by Katie Ginger
‘Grandma’s Kitchen,’ she replied. ‘After my grandma’s cookbook I was given.’
‘Joe?’ called the brunette from across the bar. He turned and waved.
‘Do you know what I think?’ he said, turning back to Esme. ‘I think you need a proper plan of action. Have you started writing your recipe book yet?’
‘Not really. I’ve got random notes and ideas and stuff. I’ve been busy with the blog. Not that it’s doing me any good.’ She twisted the twenty-pound note in her hand and glanced over at her mum and dad. They were both watching her and when they caught her eye, gave her a big thumbs up and wide cheesy grins. Esme shook her head and turned back to Joe. He’d seen them too but thankfully was smiling.
‘Why don’t you start organising your time properly, giving so much to this task and so much to another? You might feel more in control that way. You know, be proper organised, like you would be in an office. Create a daily to-do list, that sort of thing.’
‘That’s great advice,’ replied Esme and her heart felt a little lighter. ‘I might come and talk to you more often.’
‘You should,’ said Joe and Esme glanced up. Was he blushing?
‘Joe?’ came the soft voice again from the other end of the bar. Her voice was low and sexy, not high and squeaky like Esme’s was, or at least how she sounded in her recordings. Esme turned back to look for the barman.
‘I’d better get back,’ said Joe.
‘Yeah, of course.’ She studied the note in her hand. ‘See you later.’
Esme watched him walk away admiring his broad shoulders and manly stride. When he reached his confident friend, he wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her. The woman smiled at him, then turned to continue her conversation.
Esme realised she’d have to get better at reading the signs again now she was single. For a moment she’d thought he was flirting, or that there was more to the ‘you should,’ but there couldn’t be. He clearly had a girlfriend and was just being friendly. He probably just sympathised with her heartache. For all she knew Joe still saw her as the gangly, clumsy ginger kid from school. Esme chewed her lip. The idea of getting back into the dating game was terrifying. She’d been with Leo so long she wouldn’t know what to do if she ever went on a date again. Just then Fred, the barman, approached.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, love. What can I get you?’
‘You know what my mum and dad have, don’t you?’ Esme asked, gesturing over her shoulder to Carol and Stephen.
He nodded and prepared the pint of bitter and gin and bitter lemon. ‘And what can I get you?’
She glanced once more at Joe and the brunette in her chic outfit, then down to her own shabby clothes. ‘You gave my dad a super-large glass of wine for me before.’
‘Yes I did.’ He laughed. ‘Want another one?’
‘Do you have anything bigger?’
*
Later that night, completely drunk and wearing a tinsel halo that Carol had stolen from the pub, Esme climbed out of the taxi her parents had deposited her into and unlocked the front door. The beautiful brunette and Joe had laughed and chatted together all evening but hadn’t been all over each other the same way he had with the other woman. Joe was a muddle. After a couple of very large glasses of wine, Esme had relaxed and enjoyed her parents’ company. She’d even crooned along with her mum to some of her favourite Christmas songs. Like Alice, they were perfectly content with their lives and Esme realised that was what she really craved.
Esme turned on the lights and paused, admiring the tatty old furniture, peeling walls and threadbare carpet covered in rugs she’d collected from friends and family. The cottage was shabby and still a bit grubby and her heart ached. She missed the view from the apartment. The twinkling lights of London, a constant reminder that the world was big and busy and full of opportunity. Every time she’d stared out she’d felt like it was exactly where she was meant to be and wished she felt that way about the cottage. She still felt like a lodger, like this was a temporary measure until her life got back on track, but she had no idea how that was going to happen now. As she stood by the sink, drinking a glass of water and looking out over the back garden, she remembered one of the first times she’d touched the window of the apartment, tracing the skyline of London with her finger. Leo had come and put his arm around her, then using his handkerchief had rubbed off the smudges her finger had left. Turning back from the window, and the memory, she wished now she’d never sold all her weird and wonderful furniture when they moved in together. But there hadn’t been enough room for it. The only thing she’d been able to keep was the old-fashioned chest of drawers Mark had collected from Leo’s flat that she’d bought from a second-hand store. At the time, she was sure she’d live in a period property one day and now she was. Sort of.
She flopped onto the ancient but comfortable sofa and sank into the seat. The springs were broken but it was far from uncomfortable, instead the sofa sucked you in like it was giving you a big hug. She pulled a blanket over her knees and another around her shoulders as she switched on her laptop. There were some nice comments on her blog complimenting her recipe choices and easy instructions and she even had a few more hits. But one comment from Penny85 caught her eye. It asked her what inspired her recipes and, excited to be interacting with someone, she began typing a response.
*
Grandma’s Kitchen
Hi, Penny85. Thanks so much for your question. My inspiration comes from my grandma’s recipe book. My mum has fond memories of her bustling around the kitchen and so do I. Mum doesn’t like cooking quite so much, so the recipe book got passed on to me. I love that it hasn’t changed, only added to over the years. My family aren’t anything special, we’re just normal, but it’s our little piece of history. But I think cooking and baking is about more than just eating. Food should be delicious and nurturing, and I’m not talking about tiny organic salads. I’m talking about food that feeds the soul. Whether you need cheering up from a heartbreak – like me – or you’re celebrating a promotion.
Tomorrow I’m going to cook myself an amazing chicken soup. They say it’s good for the soul, and I could really use it at the moment. I hope it’s good for my heart too. It doesn’t seem to know where it is from one minute to the next. I love being here, back home, especially as it’s Christmas, but I miss London — that’s where I was before. And then there’s this guy. I keep thinking about him, but the whole situation is so complex I don’t know what to think. But never mind, anyway, back to cooking. Whatever you’re making, cooking should be about being with the people you love, or loving the person you are. And sometimes loving yourself means eating homemade chicken soup or something healthy and nutritious, and other times it means eating an entire chocolate cake in one sitting. Cooking and baking is all about love. Plain and simple. So that’s where I get my inspiration from!
*
Esme sat back and relaxed, some of her old confidence returning. She hit publish and placed the laptop back on the table, sleepy and tired. Going upstairs to bed seemed like far too much effort so she leaned to one side and curled up on the sofa. She woke in the dark but with the birds outside singing their cheerful songs. Her mouth felt fuzzy and Esme screwed up her face. She needed a glass of water. Braving the cold, she went to the sink and turned on the tap. It did nothing for a moment then the pipes rattled and came to life. She filled the glass and after a quick glance at the stairs went back to the sofa.
After some more sleep, Esme awoke to a bright sunny day. The pale grey sky was tinged with lilac and covered in soft white clouds. The wind blew hard into the trees, pushing their branches to and fro. She went upstairs, showered and changed and gave her teeth a good brush. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail Esme descended the stairs feeling brighter. Remembering Joe’s advice, she decided it was time to get more organised and start treating this like a job. He’d mentioned his ex, Clara, yesterday. And Esme wondered if she’d ever find out what had happened there. It seemed
there was something more going on than just a normal break-up. He was always so careful what he said and kept it to the bare minimum. As soon as he’d said her name his face had changed and his eyes lost their sparkle, becoming dull and heavy with pain.
Settling down with her laptop and a cup of tea, her eyes focused on the screen, then widened in disbelief. Her hit counter had trebled and there were so many comments on her blog posts and the sausage and cranberry stuffing vlog she had to scroll down to read them all. Penny85 had started several conversations with other commenters. She’d even asked a cheeky question about who the lucky guy was? Esme bit her lip. She’d have to be a bit more careful what she said in the future. But a wide grin spread across her face and her fingers tingled, resting on the keys. It wasn’t a huge success but it was a vast improvement. A step in the right direction rather than a step backwards for a change.
She spent the next hour replying to all the comments and for the rest of the day, after planning a month’s worth of blog posts, there was a spring in her step. She even danced around the kitchen listening to the radio and cleaning some of the darker corners she’d been trying to ignore. Things were coming together. It was still at a snail’s pace, but she was finally moving forward. When she later sat back down with her laptop, flooded with confidence, Esme announced when her first live broadcast would be. She worked until the battery on her laptop ran down, then sat back and smiled. The date was set.
Chapter 18
Sandchester
The bright sunshine shone through Joe’s bedroom window. He squinted and moaned in the light peeking through his curtains. He’d had an unusually good night’s sleep last night but cursing now, he checked his alarm clock.
‘Bugger,’ he shouted, almost falling out of bed. It was Monday and already eight-thirty. He was due at work in half an hour. Joe scrabbled around getting dressed and brushing his teeth. There was no time for breakfast. Checking the diary on his phone, his first viewing wasn’t until ten so he could at least grab a bacon butty from the sandwich shop next to his office.
As he left, he saw his camera bag in the corner and remembered his conversation with Esme about taking photos for her. Perhaps he could call her later, or text? A text might be better. She’d looked so sad when he’d seen her in the pub Saturday night and some protective instinct had kicked in. He wanted to make her feel better. Joe grabbed his watch from the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and put it on. ‘Aargh.’ It was 8.55 a.m. now. He hated being late. Mr Rigby was a sweet old man and wouldn’t even mention it, but Joe disliked it nonetheless. It was disrespectful. And he liked Mr Rigby. He’d never dream of taking advantage of him. Grabbing his wallet, keys and phone, he slammed the door shut behind him and ran to his car.
After a bacon sandwich and a successful viewing, Joe felt calmer. Back at his desk he took out his phone and texted Esme, asking if she wanted him to come over and take some photos. A bubble of nerves was bouncing around in his stomach. Joe placed the phone back on his desk and tried to concentrate on the admin he had to do but found his eyes wandering towards it every few seconds. He shook his head to stop himself and studied the computer screen.
When it beeped a few minutes later, he jumped. Esme asked if he was able to come over after work and do some today. She would even cook them dinner as a thank you. After everything he had heard about her cooking, and the amazing hot chocolate and biscuits she’d made, he couldn’t wait. It would be a brilliant change from the terrible meals he made himself and that was when he could be bothered to even try cooking. Joe thought about waiting before responding. Would it make him look desperate and weird and stalkery if he answered straightaway? Joe gave himself a mental shake. He wasn’t a kid anymore and that sort of attitude was childish and silly. Grabbing his phone, he texted back then and there.
The afternoon dragged by and the heavy rain outside only added to the gloom and dullness of the day. Joe tapped his pen against his notepad watching the office clock slowly tick by. When five o’clock rolled around and he could go, he was like a kid at the end of the school day. He’d turned everything off at two minutes to five and even had his coat on so he could be out of the door at exactly 5 p.m.
After a quick stop at home to grab his camera bag, he exited his car, pulling his collar up against the heavy rain that threatened to run down his neck. Esme had seen him arrive and held the door open for him and as he approached he could smell the sweet scents of cocoa and orange. ‘Hi, Joe. Quick, come in!’
Joe stepped forward and undid his coat. The cottage was warm compared to outside, but seeing Esme’s unusual outfit of a massive cardigan over a jumper and two pairs of fluffy socks, and seeing the dying embers of the fire, he knew it wouldn’t last long. ‘Are you still struggling with the fire?’
‘The fire? No. Why?’He nodded to it. ‘Oh, no, I was so busy cooking I forgot to add some more wood, that’s all.’
Joe relaxed. ‘No worries, I’ll do it now if you like. Have you thought about getting central heating installed?’ He threw his coat over the back of the sofa. ‘I’m sure the owners wouldn’t mind. They might even give you some money towards it.’
Esme frowned. ‘I can’t afford it at the moment. I’m not sure how long I’ll even be here. Or be able to afford living here.’
‘Really?’ The thought of her moving away again so soon caused the muscles of his stomach to clench.
‘Yeah, things aren’t great.’ But then, she suddenly brightened. ‘But let’s not talk about that now.’
‘Okay – sure. So, I brought my camera.’ He showed her the large camera bag and cringed inside. Why did he show her the bag? Of course she’d know it’s a camera bag, it’s not like he was going to move in. Why was he so nervous? But Esme, busy in the kitchen, hadn’t seemed to notice.
‘Brilliant. I’ve done some baking ready for the photos. They’re all things I’ve mentioned on the blog. To be honest there’s not much yet.’
‘That’s okay,’ he replied. ‘We can take some photos of the food and then add some other arty ones to bring your blog to life. It’s better to have too many photos than not enough.’ Esme smiled and Joe noticed a tendril of hair had fallen from her ponytail and framed her oval face. ‘So, what have we got then?’
Esme showed him the Orange Tea Bread, Sausage and Cranberry Stuffing, Butter Bean Bruschetta and opened the fridge door for him to see the Double-Layer Chocolate Hazelnut Cake. Joe felt his mouth water. He’d never seen a cake look so appetising and was tempted to attack it before taking a single photo.
‘This was from the dry run I did for the vlog,’ Esme said, pointing to the cake. ‘No one saw the video, but it’s a good recipe and I don’t want it to go to waste. I thought I might write it up and post it later if we get some nice shots. You’ll have to take some of it home with you, I won’t be able to eat it all. My waistband is getting tighter as it is.’
‘Wow, thanks. It all looks amazing.’ He wanted to say she did too, but worried he’d sound cheesy, and would a woman like her even be interested in someone like him? What did he have to offer except a damaged and ripped-apart heart? But as something within him fluttered like a baby bird trying to take flight, there was no denying that Esme was having an unexpected effect on him. He’d been able to mention Clara, and he found himself seeking Esme’s company rather than shutting himself away. He’d even had a good night’s sleep for once. Seeing her expectant face, he said, ‘So, let’s find some nice plates to pop them on. What sort of thing have you got?’
Esme took out different-sized plates from her cupboards, all with various patterns and laid them out. ‘Some of these are mine, but quite a few were left here. They’re real little treasures.’
Joe readied his camera and checked the screen, seeing how they’d appear in a photo. ‘How about these ones?’ He pointed out a couple of vintage-looking ones. ‘They’d be great for the butter bean thing and the cake.’
‘I’ve got this beautiful cake stand for the chocolate cake,’ she replied, taking it f
rom the other side of the kitchen. ‘I bought it years ago at a car boot sale, before I moved to London. The cake is chilling in the fridge at the moment. I’ll take it out for the photos but it’s warm in here for once, so I don’t want to take it out too soon or it’ll get too hot.’
‘You really know your stuff, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I do,’ Esme nodded, pleased, and placing her hands on her hips. ‘When food is photographed, it’s not always as it appears. Once I had to spray-paint a chicken to get it the perfect colour bronze.’
‘You did not.’
Esme smiled at him and he noticed the strange burnt gold of her eyes, sparkling in the evening light. ‘I did. But I’m not doing anything like that to my food. I want to eat it afterwards and I think for the blog, it should look real. Right, let’s do this.’
They began taking the photos, Joe angling around the plate, sometimes using the little stool she had for reaching the top shelf of the pantry to get a better angle. They even used the spotlight and some tin foil as a reflector. Once all the food was done, he took some photos of the recipe book and the quirky cottage. He was just photographing an odd, lopsided bookshelf from the living-room alcove when Esme brought over some tea and cake.
‘Shall we have some pudding?’ she asked, sitting down on the sofa.
Joe joined her. ‘That bruschetta thing was amazing.’
Esme sliced the cake. ‘Thank you. I like creating new recipes.’
‘You made that one up yourself?’
‘Yes. It’s based on Welsh Rarebit, but I wanted to make it a bit more substantial, so added the butter beans underneath.’