So this week, a weird thing happened. My real dad turned up wanting to see me – long story – and I ended up making him a birthday cake. It was a chocolate cake, with raspberry jam between the layers. I decorated it with buttercream icing and covered the whole thing with hundreds and thousands sprinkles. OK, so it wasn’t exactly a classic of cake decorating. But he liked it a lot, and that’s the thing that matters most. Now I wonder if maybe he liked it too much . . .
POST DELETED
24 April
I’m writing this post from my brand new computer. It’s a shiny new Apple, and it’s amazing. But the thing is, I’ve had kind of a weird week, and . . .
POST DELETED
24 April
Sorry for the quick post today – I’ve got loads of homework! I’ve found a fantastic recipe for spring fondant fancies. Here it is. If you give it a try, make sure you post a photo. Off to do some more grammar now (yawn)! But first, I’m going downstairs to make myself a nice cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon and sprinkles on top.
The Little Cook xx
‘How did the cake turn out?’
My pulse jolts as Nick comes up to me on my way to lessons. His hand brushes mine – I’m not sure whether or not he meant to – but either way, my skin tingles.
‘Good.’ I come to a stop. People push past us in the crowded hall. I cock my head. ‘Maybe too good.’
Nick nods. I’m pretty sure he gets my whole dilemma. ‘Did you take a photo for the Instagram page?’
I take out my phone and show him the photo snapped by the waitress – Mum emailed it to me this morning. His eyes widen.
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Maybe it was too good.’ He looks up at me. ‘Your hair looks nice though.’
‘Thanks.’ I try to hide my blush. ‘The whole evening was really weird. No – scratch that – my whole life is weird these days.’
‘Well, maybe things would be better if you came back to the club. It might help to get away from the wedding stuff. He glances down at the phone in my hand with the photo on the screen. ‘There is still going to be a wedding, right?’
‘Yeah, ’fraid so.’ I tell him about the day spent at the awful posh boutiques and then The Bridal Centre. I’m expecting him to sympathize with me, but instead he laughs. ‘You have to let all of us know when it’s going to be on TV,’ he says. ‘We so have to get together to watch it.’
‘I definitely won’t be watching it,’ I grumble. ‘And I can name at least two other people who won’t be watching either.’ I flick my head down the hall to where Gretchen has just arrived with Alison. Gretchen looks at me, puts up her hand and whispers something to Alison. I feel a pang in my stomach. How could things have gone so wrong? ‘And those same people won’t want me back in the club either.’
‘You’re so wrong, Scarlett.’ Nick shakes his head. ‘I just don’t get you and Gretchen – I mean, you two are so alike.’
‘Alike – no! You must be mad.’
He laughs. ‘Neither of you see it. Maybe that’s your problem.’
The bell rings. ‘Anyway,’ he adds, ‘there was talk of meeting up after school. Come and join us.’
OK – I’ll be there! I feel like shouting.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I say. With a shrug, I turn and walk away.
I’ll think about it. It’s like somehow Gretchen has taken over my body and her words are coming out of my mouth. Could Nick possibly be right? I mean, Gretchen is stubborn, proud and opinionated, and she knows how to stand up for what she believes in. If anything, I wish I could be more like her.
As the teacher writes our maths assignment up on the board, I think about what I would think if I was Gretchen and she was me. Would I see ‘me’ as stuck-up, trying to hog all the limelight just because my mum has some kind of B-list celebrity complex? I guess it’s possible. Even though it’s completely wrong.
But I’ve misunderstood Gretchen in the past too. Once I thought she was blanking me because of Mum’s blog, but it turned out I was wrong – she thought it was me who was acting stuck-up. Either way, Nick said they would have me back in the club if I wanted to. And I seriously want to.
I pack away my notebook and steel myself to try to catch Gretchen between lessons. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over all these months, it’s that my life is always a lot better with The Secret Cooking Club in it.
Just before lunch, I get a text message from someone called Annie – the assistant to Producer Poppy. She wants me to ring and set up a time to come in to the studio and be filmed making the wedding cake. Just reading the message, I feel the familiar wave of nausea at the idea of being in front of a camera. I’m about to delete the message when out of the corner of my eye, I see Gretchen coming out of the girls’ loo – alone, for once. I shove my phone in my pocket and walk quickly towards her, before I can chicken out.
‘Gretchen?’ I say.
She stops and turns around.
‘Do you have a quick sec?’
‘OK.’ There’s wariness in her voice. ‘Your hair looks good.’
‘Thanks.’ I pull her off to the side as kids swarm by on their way to the canteen for lunch. But as soon as we’re alone, my confidence drains away. Gretchen puts her hands on her hips, not cutting me any slack.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘For what I said before, and for walking out. It’s just . . . I don’t know . . . things are really stressful right now. I guess I didn’t really think.’
Gretchen stares at me, but her face seems to soften a little bit. ‘I know you do loads with the club and the blog, Scarlett,’ she says. ‘And you deserve the recognition you get. But sometimes, I think you forget that the rest of us want to help too.’
I hang my head. ‘I know. And it’s so lame. It’s just, there’s a part of me that misses the way it was. When it was just us – you know? Cooking in Rosemary’s Kitchen. Trying new things. Doing it for fun . . .’ I sigh. ‘And when it was still our secret.’
She nods slowly. ‘I know what you mean,’ she says. ‘But it was never going to stay that way. We took the club to the next level, and made it something that lots of kids could do. And now, maybe this TV thing is taking it even further. But I think you need to decide – if it’s you, or us.’
‘I know. And I have decided. This was never something I wanted. I know I need to talk to the producer woman, but I’m just so bad at these things.’
She laughs. ‘No you’re not. I mean, you’re “The Little Cook”. You need to tell them what you want to do.’
I roll my eyes. For Gretchen, talking to adults is easy peasy. But not for me.
‘Come up with a plan. Then pitch it to them.’ She makes it sound so obvious.
‘A plan? Like what?’
‘I don’t know. But we can talk about it. We’re meeting up today after school. Can you make it?’
‘Yeah.’ I start to feel a little bit better.
‘Good. We were going to meet at Alison’s house – unless you think we can use Rosemary’s Kitchen?’
‘We can – I’m sure. In fact, the wall’s been knocked through between our two houses.’
‘Really?’ Gretchen raises an eyebrow.
‘They’re supposed to be putting in a door, but it hasn’t happened yet.’
‘OK,’ she says. ‘I’ll let the others know.’
As Gretchen walks away down the corridor, I feel like we’re two sides of the same person, who have somehow managed to bungle each other’s lines.
Violet rushes up to me after lessons. ‘OMG, it’s true, right? You’re back?’ She throws her arms around me in a bear hug.
‘I’m back.’ I breathe in the smell of her apple shampoo, feeling better than I have in days. I don’t dwell on the little niggling thought that she sort of chose the others over me.
‘That’s fab,’ she says, smiling like her old self. ‘We’ve missed you.’
‘I missed you too,’ I say. ‘What are you making today?’
‘Something for the school can
teen, I think.’ She looks unsure. ‘Gretchen’s kind of been running the show. Though Naya’s got good ideas too – and she’s not afraid to give her opinion. And I’ve been busy with these . . .’ She fumbles in her bag. ‘Here, look.’
She takes out an A5 sketchbook and flips forward a few pages. I look over her shoulder, my eyes widening in amazement.
‘You drew these?’ I stare at the sketches she’s made on the page. Layer cakes and braided breads, fruit tarts and cupcakes. The drawings – done in pen, filled in with coloured pencil – look good enough to eat. She’s written out the recipes, labelled the ingredients and drawn little arrows saying what goes where.
She nods. ‘Do you like them?’
‘They look amazing.’
Violet beams. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so. When did you have time to do them?’
Her face clouds for a moment – or maybe it’s my imagination. ‘I did most of them late at night. I’ve kind of been having trouble sleeping—’
My phone buzzes in my pocket with a text message. I quickly check the screen – it’s Mum, asking me if I’ve spoken with the assistant producer yet. I shove the phone back in my pocket as an idea suddenly strikes me. I look down at Violet’s sketches again just as she closes the notebook and puts it back in her bag.
‘Hold that thought and let me make a phone call,’ I say to her. ‘But I’ll see you later – OK?’
A summer fete
After school I go straight home and dump my bag. As I go through the hole in the wall, I wonder when the door will be put in. Mum’s too busy and preoccupied to be bothered about it, and I suppose it makes sense to wait until after the wedding – in case something goes wrong. Not that it will . . .
Treacle eyes me warily from his basket as I cut up some bin bags and tack them over the jagged edges of bricks and plaster that have been knocked through. ‘It’s like a great big cat flap,’ I explain to him. He swishes his tail like I’ve gone mental. But I know what I’m doing. I don’t want Mum catching a glimpse of what we might be getting up to – once I explain my idea to the others, that is.
I’ve just managed to cover most of the opening when the others begin to arrive: first, Gretchen, Alison and Nick; then Violet’s ‘crush’, Fraser, then Naya. I pass around a plate of home-made dark chocolate and orange digestive biscuits that were made by Nick and Fraser, while we wait for Violet (who had to stop off home before coming here). When Violet finally arrives, I poke my head back through the flap of bin bags and make sure that Mum’s nowhere to be seen. Just like Violet said, when I come back to the others, Gretchen has already taken charge.
‘So,’ she says, ‘what shall we make today? Does anyone have any ideas, or new recipes to try?’
Naya and Violet both shoot up their hands. Naya’s brought a recipe for tomato, spinach and cheese tartlets that she and Alison want to try. Violet takes out her sketchbook and shows them a drawing she made of some white chocolate and cranberry muffins drizzled with royal icing and demerara sugar.
‘Your drawings are so amazing, Violet,’ Gretchen says. ‘If we have all the ingredients, we can make both.’
Nick and Naya go to check the cupboards. I sit at the table, and tentatively raise my hand.
‘Yes, Scarlett,’ Gretchen says, sounding like a head teacher. ‘By the way, welcome back.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Um, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I . . . um . . . had an idea. I want to run it by you.’ I look at Gretchen, then at the others. ‘All of you.’
‘Go on, then,’ Nick encourages.
‘Well, it’s about Mum’s wedding. You know? And the TV show she’s doing.’ I seem to swallow the words. I can’t look at Gretchen.
‘Yeah?’ Violet says. ‘They’re going to film you doing the cake, right?’
‘Right. But actually, I had another thought.’ I lower my voice in case Mum has somehow managed to enter our kitchen without my hearing. ‘It’s not definite yet, but I had a quick chat earlier with the assistant TV producer. Her name’s Annie. She seems nice.’
‘So what’s the idea?’ Alison prompts.
‘Well, the TV station is paying for different bits of the wedding – like the cake and the food. They were going to get some caterers from London to do the food – canapés, mains, puddings – all that stuff. But I was thinking . . .’ I take a breath, ‘that we could all do it – together.’
‘Really?’ Violet says. ‘They’ll buy us everything we need?’
‘Shh.’ I point to the thin layer of bin bags covering the hole in the wall. ‘I thought it could be The Secret Cooking Club’s big secret. Mum can’t find out. I don’t even want the main producer of the show – some loud woman called Poppy that I met at the weekend – to know. Not yet, at least.’
Gretchen puts her hands on her hips. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘That you could be on TV too!’ I say. ‘We all could – those of you that want to. I mean, think how great it would be. We could do an amazing menu, and Violet could do the drawings, just like the artist on Bake Off.’
Violet’s face shines. ‘OMG, I’d love to do that.’
‘So this would be part of the bride show?’ Naya asks.
‘Yeah – it’s about brides preparing for their special day. It totally fits. But like Violet said before, any old bride can get food done by London caterers. But not every bride can have a wedding feast made by The Secret Cooking Club.’
‘I like it,’ Gretchen says. ‘If you think you can pull it off.’
‘And what about the menu?’ Alison asks.
‘I know you’ve all be collecting recipes,’ I say. ‘We could put something together, and I’ll give it to Annie at the TV station. She can show it to Mum. That’s what the caterers would do, I think.’
‘I could do the starters,’ Fraser says. ‘Something with smoked salmon. I’ve been to all my cousins’ weddings, and they always have that.’
‘Smoked salmon is good,’ Naya says. ‘But we should probably have a theme. It’s a summer wedding, isn’t it?’
‘I take a deep breath and drop the bomb. ‘Actually, it’s early summer. It’s supposed to happen in eight weeks’ time!’
‘Eight weeks!’ Naya looked shocked. ‘That’s mental.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is.’
Gretchen frowns. ‘We’d better get on then. Violet, do you have your notebook?’
Everybody starts talking at once. If Mum did happen to be listening from our kitchen, the cat would be out of the bag already.
‘Shh,’ I say, pointing at the hole in the wall. ‘We need to keep it secret. Violet, do you want to write down everyone’s suggestions?’
‘Sure.’ She opens her little book to a blank page and sharpens a pencil. ‘Go ahead.’
‘What about bite-sized strawberry tarts with crème fraîche?’ Alison suggests immediately. ‘The strawberries will be in season in June.’
‘What about going with a colour theme?’ Violet says. ‘Like we could do a salad with edible flowers and shaved parmesan. I also found a recipe for lavender salad cream.’
‘Or we could do it by cuisine,’ Naya says. ‘French, or Italian. Or sushi rolls – that’s a big thing at weddings, I think.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ Violet says. ‘And what about those volley-something-or-other things that your mum wanted? The posh sausage rolls?’
‘Vol-au-vents!’ I say.
‘That’s it!’
Again, everyone starts talking at once. There are so many ideas floating around, but no rhyme or reason to anything. The phrase ‘too many cooks spoil the broth’ pops into my head.
Eventually, I tap the table. ‘OK, that’s great everyone,’ I say loudly. ‘That’s given us lots to think about. But—’
‘Did you see this?’ I look up at Nick who’s standing by the worktop. In front of him is The Little Cook, the special handwritten recipe book that we use. I’ve read the whole book over and over, cover to cover. But now Nick
is pointing to a page that I swear I’ve never seen before. Maybe the pages were stuck together, or maybe there’s just something a little strange that goes on sometimes in Rosemary’s Kitchen.
‘It’s a menu for a “Summer Fete”,’ he says.
‘Really? You mean like a summer fair?’
‘Or a party, I think.’ Nick hands Violet the book and she passes it down the table to me.
In my hands, the little book seems warm, like a loaf of bread that’s come out of the oven. I read over the menu, handwritten with little flowers drawn down the side, and a coloured-pencil sketch of some children dancing around a Maypole. Then I pass the book back down the table so that everyone can see. There’s a new energy in the air, a new spark to our meeting.
Violet looks at me, her eyes shining. She’s aware of it too. For the first time in a while, it’s like I can’t stop smiling.
‘It’s perfect,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it.’
Our new secret
‘A Summer Fete’
Drinks
Sparkling raspberry and lavender lemonade
Miniature vanilla and strawberry milkshakes
First Course
Smoked salmon and cream cheese pancakes
Pea and mint soup with cream garnish (v)
Second Course
Organic herb-roasted chicken with wild mushrooms – or –
Medallions of fillet steak in peppercorn sauce – or –
Spring vegetable risotto (v)
With garlic and herb potatoes and fresh vegetables
Dessert
Assorted tea biscuits
Salted caramel and dark chocolate truffles
Wedding cake
‘Do you think we could keep it a secret? From . . . you know . . . Mum?’ While the others are still chatting about the menu, I’ve given Assistant Annie a quick call. Since Mum’s allowing the TV station to be in charge of the catering, there’s no point in getting excited over our menu unless they’re on board.’
‘I think it sounds like a fantastic idea,’ Assistant Annie says. ‘Of course, I’ll need to get it signed off with my boss – and you’re sure you can really do it?’
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