by Katie Ginger
When Esme hesitated, Joe worried he’d gone too far but then she smiled. ‘That’d be nice, but only if your girlfriend won’t mind.’
‘Girlfriend?’ Taken aback by the question, Joe’s brow crinkled.
‘Oh, it’s just I was in the pub Friday night and I saw you with … someone.’
Joe felt a flush of heat rise up from the back of his neck. It wasn’t just embarrassment, it was shame. He’d never before really cared about his reputation and the consequences of his actions. He’d never needed to think of anyone else or think about a future where anyone might care. But now, here with Esme, he did. ‘She was just a friend,’ he said quickly, and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He grabbed the menu wanting to order before Esme changed her mind and, as he hid behind it, he realised that it was the first day he hadn’t felt the heavy great shadow darkening his life.
*
The rain eased off and Esme walked back from the pub in the afternoon wind. Joe had offered a lift, but Esme wanted to walk. To lift her head and look around her, to see the countryside with new eyes. Dark grey clouds clustered overhead and the wind was cold on her face. She’d always thought that being home, back in pokey little Sandchester, where she’d spent her teenage years longing to escape, she would feel trapped. But as she walked along the country lane surrounded by fields, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the coldness on her skin, it was turning out to be the opposite. She felt free. Freer than she ever had in London. There she was trapped by a boring working week, by the crowded tube, by the constant attempts to get home and inevitable delays, and most of all, by the expectation to do everything. To cook, to clean, to keep herself in shape, to keep herself as polished as possible so she was the same as the elegant, chic London women. They weren’t all Leo’s expectations, to be fair. There was just a general expectation to be a grown-up and have her shit together all the time.
If she’d sat around the flat in the clothes she sat around in these days, Leo would’ve disapproved. He wouldn’t have said anything. Not straightaway. He’d have given her half an hour, then started making comments about people popping round and what they might think if she looked like that. Now she came to think of it, life with Leo had been exhausting, but she’d been too wrapped up in perfect London living to notice.
Was she happy it had ended the way it did? No, not really. It could have been a lot easier if it had happened at a different time, if he hadn’t so quickly moved onto someone else, or moved them in. Dirtbag. Lousy Leo would be his name from now on. Esme smiled at the thought.
And now there was Joe back in her life and he was … confusing. In a lot of ways he was nice and kind – not at all what she thought he’d be. The bad boy from school who all the girls mooned after was much more introverted than she’d expected. He’d said he’d moved back from Australia after a break-up, but was that all there was to it? He’d seemed so vulnerable when he’d talked about it briefly during the viewings and later by the fire. He must have loved this woman a lot. But then Esme had seen him the other night in the pub and it didn’t take a great deal of imagination to know what had happened after they’d left. He’d said it was just a friend but she didn’t treat her friends like that. It was obviously a ‘special’ friend. And yet, lunch had been fun. They’d chatted and she’d seen flashes of his personality. She shook her head. She really couldn’t figure him out.
Esme walked down the winding lane to the cottage and watched the fields and hedges swaying in the wind. The late afternoon sun cast strange shadows through the leafless trees but they didn’t frighten her, she enjoyed them. Esme took a deep breath. There was nothing to fear here, she was safe and at home. As she unlocked the front door and took off her coat, she glanced at the kitchen, and her grandma’s notebook, picturing which recipe she would make next.
Chapter 15
Sandchester
On Saturday morning Esme set up the camera, attaching the leads to her computer as Joe had shown her. She placed it on the countertop, then ran backwards and forwards to make sure it was in the right place and at the right height. She wanted to be certain it would actually record her as she cooked.
Having gone through her grandma’s recipe book four times, Esme had decided on a delicious take on the double-layer chocolate chestnut cake that started this whole sorry business. She could have made something else, but a part of her couldn’t let the recipe that had meant so much to her be tainted by the memory of Felicity Fenchurch. She needed to reclaim it as her own, but with some changes. Grandma wouldn’t mind. She’d always said that recipes should change, just as people did. The reason Grandma had loved cooking and recording everything in her recipe book was because as the recipes got passed down through the family, they changed and represented the new generation. It meant they were never forgotten. Esme swapped the chestnuts for hazelnuts, and the chestnut puree for chocolate hazelnut spread. With fluffy whipped cream it would be mouth-watering, gooey and utterly delicious. She couldn’t wait to get started.
Mark and Helena were coming down that afternoon so she would be able to serve them some delicious cake while they watched her recording. Lola couldn’t make it as Eric had whisked her away for a surprise romantic weekend in Paris, which unbeknownst to them, he’d planned months ago. Esme was disappointed not to have Lola there for her first recording but loved how happy Eric made her, so she couldn’t be mad at either of them.
Nerves swirled in Esme’s stomach and her shoulders were tensed. That niggling voice of doubt in her brain had started whispering in her ear again, asking her why she was even bothering. It was going to be a disaster. She wasn’t the next Felicity Fenchurch. Who did she think she was kidding? Not that she wanted to be like Felicity exactly, but she had to admit, as annoying as Felicity was in real life, she had a certain something the camera and audiences were drawn to. Would Esme be able to capture something like that in her scruffy, cold kitchen?
She took a deep breath and shook out her arms and legs, like she did after a run, trying to unknot the kink in her neck. She switched on the camera and raced to the kitchen where she had everything prepared. Everything that is, except for a script.
On Friday night she had lain in bed after her earlier drink with Joe, thinking about what she would say. But every time she started, her brain got side-tracked thinking about Joe’s eyes, or his smile, or his hair and how it would feel to run her hands through it. Whenever she did, she gave her head a good shake to dislodge the thoughts and rolled over to sleep. Now, standing in front of the camera, Esme wished she had prepared properly. She didn’t know what she would say, but the one thing she did know was that she didn’t want to be Felicity Fenchurch. No pouting at the camera, batting her eyelashes – not that she knew how to anyway – and no ridiculous alliteration.
Remembering the camera was now recording, she turned to it and introduced the recipe, talking through everything she was doing as she did it.
‘Thanks for joining me, folks. Tonight we’re going to make a fabulous chocolate hazelnut cake. It’s a great recipe for this time of year with all those pre-Christmas parties. It’s super-easy to make too, so if you’ve got an office party or a school Christmas fair, you’ll be able to whip this up in no time and impress the pants off everyone.’ She swept her hair back from her face and cursed herself for not tying it up. ‘The first thing you need to do is cream the butter and sugar together. If you’ve got an electric hand whisk, or a mixer, you can do it easily in there, but if you’ve just got a good bowl and a wooden spoon like me, you’ll do just as well. It just takes a little bit more elbow grease.’
She beat them for a few moments till she had a light and fluffy mixture in the bowl.
‘Next we’re going to add in the eggs one at a time, making sure they’re thoroughly mixed in. If the mixture starts to separate, you’ll know because it’ll go gloopy, so add a little of your measured flour and it’ll help bring it back together. The next thing we need to do is sift, then mix the flour and cocoa. I’m not a snob,
but I would recommend using a good cocoa powder. A rich one gives so much more flavour. If you can’t get or afford a good one, use a cheapy and add a tiny bit of coffee. My grandma told me that tip because sometimes, when money was tight, that’s what she’d do. Just a teaspoon or so of made-up black coffee brings out the chocolatiness, giving a nice depth.
‘I love this recipe because it was one of my Grandma Pearl’s and as we’re called Grandma’s Kitchen I thought it would be perfect for my first vlog. Plus, it’s a really lovely Christmassy recipe. Sometimes, Grandma would use chestnuts that she’d boil and make into a paste herself. But, I mean, who can be bothered with that? Not me, though you can get chestnut puree these days. I’ve switched it up to hazelnut spread because it’s my favourite. When I was little, I used to eat it from the jar with a spoon until I felt sick. Don’t do that, by the way, if you can help it. It gives you the absolute worst tummy ache. Or if you do, just don’t eat the whole jar!’
She looked up at the camera again. It felt weird, but not as weird as she was expecting. Esme thought it would be a good idea to show the bowl to the camera and tipped it forward. The spoon dropped to the floor. She quickly bent down behind the counter to pick it up saying, ‘Oh, shit, bollocks.’ When she remembered she was on camera, she gave a silent apology and hoped the tiny microphone hadn’t picked it up.
‘Right, now we’ve got it all mixed, we need to divide the mixture between the two cake tins. And these tins have been greased and then floured so the cake will turn out nice and easily.’ She spooned the mixture into the tins and ran it over the top for an even finish. When the cake was in the oven, she smiled at the camera. It was becoming more and more natural every time. ‘Come back for part two later, when I assemble this bad boy.’ She gave one last look and walked to switch it off. ‘Bad boy?’ she said out loud to herself. ‘You’ve been on your own too long and gone mental.’
The baked cakes filled the kitchen with a deep, rich chocolate scent. Esme’s mouth watered and she resisted the urge to pick a bit off the top to test the cake. The cooker might have been ancient and somewhat unsafe, but it cooked evenly, producing two light and airy sponges that sprang back as she tapped them to see if they were finished.
The cottage, now filled with the aroma of cocoa, felt warm and cosy from the heat of the oven and the roaring log fire. Esme turned the cakes out of the tins to let them cool on a wire rack and hummed while cleaning the worktops, preparing for the next segment. Once they were cold, she turned the camera on and went back into the kitchen.
‘So, here we have our cold cakes and the first thing we’re going to do is beat some cream to whip it up to a light and fluffy consistency.’ She whipped the cream with a hand whisk. Her posh mixer was still in Mark’s flat where he’d collected it from Leo – he hadn’t managed to bring it down yet. She then pulled out her favourite cake stand. An old-fashioned rose patterned one she’d found at a car boot sale before moving to London.
‘So first of all, put a dab of choccy spread on the cake stand to hold the bottom layer in place; that way it won’t wobble around while you’re working.’ She wiggled it around to show what she meant, ‘Wobble wobble.’ But then instantly regretted it. ‘Now add a layer of chocolate hazelnut spread. Next add a layer of whipped cream and then place the second cake layer on top. Now, add another layer of the spread to the top of the cake and a topping of whipped cream, then sprinkle with hazelnuts. And there you have it, a double-layer chocolate hazelnut cake. Enjoy!’
Esme showed off her cake to the camera and then ran back around to switch it off. She placed her hands on her hips admiring her perfect creation. There was just enough time for a cup of tea before Mark and Helena arrived.
At just after one, their car pulled up out front, and Esme ran to the door to meet them. ‘I’ve done it.’ she announced. ‘I’ve recorded my first video. Yay me!’ She clapped her hands together.
‘Well done, sweetie,’ replied Mark, engulfing her in a huge hug.
Helena grabbed their bags from the back seat. ‘Good work, love. Does that mean we’ve got something scrumptious to eat?’
‘Yep, there’s a double-layer chocolate hazelnut cake. Come on, I’ll slice us some.’
‘Good,’ said Mark. ‘I am heartbroken, sweetie. Did they tell you? Gorgeous William from Payroll dumped me. My heart is shattered into a million pieces.’
Esme hugged him. ‘I know. Isn’t it awful being an unwanted cast-off, rejected by the one who loved you?’
A very faint blush appeared on Mark’s gorgeous dark skin. ‘I know you’ve had it worse, sweetie, I do. But I was convinced he was the one. Or at least, that it might turn into that.’
‘You went out twice,’ said Helena, laughing.
Helena was so ambitious no man had ever got close to derailing her career aspirations. Whoever did was going to have to be pretty special. Esme pulled a sad face and linked her arm through Mark’s. She’d meant what she said. It was terrible being cast aside, but that had been the first time she’d actually laughed about it. Maybe her heart was mending a little, or maybe it was just the chocolate cake waiting for her. They walked into the house as grey clouds filled the sky, fading the light outside. Inside, the cottage was dim and Esme switched on the old-fashioned standing lamp with a pink fringed shade that stood in the corner of the living room. The bulb gave a crackle before starting up.
Mark looked around. ‘That doesn’t sound healthy. You need to get that checked out before the place burns down.’
‘It’s fine,’ Esme replied. ‘It only happens occasionally.’ She went to the kitchen and began cutting the cake. ‘One of you’ll have to sleep on the sofa and the other can have the spare room. Which I have tidied and cleaned by the way. Unless you want to share the double bed?’
‘Bagsy the spare room,’ Helena and Mark said together, raising their hands like children in class.
‘I pick Mark,’ said Esme, smiling. ‘As he’s so heartbroken.’ Helena crossed her arms over her chest and Mark gave her a playful shove.
Esme picked up her laptop and carried it over. ‘Shall we watch it then? I’ll just get the cake.’
‘Wait,’ shouted Mark, unpacking a bottle of wine from his bag. ‘We need drinkies for this momentous occasion.’
‘Glasses are in the cupboard next to the sink.’
Mark got up and went to the kitchen. He found them but grimaced as he examined the dirt and grime inside. The biggest problem with the old cottage was that everything seemed to get dirty and dusty no matter where you put it or how often you cleaned. He gave them a good wash and found a bottle opener, then carried everything back to the sofa to join Esme and Helena. Esme sliced the cake and served it onto dainty tea plates. It stood proudly in all its chocolatey glory, waiting to be eaten.
As they began to watch, Mark kept tapping his feet.
‘Do you need the toilet or something?’ asked Esme.
‘No. Um, do you realise that you can see straight down your top?’
Esme peered closer at the screen. She’d only been half-watching, too busy shovelling cake into her mouth. She slumped back then looked down at the pretty top she’d chosen to wear. It didn’t look low-cut but she pulled it up a bit higher. ‘I thought I’d set it up perfectly.’ Her voice sounded out from the recording in front of them and she shuddered. ‘Do I sound that squeaky in real life?’
‘No,’ said Mark. ‘We all sound different on camera, just like on the phone.’
‘What exactly are you doing there?’ asked Helena pointing at the screen.
‘I’m creaming the butter and sugar together till it’s light and fluffy.’
‘Your boobs look like they’re having some kind of fight. You need a better bra before you go doing that again.’ Esme yanked up her bra straps.
‘When you turn I can’t hear you at all,’ said Mark. ‘You’ll have to remember to speak facing the front or get a better microphone.’
Then a few minutes later, a giggling Helena asked, ‘Did you just sa
y bollocks?’
Esme frowned. ‘Might have done. I dropped the spoon.’
Helena gave her a hug. ‘You need to look at the camera a bit more.’
‘On a technical note,’ said Mark, who as a lighting technician on Felicity’s show so knew what he was talking about and was clearly trying to be tactful. ‘It is quite dark. We can see down your top, but not much else. They look like whoppers by the way so you’d probably get some followers but maybe not the type you want.’
‘It’s a disaster,’ said Esme, through a mouthful of chocolate cake, helping herself to another slice.
Mark patted her back. ‘No, it’s not, sweetie. You’re amazing, honestly. We just need to get you some better lighting. I should’ve warned you you’d need a spotlight. I didn’t think. That kitchen light looks like it’s been there since 1973.’
‘It has.’
‘I quite like it. I think lit properly that kitchen will look fabulous on camera.’
‘Can you steal some lights from work for me?’
‘No, I most certainly cannot. They’re too big to fit up my jumper or under my coat. But,’ he said, putting the laptop on his knees and opening the browser, ‘I’ll help you find one online.’
Esme’s face darkened. She’d had such high hopes but again things had come crashing down. It all felt like a total, utter disaster.
‘I have to say,’ said Helena. ‘You have amazing presence on screen. You’re bubbly and really likeable.’
‘I wasn’t like Felicity, was I?’Esme’s eyes were wide with panic.
Helena shook her head. ‘No, you were not.’
‘No way,’ said Mark. ‘You were wonderful.’
‘Well, that’s one good thing.’
Helena, trying to be subtle, coughed to get Mark’s attention then nodded in Esme’s direction. Esme knew she was trying to get Mark to say something nice. ‘What?’ she demanded of Helena, who blushed furiously at being caught out.
‘I’d definitely watch your stuff, Esme,’ said Mark. ‘You were great. From what we could hear, the instructions were well put and you’re lively and fun. I think people will love it and love you. Just like we do.’