Recipe for Disaster

by Miriam Morrison

  He found Jake leaning against a wall, looking down at a plastic cup of canteen coffee with a sort of disgusted wonder: did people really believe they were refuelling themselves with this stuff? He didn't realise Harry was coming towards him until it was too late. Inwardly he groaned. Conversations with Harry always ended badly and just now he couldn't be bothered. All he wanted to do was get this over and go home.

  'I just wanted to say that it is good we can both be so civilised over this business with Georgia.'

  Jake shrugged. 'Water under the bridge,' he said, and turned to move off, but Harry seemed determined to continue the conversation. 'It looks like you've moved on as well. I'm glad. Kate seems like a nice person.'

  'Uh-huh – oh good – it looks like we're getting going again,' he said with relief. If Harry was trying to be nice, it would be better to keep the conversation short.

  But Harry continued to drone in his ear like a persistent wasp. 'I must say, I think you're very brave letting a journalist into your kitchen, especially one who's looking for a warts-and-all story.'

  'A what? What on earth are you talking about?'

  Harry almost purred with pleasure at the thought of inflicting pain. 'Oh, so you didn't know? Well, I don't know what she told you, but she's really a reporter. Apparently she's doing some piece called "Chefs Uncovered". It will be some crappy story that tries to bring our profession into disrepute – not that you've got anything to worry about, I'm sure.'

  'Oh, there you are,' said Tess, giving Harry a basilisk stare and wondering what the hell he had said to make Jake go so pale.

  When Jake didn't seem to be moving, she took him by the arm and gave it a little shake. 'Come on – we're on again.'

  'Well, good luck,' said Harry and went off with a spring in his step. He knew he had just delivered a lethal blow and without even grazing his knuckles.

  'What on earth's the matter?' demanded Tess.

  'Nothing. Everything.' Jake had his hand over his mouth. He looked like he was going to be sick.

  'He was only talking to you for about thirty seconds.'

  'Yeah, that was all he needed.'

  Jake was glad he was leaning against the wall because he needed its support. The enormity of what Harry had told him was still sinking in and it was getting worse with every second.

  Tess was very worried. He looked like he was in serious shock but there wasn't time for warm blankets and a cup of tea. She took his face in her hands and forced him to look down at her. 'Focus, Jake. Whatever has just happened will have to wait until after this bloody programme is over. Shall I get Kate?'

  This galvanised him. 'Oh God, no. I need time to think. Let me go – I've got to get out of here.'

  'You can't,' she hissed. 'The only thing you can think about now is food. Think bamboo shoots, noodles, woks. You are going to have to cook, Jake, and I can't do this without you.' She was shaking him so hard now she thought she could hear his teeth rattling. If she could just get him over to the kitchen and put a knife in his hand he might come to. Oh fuck, it was like he had turned into a zombie. When this was over, if they got through it, she would . . . well, whatever it was, Harry wouldn't like it.

  The next hour was hell. It knocked giving birth into a miserable second place and so far that particular event had been top of Tess's absolutely shitty, never-to-be-repeated events. Jake had gone into automatic pilot when she handed him the knife, but there was a white, set look about his face that didn't make for good television.

  The camera crew were puzzled. The dynamics of these two seemed to have changed. Now it was the girl who was doing all the talking – the guy had lost it completely. He was moving round the kitchen like a man in a trance.

  Tess was desperate. This was torture by television. Every second she was getting more keyed up for the moment when Jake just turned round and walked off the set, and if he did that she would be on her own in front of the cameras and she would just die. Quite deliberately, hoping it would be edited out, because if it wasn't she would probably be arrested for assault, she dripped some boiling hot oil on his hand.

  'Christ, woman! How many more scars do you want me to have?'

  'Sorry, Chef,' said Tess meekly and listened in relief to Jake's diatribe on the incompetence and clumsiness of kitchen staff. It seemed to have broken the spell and, thank God, they were nearly done.

  She glanced up and saw Kate's face, white and scared and sort of guilty. When this is over, thought Tess, chopping chives with manic energy, I'm going to give them both hell, and the camera crew and anyone else that gets in my way. Well, maybe not Griff, she thought, as he smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  When Jake put his knife down for the last time, a huge weariness came over him. The numbness that comes with shock was beginning to wear off and pain was setting in. He was the victim of some monstrous scam. The happiness of the last few weeks tasted like ashes in his mouth.

  As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Kate came over, but he just brushed past her.

  Oh, no – he's found out! she thought, and could feel herself breaking out in a sweat of cold terror. Not only had he learned the truth, but it was in the worst possible time and place, and of course, not from her. Now she could recall with hideous clarity all the opportunities she had missed; all the times when she could have told him the truth. Sure, he would have been angry, but she could have explained the whole thing properly, how it had started off as just a story, but then he had become part of her life. Now, when it was far too late, she knew exactly what she should have said – that she was a fake waitress but not a fake lover. But one look at his blank, closed-off face told her that he was no longer prepared to listen.

  'Just what the hell is going on?' demanded Tess.

  Kate looked at her tiredly. 'You may as well know – I'm a reporter. I work for the Easedale Gazette. I got a job as a waitress to cover a story about what it's really like in a restaurant kitchen.' She thought back. It was hard to remember the crap she had spouted so glibly all those weeks ago when she had known nothing.

  'Oh. My. God.'

  'Yeah. But everything changed, Tess. I still want to do the story but it's going to be the real one, about the passion and sweat and dedication . . .'

  'Well, your timing sucks, doesn't it? If you'd told Jake, instead of waiting until that creep let the cat out of the bag . . .'

  'I've blown it, haven't I?'

  'Well, you see, Jake has this little thing about being let down and lied to –'

  'I know, I know. And he would be right, but that was only at the beginning. Everything changed, even before I fell in love with him. Ninety-five per cent of what I said and did has been honest and truthful . . .'

  'Ah, but it's that other five per cent that's screwed you.'

  'Oh God, what am I going to do?'

  'I think you've done more than enough, haven't you?' Then she relented, because she really liked Kate. 'Look, if I were you, I'd lie low for a bit, let the storm settle. You know what Jake is like. Eventually he is bound to calm down a bit and maybe even see the funny side of it.'

  'There's a funny side?'

  'No, not really. I was just trying to cheer you up.'

  Everyone was being called back on to the set to hear the results. Jake walked in and saw Kate. 'Judas,' he said and stalked off.

  The next few minutes were designed purely to torture the poor contestants, as if their cooking ordeals hadn't been enough. They were forced to stand sweating in the spotlight while the announcer jabbered on about how brilliant and entertaining they had been and then milked the breathless hush between her announcements until everyone's toes were curling with tension and suspense. Everyone apart from Jake. He found it quite calming to be in this limbo where he couldn't do a thing about any of his problems, his struggling business or his relationship with Kate, which seemed to have nose-dived into disaster, like all the others had. He didn't really care whether he had won or lost; he just wanted to stand there quietly, insulated from
life. He knew he hadn't won, anyway. His first dish had been superb but while cooking the second, his hands had lost their customary grace and skill. His sorrow had seeped out and given an acrid flavour to the dish. It was shit and everyone knew it.

  But the audience had taken to Jake in the first programme and his air of vulnerability in the second had only added to his appeal. The competition was as much about personality as about food, and the voters had decided Jake was a star and that was that.

  Harry came third, and in other circumstances Jake would have enjoyed listening to him grinding his teeth before pasting on a hugely false smile.

  Ali's astonishingly good noisettes of lamb came second. Idiots, thought Jake to himself, who had tasted them and thought that Ali could be serious competition if he ever wanted to open a French restaurant.

  'And the winner is . . .' Another excruciating pause, which he wanted to go on for ever so he didn't have to think about trying to pick up the pieces of his life.

  It was such a shock when they called his name out he just stood there blinking in disbelief. His brief spell in limbo was broken and everything came rushing back, painfully. The presenter stepped forward with his award, which was a ridiculous, silver-plated chef's hat on a little stand. She leaned forward to give him a congratulatory kiss and whispered: 'Smile – you've won!'

  'Bollocks!' said Jake, and realising by the shocked look on her face that he had actually said this aloud instead of just thinking it, decided he might as well carry on. He gestured towards the congealing remains of his squid and steamed prawn dumplings. 'This is probably the worst meal I have ever cooked in my life. The sauce tastes like wallpaper paste and the squid is so tough you could probably make tyres out of it. It belongs here . . .' And with a single gesture, he swept the lot into the bin, while they all gaped at him, openmouthed and rooted to the spot.

  'I am humbled by the contrast that this meal provided,' he continued, gesturing towards Ali's dish. 'The lamb is gloriously tender and flavoursome and the potatoes are so light and fluffy even an anorexic supermodel –' he gestured at Georgia '– even she scoffed two of them! You're wrong; you're all complete idiots for not seeing that Ali is the chef who deserves this award! Well, in my own way, I am an idiot too,' he glared at Kate, 'but I am not dishonest and I refuse to accept this award.' He grabbed the hat out of the presenter's shaking hands and gave it to a gobsmacked Ali, who nearly dropped it in surprise.

  'There,' said Jake thoughtfully. 'That is justice, I think. Enjoy your prize – you have earned it.' He grinned briefly at everyone and stalked out.

  This sort of thing had never happened before on television. Members of the public were supposed to be in awe of the whole process and jolly grateful to be on it at all. Plenty of people simpered that they didn't deserve to win a prize, but no one had ever gone so far as to hand one back. It was, though, thought the producer, rubbing his hands in glee, bloody amazing telly. It would be in all the papers tomorrow and everyone would clamour to see it repeated.

  Behind him, Jake left Harry explaining to anyone who would listen that Jake just didn't know how to play by the rules. Kate rushed over to Tess. 'Go after him!'

  'You go!'

  But Kate had seen the look in his eyes when he had called her a Judas. 'He never wants to see me again,' she said miserably.

  Jake had brushed past people like they were flies. Outside, he leaned against a wall. His hands were shaking so much they weren't fit to hold a butter knife, he thought ruefully. Speaking his mind back there had seemed so satisfying, but now he became dimly aware that all he had probably achieved was a scene where he had made a complete fool of himself. He should have just kept his big mouth shut and taken the prize and the cash, which he desperately needed. But, oh no, he had to play the hero. When would he learn that speaking the truth was not actually a wise move if you needed to make your way in the world he thought, bitterly. As if on cue, he looked up and saw Kate, a person who told lies with impunity and got along very nicely, thank you. He turned round and leaned his head against the wall because it was too hard to look into the face of someone you loved when you knew they were treacherous.

  'Fuck off. I never want to see you or talk to you again.'

  'I know, but you've got to let me explain –'

  'Well, you should have done that right at the start and saved yourself all the bother because I still would have told you to fuck off!'

  'If you would only let me tell you –'

  'Save it! I know it all anyway! You were looking to write a nasty little piece about how restaurants are just a big con, charging customers a fortune for meals which cost a few pence to make! About how chefs are arrogant bastards who treat their staff like shit! No wonder you were always in the kitchen – you were probably hoping to catch me out scraping a bit of mould off a steak before serving it up to some unsuspecting punter. I hope you've got it all written down – all the tantrums, all the times I've made you work ridiculous hours without a break, and do you know the best thing of all? I'm so pathetic that even by doing all that I still can't make the bloody place pay! I've really got my comeuppance, haven't I?'

  Kate was silent. This was all so close to what she had originally set out to do she didn't know where to begin to defend herself. But she had to try.

  'You're right,' she said at last. 'That's how it started. But that's not what it turned into. Oh, for God's sake, please turn round and look at me. I can't talk to your back!'

  'Why not? Is it too full of knives?'

  'I deserve that. I was just looking out for a good story – it's what I do! But then I realised there was a better story in the passion and dedication you bring to your craft.' Kate had never told anyone she loved them before. She had had no practice for it, but even she knew it wasn't a good moment for it. 'I didn't mean things to turn out this way,' she finished off miserably.

  Where had Jake heard that before? Oh yes, every time he had got himself involved with a woman. He was such a schmuck! He must have a big sign on his head asking women to treat him like shit. Well, it wasn't surprising really, given that he had just made such a spectacle of himself in front of half the county.

  'Well, funnily enough, they have. All the wrong ingredients have gone into this dish and it really doesn't taste very nice. I won't be trying it again. But then you are a shabby little liar and I am a gullible fool. You seem to have lots of friends in there – get a lift home with one of your media pals. Goodbye.' He prised himself off the wall and hoped that Kate couldn't see how dejected he looked as he walked away.

  He was going round a roundabout for the third time having no real idea where he was going and getting some funny looks from other drivers when his phone bleeped. Pulling into the nearest lay-by he saw there was a text message from Tess. Poor girl! He'd forgotten all about her!

  'Cum bak. Al is not lost.'

  'It is. Wil cum bak 4u tho. Sory.'

  'Grif wil give me lift hom but cum bak aniwa. No muni lef on fone. Hav to explain.'

  But Jake didn't reply and Tess was left staring at her phone with frustration. She didn't have enough call time left to explain how much everyone had loved his outburst. They were thrilled by the fact that he had spoken passionately, from his heart. Also, the fact that he was good looking made for excellent television. In fact, the producer reckoned that Jake was such a treat people would be clamouring for more.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It was late when Kate got back home, having endured a lift home with Tess and Griff. She liked them both but just now it was torture having to be around a couple who were obviously getting on so well.

  She sat in the back of Griff's ramshackle Mini, a miserable gooseberry to two people who were doing things the right way. There was no lying or trickery going on here, just a guy and a girl who liked each other. She hated them for making it seem so easy. She hated herself. She was so arrogant, so sure of herself, except in the things that really mattered.

  She ran up the four flights of stairs instead of t
aking the lift so she could pretend it was the exercise that was making her shaky and dizzy.

  'What you need is a nice cup of tea and a sit-down,' she said out loud. Then she winced because that was what Godfrey always said at the end of a shift, and his words brought all the happiness of the last few weeks flooding back and she wasn't a part of that any more.

  By nine o'clock the tea had gone cold. But, looking down at the cup, she realised she had made a pot of hot water. The teabags were still on the worktop. Kate had thought that if she sat down she might be able to see her way clearly out of this awful situation. She was good at getting out of trouble. She liked a challenge. But she wasn't able to think at all because going round and round in her head, loudly, were the words 'shabby little liar'.

  At ten past nine she said to herself: 'You've been called things before. Get over it.' But she couldn't.

  At nine thirty she felt so desperate she had to phone Lydia. What you needed in a time of crisis was a sympathetic female to mull things over with.

  She got the answer phone.

  'Lyd – I don't care if you are screwing Brad Pitt. Ring me back immediately.'

  At nine forty-five: 'Ignore previous message. Sorry. But ring back anyway.'

  The trouble was, she thought in what she hoped was a rational way, the trouble was . . . he had looked so . . . betrayed.

  She could have coped with the anger. They both had hot tempers. And it had all started because she was doing her job, a job she loved and was proud of, thank you very much, Jake. She wasn't just a nasty little hack, she was a professional.

  Rubbish! She had really hurt him and his anger was just a mask to keep the damage hidden.

  At ten o'clock there was a clap of thunder and all the lights went out. It was a bit of a relief to find that the rest of the building was out too. She had half thought it might be Jake's God calling down some sort of retribution on her, though a power cut was a rather pathetic sort of punishment. Jake would have found the idea quite funny, except that of course he wasn't there to laugh about it with her.