Cathy's Christmas Kitchen: A heart-warming feel-good romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  Fourteen

  Cathy was thrilled to see everyone from the first session turn up again to cookery club, even the two younger women, Lindsey and Beth, who’d seemed so uncertain about being there at first. In fact, when Cathy went over to greet them, Beth was excited to tell her that she’d tried out at least three of the recipes Cathy had given them photocopies of and she’d been delighted when they’d all been delicious.

  Erica had brought Tansy again, and though the teenager was as sullen and unlikeable as she’d been the week before, Cathy couldn’t help but feel that perhaps this might be an unfair representation of the girl – after all, why would she come again if she really didn’t want to be there? Tansy had free will and Cathy didn’t imagine Erica was the sort of woman to order her to attend something she didn’t want to, so she must have wanted to be there, even if it really didn’t look that way.

  Still, Cathy caught the exchange of a significant look between Iris and Dora and guessed what they might say amongst themselves about it later. They’d obviously decided that they didn’t like Tansy and nothing anyone did or said would persuade them otherwise. And when Cathy went over to talk to Erica and her niece, it was difficult not to agree with them a little, because the way Tansy looked at everyone in the room as Cathy spoke gave the distinct impression that she’d be quite happy to blow them all up.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve come back,’ Cathy said, trying to ignore the girl’s look of contempt.

  ‘We loved it last week, didn’t we, Tans?’ Erica said.

  Tansy didn’t reply.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of ingredients too, if anyone doesn’t have what they need,’ Erica continued. ‘Tansy ran to the shop to get extra this morning. I know we’ve got the Facebook group set up now but not everyone has signed up yet.’

  ‘I’ve got some extra too,’ Cathy said. ‘I think Iris got the word out to the church ladies so there shouldn’t be too many people who still need ingredients. If anything, we might find we’ve got too much extra today.’

  ‘Well, it just means we’ll have to use it to make more cake at home, eh, Tans?’ Erica said, and Tansy nodded sullenly, but at least it was an acknowledgement, which was more than Cathy had ever got from her. If that was all her aunt got, then Cathy couldn’t imagine how much more she’d ever get from her. But she was here, and perhaps that was validation enough.

  ‘Right…’ Cathy said, suddenly feeling awkward and a little bit stupid. ‘I’ll just go and… I think Iris might want me…’

  Cathy hurried away. She could hear Erica’s cheery tones as she continued to talk to her niece, and Tansy’s monosyllabic replies, and she had to wonder how even Erica could like her enough to spend so much time with her. She must have been hard work, even for a blood relative. But there was no time to dwell on that, and perhaps it was just as well, because the last of the participants arrived en masse and Cathy had to rush over to brief them so that they could begin on time. Then, as she was finishing up, she noticed the door open again and the vicar walk in. He waved a hand in greeting, and then nodded at Iris.

  ‘Just need a quick word if that’s OK?’ he said.

  ‘Of course!’ Cathy said, going to her workstation at the head of the room while everyone tied their aprons and got equipment out.

  After a few minutes with Iris the vicar came to find Cathy.

  ‘It’s kind of you to teach everyone – Iris says you’re doing it without pay.’

  ‘I’m not really teaching anyone,’ Cathy replied. ‘We’re all just sort of cooking together. I give everyone the recipe and I offer help and guidance as we go along; some people haven’t baked before and they’re not sure what some of the more technical things mean. But anyone can make a cake if they’ve got a good-enough recipe and all the bits they need.’

  ‘Well, if your cakes are anything to go by then the recipes are very good indeed. Iris says they’re yours too – that you wrote them.’

  ‘I didn’t really write them,’ Cathy said. ‘My mum wrote a lot of them… well, she sort of just did them and I learned them from her and then I wrote them down for this. I usually just do it by eye – when it’s something I’ve made a lot anyway.’

  The vicar nodded slowly, regarding Cathy with a thoughtful look as he did. ‘You’ve a natural talent then.’

  ‘No.’ Cathy smiled. ‘I’ve just got a good memory.’

  He smiled too now, but Cathy had the distinct feeling that there was something going on behind it – cogs whirring, ideas being formulated.

  ‘Maybe I’ll join in next time,’ he said.

  ‘Here?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘If you’ve room for one more.’

  ‘Of course!’ Cathy said. ‘There’s always room for one more.’

  The vicar nodded. ‘I’d better get on; lots to do… there always is, isn’t there?’

  ‘Right… Hang on.’

  Cathy reached into her bag and took out a spare photocopy of her recipes.

  ‘I’ve been adding to it,’ she said, ‘but I think we’ll be doing flapjacks next week so, if you are coming, what you’d need is on here.’

  He took the stapled pages and flicked through. ‘I like the little doodles,’ he said.

  Cathy blushed; she didn’t know whether he was poking gentle fun at her or not, but there was no malice in it and she knew none would be intended. But she did feel a little silly now.

  ‘No, I really like them,’ he said, perhaps guessing that what he’d said could be misinterpreted. ‘It’s a nice flourish – looks sort of Arts and Crafts, you know.’

  He waved it briefly in the air and nodded. ‘Thanks for this.’

  ‘No problem. See you next week hopefully.’

  There was a lot of good-natured chatter, banter and laughter in the room as everyone worked. Unlike the first week, Cathy didn’t bake anything herself, because so many people had needed to ask for her advice that she’d quickly realised how impractical that was. So this time she only wandered the room, making herself available for encouragement or guidance, and she found that she really enjoyed how much she was getting to know everyone.

  Every so often her gaze would stray over to where Erica and Tansy were baking together. She’d been over a couple of times and Erica had assured her they had it under control while Tansy, as usual, had hardly acknowledged Cathy at all. But whenever Cathy looked, Tansy was diligently poring over the recipe or screwing up her face in concentration as she checked measurements. Sometimes she’d be comparing her mixture to what Erica had in her bowl and she’d either frown, or look vaguely satisfied as she turned back to her own. And when it finally went in the oven, Tansy guarded the door, staring in at her cake as if she could will it to perfection using some kind of thought waves, so that nobody could get near to check their own, and Erica had to issue a gentle reminder of that fact. Looking mutinous, Tansy moved out of the way to let Beth take a look at how her own was doing, but when Beth looked as if she might open the oven, Tansy moved in to stop her.

  ‘She’s like a pit bull,’ Iris said to Dora as she watched. Cathy had caught the comment so it had been loud enough to carry that far. She just hoped that nobody else – especially Tansy – had heard it. She wondered if she’d have to talk to Iris about discretion, though that might prove to be a difficult conversation. She didn’t want to appear patronising. Iris was, after all, a grown woman with a perfectly good sense of what was socially acceptable and what was not. That she might choose to ignore that was another matter, of course…

  Apart from that, the class went well and everyone seemed very proud of their Victoria sponges, even though there was some disparity in success. While some had sunken middles, and some had clearly put the jam and cream in before the sponges had cooled sufficiently so that they had little pink waterfalls oozing from the sides, and some had one fat sponge and one thin sponge, at least they all resembled what they were supposed to be and you couldn’t have perfection straight away.

  As they were clearing up, Myrtle came over to C
athy.

  ‘I’ve got this recipe,’ she said, seeming almost shy as she showed Cathy a mildewed exercise book. She opened it at a yellowing bookmarked page. The book had to be decades old. Cathy looked to see it was for Christmas cake. ‘I’ve been looking all over the house for it, ever since you started your class. It’s my mother-in-law’s book – it came to me when she passed on. It makes a lovely Christmas cake, though I haven’t done it for years. I thought people here might like to try it.’

  ‘It does look lovely,’ Cathy said, scanning the page. ‘But you have to do quite a lot of preparation and I don’t know that it’s practical to do in the time we have here.’

  Myrtle looked crestfallen and Cathy couldn’t bear it.

  ‘I would imagine this book is quite precious to you?’ she asked gently.

  ‘A bit,’ Myrtle said.

  ‘If Iris doesn’t mind, could I take it to the office to photocopy the page? I could add it to my own recipe book and distribute it to the class so they could have a go at making it in their own time. And I would say it’s a good time to make a Christmas cake, isn’t it? It should be perfect by Christmas Day if you started it about now.’

  ‘Oh it would!’ Myrtle said, beaming. ‘I’ll ask Iris now!’

  Before Cathy could reply, she’d rushed off to Iris’s station. Cathy smiled as she went. It had looked like a lovely recipe, and not only would it make a great addition to her little book, but mostly she couldn’t wait to give it a try herself.

  Fifteen

  The snow had all but melted, with only glassy patches on paths less trodden and a bitter wind to make sure they stayed put. Despite this, Cathy decided to leave the house early for work again so she could take the canal path into the town. She’d left a mixing bowl of Myrtle’s Christmas cake steeping in the cupboard at home. Full of spices and rum, it had smelled divine and Cathy knew that the whole house would be filled with the same sweet, welcoming aroma by the time she got home. It smelled like Christmas, like warm evenings in front of the fire with eggnog or pudding wine and a wedge of rich fruit cake while snowflakes fluttered past the window. Of course, Cathy’s Christmas evenings would be nothing like that, but she wasn’t going to let that melancholy thought stop her from making the cake anyway. She might not have a family or husband to share it at home with, but she could take it to give out to her friends and that was almost as good.

  The skies were leaden as she walked the path to work, and what was left of the foliage on trees was shaken loose by a brisk, freezing wind, carried off across the fields, or otherwise dumped into the black canal whenever there was a lull. At the far side of the canal, the fields were scrubby, stretching out to meet the outskirts of the town, and on her side, there was a narrow strip of greener land that bordered the grounds of the old textile mill, which seemed to stretch away for miles. Perhaps the people who had once owned the mill had planted the vast oaks and horse chestnuts that dotted the land now, or perhaps they’d just ended up there in the natural way of things, but there was far more tree coverage on this side of the canal than on the other.

  Occasionally, Cathy would see the odd narrowboat, bright flowers painted on its side, moored up with little wreaths of smoke coming from stubby chimneys. Sometimes the occupants would be out on deck and they’d give a friendly smile or wave, and sometimes Cathy would see them warm and snug inside, sitting by their tiny windows. The canal wandered sedately through the outskirts of Linnetford and out into the countryside proper, sometimes beautiful and sometimes grimy, its banks dotted with pubs and locks, until it reached Manchester. At least that was where Cathy thought it stopped, though she didn’t know all that much about it other than what she’d learned at school – and even she had to accept that school was a very long way in her own past now.

  She turned into a gentle bend and, as she saw a new vista open up ahead, noted a figure standing stock-still, seemingly gazing out across the canal and towards the town. He was bundled in a heavy woollen coat, Wellington boots and a charcoal-grey newsboy cap. A few feet away, a large black and tan dog raced up and down. Cathy smiled. She hadn’t planned her route into work this morning thinking that she might see him again, but she couldn’t deny that a small part of her had hoped for it. Yet it had seemed unlikely, because she’d walked this way so many times and never met him before. And here he was, as if it was meant to be.

  Don’t be silly, she told herself. Things aren’t meant to be, not in real life.

  But her step quickened anyway, even though she didn’t know what she was going to say when she got there or whether he’d even remember her from their brief interaction the other day.

  He turned to look as she got closer.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said warmly.

  ‘Your dog looks like he doesn’t mind the cold,’ Cathy said.

  ‘With that much fur he could pull sledges,’ the man said. ‘Nothing bothers him – it’s me who has to stand here shivering while I wait for him to finish sniffing out rabbits.’

  ‘Oh,’ Cathy said, and she must have looked distressed at this because he quickly added: ‘Not that he ever catches any. He just likes to have a nosey. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, actually… he does try to catch them mid-air and eat them, but that’s another story.’

  Cathy felt herself relax. He was joking with her; that was good, wasn’t it? And he was looking as if he liked what he saw… wasn’t he?

  She chased the thought away. She was being utterly ridiculous – she didn’t know the first thing about him. For all she knew he was married, deliriously happy with ten kids. He was probably this friendly to everyone. Regardless, she only knew that she liked the way he looked at her, and that, try as she might, she couldn’t help but fall into his soft hazel eyes as soon as she gazed into them. There was something comforting rather than intimidating about his height and his broad shoulders, and even the way he was dressed did something to her that it shouldn’t.

  She could allow herself a little fantasy, right? She didn’t know him but that didn’t stop her having a little indulgence, did it? She could pretend a handsome man was interested in her and who was that hurting?

  ‘You come this way every day?’ he asked.

  ‘Um, no, just to work. Only three days a week.’

  ‘So you work Mondays every week?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve only just started to bring Guinness here.’

  Cathy frowned.

  ‘The dog,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘Daft name, I know, but it suits him.’

  ‘Oh, I thought he was called Guin?’

  ‘That’s because I can’t be bothered to shout out the entire thing. I have to call out his name so often to fetch him back from where he’s not supposed to be.’

  Cathy smiled. ‘So where did you go before?’

  ‘We used to go to the fields at the back of the new Morrisons but they’ve started to build a car park there now. I was a bit nervous about coming down here with him – thought the daft beggar might jump into the canal – but he doesn’t seem that bothered about it after all. It’s a bit more of a walk for me but it’s good to have somewhere he can come off his leash for a while.’

  ‘Does he need a lot of exercise?’

  ‘He does. I work funny hours too so it’s hard sometimes to give him enough. My sister says I shouldn’t have got a dog in the first place if I couldn’t be there all the time. She’s probably right, but I couldn’t part with him now for anything.’

  ‘I suppose there are walking services and such?’ Cathy asked. ‘You could use one of those?’

  ‘I like to walk him myself – he’s a handful.’

  Cathy glanced across at where Guin was digging, flinging clumps of earth up into the air behind him. There must have been some strength in those massive paws because the earth was frozen solid right now, but it didn’t seem to be troubling him at all.

  ‘He’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘Do you have a dog?’

  Cathy shook her head. ‘I
always wanted one but… well, it was a bit awkward to have one.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It’s not always easy for everyone. I’m lucky I’ve got no one to answer to so I can do what I please.’

  Cathy smiled and filed the information into a compartment labelled: figure out later what that means and if it’s good news for me.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ she said, wanting nothing more than to stay here all day and get to know him. But that might look weird, be unwanted, and it would definitely make her very late for work.

  ‘It was nice talking to you,’ he said, and Cathy couldn’t have controlled the little flutter in her stomach if she’d tried.

  ‘You too,’ she said. ‘Have a good day.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said. ‘See you around maybe.’

  Cathy nodded, grinning from ear to ear as she walked away, leaving him on the path to return to his contemplation of the grey skyline of the town.

  ‘You look like the cat that got the cream,’ Fleur said as Cathy arrived at the stall.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘I don’t know what you had for breakfast this morning but I want some,’ Fleur replied with a wry smile. ‘I take it the cookery club went well again?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Cathy replied, realising that all thoughts of the cookery club had completely left her head since she’d met the man with the dog again. She really needed to get this under control – there was a difference between a little harmless fantasy and unhealthy infatuation.

  ‘Did you make anything for me?’

  ‘We did Victoria sponge but I didn’t bake one,’ Cathy said.

  ‘So I don’t have cake this morning?’ Fleur asked with mock horror. ‘And I’ve made you a cup of tea – I’ve a good mind to pour it away!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got cupcakes that I did the night before – they’re still good.’

  ‘Well, that’s alright,’ Fleur said, handing Cathy a mug. ‘I’ll let you off this time.’