The Plumberry School of Comfort Food

by Cathy Bramley

‘Your mother’s had a gin and tonic,’ said Dad in a loaded voice. ‘We’re having lunch out. What are you doing?’

  ‘Walking off supper. Which I cooked. Actually, it was your recipe, Mum: Cheesy Cod Casserole.’

  ‘Hasn’t Gloria suffered enough?’ Dad muttered. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Cheek,’ Mum tutted. ‘And the cookery school? How is it doing?’

  ‘Very well!’ I said happily. ‘Big day tomorrow . . .’

  The dogs were on the move again, so I followed behind them while I filled my parents in on the Bake Off competition and how overwhelmed with enquiries we’d been since our day in the limelight on Saturday when the Challenge Chester team had been in Plumberry.

  ‘A baking competition?’ Mum sighed. ‘I’d love to enter one of those. There’s nothing like that over here.’

  I smiled to myself; I think I could count on one hand the number of times Mum had baked a cake.

  ‘Since when have you been a keen baker?’ Dad chortled.

  ‘I have my moments.’ Mum sniffed. ‘Anyway, love, it sounds like you’re in heaven.’

  ‘Yes, it was a good career move,’ Dad added.

  At that moment a teenage boy slouched past, dragging a reluctant Yorkshire terrier behind him on a lead. Sage decided to skip round the little dog in circles, possibly to cheer it up, and before we knew it our leads were tied together.

  ‘Oh, I am in heaven,’ I said fervently.

  The youth stared at me uncomfortably and picked up his dog.

  ‘But my career doesn’t come into it,’ I said, threading Sage’s lead through the teenager’s legs whilst trying to keep Comfrey out of the tangle. ‘I’m only here temporarily until Gloria is back on her feet.’

  As soon as the words were out I felt a pang of sadness. As much as I wanted Gloria to get well, I didn’t want my stay in Plumberry to end.

  ‘She’s sixty-five,’ Mum piped up. ‘That might be months.’

  That would be awful for Gloria. Not so awful for me.

  A major fact hit me between the eyes and I gasped.

  ‘You’re free,’ I said to the relieved youth, who slouched on his way smartish.

  ‘Do you know, Dad? You both might be right,’ I laughed.

  Only this morning, I’d been telling myself that it was time to start looking after number one, put myself first for a change. And suddenly I realized that I’d already found what I’d been looking for. This. This life. Plumberry, the village, the cookery school. All of it.

  I’d agreed to come as a favour for Gloria, but somewhere along the line, the Plumberry School of Comfort Food had become my own dream.

  ‘Thanks, Mum and Dad. You’ve really helped,’ I said, picking up my pace. I wanted to get back to Gloria, talk to her before she fell asleep.

  ‘I know we didn’t always see eye to eye in the past,’ said Mum, lowering her voice finally, ‘but we’re here for you.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘And we have always only wanted what’s best for you,’ she continued.

  I tensed at that but now wasn’t the moment to argue.

  ‘Don’t drag me into it,’ Dad grunted.

  ‘So you don’t want the best for your only daughter—’

  I managed to interrupt their bickering long enough to say goodbye and hung up. We’d walked as far as the boarded-up pub and the dogs were beginning to flag so I turned back in the direction of home, my mind whirring.

  In my head I’d sort of assumed I’d be here until the end of the summer, until Gloria was back on her feet, and then I’d have to go back home and kick-start my career. But maybe there was an alternative . . . I had a sudden flashback to the open day when I’d stood with Dave on the deck watching the kingfisher.

  If you see a kingfisher, it’s time to dive into a new activity or possibly a new love will enter your life . . .

  Despite my initial fears about coming to Plumberry, I’d enjoyed connecting with food again and I cared passionately about making a success of the cookery school. Being close to Gloria was a bonus too, even if she was a handful at times. But could I do that? I wondered, a sudden shiver prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. Could I finally let go of my guilt about being alive without Mimi and choose the life I wanted to lead?

  I turned into Hillside Lane and took a deep breath. I guessed there was only one way to find out.

  Twenty minutes later, I handed Gloria a cup of camomile tea and settled beside her on the sofa.

  ‘Gloria, I’ve been thinking about the future.’

  She leaned back against her cushions and smiled her thanks. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Chapter 25

  The Great British Bake Off had come to Plumberry!

  I stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed the room, feeling extremely proud of myself. My research had paid off and the props I’d assembled captured the look of the hit TV show perfectly.

  We couldn’t quite manage the canvas walls of the giant marquee, of course, but we’d pinned Union Jack bunting in pastel shades of pink, yellow and mint green across the wooden beams. I’d ordered huge enamel jugs of flowers from the village florist and borrowed some wicker hampers from Mags and stacked them in a corner. I’d even covered the teaching workstation in pink and white polka-dot tablecloths for the day to give a softer look to the room.

  Pixie had helped me every step of the way, and she had been in since the crack of dawn getting everything ready for our bakers. She’d assembled a side table with a plethora of bits and pieces in case anyone had forgotten anything, from baking beans to greaseproof paper, icing bags to cake boards, as well as a row of essences and food colourings.

  We’d done Plumberry proud and if I managed to persuade the local paper to print pictures of the winner and a few action shots from the day, I was sure we’d get some great publicity for all our efforts.

  The fire escape doors opened and Tom wheeled Gloria in. I felt my stomach tighten as he approached. He wasn’t wearing his chef whites today and looked very trim in a tight-fitting charcoal-grey shirt and black trousers and his shoes looked like they’d been shined specially.

  ‘May I present Plumberry’s very own Mary Berry,’ he announced, bringing the wheelchair to a halt next to the teaching station.

  We’d bought the wheelchair second-hand from Pixie’s granddad first thing this morning. He’d been quite keen to sell Gloria his commode chair too (good condition, one gentleman owner) but she’d been mortified at the suggestion and had reassured him that she hadn’t any need for such an appliance.

  Privately I thought that after yesterday’s toilet kamikaze pilot incident, she perhaps did, but I didn’t like to remind her in company so I’d loaded the wheelchair in the back of the car and we’d driven straight here. She’d spent the last hour in reception going through the bookings with Mags while I’d put the finishing touches to the teaching kitchen.

  ‘Oh, what a sight; it looks wonderful. Verity, you’ve surpassed yourself.’ Gloria clapped her hands, her bangles tinkling as they slipped up her arm.

  ‘Thank you. It was a team effort and you look wonderful too.’ I grinned and bent down for a hug. Her face felt warm as I pressed my cheek to hers, but then the weather was sunny again and it was nearly June after all. She’d put make-up on today and dressed carefully and looked far more like the Gloria I was used to. Apart from her mode of transport.

  ‘I’m glad we did this,’ I said, patting the wheelchair. ‘A lot safer than having you scooting round on crutches.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she grumbled. ‘But I’m going to stand when I make the welcome speech otherwise no one will see me at the back.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I conceded. ‘I’ll bring your crutches up, but no overdoing it.’

  ‘Better do it now, V,’ said Tom, peering down to the car park through the window. ‘It looks like the contestants have started to arrive.’

  V. Tom had called me V.

  Gloria glanced at me and I felt my heart thump. Mimi used to call m
e V. I always corrected everybody else who shortened my name. Especially Melanie the secretary, who called me Vee-Vee. But hearing Tom say it felt good. My face softened into a smile. It felt very good.

  ‘Will do,’ I said and scampered down the stairs to fetch them.

  At ten o’clock precisely Pixie opened the doors to let the twenty contestants in. Mags and I stood at the top of the stairs ready to welcome them and to direct them each to a workstation. A crowd of women, as I’d suspected, came tip-tapping up the stairs, chatting animatedly and oohing and aahing as they reached the teaching kitchen.

  ‘Look at the bunting!’ exclaimed a yummy-mummy type in a Cath Kidston dress. ‘To die for!’

  ‘Morning!’ I smiled. ‘Hello! Follow Mags please, she’ll show you where to go.’

  ‘Lovely flowers,’ said a pretty girl with shoulder-length curls and lovely long eyelashes. She gave me a twinkly smile.

  ‘Aren’t they just.’ I winked at her; she was Plumberry’s florist and had been so helpful and friendly when I’d popped in to order the flowers. ‘Good luck!’

  ‘And all the little pots of utensils – so cheerful.’ A middle-aged woman with a long neck and a very severe haircut pressed a hand to her chest.

  ‘We do our best.’ I sighed a happy sigh; that was just the reaction I’d hoped for and even though I was sure there’d be a competitive edge to the day when things started hotting up, already I could tell that the atmosphere was a lot more relaxed than yesterday. I pointed her towards a workstation near the window.

  ‘Stick me in a corner please,’ said a low voice, close to my ear.

  I whirled round to see Dave clutching two bulging carrier bags.

  ‘Dave! I didn’t know you were coming.’ I gave him a hug.

  ‘I knew,’ Mags piped up, appearing as if by magic at my side. ‘You’re the only man here.’

  ‘Thought I might be.’ He smiled shyly. ‘But there’s a special lady that I’m endeavouring to impress and I thought that a cake might ameliorate my prospects.’

  For the first time since I’d met her, Mags went silent. And a bit pale. Poor thing. She obviously didn’t think for a second that Dave was referring to her. But judging by the flush that was creeping gradually from the top of his shirt to his rosy cheeks, I had my suspicions.

  ‘Over here, Dave,’ I said, looping my arm through his. ‘Let’s put you by the office; that’s nearly in your comfort zone.’

  Within fifteen minutes every contestant had a workstation and had assembled their ingredients in front of them. Pixie and Tom scooted round the room demonstrating the ovens and pointing out the spare supplies in case anybody had forgotten anything, and then we were ready to begin.

  Mags, Pixie and I positioned ourselves near the office out of the way and Gloria, at the front, pushed herself up out of her wheelchair, hooked her hands into her crutches and beamed.

  She’d begun to put on a bit of weight, I noticed; her face had filled out and her collarbone wasn’t quite as prominent as it had been, but it suited her – she had always been as tiny as a bird before. She still had all her elegance and poise, though, even on crutches.

  ‘If you’re as big a fan of GBBO as I am,’ she began, her eyes shining as she looked round the room at her audience, ‘you’ll understand exactly how honoured I feel to be holding our very own version in Plumberry. Tom MacDonald, our resident Michelin-starred chef, will help me with the judging and he will be along to talk to all of you about what you’re baking for us today. On behalf of the Plumberry School of Comfort Food, good luck, but above all have fun!’

  ‘Thanks, Gloria,’ said Tom, resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘We are looking for something extra special today, something that will put a smile on our faces. We know you’re not professionals, but we are looking for excellence.’

  ‘No pressure then,’ Dave murmured, loosening the collar of his shirt.

  ‘The prize for today’s competition is two places on any cookery course,’ said Gloria, taking up the baton from Tom.

  Pixie nudged me and we shared a smile. I knew what she meant; they were working exactly as a duo should: sharing the introduction, each of them delivering part of the information that the contestants needed. They truly were Plumberry’s answer to Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood.

  ‘In addition, you have each received one of our lovely aprons, designed by our marketing director Verity.’ Gloria paused and sought me out in the crowd.

  I raised my eyebrows at her and smiled.

  Gloria had been overjoyed to hear my proposal to stay on as marketing manager last night. So overjoyed that she had promoted me instantly to director and admitted that she’d been worried about how she was going to cope when she finally did come back to work. I’d called Rosie too, who’d whooped with delight and declared that we’d have even more to celebrate when she came to stay. I still had to sort out what to do with my house, but the knowledge that I’d be staying in Plumberry indefinitely had put a permanent beam on my face ever since.

  ‘Your wonderful food will be featured on our website and in our press materials over the coming weeks,’ Gloria continued. ‘Right, you have three hours to make your show-stopping cake.’

  Three hours was a long time, but given that cakes had to be completely cool in order to be iced, we’d decided to give the contestants plenty of time. And once again Mags and Pixie had been busy arranging refreshments in the Aga kitchen for people to help themselves to as and when they had a free moment in their baking schedules.

  ‘OK then, ladies.’ Tom paused. ‘And Dave.’

  ‘Woohoo!’ someone shouted suggestively.

  I craned my neck to see who it was.

  Two women in their early forties were alternately gripping their sides with laughter and elbowing each other, so my money was on one of them.

  Dave looked at me and my heart melted for him. He was such a lovely and thoughtful man. Admittedly, he did manage to turn most conversations into a discussion about balance sheets, but even that was just because he cared about his clients. I so hoped that the special lady he was baking for was Mags. I linked arms with Mags and squeezed it.

  Tom gave the women a hard stare and cleared his throat. ‘I’m very honoured to be assisting the lovely Mary Berry – I mean Gloria Ramsbottom – in today’s competition.’

  ‘Does that make you Paul Hollywood, then?’ tittered a lady in the front row who had come with her friend.

  ‘I bet he has a show-stopper,’ the friend said out of the side of her mouth.

  ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for dropping crumbs,’ snorted another.

  Tom clapped his hands loudly. ‘Good luck, everyone. You may start cooking!’

  Gloria waved to Pixie who went over to help her into a chair. Tom caught my eye and made a beeline for Mags and me.

  ‘They’re a lively bunch,’ I whispered.

  ‘They’re nymphomaniacs,’ he muttered, wiping an arm across his forehead.

  ‘I’m not,’ Dave put in, over his shoulder.

  ‘More’s the pity,’ Mags murmured.

  I chuckled to myself and went for a wander round the room.

  ‘Does Tom know I was in early to help set up?’ Pixie whispered in my ear a few seconds later.

  I thought about it. ‘Not sure. Probably.’

  ‘Will you tell him to make sure?’ She pushed her fringe out of her eyes. ‘I’d really like to impress him. I mean, really impress him.’

  I looked at her quizzically. ‘Any particular reason?’

  She scuffed the toe of her Doc Martens on the floor and then polished it on the back of her black jeans. I didn’t know how she coped in this hot weather, top to toe in black. The sunshine seemed to be doing overtime this week after all that rain and I was feeling warm, even in my denim dress.

  ‘Aaron,’ she muttered.

  ‘Yesterday’s winner. What about him?’

  She folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. ‘I want an opportunity to work in Salinger’s too – wh
y hasn’t Tom got me a gig there?’

  I looked over at Tom, who was chatting to one of the contestants. She was very pretty, dressed in a navy vest, white skinny jeans and flip-flops. Her curly hair was the colour of spun sugar and she’d scooped it up loosely to reveal gold hoop earrings. She and Tom had their heads together trying to read the writing on a tiny pot of something.

  ‘Who’s that Tom’s with?’ I said, trying to act cool.

  Pixie looked up briefly. ‘Chloe. One of the barmaids from the pub. Fit, isn’t she?’

  I shrugged. ‘I guess, although in an obvious way, if you know what I mean.’

  She grinned at my expression. ‘Jealous? Don’t be. Chloe is great. She has a little kid who she’s devoted to and she works two jobs to get by: behind the bar with me and then as a cleaner while the toddler is at nursery.’

  Tom and Chloe burst out laughing, which made my heart sink another notch.

  ‘I’m surprised she can spare the time to be here baking cakes then.’ Miaow. Even to me that sounded catty. ‘With all that going on,’ I added hurriedly.

  ‘Oh, she was determined to come; she took the morning off from her cleaning job to be here. Something about a grudge match.’

  I frowned. That sounded ominous. And there was me thinking that today’s event would be all sweetness and light . . .

  ‘But to go back to your question, Pixie, I think if Tom knew you wanted work experience in a pro kitchen, he’d help you organize that.’ I took her arm and led her towards the window where it was more private. ‘How long has that been your goal?’

  ‘Since yesterday. Seeing those normal people’ – Pixie shook her head and I stifled a smile at the word ‘normal’ – ‘cooking all that fancy food was like opening a door to a secret world. I always thought posh food was for posh people. But anyone can make food look beautiful, can’t they?’

  ‘Of course they can,’ I retorted. ‘Whatever made you think otherwise?’

  She took her glasses off and rubbed them on the corner of her apron.

  ‘There was this girl at my school whose mum baked her a cupcake for her school snack every day. Every day.’ Pixie stared at me with those big eyes. ‘At half past ten we’d be turfed out into the playground come rain or shine. And I’d try and stand near to her to see what was in her lunchbox. Gorgeous they were, these cakes: topped with a giant swirl of icing, or dipped in melted chocolate, or covered in hundreds and thousands. Know what me and my sister had?’