After lunch she asked Harry to double check their arrangements for the trip to Shrewsbury the following day and suggested they go straight to Paddington station after work at four o’clock so they could check into the hotel ready for dinner at eight. They had to travel the night before because production in the factory was scheduled to begin early the next morning at seven o’clock sharp.
The train left Paddington on time and almost as soon as she relaxed back in the warmth of the carriage she put her head on the side of the window and instantly fell asleep, only jumping awake at Harry touching her arm.
“Not long now and we’ll be at Shrewsbury station,” he said quietly.
Snapping her eyes open and rubbing the crick in her neck she apologised, “Heavens, I’m not much company, am I?” she asked. “Fancy sleeping throughout the journey…”
He laughed. “Oh, not to worry, I’ve finished the last three chapters of my book. It’s about a murder in a restaurant and is quite apt really - the foodie bits were great. I think it must have been written by a chef because it’s so true to life,” he said and then realising what the word chef would mean to her he blushed red and lowered his head. “Sorry, I…I, didn’t mean to, well, you know…”
She squeezed his hand. “Don’t be silly, it’s fine,” she reassured him knowing full well that Frances would have told him and Alice that she’d left Tim.
They listened to the guard announcing their approach to Shrewsbury and she sat up further, buttoning her jacket amidst a general rustle of people gathering their bags and pulling things down from the overhead racks.
Obviously trying to get their conversation back on track, Harry asked, “Katie, when you tell people that you are a food technologist do they often ask if that means you are a chef?”
Smiling at his eager young face, she nodded. “Yes of course, we all do. Mainly it’s because people don’t understand the difference in our jobs,” she said fastening the strap on her handbag and hooking it onto her shoulder. “People don’t know that we’ve got food science degrees and that we know all the background to developing new food products whereas chefs are mainly concerned with cooking and recipes.”
Smoothing her skirt down she stood up to walk down to the vestibule while he untangled his long legs from under the table and followed her.
“I know and there’s just so much to learn,” he said excitedly, then, taking her holdall, he insisted upon carrying it from the train and along the platform. Striding ahead out of the station Katie quickened her pace to keep up with his long legs while explaining that it was the third time she’d been to the factory and because she knew her way through Shrewsbury town centre to the hotel, she suggested they walk past the castle along the side streets of old Tudor buildings.
“I hope you’re going to enjoy the experience,” she said. “But unfortunately you won’t get much time to look around the town because the managers from the factory will be arriving shortly to take us out for dinner.”
Katie told him who they were and their exact roles on the site and he chattered enthusiastically all the way to check in at the grand reception desk of The Prince Rupert Hotel. Within an hour they were seated in The Peach Tree restaurant where the food was excellent and after his second bottle of lager Katie could see Harry was enjoying the company of the site managers bombarding them with questions in his earnest mission to learn as much as he could. The restaurant was busy with large parties of stags and hens but Katie felt grateful for the background noise and with the conversation taking place around her she slid off her shoes leant back in the chair and remembered how she’d been exactly the same as Harry when she first started as a junior technologist.
Sipping her wine she twirled the linen napkin between her fingers and stared out of the window at people walking past the restaurant wondering if she was becoming stale and losing her motivation and energy. Or was it just tiredness after all the upheaval she’d been through with Tim.
When she’d first started her mentor had been a food expert and the most organised woman anyone could wish to meet. She’d worked in new product development for years and Katie had soaked up all her knowledge like a sponge. Before she retired she’d impressed upon Katie the need to be prepared and have the ability to work within strict time limits when managing a new product right through to launch in the supermarket. ‘You are the lynch-pin in the company’, she’d chanted at her on a regular basis, ‘You need to be focused and organise all the other teams to contribute their own expertise, on time, and with no excuses’.
Katie smiled with fondness at the memory of her and wondered if she’d have been proud to see her reach middle management and into what she’d hoped and prayed would be the project manager’s role. Realising everyone was getting up to leave she shook herself back to reality and thanked the managers politely.
Back in the hotel bar and with a cautious warning to Harry not to stay up too late drinking as they would be leaving the hotel at six am she made her excuses and went up to her room, settling down into the old four poster bed to read her novel. At Christmas Tim had wanted to buy her a new Kindle device to read her books but she’d refused the offer because she would always love the smell and feel of a book in her hands. If they were new books she loved the smell of the fresh print and how unused the pages felt knowing she was the first person to turn them over. And, if they were old books she loved the musty smell and well-thumbed pages with sometimes the odd coffee stain. She’d often try to imagine who had split the coffee and if they’d been so engrossed in what they were reading they’d lost all train of thought. She picked her book up and studied the cover image of the Alexander McCall Smith book and remembered last week’s visit to the local library. And that was another reason not to be electronic, she thought, because she’d really miss her monthly trips to the library with her reserved list of up and coming novels. She was nearly to the end of reading Alexander’s 44 Scotland Street series and couldn’t help being totally absorbed with the most amazing characters he wrote about, their lives and their dreams. Drifting off to sleep she wondered if she would ever be able to use her imagination to be creative and write a book, or she sighed, was she just too much of a damn control freak.
The noise in the factory was loud and she strained to listen to the team leader on the line who was explaining the process of depositing the lemon mousse and sauce into the pots. Her feet were cold in the factory-issue white wellington boots and although she’d remembered to wear a thick jumper, her shoulders and back were quivering with the cold five degree temperature that was of course necessary in the area.
She looked around the large production area with nine long automated lines of gleaming stainless steel pieces of equipment which when joined together made wonderful trifles and desserts. She spotted Harry with his usual black gelled hair hidden in the factory mop-cap and smiled - his face looked younger than ever. He was totally animated following the technical manager everywhere, watching the recipes being made in huge vats and then the automated transfer down to the line. Both the mousse and sauce looked lovely in the two separate layers and the operation on the line ran smooth and effortlessly. The cream at the end of the line was pumped into a huge whipping machine in its single state and when it had been whipped to the correct texture, which was stiff enough to hold a peak in the pot, it was transferred into an overhead vessel.
“Wow! How cool is that?” Harry grinned excitedly as he stood next to her watching the cream being deposited through a metal head with holes to make a decorative fluted pattern.
She smiled at him. “Well, how did you think they did it? Did you think the pattern was made by lots of ladies with piping bags?”
Throwing his head back Harry laughed raucously in response.
Katie turned to the production manager. “Can we take some of the samples back upstairs to the office?” she asked. “And then we can look at them in more detail when we go through the specification.”
He gladly agreed and when they sat down in the offic
e with welcoming hot coffee and bacon rolls she gave Harry a copy of the check list that she intended to talk through. Harry listened intently while she checked each ingredient which went into the three recipes, which supplier the factory had bought them from, and stating the country of origin the suppliers were using. The planning orders for depots up and down the country were discussed and then she examined the factories daily record checks of temperature, storage and transport. The sample pots were examined for appearance and label fit, correct texture, smell and taste and when Katie couldn’t find any issues with the production run she agreed that the product could be released for dispatch to their supermarkets.
Harry talked non-stop on the train journey back to London while she told him exactly what they were responsible for and how important it was not to miss any mistakes. “The worst and most expensive thing that can happen is what we call a product re-call,” she told him. “And if the product actually reaches the supermarket shelves and something is wrong then every single pot has to be removed and sent back to Shrewsbury. It can cost mega bucks.”
Harry whistled through his teeth in amazement and then thanked her profusely for his trip, told her how great she’d been, and how first-hand experience beat reading books anytime. Good manners and well brought up Katie thought, and then horrified at how much like her mother she sounded she stifled a giggle.
After dropping Harry off at home in the station taxi, she wearily mounted the stairs to her new flat yawning with tiredness after the early five o’clock alarm. She decided a snooze on the bed was in order and then she’d take a trip to the supermarket and fill the freezer and fridge with food. She’d also treat herself to some fresh fruit and vegetables because her diet had suffered during the last week with all the upheaval and Lisa’s endless offerings of pizzas.
It seemed strange cooking for one again she thought as she climbed onto the bed because she’d been so used to Tim cooking for them. Actually, food had been a huge part of their lives together because they both worked with it all day, talked about it endlessly at home, shopped for it at markets, and of course ate it when he tried out new recipes for the restaurant. Sadly, she wondered if he was getting used to boiling only enough pasta or rice for one and then firmly pushed the thought of him out of her mind. Feeling her eyes droop she made a new resolution and decided every time she thought of a memory with him from the past she would blot it out of her mind as quickly as possible. She was not going to end up like one of these single women who droned on and on about a broken relationship.
The next morning when she arrived into the office a huge bouquet of flowers had been delivered for her and Frances was practically jumping up and down with excitement when with trembling hands Katie fished the card out of the centre and opened the small envelope. The flowers were from Lynne and Graham. A crashing feeling of disappointment and unhappiness swept through her especially when she saw Frances’s face crumble with empathy.
Lynne had written to say how sorry she was to hear that she’d left Tim and wondered if Katie could find it in herself to keep in touch with her. She added that Graham was sorting a cash settlement out for her and she’d have a cheque through the post if she could forward her new address to them.
She read it out to Frances who immediately raved at their kindness and thoughtfulness.
“Yeah, I’ll miss them,” Katie said. “They’re really nice people and I’d grown quite attached, especially to Lynne.”
Frances bent over the flowers and sniffed the fragrance. “Well, give it a few weeks and then maybe you’ll feel up to ringing her for a chat?”
Katie took a deep breath, remembered her new resolve and mumbled an agreement to Frances although she knew she wouldn’t. Tim had cut her off and there was no way she would go snivelling around to his parents to listen to stories about his new life. It was blatantly obvious now he had no intention of any type of communication and lifting her shoulders with pride she composed an email to him.
To tim.davies from katie.charles
Hi Tim,
Please thank your mum and dad for the flowers – they are beautiful. Here is my temporary address for the settlement cheque and any post that may arrive for me.
Katie
During another busy morning she started to look at three new product launches that were scheduled to take place in the May and took a telephone message from personnel. They asked if she could clear her diary for the following morning at ten o’clock for a meeting with them and her business unit manager. It wasn’t an interview but as team leader they wanted to discuss something with her. Hmm, she wondered excitedly, maybe it was something to do with the project manager’s job? Automatically she looked across to Frances’s desk to ask her opinion but remembered she’d taken the afternoon off for some dental work. Oh well, she’d find out soon enough tomorrow she decided to carry on with the pile of paperwork.
Chapter Ten
With the mystery of tomorrow’s personnel meeting whirling around in her mind Katie left work on time that evening because she’d asked her mum for dinner and ran up the stairs to her new flat with two bags of shopping. She knew her mum was concerned and even though she’d told her the flat was great and she was settling in easily, she knew having her to visit would be the only way to put her mind at rest.
Katie was hanging her coat in the hall cupboard when her mum said, “You see, Katie, I like to be able to imagine you in a place and know that it’s safe. I mean, when you were in the apartment with Tim I never had a moment’s hesitation…”
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind her that she was nearly thirty and a grown woman but knew her mum would worry about her no matter what age she was.
“Yes, Mum, I know,” she said. “And that’s why I’m cooking you a lovely dinner so you can see I’m really very comfortable and safe here.”
Leading her around each room she told her about Claire going off to Africa and her mum ooh’d and aah’d and agreed that the flat was clean and cosy.
“Not as nice as your apartment with Tim, though,” she said following her back into the kitchen. “Ah, Katie, is there no way you can patch things up with him? I mean, he’s nice to look at, has a good job, rich parents, and that lovely apartment. You know, nice young men like Tim don’t grow on trees.”
Katie sighed and beckoned her to sit at the table. “No, Mum, because it turned out that he wasn’t so nice in the end. I mean, he certainly wasn’t the guy I fell in love with that’s for sure.”
Her mum tutted and shook her head slowly. “I just can’t understand it. I mean, your father wasn’t a saint by any means but he was a good man and that never changed from the day I met him to the day we lost him.”
At the mention of her father Katie felt the usual sadness settle upon her. For a couple of years after he’d died the pain and grief had felt raw but since then she’d sort of got used to him not being around and the missing him had settled into a calm melancholy. She knew she wouldn’t, and never wanted to, forget him but hated to see the pain that still lingered in her mum’s eyes when they talked about him.
The small kitchen window was running with condensation from steam billowing up from the pans and she opened it. “I know,” Katie said placing a pot of chicken casserole into the middle of the table. “But it turns out that Tim wasn’t anything like dad after all.”
She lifted a tray of crunchy roast potatoes from the oven and then strained fresh green beans and broccoli through a colander heaping them into serving dishes.
“Katie, love, this chicken is delicious and it’s so tender,” she said. “And the vegetables are just how I like them. Not too soft and with a bit of a bite.”
She smiled at her mum’s comments and felt calm and uplifted. She wondered why cooking made her feel like this and in some cases if it was an act of love? She’d discussed it with Tim one night and he’d thought it was because she liked to be in control of the food and people’s diets. But she’d refuted this and told him it was because it gave her the ch
ance to care for the people she loved. And she certainly loved her mum dearly. Since her dad had died she seemed to have heaped all her love and attention onto her mum which according to a book Lisa had read was a normal reaction to grief.
They ate the rest of the meal quietly chatting about her two brothers, the firm of decorators who were coming to paint the outside of her house and about her trip to Shrewsbury. In fact, she tried to talk about every topic she could think of rather than Tim and by the time her mum was leaving she thought she’d succeeded but in the hall she stopped to look at the flowers Katie had arranged in a vase.
“Aren’t these gorgeous, just look at those roses,” she exclaimed. “Who are they from?”
Katie sighed. “Lynne and Graham. They arrived at work this morning.”
“Oh my. Wasn’t that kind? I hope you’ve thanked them properly. You never know, they might be able to talk some sense into him.”
Katie took a deep breath in exasperation. “Yes, I’ve thanked them, Mum, and if I couldn’t talk any sense into Tim I don’t think anyone can,” she snapped, and then feeling guilty put her arm along her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you to the bingo on time.”
“Well, I’m not going to give up hope,” she said. “Because no matter what you say, Katie, I’m sure he was the right one for you…”
“Yes, Mum,” she muttered following her to the Micra.
Climbing into the car her mum said, “And Katie, if your father was here he’d say the same thing himself.”
“Yes, Mum,” she answered, starting the car and looking over her shoulder before pulling off down the road.
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