Yes Chef, No Chef

by Willis, Susan

  There was still no word from Kate and he knew now he should have been the first one to hold out the olive branch in peace and furthermore it was because of his stubbornness and stupid fear of rejection that he’d lost her. But, it was far too late now to ring and talk; she’d probably just laugh in his face, and that, he decided would be nothing short of what he deserved.

  At the sound of Simon calling his name he snapped to attention and stuck his head out of the office door.

  “Hey, Chef, your sister, Jenny, is in for lunch. She’s at table four.”

  Great, he fumed, that’s just what he needed to make his day complete. Stopping in front of the mirror to make sure his white hat was correctly in place he made his way through the kitchen, past the serving bench and out into the dining area.

  It was a large square room with enough space to fit ten round tables comfortably in no particular format. It was clean, colourful and the décor resembled different areas of Italy with old paintings of Venice and Rome hanging randomly on the walls. Green and orange tablecloths with black olives and ceramic jugs covered the tables. Tim knew in comparison to other new restaurants it looked very tired, old fashioned, and in desperate need of a make-over.

  He’d mentioned it to Jack when he’d first arrived and was told it had been renovated six years ago and was still perfectly adequate for his clientele and that it was the food that gave a restaurant its good reputation not the colour of the tablecloths. Tim had disagreed however, and told him restaurants now-a-days worked on the principle that diners opinions were based upon the whole eating experience which certainly did include the colour of the tablecloths.

  But, a lively atmosphere prevailed while he walked through the lunch time diners and a couple he knew called out a greeting to him at which he waved back and smiled. Even if he hadn’t known what table Jenny was sitting at it wouldn’t have mattered because he would have recognised her mass of bright copper curls anywhere. She had the same green eyes as him but thankfully he’d been spared the red hair as it was only prevalent in the female line.

  “Hey, Tim,” Jenny cried loudly and jumped up from the table to hug him. He put his arms around her and inhaled her usual strong Chanel No.5 perfume which Kate had often remarked was an old perfume for a young woman to wear. But Jenny had always been old beyond her years, he thought, and shook his brother-in-law, Greg’s hand. Now here was a guy who definitely lived in someone else’s shadow, he thought dragging a chair up to their table and sitting astride it with his hands resting on the back.

  “And what have I done to deserve the pleasure of your company?” he asked playfully knowing for certain his mum had sent her.

  Her green eyes danced mischievously when she grinned widely at him. “Oh, we were just having a day of R+R and decided to call for lunch. How you doing, bro?”

  “I’m fine,” he said warily waiting for her to probe him about Kate.

  Forever the mediator between them Greg asked, “So, Tim, what can you recommend on the menu?”

  He turned to face him and began to describe the new royal wedding desserts he’d been working on when a waiter appeared, took their orders, and Tim suggested a good red wine to accompany Greg’s steak.

  Greg was as quietly spoken and composed as Jenny was loud and exuberant and he nodded his head enthusiastically when Tim described the sorbets, jellies and custards. “What a great idea, we’ll definitely be trying one of those,” he said easily.

  Jenny’s smile had disappeared along with the waiter and she put her hand on Tim’s arm. “There’s no point skirting around this. Mum told me Katie has left you?”

  Tim’s shoulders immediately rose defensively like they always did when he tried to talk to her about anything other than day-to-day chit chat. “Yeah, she has,” he said looking past her to the other diners on the next table.

  He was starting to feel uncomfortable as if he was on trial and because he couldn’t face another lengthy explanation of the break-up, he said abruptly, “Look, sorry guys, but I need to get back into the kitchen.” Pushing the chair away he stood up to move.

  Jenny bristled at the rebuff. “Tim, I’m only asking out of concern for you,” she said narrowing her eyes. “I mean, mum said you hadn’t even talked to her. And I could talk to her for you if you want me to? Sort of a go between?”

  Tim felt like they were back at school and his big sister was fighting off the bullies and the hair on the back of his neck prickled with annoyance at her. Who the hell did she think she was, waltzing in here with the pretence of having lunch and pestering him about Kate as though she alone always held a magic wand?

  “No!” he snapped and then took a deep breath. Remembering the other diners he lowered his voice, “That won’t be necessary, Jenny. I can fight my own battles thank you very much.”

  Her eyes blazed with temper now and between clenched teeth she hissed, “You idiot, you’re crazy to let her get away. You should be round there on your knees begging her to forgive you.”

  He leant forward over her shoulder and very close to her ear, he growled, “It’s none of your bloody business.”

  He was seething but knew causing a scene in the dining room wouldn’t do his reputation any good. Straightening up he forced a tight smile onto his face and shook hands with Greg. “Great to see you, Greg,” he managed to say. “Hope you enjoy the food.”

  Turning to walk away from the table he didn’t speak to Jenny but saw her slowly shaking her curls in disbelief.

  He practically slammed the office door from its hinges and stood with his back against it breathing deeply and fighting to stay in control of his temper. It had been a while since his temper had been tested and he’d forgotten how uptight he was capable of becoming. His heart was racing, he could feel his face flushing, and he was sweating profusely. Briefly, he thought of how much relief a glass of wine would give, ‘but no,’ he declared loudly, he wasn’t going down that road again and certainly not because of his god-damn sister.

  Grabbing his jacket he called across the kitchen to the new chefs, Simon and Jessie, “If you can manage OK I’m popping out for fifteen minutes?”

  As he hurried through the door he heard Yes Chef, answers called back to him and he strode down Great Marlborough Street with his hands pushed deep inside his pockets. He was determined to walk the temper out of his system. Why did she have to be so bloody interfering he raged, and like he’d done with his father he racked his brains to think where the aversion to Jenny had come from? He remembered their schooldays and how she’d always been daddy’s little golden girl and specifically the one who won every family argument hands down. Was it jealousy, he wondered? And if it was, he sighed heavily, how pathetic and juvenile did that make him. Maybe he was jealous because the small amount of time dad had spent at home was always commandeered by Jenny and not him – she’d always had his full attention. He turned the corner down into Soho reasoning that if he could forget the resentment against his father and put it behind him then surely he could do the same with Jenny.

  His breathing was calmer now and his heart rate back to normal when he stopped to look at a shop window in Soho with a display of the most incredible cupcakes he’d ever seen. The window was black and dark with a glass four-tier cake stand which was lit in pink and green neon lights and held every variety of cupcake possible. The display was amazing and he decided to take a selection back to the restaurant for his staff - it would help to show how much he appreciated their hard work.

  The interior décor of the shop was all black granite quartz which sparkled enticingly on the full length cabinet crammed with cupcakes. It wasn’t a typical cake shop as such because it only sold cupcakes and he whistled appreciatively through his teeth at the unique marketing tool behind the shop.

  “Hi,” said the tall blonde assistant behind the counter. “What can I get for you?” She was dressed in black T-shirt and trousers with a long brown leather apron tied around her slim waist.

  Tim smiled. “Er, could you do me a se
lection of ten? Definitely the lemon, chocolate and vanilla, and then any others that are good?”

  She looked at him full in the face and he gaped into the deepest, bright blue eyes he’d ever seen. Christ, but she was gorgeous, what a stunner and then immediately glanced at her left hand. No ring, he noted but that didn’t mean anything these days as a slight shiver of excitement ran through him.

  “No problem,” she said. “Shall I box them for you?”

  He nodded and while she began to place each one carefully into the cardboard box they chatted easily and she told him the shop belonged to an American firm and that they seemed to be good employers but because she’d only been there for a few months it was probably too early to tell. He reckoned from what she told him about herself that she must be around thirty although she did look much younger. He told her about the restaurant and suggested she should call one day to try out his menu - their eyes locked and he knew it was obvious to both of them that his menu wouldn’t be the only thing on offer.

  “Um, I might just do that,” she said smiling provocatively.

  He rose to her challenge. “Well, you know the saying, great food is like great sex, the more you have the more you want…”

  She giggled delightedly at him and he felt stirrings of desire flooding through him as he left the shop then thankfully headed back to the restaurant in a totally different mood to which he’d left.

  In the kitchen Simon was lifting a joint of salt-marsh lamb from the oven which he’d slow cooked and was debating the depth of pink colour and texture with Jessie while she mixed fried chorizo, garlic and tinned haricot beans together for a starter. One of the new chefs was telling them that the temperature was vital when tasting food because everyone’s taste buds appreciate food more when it is nearer to body temperature and suggested leaving the lamb for a good 25 minutes rest before slicing and serving.

  Tim received raptures of thanks from everyone for the cupcakes and Jessie teasingly demanded that because she was the only female she should be allowed to choose first. She picked a luscious lemon cupcake with lemon frosting piped majestically on the top and scattered with white chocolate curls then raved about the flavour while the three chefs discussed the profits to be made on simple cake mixture, frosting and chocolate.

  Later that afternoon as he ran through the park he passed a middle-aged guy with grey hair and thought of his dad and how much happier he felt since their talk. And then he thought of the upset with Jenny at lunch time and felt guilty for snapping at her. She’d meant well he supposed, offering to be a go-between with Kate and he remembered how well the two girls had got along together. Last year when he’d ran the London marathon in aid of the NSPCC they’d both been waiting for him at the finish line cheering and clapping, and had done a fantastic job of sponsoring and collecting over a thousand pounds from his success.

  When he’d first met Kate and found out that she made a small monthly direct debit to the charity he’d been well impressed. “I think I’ll make a direct debit to match yours,” he’d said sitting looking at the NSPCC website on his lap top.

  She’d stood behind him stroking the back of his hair and looking over his shoulders at the horrific photographs showing the cruelty and abuse on the young children’s faces. “Christ, Tim,” she’d whispered. “How can adults do this to them?”

  He’d clicked his way through the newsletter reading some of the articles and it had been a real eye-opener. “God knows, how these poor little blighters live with this on a daily basis. I mean, it’s just abhorrent on every level…”

  She’d sighed and he’d turned around to face her. “I’ll run the marathon this year for them. And even if I only get £100 I’ll know every penny will be spent helping them.”

  Thinking of some of those poor children’s sufferings now was like a knife twisting in his stomach and when he compared their childhood to his own pampered up-bringing with Jenny; he realised how totally idiotic his feelings towards her were. He stopped at a tree with a stitch in his side and realised he was only twenty minutes running distance from her house. Changing direction he decided to call and make amends.

  With a mug of coffee each Jenny sat on the bench swinging her legs clad in old Levis jeans and a bright pink shirt which clashed horrendously with her red hair. He looked around Jenny’s old farmhouse-style kitchen while sitting uncomfortably on a hard backed chair and traced a finger around the circular knobs in the grain of the pine table. It was obvious to anyone that the kitchen was hardly ever used because Jenny wasn’t a cook and had never been interested in food. She was more than content to eat out, order-in, or leave the cooking of meals to Greg’s limited skills.

  He took a deep breath and because making apologies was something alien to him he knew he’d have to get it all out at once or he’d be sunk. “Look, Jenny, I had to come and apologise,” he said feeling as if the words were sticking in the back of his dry throat. “I was wrong to snap at you this lunch time because you were only trying to help, and I’m sorry.”

  There, it was done and it hadn’t been so bad after all, he thought waiting for her usual flippant come-back but was surprised to see a sober expression settle on her pretty face.

  “God, I wasn’t expecting that,” she said jumping down from the bench to sit opposite him. “I’m sorry too and it was my fault. I know I’ve got no tact whatsoever and you were right it’s none of my business but I’ve been looking out for you for as long as I can remember and it’s a hard habit to break. And because I’ve got no one else to fuss over…”

  He looked confused and without thinking he retorted. “Well I didn’t ask you to look after me when we were kids?”

  “No, you didn’t, but it’s all I ever got from mum.”

  Imitating Lynne’s voice she mocked, “Look after your brother, Jenny, he’s only little and needs his big sister. Make sure nobody bullies him Jenny and take him with you, Jenny. She used to say it over and over again until I wanted to scream!”

  He was gobsmacked. Jeez, if anyone had cause for resentment it was her and felt his face flush with shame at how he’d behaved. “Christ, Jen, I didn’t know any of that. I feel crap now and if it had been the other way around I’d have hated dragging my baby sister around in front of my pals.”

  She smiled teasingly. “Oh, it wasn’t too bad – you were quite a little cutie at times,” she said and they both burst out laughing. “But from now on I promise not to interfere anymore especially where your girlfriends are concerned. Even though I did really like Katie.”

  He saw her wistful expression and knew that she too missed her friendship.

  “Yeah well, didn’t we all,” he said miserably. “But she ran out when the going got tough which I’m gutted about because I really thought she was up for the long haul.”

  Jenny laid a hand on his arm. “Growing up isn’t easy, is it?” she said and looked past him chewing on her bottom lip. “Greg and I weren’t having an easy day off today. We’d been for results at the hospital.”

  “What!” he cried out in alarm but she squeezed his arm reassuringly.

  “It’s OK, don’t panic there’s nothing seriously wrong. It just turns out the reason we can’t get pregnant is because I’m reproductively challenged and for years we’d always thought it was Greg who was a little short on numbers, if you know what I mean?”

  Tim’s mind raced, but she’d always said she never wanted children and couldn’t bear the thought of dirty nappies and sleepless nights. “But, I thought you guys didn’t want kids? Or at least that’s what you’ve always told everyone?”

  Her pretty face crumbled and tears washed the same green eyes as his. “All a front, dear brother,” she uttered forlornly. “I try to hide the fact that I’ve failed at the simplest female task. I can excel at everything else in life and receive all the accolades and pats on the head from dad but can’t manage to get myself pregnant.”

  He didn’t know what to say but knew actions would speak louder than words and wrapped h
is arms around her. She flung herself into his chest and sobbed while with one hand he stroked her back and with the other he twirled a finger in one of her curls just like he had done as a small boy. He wanted to scream with the unjustness of their situation. Here was Jenny and Greg, who would make fantastic parents but wouldn’t get the chance, and yet day after day there were thousands of babies being born who were neglected or abused. The intense feelings of protectiveness towards his sister flooded through him and he knew he’d kill anybody that ever hurt her. He wished with all his heart he could do something to put things right for her so she could be happy.

  Hugging her closely, the sobs eventually began to subside.

  “And what does Greg have to say?” he asked quietly.

  She sat up and wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “Well, when he thought it could be his fault he wanted me to go and find another man with bigger and better sperm and I told him to stop being ridiculous, and now we know it’s mainly my fault, I told him to do the same. But thank God he doesn’t want to,” she said sniffing loudly. “You see, Tim, he’s my opposite. He keeps me grounded so to speak, and I couldn’t bear to be without him.”

  Withdrawing from him she stepped back into fearless Jenny mode. “Now look, we’ve let our coffee go cold. I’ll make some more?”

  Greg appeared in the doorway and they chatted for a few minutes and then making excuses about his muscles cramping if he stopped in the middle of a run he left them and ran back to the apartment.

  When he stood at the serving bench later that night overseeing the dishes his chefs were preparing his mind whirled with thoughts of Jenny and his father and how much he’d managed to come to terms with in such a short space of time. He thought of the cliché; it had done him a power of good, and knew in his case it was right – he felt stronger, more confident and so much more able to cope.