Hot, tired and frazzled, they all glared at her.
But, Ella thought, she was right. Four cooks, working together on four different dishes, collided all the time and made one heck of a mess. Even if the food was OK they were going to have to work really hard on the choreography and the clean-and-tidy aspect. Just in case…
‘Um, and I don’t like to mention it, dears,’ Trixie said, ‘but should that oven be smoking like that?’
‘Bloody hell!’ Billy rushed back across the kitchen. ‘My scones have caught alight!’
Ella and Poll ran straight into one another.
‘My artichokes!’ Poll shrieked.
‘My pudding!’ Ella yelled.
Ash swore as his nettle soup bubbled teasingly to the top of the saucepan, hovered for a moment, then cascaded, lava-like, down the sides with a malevolent hiss and a torrent of flames.
‘Stand back!’ Billy commanded, flapping at the clouds of smoke billowing from the depths of the cooker. ‘Everyone stand back! And where’s the fire extinguisher?’
‘You don’t need a fire extinguisher,’ Trixie said happily. ‘After my own little incendiary incident, I know exactly what you need.’ She patted her curls, adjusted her beads, threw back her head and started to sing: ‘Dandelions so full of gold/Douse these flames to ashes cold/With your glittering water never ire/Use your magic on this fire’
Ella, completely horrified, had a fleeting glimpse of everyone else just staring open-mouthed at Trixie before the sweltering kitchen became as cold as ice, and vivid zigzags of gold flickered everywhere like a million darting fireflies.
‘What the… ?’ Billy muttered.
Poll gave a little gasp.
Ash and Onyx said nothing at all.
Ella stared at the cooker. Everything seemed to go into reverse. The acrid smoke curled in on itself and disappeared. The darting golden movements were no longer there – if they ever had been – and the kitchen had returned to its normal sweltering temperature.
‘There you go, dears,’ Trixie said happily. ‘All sorted.’
‘What the hell was that?’ Billy shook his head.
Onyx laughed shakily. ‘Did someone just do something there?’
Ella and Ash stared at one another.
Poll clapped her hands. ‘Trixie, was that fairy magic? Oh my word.’
Trixie preened. ‘See, I told you. The fairies are always there to help. Now maybe you’ll believe me.’
‘Believe you nothing.’ Billy tottered across to the cooker. ‘Good God, though – look!’
They looked.
Ash’s soup had returned to its pre-eruption simmer and the hob was pristine. Inside the oven, everything was cooking as it should have been – with no taint of smoke, no sign of burning…
‘There you are, dears.’ Trixie patted her curls. ‘That’s the fairies for you. They’ve done good, as they always do. And that’s certainly a bit of fairy magic I wish I’d known about when I had my little, um, conflagration. If only I’d known then I could have saved my house. I made sure I checked up on it afterwards, I can tell you, dears. You never know when it might happen again and there’s always so much to learn about the fairy worlds. So that’s when I discovered that the dandelion flower fairies are nature’s firefighters.’
They all stared at her.
Billy shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I just don’t buy it.’
‘But,’ Poll insisted, ‘you saw it. We all saw it. And it worked.’
Ella rubbed her eyes. She didn’t believe in fairies. She simply didn’t… But then, what in God’s name had happened there?
‘Actually,’ Onyx spoke slowly from the rocking chair, ‘I think that dandelions are connected with water… on a more, er, personal and basic level. Aren’t they used in herbal diuretics?’
‘Pis-en-lit!’ Poll suddenly clapped her hands. ‘That’s what dandelions are known as – yes, Onyx, you’re right. We always called them that as children!’
‘Wet the bed?’ Ella frowned, translating roughly. ‘Nice.’
‘Do you mean –’ Ash looked at Trixie ‘– that these dandelion fairies – if that’s what that was all about – peed on the cooker to put out the flames? Jesus, that’d go down well with the health and safety brigade – not to mention Gabby Dewberry.’
Ella giggled.
Trixie looked affronted. ‘You can all think what you like. I know the truth. And believe or not, you’ve just seen fairy magic in action. No, please don’t thank me – I’ll just pop upstairs and have a little herbal tincture. Magicking always takes it out of me. Excuse me, dears.’
‘She’s not the only one who needs a drink.’ Onyx exhaled loudly as Trixie headed out of the kitchen. ‘I’m not sure I know what’s what any more.’
‘Neither do I.’ Ella, shaken, clutched at the table. ‘Come on then – tell me – did that actually happen?’
Ash and Billy shook their heads.
‘Of course it did.’ Poll clasped her hands, beaming. ‘Oh, and wasn’t it absolutely wonderful?’
Chapter Twenty-four
‘I think,’ Poll said as she sat on a hay bale and watched Billy hammering nails into the barn’s rapidly improving walls, ‘that I do believe in fairies now. After last night…’
Billy looked down from his ladder and wobbled precariously. ‘Don’t, Poll, I’m still trying to forget it.’
‘Why?’ She looked up at him. ‘It was amazing.’
‘It was bloody damn scary.’ Billy smiled at her. ‘I don’t know about you, love, but I’m always a bit worried about things that have no rational explanation.’
‘Oh, I’m more than happy to accept things with no explanation whatsoever. And it was so exciting, wasn’t it?’
‘Like I said –’ Billy turned back to his repairs ‘– it was pretty scary. And, fairies aside, we’re going to have to rehearse and rehearse just to stop getting in each other’s way and making such a mess.’
‘But the food tasted lovely.’
‘OK, I’ll give you that. It did. Young Onyx polished off loads of it, didn’t she? And said it was delicious. We can certainly cook.’
‘And Trixie can certainly conjure up fairies.’
Billy looked over his shoulder and smiled gently at her. ‘You believe what you want to believe – me, I’ll keep an open mind.’
She smiled back at him. The fairy magic had been exciting and astounding – but to her, nowhere near as exciting and astounding as these lovely times spent alone in the barn with Billy. It had become their special place, somewhere they could talk alone together, as it was being miraculously transformed from a tumbledown ruin into an extremely serviceable building.
Billy, Poll thought happily, was truly amazing…
‘Anyway,’ she said softly, ‘and leaving Trixie’s fairy intervention out because we’re clearly not going to agree on it, I think that, forewarned being forearmed, we really should have our menu completely ready. I mean written down and everything? Don’t you? Just in case?’
Billy, rocking slowly on the ladder as he negotiated a particularly tricky repair, nodded. ‘Good idea. Why don’t you ask Ella to do that on her computer – always assuming she’s got one. But Poll, love, please don’t get disappointed if we’re not chosen. I’d hate to see you disappointed.’
‘I won’t be,’ Poll said quickly. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit… So, have you and Ash finally decided on the first course? Is he sticking with the nettles?’
‘Yes, I think so. Last night’s run-through was a good idea because – fire and fairies apart – it showed us if we’re going to cook three courses then we’re going to need to be at the oven at the same time, and we really haven’t got that much time to cook, have we?’
Poll sighed. They’d been over and over this already – both since last night and before. Sometimes she secretly wondered of this Dewberrys’ Dinners thing was going to turn into another of her huge mistakes – like painting the house or the cannabis factory or the illegal farm shop… Still,
at least this time Dennis wasn’t around to pour scorn on her dreams, was he? And Billy – she glanced upwards and smiled as she always did when she looked at him – would never mock her.
‘Well, we’ve done the timings over and over again, and, as long as there are no further disasters, it should work out OK. You and I will be using the oven, Ash is just using the hob and Ella will need both.’
‘And, to avoid all that mess and confusion, we can divide the kitchen table into three sections like in a proper restaurant so we don’t trip over each other all the time.’ Billy fanned himself. ‘Mind, if this heatwave don’t let up we might as well just invite them out into the garden for a barbecue, if –’
‘We’re chosen,’ they finished together and laughed.
Poll stretched her legs out in front of her. How lovely it was here in the barn, with clear blue sky outside stretching to the shimmering horizon, the sun dappling through the gaping doorway and the wild flowers sprinkled across the meadows like jewels. And there was no sound except the lazy bumbling of the bees and the constant singing of the birds and…
And – a car? On Hideaway Lane?
‘Visitors?’ Billy queried.
‘Probably the postman.’ Poll’s mouth was dry as she scrambled to her feet.
‘Poll.’ Billy’s eyes were gentle. ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up. I don’t want you to have your heart broken. You’re too precious to me for that.’
Poll swallowed. ‘My heart will never be broken – at least, not by Dewberrys’ Dinners.’
‘And not by me, either.’
‘I know. But if it is the postman, I’m going to have to dash. I want to get there before Trixie does – just in case…’
‘OK, love,’ Billy laughed. ‘And don’t forget I’ve got a nice handy shoulder to cry on should it be needed.’
‘Thank you. Just keep your fingers crossed. I’ll be back in a minute…’
And with her hair swirling round her face, Poll hoiked up her long skirt, ran out of the barn and across Hideaway’s desiccated fields.
The postman, in the all-year-round uniform of shorts and polo shirt, was just clambering from his van outside the front of the farmhouse.
‘Morning, Poll. Another scorcher, eh? Lots for you all today – and one to sign for.’
‘Really?’ Poll tried not to look overexcited. Tried to stop the butterflies leaping from her stomach to her throat. Tried to stop her heart from crashing through her ribs.
It was probably Ella’s contract from the solicitor. At last.
She reached out and took the fat brown Jiffy bag.
Oh, Lordy Lord! The Dewberrys’ Dinners logo was plastered all over it…
Poll’s hands shook as she scribbled an indecipherable signature in the little orange box. Stop it, she told herself, it’s bound to be a thanks but no thanks. They’d have to write and tell you that, wouldn’t they?
But, what if… ?
‘Loads of them today,’ the postman said cheerfully, tapping the logo. ‘Didn’t know so many people round here had applied to be on it. Loads of disappointed people this morning. Thought Tarnia Snepps was going to have me throat out when she ripped hers open. Envelope, that is, not her throat – sadly. Scream? I’ve never heard nothing like it.’
Poll worked some saliva into her dry mouth. ‘Oh, so Tarnia wasn’t lucky?’
‘No, thank God. Me and the missus have been to one or two of her shindigs – you know the ones she put on for the hoi polloi when her old man was angling for a gong? – and she uses caterers, couldn’t boil an egg herself, so she don’t deserve to be picked. Pity in a way though, because she’s a queen bitch, and her and that Gabby Dewberry would have made a fine pair. I’d have liked to see them go head to head on the telly.’
‘And Tarnia had one of these packets?’
‘Yep, and so has that Geordie geezer from Willows Lacey who pretends to be Italian – he hasn’t made it either and his language was pure Tyneside, I can tell you.’
‘Oh, dear… poor thing.’
‘Ah. He didn’t get selected – and nor has a good fifty more on my route alone.’
‘Really? So these are the refusal letters, are they?’
‘Looks that way. Sorry, Poll, if you was expecting different. It’s been a right vale of tears this morning, I can tell you.’
‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘Still, at least you’re not too upset. No point really. Right, then, got to do Angel Meadows now – and I’m not looking forward to that either.’
Poll watched him drive away along the dusty lane. The sun beat down relentlessly on her bare head. She tucked the other letters under her arm and cradled the Jiffy bag against her Indian print frock, feeling icy cold.
They hadn’t made it. These were the no thank yous. Everyone had got one today. Of course, the lucky applicants would have already been contacted by phone, wouldn’t they? The also-rans would get a letter – this letter – to be signed for so that it was all legal and above board, and probably a Gabby and Tom cook book or something as a consolation prize.
It had been just another foolish dream.
Wearily she climbed the steps and plodded through the farm’s open front door. It was dark and cool and she shivered. She dropped the letters on the hallstand as usual for everyone to take their own as they passed.
The Jiffy bag was too big to sit on the top so she slid it to the bottom of the pile. There was no point in opening it yet. She’d leave that for later, when they were all together, and by then she’d have shed all her disconsolate tears in private.
Poll exhaled slowly and realised, despite all she’d said to the contrary, just how very much she’d really, really wanted them to be chosen.
Chapter Twenty-five
‘. . . and then,’ Onyx said, swinging her long legs from the kitchen table – legs, Ella thought, that looked even more amazingly never-ending in a pair of skimpy white shorts – ‘I got this weird phone call asking me to do a private show. Well, I was shocked. I mean, I’m not that sort of girl and I told him so in no uncertain terms.’
‘Yes, well, of course, you would.’ Ella looked up from folding George’s clothes into the ironing basket. ‘And what did he say?’
Onyx laughed and swirled the melting ice round in the water jug on the table. ‘He said he wasn’t that sort of bloke either and I’d got the wrong end of the stick and what he meant was would I dance for a private charity function he was putting on.’
‘Oh, right… how funny. Um, do charity things have, um, exotic dancers, then? Sorry, it’s not an area I know anything about.’
Onyx had arrived about half an hour earlier to see Ash and, as he was still at work, had plonked herself on the table to wait and chatted non-stop. Mainly about the previous evening’s fairy thing.
They’d agreed that something had happened, but neither of them was actually going to be brave enough to admit to it being – well – magical.
‘And do you know what else Trixie told me last night?’ Onyx fiddled with a huge hooped earring.
‘No idea,’ Ella laughed. ‘But right now I’d believe it could be anything.’
‘She told me I had a fairy name.’
‘Oh yes, she’s told us ours, too. I’m Sunshine Strangeflower.’
‘Wow! That’s really cool. How pretty. Mine’s Serpentine Charmer. I might use it in my stage act one day. But Trixie said it went really well with Ash’s – can’t remember what his is now – but that it meant we made a really perfect couple because they were both linked to snakes.’
‘Really? How fascinating.’
Onyx giggled. ‘I thought it was really sweet.’
‘Mmm, yes, it is.’
Ella folded another T-shirt. She’d had a brief and fairly miserable phone conversation with Mark earlier, and now really didn’t want to listen to Onyx’s cheerful chatter. Mark, it seemed, was getting more and more used to being a singleton and didn’t seem to have had much time to give any thought to what their three-month br
eak was supposed to be achieving. Even when Ella had tried to tell him – again – about how truly fabulous George was, he cut her short with the ‘other people’s children – boring’ put-down.
So, despite feeling generally miserable, she was also well aware there was something not quite right at Hideaway. And it had nothing to do with Mark – or fairies.
Trixie had opted for having sandwiches in her room while catching up on her beloved soaps, so she, Poll, Billy and George had had an early salad dinner because it was too hot to cook.
All through the meal, Poll had seemed distracted and unhappy and had hardly spoken. Even Billy had failed to get more than yes and no answers from her. Now Poll was putting George to bed, and Billy, having given up trying to get her to talk, was outside in the garden with the dogs and cats and hens, having his traditional after-dinner cigarette on the swing seat – and Ella was seriously worried.
Poll’s uncharacteristic dark mood was strangely unsettling, and Hideaway Farm seemed to have an air of emptiness and broody foreboding. Surely Poll and Billy hadn’t had a row, had they? Despite them thinking their burgeoning love affair was a secret, it was plain to everyone that they were deliriously happy in each other’s company. Or they had been…
Of course it could be something to do with the weather, Ella thought, pushing her hair away from her sticky face. There seemed to be no let-up in the relentless heat, and even now, as the sun was sinking lower in the west, the temperature was still tropical and the evening was sultry and threatening.
‘You should come along some time,’ Onyx continued, still oblivious to Ella’s distraction. ‘I’d love you to see one of my shows – and it always helps to have as much support as possible.’
‘What? Sorry?’ Ella blinked. ‘Me? Surely not.’
Onyx chuckled. ‘Why not? We often get women in the audience. They love it – see it as an ace way of getting fit. They’re always asking me for tips afterwards. This charity bash would be perfect – who knows, I might even convert you to the cause. It’d make you a nice bit of extra money.’
‘Er, yes… well, thanks, but I really don’t think it’s quite my thing.’
The Way to a Woman's Heart Page 19