by Fabian Black
"It sounds delicious. You'll have people fighting for a table once the menu board goes up. They'll be queuing down the street." Taking hold of Lin’s right hand he raised it to his lips and kissed it. "You're the best, a gastronomic star and you always will be."
"Thank you." Lin's fine hazel eyes glowed with pleasure at the compliment. Scraping his chair back from the table he got up and then straddled David's lap, winding his arms around his neck. "For that, kind sir, you get served with a kiss." He pouted seductively. “Would sir prefer the full French or the reserved English?”
David ran his hands along Lin's taut thighs. "The full French please," he winked, "with a squirt or two of cream on top perhaps? I've got a spray can in my jeans all primed and ready to go."
"I know, I can feel it, you dirty man." Lin laughed and provocatively rocked his narrow hips enjoying the feel of David's hardness. He sought his mouth. They lip kissed first, slow and gentle, before progressing to a more passionate tango of tongues.
A sudden outburst of coughing startled them both and brought an abrupt end to their lustfully escalating clinch.
“So sorry to disturb you.”
Lin hastily vacated David's lap, pulling closed his white shirt, which David had pulled open so he could suck his nipples. Another few minutes and Mrs Prescott would have found him mounted on more than David's lap.
“I did knock, but you were,” pink faced she cleared her throat, “obviously too busy to hear me.”
“Perhaps you should have gone away then,” muttered Lin, sotto voce, as he re-buttoned his shirt. Tucking his hair behind his ears he leaned against the table, folded his arms and stared at Mrs Prescott, adding to her all too apparent discomfort.
“No apology needed, Mrs Prescott. I'm sorry we didn't hear you.” David shot a warning look at Lin whose sotto voce had been clearly audible to his ears. He got to his feet, hoping his erection wasn't discernible through his close fitting jeans. The damn thing was set for action and seemed in no hurry to diminish. “Are you ready to set off for your walk?”
She nodded, and he picked up and handed her the pack of food. “Be careful on the cliff part of the walk. The ground isn’t too sound near the edges, best to give yourselves a good clear margin. We don't want any tragedies.”
Placing a strategic hand across his mouth Lin dripped discreet sarcasm into it. “Keep Mr Tubs on your outer side. If the worst happens and you plunge into the sea you can use him as a dingy. He’s got enough blubber to keep you afloat for weeks.”
The colour in Mrs Prescott’s plump cheeks deepened a little more. She looked at Lin suspiciously. “I beg your pardon, Mr Larkin. I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you repeat it?”
"Sorry, repeat what?" Lin dropped his hand from his face, feigning a look of innocence.
“He was talking to himself, Mrs Prescott. He does it a lot when he's tired. Take no notice. He’s had a stressful morning.” David gave Lin the full benefit of a meaningful look. “He’s considering going for a nice long lie down if he doesn’t feel better soon.” He gave her a warm smile. “Enjoy your picnic. I hope you and your husband have a lovely day.”
“Thank you.” Mrs Prescott returned the smile, her colour subsiding. She liked David Jordan. He was a charming and amenable host, and a handsome man with his cropped dark hair and blue eyes. It was a shame he was gay, such a waste.
She glanced at Lin, less sure about her feelings where he was concerned. He wasn't bad looking though he'd be better if he smiled more often and had a decent shave. He was a talented and inspired cook, but an odd man with his quick nervous movements and waspish, sometimes spiteful manner. No wonder rumours had abounded in the newspapers in his hey day, about how difficult he was to work with, and then of course there had been his very public fall from grace on live television.
She returned David's wishes, “I hope you have a nice day too, Mr Jordan. Have you got many guests booked in over the summer?"
David shook his head. “We’ve decided to be quiet this season, Mrs Prescott. We're only accepting bookings from favourite guests, such as yourself, and please, call me David. Mr Jordan is far too formal for friends. I think we can consider ourselves friends after all this time, don't you?”
She nodded and then blushed again, but with pleasure this time. "Then you must call me Lydia, both of you."
"I know a song about a Lydia." Lin smiled sweetly, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Lydia the tattooed lady, do you have tattoos, Mrs Prescott?"
Before she could reply Mr Prescott's dulcet tones sounded impatiently from the hall.
“LYDIA! “What’s keeping you? We'll miss the best of the day.”
“Better go." She rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid Tom doesn’t do waiting around very well.” She hurried towards the door, which David held open for her.
“By the way, Mr Larkin,” she stopped suddenly to address Lin. “Those scallops you served last evening were delicious, quite the best I’ve ever tasted. I meant to say so, but you were busy and I didn't get chance. They were better by far than the ones we had at Mr Steen’s restaurant in Lowestoft last month. I was disappointed with those. They were overcooked and tough. I don’t know how he got his two Michelin Stars.”
“Really?” Lin's face lit up with a genuine smile. He hastened over to her. “Allow me to help you with that bag, Mrs Prescott.” Taking the bag in one hand and her arm in the other he escorted her out of the kitchen. “Tell me more about your visit to Kenny’s little caff. I'd be most interested to hear how his menus compare to mine.”
Grinning, David closed the kitchen door, powered down his laptop and wandered out into the garden to gather sage leaves. Lin had mentioned sage in association with the mullet dish he was planning, so he might as well make himself useful by picking and washing some in readiness.
Fresh from the Sea
Three
"What desserts have you got planned for this evening, Lin, clam chowder ice cream, mackerel and chocolate gateaux?”
David sat at the kitchen table, a black felt tip pen poised over the whiteboard on which he’d recorded starters and mains. It was almost one o clock and already a few people had gathered in front of Sandstones. They were waiting in expectation for the board to go up on the door so they could see what dishes The Venus was going to offer that evening and whether they fancied them enough to compete for a table.
“Ha, ha, and don’t think I haven’t tried them.” Lin scooped up the heads, skin and bones of the fish he’d cleaned and filleted, depositing them into a colander. He rinsed them thoroughly under the cold tap before placing them in a large pan to be turned into fish stock. The innards he slipped into a plastic bag and tied up ready to be binned. Wrapping the prepared fish in waxed paper he packed them neatly into boxes and slid them into the chiller cabinet ready to be cooked to order.
The mackerel remained in one piece looking sad, beautiful, but sad, as it lay on the granite slab, its metallic markings glimmering in the early afternoon sun. Lin gazed at it thoughtfully. It had been robbed of its life. Decency demanded its death should not be in vain. The laws of predator and hunted must be fulfilled. The mackerel had lost the game. It therefore had to be consumed and not simply discarded as if of no worth.
However, one mackerel wouldn’t go far, not even in an eatery as small as The Venus and David disliked mackerel, claiming it gave him indigestion.
“Stop staring at that fish. You can’t bring it back to life. Tell me what puddings to write up for this evening. I want to get the board up or we'll have people knocking on the door and looking in the windows. I'll have a stab at making something if you like?"
David had discovered he enjoyed baking. He found it relaxing and was ever hopeful of making something Lin would approve for public consumption, other than the occasional scone served on high days and holidays.
"We've got plenty of kiwi fruit and strawberries. I could rustle up a kiwi and strawberry cheesecake? The colour combo would look good.”
“
No thank you. I have it all in hand.” Lin dragged his eyes away from the deceased fish. “How does apricot slut with homemade rhubarb ice cream sound, and a gooseberry and elderflower twit?”
David grimaced. “I am not writing that on the board.”
“Oh all right,” Lin deftly caught the pen top David lobbed at him. He lobbed it back, “be boring then. Make it plain old apricot tart and gooseberry and elderflower fool.” The mention of fools and gooseberries gave him an idea. Grabbing his knife he deftly filleted the bonnie mackerel.
Simply grilled with a mound of homemade gooseberry relish by its side and surrounded by triangles of hot buttered toast the fish was in its element. Mackerel and gooseberry was a traditional partnership, the sharpness of the fruit offsetting the rich oiliness of the fish, but tradition did not necessarily equate with boring. Things only became traditional because they worked well.
Picking up the plate with an air of veneration he held it out to David.
“Looks delicious, Lin, but…”
“It’s not for you.” Lin cut him short. Putting the plate down again he popped a metal cover over it to keep it warm. “Lucy told me yesterday that mad Medup has been abandoned by his sister on account of having a bees nest in his kitchen. She’s refusing to go in and cook for him until he gets rid of it. He could probably do with a decent lunch. All this rubbish he’s spouting about something dangerous coming in from the sea is probably hunger induced hallucinations.”
“Why didn't you tell me, and why didn't he say something this morning? He could have had breakfast with us."
"I didn't tell you because you were too busy yesterday. If you weren't on the phone you had your nose glued to your bloody computer screen. It was like I didn't exist. I doubt you'd have noticed if I'd stuck my cock in your ear. Pride probably kept Henry quiet this morning, he wouldn't like to be seen to be asking favours. Take the mackie to him before it gets cold. Tell him it was surplus."
"You’re a sweetheart.”
“Yeah well don’t let it get about or it’ll ruin my reputation as a sour and bitter old has-been kitchen queen.”
“Make another comment like that,” David's voice hardened, as did his face, looking as perilous as a storm tossed sea, “and your day is over.”
“Lighten up for Christ's sake. I was only joking.”
"I wasn’t. Go and hang the board up while I take this to Henry. Then you can get some lunch and nip upstairs for a nap.”
“I haven’t got time to nap.” Lin took off his glasses, wiping away speckles of fish blood with the edge of his apron. “I have to write out menu details and I want to make a start on the soup. It needs time for the flavours to meld.”
“Show me the recipe. I bet I could do it.”
Linval flushed from the base of his shoulders to the tips of his ears. Ramming his glasses back on he drew himself up to his full height of five foot six and a half and spat, “I’m the chef in this kitchen, David Jordan. If there’s any serious cooking to be done I’ll do it. There’s more to producing a fine dish than following a set of written instructions. I won't have this establishments good reputation brought low by allowing food made by unqualified people to be served to table.”
“It was only a suggestion so there's no need to hiss and spit like a cat with a thumb up its arse.” David wagged a paternal finger. “How many times do I have to tell you - learn to delegate! You can’t do everything.”
“Maybe you ought to try taking a leaf out of your own book, Mr multi-business man and would be baker boy. Stick to what you know best, David, bookkeeping, and leave me to do the cooking.”
“Don’t get too sassy, Linval. You’re on penalty time as it is. Hang the board up, write your menu, get some lunch, make your soup and then GO for a nap or you'll be too tired to work this evening.”
Picking up the covered plate he marched out of the kitchen and down the long path to the door in the wall leading through into their neighbour's garden.
Lin picked up the board and carried it down the hall. Opening the door he was gratified by the buzz of anticipation occasioned by his appearance. He bestowed a gracious smile upon his public, his future patrons, his eyes darting from face to face, seeking signs of recognition and admiration. "Here we are ladies and gents, today's dishes, all fresh from the sea for your delectation, the finest food outside of London and Paris."
Hooking up the board he closed the door again, heading back to his kitchen to get lunch as instructed.
Fresh from the Sea
Four
David returned from his mercy mission to find Lin reading in the kitchen. Chair tilted back, his slim bare legs and feet were propped up on the table. He had his nose buried in one of the garish detective novels he loved to read, while his hand busily transferred the contents of a packet to his mouth.
“Get your feet off the table and sit properly. If the chair slips and you fall, you’ll crack your head.”
"And here's me thinking my mother was dead."
"Straighten the chair and muzzle the sarcasm." David put the empty mackerel plate down on the table along with a dish containing a golden waxy comb of new honey. Stanes folk were proud. They didn’t ‘tek owt for nowt,’ and if you did them a kindness they’d find some way to repay it, even if it was picking rubbish up from your garden or giving you a gift of honey from lovingly tended bees. “What are you eating?”
“Wotsits.” Lin took his feet off the table and allowed his chair to once again employ all four of its legs.
David tilted his head to one side in a characteristic attitude of disapproval, “a packet of cheesy Wotsits is not lunch. They can't even be considered part of the food chain. They're nothing but a bundle of chemicals. How can you preach about the importance of fresh food and quality ingredients and then stuff processed shit down your neck? You'll end up with another ulcer.”
“I like cheesy Wotsits." Lin licked lurid orange dust from his fingers. "I’m as entitled as the next man to eat junk food when the mood takes me.”
“Not while I live and breathe.”
“Don’t think I couldn’t rectify that if I put my mind to it,” muttered Lin.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” Lin put his book down on the table and then took off his glasses, placing them next to it.
“Make sure it remains nothing.” David whisked a block of mature cheddar out of the fridge. He might not be a chef, but he could knock up a mean sandwich, and at least the cheese in it would be of real nutritional value. He cut bread and sliced up the cheese along with a couple of fat vine tomatoes. “You’ve been in a sniper's mood all day, taking shots at everyone. What’s on your mind?”
“There’s nothing on my mind. It’s just one of those days.” Lin scowled as a sandwich was set in front of him, but he picked it up and took a bite. "You've over buttered this bread, cheese has a high enough fat content of its own without adding more."
"Use your mouth to eat instead of to criticise or I swear I'll put a tongue bridle on you and it won't be in the interests of pony play." David grinned as Lin crossed his eyes and poked his tongue out at him. He bit into his own sandwich. “Have you written out the menu in glorious prose?"
Lin nodded, "I put it on your desk ready for you to type up and print out."
"How long will it take you to make the crab soup?”
“Twenty minutes to prepare and about forty minutes to cook.”
David glanced at his watch. “Good, it still gives you plenty of time to take a nap before you start getting things ready for this evening. I’ll set the tables." He reached out to caress Lin's face. "I mean it. You need a rest. You look tired. I'm not having you exhaust yourself, not least because it's me who has to take the brunt of your crabbiness.”
"Why don't you come up with me? We could take up where we left off this morning when," he pulled a face, "Lydia disturbed us. A good fucking always helps me sleep better."
"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse."
"It's a date th
en. By the by, did Medup enjoy his lunch?”
“Yes, he devoured the lot. He was clearly hungry. There is a bee nest in his kitchen. It's fascinating in a repulsive kind of way. You can barely hear yourself think for all the buzzing. I don't blame his sister for refusing to set foot in the house until he gets rid of it. I know bees aren't as ferocious as wasps, but still. I told him he needs to seriously think about it, otherwise who’ll look after his bees when he dies of hunger.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He’s going to coax them into a new hive, not today though, because apparently they’re very agitated today and he doesn't want to aggravate them.”
“Still buzzing on about danger from the sea I suppose.”
David smiled. “I think they’ve definitely got it wrong this time. The sky doesn’t have a cloud in it. It’s gorgeous out there.”
Lin finished his sandwich and stood up, brushing crumbs from his front. “I’ll go and get the crabs from the icehouse and make a start on the soup. I hope they’re fresh.”
“Why wouldn't they be? Seth has never let you down yet. Put some shoes or flip-flops on before you go traipsing outside.”
"My feet are too hot and I can't be bothered shoving on shoes. I'll be fine. Take a break from being boss and stop nagging, David. It's only a few yards. It's not like I'm taking a long hike down a lane of broken glass or hot coals."
"Don't come moaning to me when you stand on something sharp, because I'll have no sympathy." David stood up, stacking his empty plate on top of Lin's.
"I love the way you always look on the bright side."
"I'm a pragmatist."
"Pessimist you mean." Laughing, Lin dodged the playful hand aiming for his backside.
He disappeared out of the back door and David began to fill the sink ready to wash up. He could have used the dishwasher, but it was less hassle to do it by hand than to stack the machine, and greener, hand power was kinder on the environment.