that, Liz?’ John teased.

  She poked her tongue out at him.

  While the mushrooms and shallots were cooling, Alex had the students cover their chopping boards with cling film, onto which they laid out the ham in a single thin layer. The second layer was to be the mushroom paste.

  ‘Put your beef in the middle and carefully roll the ham and mushroom layers around. Remembering you’re not going to be cooking the cling film,’ Alex added, just as Liz finished making a cling film Swiss roll.

  ‘Chopper,’ he helped her start again. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  Once the beef, ham and mushroom rolls were complete, Alex took all four and put them in the deep freeze for a speedy chill. While that was happening, they prepared the pastry. It was puff pastry, ready-made.

  ‘Because life’s too short,’ said Alex.

  ‘Sonia made her own pastry,’ said John.

  ‘Tell us more,’ Alex said. ‘Tell us what this dish means to you.’

  ‘I’ll tell you about the first time Sonia cooked this for me,’ John began. ‘I was going after a promotion. I wanted to impress the headmaster at the school where I worked so I invited him and his wife to dinner. Sonia spent a week going through her cookery books looking for something suitably posh to serve them. It was the Seventies. The prawn cocktail years.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t say prawn cocktail was your favourite food, John,’ said Bella.

  ‘That’s what she made for starters that night, I think. Anyway, this headmaster was a bit of an old bastard – ’scuse my French – so I was very anxious that everything went right. When the Saturday of the dinner party came, Sonia spent the whole day cooking. I didn’t help, of course. I didn’t know where to start. I could only lay the table and polish the glasses. But that didn’t stop me from fussing about and offering Sonia my useless opinion all day long. By the time my boss arrived, she was thoroughly fed up of me.

  ‘But Sonia knew how important the evening was to me so when we were within earshot of the boss and his missus, she was sweetness and light. In the privacy of the kitchen, it was very different. We were squabbling like a couple of children. I thought she was drinking too much. She thought I was being pompous. She told me I was being a terrible suck-up and if that’s the way I was at work, she wasn’t sure she liked it. She said my boss was an old misogynist and it was rubbing off on me. She actually snorted when I told our guests that the main dish of the evening had been chosen in honour of the headmaster’s favourite general.

  “You didn’t choose anything I’ve cooked tonight,” she said when we were in the kitchen again. “You’re acting like I’m some irrelevant little skivvy.”

  ‘This was as she was getting the beef Wellington out of the oven. It looked magnificent. She was going to serve it on a bed of watercress. She laid it out and as she turned round to put her oven gloves back on their peg, I picked the dish up and made for the dining room. I knew she’d be angry but I wanted my boss to associate me with all that evening’s triumphs. I pushed open the dining room door with my foot and went to walk in. I pushed too hard and the door swung back too fast. It bounced off the hinges and came back to whack me as I was stepping over the threshold. I dropped the bloody Wellington on the floor.

  “I think you just met your Waterloo,” said Sonia when she saw and my boss laughed for the first time that night.’

  ‘Brava, Sonia!’ Bella, Liz and Alex applauded.

  ‘Did you get the job?’ Liz asked.

  ‘I did. After that cock-up the evening went very well. But I never tried to take credit for Sonia’s hard work again.’

  ‘You’re doing it for yourself tonight,’ said Alex.

  The pastry was ready and the meat was chilled. The four cooks lay the meat in the centre of the rolled-out pastry, which was brushed with egg yolk to make it stick when it was wrapped around the beef and parma ham.

  ‘Now ordinarily,’ said Alex, ‘I’d let this parcel chill for another quarter of an hour but the caretaker will be after us before long.’

  So Alex had the students wrap their parcels in cling film again and put them back into the chiller ahead of going home.

  ‘You can cook them there.’

  Meanwhile, Alex’s beef Wellington, glazed all over, went into the oven prematurely.

  ‘Delia would have a fit,’ he said. ‘We’re almost guaranteed a soggy bottom.’ But Bella, Liz and John thought the finished product looked and smelled delicious.

  ‘Yours will be even better,’ he assured them, as they all took a small slice to try.

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve made a beef Wellington,’ said John.

  ‘It was easy, wasn’t it?’

  John pulled a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed at his eyes.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Alex. Watching you putting it together and then trying it myself, it was like we were, I don’t know, somehow getting in touch with Sonia. I don’t believe in all that afterlife stuff but it was almost as though she was standing at my shoulder when I was putting the Wellington together. I could feel her love all around me. It felt like a proper tribute to her. Thank you.’

  ‘I felt the same when we made my dad’s parmigiana,’ said Bella. ‘Thank you, Alex.’

  ‘Your turn next week,’ Alex said to Liz.

  ‘Well, I apologise in advance if we’re going to be boiling vegetables to within an inch of their lives, because if my childhood had a flavour it was definitely overcooked.’

  ‘Ah, Chopper,’ said Alex. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve already been thinking about an update on those traffic lights of yours.’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  John had thought about taking his beef Wellington to the NEWTS – he could have finished it off in the oven where they warmed up the pasties – but he decided against it. He was down on the rota to man the theatre bar on Saturday night so he’d see everybody then anyway. What he needed was some time in front of the TV. Keeping himself busy was making him tired. Also, the beef Wellington he’d made was not so big and he wanted to make sure he savoured it himself. And perhaps Alex’s gift of this particular food, and the memories that came with it, were best served in a place where John wouldn’t be embarrassed if he couldn’t stop the tears. He really had felt as though Sonia was alongside him that evening. He wanted to keep that feeling for as long as he could.

  He let himself into the house, humming one of the songs from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers as he did so. He found that humming to himself until he got the radio or television on helped to make the transition from outside world to empty house a little easier. He paused in the hall to take off his coat. He couldn’t help but glance at the answering machine on the hall console table.

  It was flashing. The indicator light suggested there were two messages.

  ‘Listen.’ He heard Sonia’s voice.
<
br />   Putting down the tray of beef Wellington next to the phone, John took a deep breath and pressed ‘play’ instead of delete.

  ‘Have you been involved in an accident?’ said the first message. John quickly stopped that one in its tracks. It was the next message he wanted to hear.

  He held his breath while it played out.

  ‘Dad? Dad? Are you there, Dad? It’s David. Please pick up. You won’t be able to call me back on this phone. It’s outgoing only but the main switchboard number is in the book. If you call that and tell them who you are, they’ll probably come and find me. I need to talk to you, Dad, and I think you probably need to talk to me too.’

  John nodded. He did need to talk. It was time.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Bella didn’t quite make it home after the cookery class before her phone rang. It was the DSCC. Jimmy Cricket was in again and he was kicking up a terrible fuss. He said he wouldn’t talk to anybody except Bella. Sighing and trying not to think about how hungry she was after all that hard work in the kitchen, Bella said she’d be at the station as soon as she could.

  This time, Jimmy had been brought in after being found in an act of vandalism. He’d got hold of a can of red spray-paint – pinched from the local DIY store – and was in the middle of using it to decorate the side of the toilet block that was closed from the end of September when a couple of police officers strolled by. Jimmy had thrown the can away and legged it but the officers were faster than he was and they caught him red-handed, as it were. Jimmy’s hands were still covered in paint when Bella arrived to sit in on his interview.

  ‘Can we get something for Jimmy to clean up with?’ she asked the custody sergeant.

  Bella’s first thought, given where Jimmy had been caught, was that perhaps the graffiti he’d been spraying was related to the council’s mean yearly closure of the prom’s only public convenience when the pier itself was shut. But no. Jimmy’s gesture was not one of protest but of passion.

  ‘I was spraying a heart,’ he said. ‘And our initials.’

  ‘Whose initials?’

  ‘I’ve got a new woman in my life,’ said Jimmy. ‘I did wait for you, Miss B, but you’re always too busy at work.’

  She smiled at that. ‘Whose fault is that?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve met this woman called Morgan Le Fay,’ he said.

  ‘Like in the Arthurian legend?’

  ‘That’s the one. She’s a tarot reader.’

  Bella nodded. There was a tarot reader who set up a stall on the prom most afternoons. She was quite popular with some locals. They thought she had the eye. Unfortunately, Jimmy explained, she had not foreseen the authorities stopping her benefits after she stopped a job centre worker to try to sell him some heather, and now she spent most nights beneath the pier.

  ‘But we’re going to get our own place,’ said Jimmy. ‘Her and me. She’s given me something to live for. I want to be a better man for her. I’m going straight, Miss B.’

  ‘You can start by laying off the vandalism,’ said Sergeant Mellor.

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Jimmy,’ said Bella. ‘Because you’re not going to be able to call on me for much longer.’

  Both Jimmy and Sergeant Mellor looked at Bella quizzically.

  ‘I’m planning a change of career. I’ve decided I’m handing in my resignation tomorrow.’

  Up until she said it out loud, she wasn’t actually sure she had made up her mind. Now she had.

  ‘I’ll have to work out my notice over the next few weeks,’ she continued. ‘But that’s it. You won’t be seeing me round here any more if I can help it.’

  ‘Aww, Miss B, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. What are you going to be instead of Newbay’s best solicitor?’

  ‘I think I might train as a cook.’

  That too had just come into Bella’s head. Why did it sound so right?

  ‘Like your dad!’ Jimmy at least was delighted. ‘See, I told you you was a chip off the old block. You’re going to do him proud.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Bella could already imagine her mother’s tense, tired face, pinched into despair at the thought that her daughter was saying goodbye to a decent, steady job. However, she hoped that underneath her mum’s concern, a little bit of her would be pleased. Maybe even proud. And she had the right to choose how her life turned out, didn’t she?

  ‘You can be anything you want,’ was what her dad had once told her. ‘We only live once. We’ve got to make sure we enjoy the ride.’

  ‘Well, good for you, Miss Russo,’ said Sergeant Mellor. ‘I’m retiring myself in the spring. Thought I might look into landscape gardening.’

  ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘I’ve loved being a policeman but it’s time for me to unleash my creativity.’

  ‘I’m going to do that as well,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a painter.’

  ‘That’s lucky,’ said Sergeant Mellor. ‘Because someone needs to repaint the wall of the toilet block on the prom.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Bella to her favourite client. ‘Let’s get this graffiti thing sorted.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Alex also took a phone call on his way home from class that evening. It was

  Marianne, the volunteer worker he now counted as his friend.

  ‘Good news,’ she said. ‘That unit you told me about? It’s still available and the leaseholders are open to the possibility of letting you have it at a special rate for two years while the details on the rest of the station development are finalised.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Alex asked.

  ‘It’s a win–win situation for them. The place is empty and it’s only getting into a worse state with each winter that passes. You’ll be doing them a favour.’

  Marianne told Alex what the costs would be.

  ‘It’s only temporary but it’s a start. We need to get another meeting with the trust in the diary as soon as possible. If everyone is in agreement, then you could be in there as early as Christmas.’

  ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘Are you ready for it?’ Marianne asked.

  ‘I am so ready.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And thank you, Marianne, for giving me a second chance.’

  ‘Are you kidding? How could I not? You’re a great guy, Alex, and I want to see you succeed. Everybody does. And who doesn’t deserve a second chance?’ She paused. ‘Did you ask that woman in your class out yet?’

  ‘Maybe next week,’ Alex promised. ‘Now that you’ve called with the news, I’ve got something special in mind.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Soon it was Friday again. Liz was thoughtful as she finished the working week. Nurse Van Niekerk may have officially asked Liz to leave the Waggy Weight Loss Facebook group but what Nurse Van Niekerk didn’t know was that the group’s privacy settings were woeful and thus Liz was able to lurk anonymously, avidly scanning the page for news of Coco.

  Of course, Mrs Coco had posted about Coco’s hip operation. It was a congenital hip deformity that had been making Coco find walking so difficult and contributed to her weight problems. The operation would take place on Friday morning. Dr Thomas would be performing the work. Liz wondered how long it would take. She could hardly concentrate on her own work. She started obsessively refreshing the page from about midday onwards, hoping to see that Coco was out of theatre and into recovery.

  It was four o’clock before Mrs Coco posted that Coco had come round from the anaesthetic and was doing well. Dr Thomas chipped in with a comment to say that he was very pleased with how the operation had gone and he hoped to see Coco up and about again within just a couple of days.

  ‘With her new bionic hip, Coco will be known as Coco the Superdog from now on.’

  Liz felt a surprising amount of relief when she read that. She had no idea until then how much affection she had grown to feel for that little dog and her eccentric mama. She wanted to leave a mes
sage to say that she was pleased for them both but of course she couldn’t do that on the group’s page. Instead, she sent Mrs Coco a private message, saying that she’d heard ‘on the grapevine’ that Coco was having a procedure.

  Mrs Coco wrote straight back. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ted. We were all very scared this morning but Dr Thomas – Evan – worked his magic and Coco will be back on her paws before you know it. He is such a good man.’ Mrs Coco underlined ‘such’. ‘He cares so much for his patients. I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but he did Coco’s operation for free. He said he wouldn’t hear of me paying, which was a huge relief because I couldn’t have afforded such marvellous care otherwise.’

  ‘That is very sweet of him,’ Liz replied.

  Dr Thomas had yet to send Liz an invoice for the damage to his car. In all likelihood he had been too busy to get to a garage. Liz found herself hoping that the charcuterie had had no lasting effect on the paintwork on his bonnet. Ian had always been so adamant that if a bird pooped on your car you had to try to get the muck off before it dried. Did cured meats contain the same nasties?

  Liz wondered if she should send Dr Thomas another email to prompt him but she decided against it. He would be in touch with her. Until then, as Vince always said, perhaps it was a case of ‘least said, soonest mended’. The fastest way for everyone to forget what had happened on the night of Alex’s party was to stop talking about it.

  ‘Got any plans for this weekend?’ asked Vince, as they closed up the surgery.

  ‘Nope,’ said Liz. ‘Not even Waggy Weight Loss this weekend.’

  Vince knew why that was.

  ‘It doesn’t mean you and Ted can’t keep following the diet,’ he pointed out. ‘One of the most important things I’ve learned over the past year is that the worst way to respond to a fresh crisis in your life is to let it derail your good intentions altogether. If you have a drink, it doesn’t mean you’re never going to get on top of it. It’s the same for diets. Exercise regimes. Anything. You can’t let screwing up once stop you from following through. You have to keep your eye on the bigger picture. Start again. Day by day.’