by Fiona Lowe
‘No worries, love.’
After she’d answered questions about the children—John had a grandchild in the same class as Ava—and listened to a new story about Cameron throwing sawdust around the shop as a kid, she left with her white paper–wrapped parcels stowed in her basket. She was just passing the Mingunyah Cheese and Bakery Café, which was part of Sarah and Alex’s business empire, when she heard someone call her name. Turning, she saw Sarah alighting from her car and walking briskly towards her.
‘God, I need coffee,’ Sarah said emphatically, looking frazzled and wearing mismatched earrings. ‘First Gus announced at breakfast that he needed his white shirt for assembly this morning. I found it languishing in his dirty-laundry basket where he’d put it on Friday, complete with a tomato sauce stain on the front. I despair of that boy ever conquering thinking ahead. I’d just raided Finn’s wardrobe and found him an old shirt when Alex came in from his ride and asked why I was still at Riverbend when I had a meeting in town with a supplier at eight thirty. I won’t tell you the words I used or what I said to him about setting up meetings for me and not telling me about them. I rushed out the door and while I was driving through the mobile dead zone, the supplier must have called to reschedule because the moment I hit the eighty K sign, my phone beeped. And just to complete my morning, Mum’s called, complaining that Rita’s doing too much polishing of furniture and reorganising of knick-knacks instead of cleaning the bathrooms properly. She wants me to find her a new cleaner. I love my family, but right now I feel squished between teenagers’ demands, forgetful husbands and my mother. They’re doing my head in.’
‘You really do need coffee,’ Anita said sympathetically, thinking how lucky she was to have daughters. The older girls were born organised and the little girls showed a similar skillset, whereas Finn and Gus seemed to require a lot of micromanaging. ‘I wonder why Margaret’s not happy with Rita? I’ve used her a few times to help before some of Cameron’s client weekends and I thought she did a great job.’
‘I have no idea. Right up until this phone call Mum’s always sung her praises. Anyway, sorting out that mess is my next job, but coffee first. So how about you? Got time for a coffee?’
‘Sure, but just a quick one. I’ve got a job today.’
‘A job?’ Sarah’s hand paused on the café’s door. ‘I didn’t know you were looking for one.’
‘Neither did I.’ Anita laughed a little self-consciously as she followed Sarah into the shop. ‘It’s surprised me too.’
‘Two lattes to go please, Mel,’ Sarah called to the barista.
During Anita’s first weeks living in Mingunyah, she’d insisted on paying for her own coffee but Sarah wouldn’t let her. When Anita told Cameron that accepting the free coffee made her feel uncomfortable, he’d laughed.
‘It’s one coffee a week. Besides, she’s family.’
Anita, who had no family and very limited contact with distant cousins, was baffled. ‘How does her being family equate with free coffee?’
‘It would be ill-mannered of her to expect you to pay, because that would be adding to her profits. Plus, you paying embarrasses her about her wealth and upsets her that you’ve rejected her hospitality. It’s why I always drink their wine when they offer it.’
‘So, you’re saying I’m doing Sarah a favour by letting her buy me coffee?’
‘Exactly.’
Not wanting to upset her sister-in-law, Anita took Cameron’s advice and ceased trying to pay. And although Anita had intended to donate each saved four dollars to the CFA tin on the counter by the cash register, she hadn’t quite got around to it.
While they waited for their coffee, Sarah asked, ‘So, what’s this job?’
‘It’s not so much a job as a first step. I’m thinking of restarting Cooked By a Friend, so I offered to make one of the influential school mums a lasagne.’
‘Good for you. You’re welcome to put some flyers on the café’s noticeboard.’
‘Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate your support.’
‘No problem. In fact, show me a menu and I’ll order some meals for the freezer.’
Anita was aghast. ‘I can’t sell you meals.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re family.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything? The way I see it, you make ready-made meals and I’m a wife, mother, daughter and businesswoman working more than full time. Hell, I’m your perfect customer.’ Sarah passed Anita her coffee before taking a sip of her own with the fervour of an addict.
Once they were outside, Sarah continued, ‘I’m sick to death of coming up with dinner ideas, not to mention cooking. I ask Alex and Gus what they want to eat and they say, “I don’t mind. Whatever you want.” They think they’re being obliging but they’re just passing the buck. More than once I’ve had to actively work at not yelling, “I want you to plan the menu, buy the food and cook it.” Lately, it seems like I’ve been cooking all my life. I want a break. Or at least have someone else make some of the decisions for me.’
For the second time in a week, Anita wondered if something was going on with her usually upbeat sister-in-law. ‘I’ll make you a lasagne.’
‘Thank you, but I’m paying for it and another four meals. Seriously, Anita. Put me on your books for five meals a week and email me a menu. I’ll fire it back to you by the end of the day.’
A thrill shot through Anita at landing a big ongoing order on her first day but it was immediately tempered by memories of growing up. She’d learned the hard way that there was no such thing as a free lunch. Everything came at a price. ‘I don’t need charity, Sarah. I only want your order if it’s genuine.’
‘Oh, it’s genuine all right,’ Sarah said with feeling. ‘Think of it as your contribution to the harmony of the Hadfields’ family life. Cooked By a Friend, or in this case, a sister, couldn’t have come at a better time.’
All of Anita’s anxiety drained away. Pulling out her phone, she brought up her calendar. ‘What day suits for me to come to Riverbend to cook the meals?’
‘Any week day.’
‘How about Friday this week but Tuesdays after that?’
‘Done! Now, I’ve got to love you and leave you. I’m off to look at some grout in Mum’s bathroom.’ She gave Anita a quick kiss and crossed the road to her car.
* * *
Anita was stirring bolognaise sauce when Cameron arrived home looking for lunch. He caught her around the waist, spun her, bent down low and kissed her.
‘Something smells fantastic.’
She welcomed his mouth against hers, thankful for the decision all those years ago to allow her new friends at the city childcare centre where she’d worked to drag her to the upmarket bar to celebrate her birthday. When she’d met Cameron, her determined journey away from the fringe ’burbs and their stench of struggle had already begun, but he’d fast-tracked things for her. He’d been her guide and continued to be. Her gratitude never wavered.
‘It’s lasagne.’
‘My favourite.’
‘It’s not for us.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh and she laughed. ‘Okay, I’ll make an extra for us but this one’s special. It’s part of my plan to relaunch Cooked By a Friend and …’ She couldn’t contain a squeal of glee. ‘I’ve already got a five-meal-a-week customer.’
‘I always knew your lasagne was magic,’ he teased before sobering. ‘Cooked By a Friend? I thought you were letting that slide because country women wouldn’t consider letting someone else cook for them?’
‘I’ve missed the business more than I expected and perhaps I was wrong about country women. The first time I talked about Cooked By a Friend, I got a client.’
There were two very good reasons why she didn’t mention that the customer was Sarah. One, it was unlikely her sister-in-law truly represented the town, although there was a small but definite pocket of wealth in Mingunyah that Anita planned to mine, and two, it was impossible to anticipate Cameron’s reaction to anyth
ing that involved Sarah. Whether it was because Sarah was the eldest by a bare ten months and they’d landed up in the same class at school a few times or if it was something else entirely, Cameron blew hot and cold with his elder sister. But this was Anita’s business, so the transaction was between her and Sarah and had nothing to do with him.
‘I think there’s a niche market in Mingunyah. Hopefully, today’s just the start.’
‘Maybe.’ Cameron sounded sceptical. ‘I can’t imagine Mingunyah having as many clients as you’d like. It’s a shame this kitchen doesn’t lend itself to cooking classes.’
She bit her lip, not wanting to revisit that disappointment all over again. Finding a house in Mingunyah that suited all their needs had been an enormous challenge and, as Cameron liked to tell people, they’d compromised. In truth, Anita had compromised. In Melbourne, they’d modified the kitchen in the Glen Iris house to both satisfy commercial kitchen regulations and include the installation of a mirror above the island bench so she could teach larger classes. Her current kitchen didn’t come close to accommodating four people, let alone twelve.
‘I don’t think the Mingunyah version of Cooked By a Friend is going to have cooking classes.’
Cameron seated himself expectantly at the kitchen table as if lunch was going to magically materialise in front of him. ‘But your cooking classes made the money.’
He was right; her classes had proved so popular that she’d established a waiting list. Her success lay in running themed classes, which guaranteed return custom. Watching MasterChef, My Kitchen Rules and numerous professional cooking shows, along with reading Epicure and Delicious Magazine, kept her abreast of what was hot and what was not.
‘True, but the classes catered to city women with time on their hands. Aren’t country women supposed to be great cooks? I’m not sure they’ll have the same appeal here.’
‘Perhaps not to women born and bred here, but I think there’s a market for you.’
Anita ladled roasted pumpkin and tomato soup into two bowls. ‘Which market’s that?’
‘The cycling widows.’
She thought of Alex’s intensive cycling training program that saw him out on the road seven days a week. ‘Do you mean women like Sarah?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Not Mingunyah women or even the weekenders. I mean the Melbourne women whose husbands come here to ride. I’ve seen them in the antique shop, the bookstore and the cafés, killing time. They’re your niche. Fill their day by touring them around the farmers’ market, introduce them to local produce, bang on about global miles, seasonal food, farm freshness and all that bullshit, then teach them to cook something. They’ll eat it up.’
The microwave beeped. Anita stared at him. ‘That’s a brilliant idea.’
‘I know.’ He glanced around. ‘Sarah given you any bread recently?’
Anita opened the breadbox and placed a seed-encrusted rustic sourdough baguette on the breadboard before slipping the knife underneath it. Cameron leaned over and grabbed it off the bench as Anita delivered the bowls to the table.
‘I’ll talk to Sarah about using their products in my cooking class recipes.’ Despite Sarah saying there was nothing charitable about her meal order, being able to advertise Mingunyah Bread and Cheese made her feel less in Sarah’s debt. ‘We can give each other some promo.’
‘They don’t need the promo, Annie.’ Cameron sawed into the bread with a determination greater than the task required. ‘Have you seen the number of followers they’ve got on Facebook and Instagram, gushing about their products?’
‘But I need their promotion,’ Anita said, stirring some of Sarah and Alex’s sheep’s yoghurt into her soup. ‘They’ve got a fan base of foodies. If I can tap into that …’
‘Clever girl.’
A tingle of pride shot along her spine at his praise. ‘There’s just one fatal flaw to this brilliant plan. Our kitchen’s too small for classes. Even if we hadn’t maxed out our renovation budget, there’s no physical space to extend. We’d have to build a whole new kitchen in a different space and that will cost a fortune. I’d be starting so far in the red it wouldn’t be worth it.’
Cameron chewed on the hunk of bread he’d dipped into the soup and stared off into the distance. Anita knew this was his ‘thinking’ stare.
‘What?’
‘Shush.’
She knew better than to rush him so she sipped her soup, enjoying the deep, smoky flavour that came about by accident when her hand slipped on the spice packet. Instead of half a teaspoon of smoky paprika landing on the bright orange surface, more than two tablespoons plopped in. It had turned into a useful mistake—one she’d be repeating.
‘What’s your ideal group size?’ Cameron finally asked.
‘I guess six to ten, if we’re aiming for a boutique experience.’
‘So, we need someone with a larger kitchen.’
‘Cam, I can’t just ask someone if I can take over their kitchen every Saturday or Sunday.’
‘I know.’ A smile full of ideas stole across his face. ‘But this isn’t just someone.’
Anita thought of Sarah’s beautiful French provincial–style kitchen with its decorative corbels, fluted pilasters and the moulded chimney breast with a pressed metal splashback. All of it showcased the shiny black five-burner stove with its two ovens. Not to mention the acres of polished wooden benches, the vast number of cupboards and built-in wine rack. It had been featured in Country Living magazine, complete with its signature white clock, wicker baskets overflowing with freshly picked vegetables and a row of shiny copper pots; the envy of all cooks. A stab of jealousy caught her and it wasn’t just limited to the kitchen; Sarah’s renovations had been devoid of any real budgetary constraints. To add insult to injury, just this morning Sarah had told her she was sick to death of cooking.
Although Riverbend’s kitchen would suit her perfectly and Sarah was supportive, Anita said, ‘There’s no way I can ask Sarah.’
‘Not Sarah,’ Cameron said. ‘Besides, Riverbend’s too far away. The women you’re targeting are in stuck in Mingunyah for the weekend. The venue needs to be in town and walking distance from the market.’
‘The church hall?’
‘Mill House.’
She laughed. ‘Stop teasing me.’
‘I’m not.’ He set down his spoon and leaned forward. ‘Think about it, Annie. It’s a huge kitchen. It’s got rustic charm that matches a weekend in the country. You can tailor your themes around that. Old-fashioned country food with new twists. Use the Aga. I know Mum hasn’t cooked on it in years but it’s still connected. We can get someone in to check the flue.’
Despite her mother-in-law’s joy at Cameron’s return to Mingunyah, Anita felt the emotion hadn’t fully extended to her and the little girls. ‘What makes you think Margaret will agree to me using her kitchen?’
‘Well, she doesn’t use it much herself.’
‘It doesn’t follow that she’ll let me impose.’
‘She might be very supportive of the idea if it’s a way of staying in the house.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Sarah’s got a bee in her bonnet about Mill House being too big for Mum. She’s badgering her to downsize. Mum rang me this morning, spitting chips. Despite telling Sarah she wasn’t interested in moving into a new townhouse, sister dear insisted on driving her out to look at one.’ Cameron flicked a piece of bread around the bowl with practised accuracy, wiping it clean. ‘It’s more about her needs than Mum’s. Sarah just wants to make her life easier. She was complaining on Mother’s Day about helping Mum with the garden.’
Usually Anita defended Sarah to Cameron but this time she found herself agreeing. ‘She’s been complaining about a few things lately, including hosting Christmas. I offered but she immediately refused.’
Cameron rolled his eyes. ‘My sister the martyr. And really, what’s she got to whinge about? Mum doesn’t want to sell up and move and why should she? Mill House has been
in the Jamieson family since 1870 and, with one exception, it’s always been left to the eldest son.’
Anita sat up a bit straighter, not quite believing this never-before disclosed piece of history. ‘Are you saying Margaret has willed you— us—the house?’
His mouth tightened. ‘Put it this way: I’m in the process of finding out.’
‘Oh, Cam,’ she said sympathetically. She could never forget the three occasions over the years when he’d got thoroughly sozzled and cried about the loss of the family business. ‘Try not to get your hopes up. You know Margaret’s ignored tradition before, so why would she follow an archaic inheritance system for the house? Besides, it would exclude Sarah and Ellie.’
‘Mum’s got other investments.’
‘Worth as much as the house?’
‘I’ve got a very strong suspicion she’s worth a lot more than she lets on.’ He tapped his fingers on the table. ‘Let’s work this out. You’ll need the use of the kitchen, the dining room and the downstairs powder room. That’s three rooms to rent.’
‘Rent?’ She heard the squeak in her voice. She’d never needed to factor in rent before. One of the reasons she’d started Cooked By a Friend was because the setup costs were negligible. Debt had cast a dark shadow over her childhood and the thought of borrowing money against a fledgling business and risking insolvency terrified her. ‘How much will that cost?’
‘Don’t panic, baby girl.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m talking a peppercorn rent. I’ll negotiate it with Mum. How about as part of the deal, you make her a couple of meals a week for her freezer? That way we can tell Sarah that Mum has a cleaner and a cook. Sister will relax and more importantly, when she knows you’re using Mill House for your business, she’ll stop pushing to sell it.’
A flutter of disquiet rippled her stomach. ‘I don’t want this plan to upset anyone, especially Margaret and Sarah.’
Cameron waved away her concerns. ‘It won’t. If anything, it solves far more problems than it creates. I’ll talk to Mum this afternoon.’
Her growing excitement that the cooking school might again be a reality was momentarily tempered. ‘I guess if she says no, I can always contact the CWA. Not that a squat, 1960s cream brick building oozes the sort of character or charm I want to sell our concept.’
