The Plumberry School of Comfort Food

by Cathy Bramley

  Happy, happy times.

  Now I opened the cupboard, took out Gloria’s red silicone baking tray and pressed the gooey chocolatey mixture down firmly before popping it into the fridge.

  The next time I make this, I thought, as I licked the spoon, I shall make it with Noah and I shall tell him just how precious he is to me.

  Chapter 36

  Later that night, Dave joined Mags and me for dinner. I did feel a bit of a gooseberry at times, but it was nice to have company. Dave left after a pudding of strawberries and cream, to go and help his mum get ready for bed. She’d moved in with him after having a stroke a couple of years ago, he’d told me, and he’d become her chief carer. At which point Mags had gone all gooey-eyed and I left them to it and cleared up.

  After he’d gone, Mags and I made a start on tidying away some of Gloria’s things. Just toiletries from the bathroom; we weren’t ready to tackle her bedroom yet. It had been sad, but we’d felt better for making at least a little progress and had rewarded ourselves with a glass of rosé or three in the garden, swapping stories about Gloria.

  Mags told me about the time Gloria made Scotch eggs for a picnic feature on a TV show. She had been in such a panic to get them ready for the start of filming that she forgot to peel the eggs. She realized just as the programme went live on air and sat cringing out of shot. She thought she’d got away with it until right at the end, when the presenter finished the feature by saying ‘Bon appetit’ and taking a big crunchy bite of Scotch egg, shell and all, before adding in a strangled voice, ‘Mmm, delicious.’

  ‘She’s never touched one since,’ Mags recalled with a laugh.

  ‘Gloria was so patient with us,’ I said with a chuckle, ‘despite us creating havoc in her beloved kitchen at home.’

  I passed Mags one of my chocolate bites. She bit into it and we laughed as a shower of biscuit crumbs disappeared down her cleavage.

  ‘I’ll never forget the day Mimi and I tried to melt chocolate on Gloria’s hob. It was the first time I ever made these without Mum’s help. And I almost got it right,’ I remembered, twinkling my eyes at Mags. ‘I set the bowl over the pan and turned the heat up high.’

  She nodded. ‘Sounds right to me.’

  ‘Then Gloria came in sniffing the air. “Something’s burning,” she announced. Mimi rolled her eyes at her mother as only teenagers can do just as a plume of grey smoke appeared from under the chocolate bowl. We’d forgotten to put water in the pan and we burned a hole in the bottom!’

  We said goodnight not long afterwards and despite half-expecting to have nightmares about losing Noah again, I slept very well. Quite possibly thanks to the bottle of wine Mags and I had downed between us.

  The next morning dawned bright and clear with just a hint of haze over the grassy lawn as the dew began to evaporate in the warm sunshine.

  The Fresh from the Sea crew were arriving before nine to get set up and I wanted to be in early to talk to them about joint marketing opportunities before the bloggers arrived for their morning pastries at ten. Len, Mags’s elderly neighbour on the other side, had already collected Comfrey and Sage and was treating them to a long walk by the river followed by a lazy morning in his garden. Which meant that I could be out nice and early too.

  We miss you, Gloria, I murmured to myself as I passed the box of her make-up and body lotions that we’d parcelled up last night in the hallway. Your things might be disappearing from sight, but you’ll be forever in our hearts.

  Tom was upstairs in the teaching kitchen sharpening his knives on a steel when I arrived. I hovered indecisively, wanting to break the ice before going into the office. He looked up briefly and nodded, before concentrating on the blade again. Fair enough; one slip and he could lose a finger but even so . . .

  How had we come to this, I thought with a pang of disappointment. Only two weeks ago, we were shooting each other secret smiles across the room when no one was looking. Now he could hardly bear to look at me.

  I’d had my doubts about going ahead with the blogger day today, but now I was glad, if only to see Tom in his chef whites, I thought with a flutter. It would be wonderful to see the cookery school buzzing with life again and as we hadn’t had to organize this session ourselves, it was a nice way to ease back into business. Running the cookery school had been such fun in the beginning; the atmosphere between us all had been great. It would take some time to get back to that, I realized, after losing Gloria. But aside from that, would Tom and I ever get back to the easy banter we’d shared? Maybe today, having strangers around us would help ease the tension?

  OK, thirty seconds in and neither of us had spoken. Come on, Verity, say something.

  ‘Morning, Tom.’

  ‘Morning.’

  I cleared my throat and stopped next to him to watch while I waited for conversational inspiration to strike. It was mesmerizing. Back and forward went the blade of his knife in smooth strokes, over and under the steel so fast that the long blade became a blur of glinting metal.

  He stopped and grinned and my heart literally went boom. He held the knife and the steel out to me.

  ‘Fancy a go?’

  I swallowed and nodded. ‘Will you show me?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said in that lilting Irish voice that made my heart sing.

  He moved to stand behind me. I was completely conscious of the mere centimetres between us and it was all I could do not to cave in and wrap my arms around his neck.

  But I didn’t. Firstly, because things between us were all stilted and wrong. Something I planned to sort out today. Now, in fact, if I got a chance. And secondly, he was holding a very sharp knife very close to my bare arm.

  He was so close I could smell him: a faint perfume of clean linen, lemons and something inexplicably Tom. I could pick him out in a blindfold test just by his smell, I thought randomly. He was entirely nerve-tinglingly delicious.

  It was that scene from Ghost again. Just like when he showed me how to knead bread, before he thought that Gabe and I were a thing. And, I remembered with sudden clarity, before he’d rung the newspaper and claimed the new Supper Club as his idea . . . Something else to sort out today. My stomach lurched at the prospect.

  ‘Now,’ Tom murmured softly in my ear, ‘are you paying attention?’

  His voice sent shivers down my spine.

  ‘I am,’ I said, glad he couldn’t see my face, which had gone pink.

  ‘OK.’ He placed the knife in my right hand and the steel in the other. ‘Keep your fingers away from the butt.’

  ‘Yeah, that goes for you too,’ I laughed.

  There was a pregnant pause when Tom appeared to process my innuendo. Just long enough for me to really regret it.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘This is the butt,’ he said, rubbing his thumb over the metal guard that separated the handle of the steel from the shaft.

  ‘Long strokes. Connect the bottom of the steel with the bottom of the blade and stroke it up.’

  He paused, as if expecting me to make another joke. I didn’t dare; I focused on the knife instead and tried to think pure thoughts.

  His strong hands guided mine as the knife glided across the steel at a forty-five-degree angle.

  ‘Sharpen the whole of the blade. Over and under, over and under,’ he said softly, his breath tickling my ear.

  ‘Got it,’ I said. Then instantly regretted it as he released my hands and let me work alone.

  ‘Concentrate and relax.’

  Concentrate and relax? Easier said than done. My arms had already turned to jelly now they were doing it by themselves. And with him watching me like a hawk, I was all fingers and thumbs.

  I decided to do a few more strokes to show willing until I couldn’t take the silence any more.

  ‘About yesterday,’ I began, laying the knife and steel on the counter in front of us.

  Tom folded his arms and smiled softly. ‘Ah yes. How is Noah? None the worse for his adventure, I hope?’


  ‘He’s fine,’ I said, unable to stop my lips curling into a smile. ‘Although Gabe said he sat on deck glued to his binoculars last night on the lookout for any more baby birds that might need rescuing.’

  He chuckled and shook his head. ‘He’s a lovely lad,’ he said, his dark eyes piercing mine. ‘You must be proud.’

  This was my opening. ‘Yes, I am.’ I wet my lips and searched for the right words. ‘Tom. Gabe and me—’

  Tom held his hands up. ‘There’s no need to explain, Verity.’

  I met his gaze.

  ‘Yes, there is,’ I replied defiantly.

  Tom gave an exasperated sigh, glanced up at the ceiling and ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘Look, if you don’t mind,’ he said in a low voice, ‘let’s stick to business. The sale of Salinger’s is going through quicker than I thought and I need to consider my options. I don’t mean to be insensitive so soon after Gloria’s death, but what are your plans for the cookery school?’

  I chewed the inside of my mouth, wondering what to say. Gabe had plans, but they revolved around the two of us taking our relationship to a place that I’d never contemplated. Would he still want to run the cookery school as a ‘family business’, as he’d put it yesterday, when I turned him down?

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know.’ I sighed. ‘Gabe did mention something about moving here. Settling down so Noah will be ready to go to school in Plumberry next year.’

  ‘Figures,’ Tom muttered.

  ‘Well, Noah does own Gloria’s cottage.’ I shrugged, refusing to be drawn. ‘So it kind of makes sense.’

  Tom gave a hollow laugh, which made my skin prickle with goosebumps. So much for clearing the air. ‘It makes perfect sense.’

  One more time, Verity, give it another go.

  I took a deep breath and stepped towards him, conscious of my racing pulse.

  ‘Tom, I can see how things must look to you. But I made a promise to Mimi not to talk about . . . stuff and—’

  ‘Mimi?’ He shook his head in confusion. ‘What about me? What I don’t understand is why you didn’t come clean about you and him?’

  ‘There isn’t a me and him,’ I retorted.

  ‘So that kiss yesterday was a figment of my imagination? You said I love you to Gabe, or did I mishear that?’ He stared at me challengingly.

  ‘No, but—’

  He frowned and folded his arms even tighter until his shoulders were almost at ear-level. ‘I thought for a while back there that you and me . . . That we had a chance to start afresh. Especially after what our respective partners had done to us. You know how I felt when Rebecca cheated on me and all the time you had this secret thing going on with Gabe.’

  My temper flared suddenly. He was being so infuriating; refusing to let me explain and now accusing me of this.

  ‘I could say the same of you,’ I said, cursing my high-pitched tone.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Tom’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Going to the newspaper, telling them about the new Supper Club.’ I folded my arms to mirror his body language. ‘“I won’t steal your ideas like Liam did,” you said. You promised me. Yet only hours later I caught you red-handed when that journalist phoned. I even had to supply the date for the first one for the article!’

  My voice had gone a bit shouty and I cleared my throat.

  ‘Oh, that’s out today.’ Tom frowned absentmindedly as if he’d just remembered.

  As if. I bet he’d ordered a copy. I bet he had a folder of press clippings marking all his cheffy achievements.

  ‘Great,’ I said sulkily.

  Tom’s face softened. With guilt probably.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry if you’re not happy about the article. It was Gloria’s idea, she asked me to arrange it as a surprise.’

  I pursed my lips. ‘Wow. Now that is low. Blaming it on Gloria.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not blaming anyone.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Let me explain.’ He held his hands up in a calming gesture but I’d heard enough.

  ‘Why should I? You won’t listen to me and I’ve tried to explain dozens of times.’

  The two of us stared at each other angrily. I was breathless with indignation and he looked utterly cheesed off. But neither of us spoke; there was someone stomping up the staircase and once again the chance to resolve our differences had vanished into thin air.

  Pixie bounded up to us, completely oblivious to the bad vibes, and looked from Tom to me and back again.

  ‘Er, let me guess,’ she grinned, pressing both hands to her temples, ‘it was the chef in the kitchen with the carving knife. That was a Cluedo reference, in case you didn’t get it.’

  ‘I got it,’ I said stoutly, feigning a smile.

  ‘And what do you think to my T-shirt?’

  She stretched the sides out so we could see the whole slogan. It read ‘plenty more fish in the sea’.

  ‘Like it?’ She elbowed me in the ribs. ‘See what I did there?’

  ‘Very good,’ Tom muttered.

  ‘Because we’ve got Fresh from the Sea coming in, yeah?’ Pixie explained unnecessarily.

  ‘We got it the first time,’ said Tom through gritted teeth.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Pixie rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Anyone would think someone had died.’

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  She squealed and clapped both hands over her mouth. ‘Sorry. I’m such a numpty.’

  I sighed and rubbed her arm. ‘No harm done.’

  ‘Pixie, did you come up here for a reason?’ Tom asked, still looking stern.

  She nodded. ‘The seafood people are here. Mags is showing them round.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tom curtly.

  Pixie bit her lip and looked about to say something else but evidently changed her mind and ran off downstairs. Tom picked up his knife and the sharpening steel and slid them both back into his canvas knife roll.

  ‘Look, Tom,’ I exhaled a sharp breath, ‘Gloria would hate to see us at loggerheads like this. Let’s just put our differences aside for today and give these bloggers a day to remember.’

  ‘You can rely on me to be professional,’ he said, and with a brief nod strode off down the stairs to greet our guests.

  Tears pricked at my eyes as I watched him disappear from view. I just hoped I could rely on myself to be the same.

  Chapter 37

  When I joined them all on the deck, Pixie was leaning over the railings pointing out the wildlife below to a portly man with rimless glasses and a white coat. Tom and Mags were chatting to a girl wearing a cream and blue smock-style dress that reminded me of Cornish blue crockery. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tucked behind her ears, which stuck out just a bit more than the norm.

  ‘I’m sooo grateful to you for hosting us today,’ she was saying. She moved a lot when she talked, jiggling from foot to foot. Her arms were all over the place too. Mags flinched as the girl’s coffee slopped out of her mug and splashed Mags’s arm.

  ‘Our place was totally flooded out and our test kitchen has had to be ripped out and rebuilt. Total nightmare,’ she continued, shaking her head in despair. ‘You were lucky not to be affected, being on the river.’

  ‘Rachel, can I introduce Verity, our marketing director,’ said Tom. He placed a hand in the small of Rachel’s back and gestured towards me as I approached them.

  Rachel turned, one hand resting on Tom’s arm. Her cheeks were rosy and her skin glowed with youth and health. She was standing far too close to Tom for my liking.

  ‘Hi.’ I smiled, which made me realize that I’d been clenching my jaw. I extended a hand, forcing her to remove hers from Tom. ‘Good to meet you.’

  ‘We’ve spoken on the phone,’ Rachel and I said in unison and then both laughed.

  Rachel dragged her colleague from the railings of the deck to meet me. He was Leon, the company’s recipe developer and former fishmonger. What he didn’t know about fish wasn
’t worth knowing, she announced proudly.

  Leon and Tom fell into conversation about pin boners and filleting knives, and Rachel took Mags and me through her itinerary for the day.

  ‘The bloggers should be here any minute,’ she said, checking an enormous rose-gold watch.

  ‘Well, we’re all ready upstairs for them,’ I said. ‘There are fifteen, aren’t there?’

  ‘We’ve had two cancel at the last minute, so thirteen are coming.’ She pulled a face. ‘Hope that isn’t going to be unlucky for some. I need this event to go swimmingly; the last one I organized was a disaster. You heard about the food poisoning at our launch, I presume?’

  Mags and I nodded.

  Rachel lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Thought I was going to get the sack. Especially when I heard your Tom was ill too. A Michelin-starred chef. The shame! I felt so guilty.’

  Your Tom. My heart performed a somersault. If only. I liked her a lot more for saying it, though.

  ‘And a food journalist was poisoned too, wasn’t he?’ Mags put in.

  Poor Rachel shuddered. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘But it wasn’t your fault,’ I soothed, giving her arm a pat. ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty about it.’

  Listen to me, doling out advice about shrugging off guilt. I felt quite proud of myself.

  ‘You’re too kind,’ Rachel beamed. ‘In fact, you’re all lovely.’

  She cast a lingering look Tom’s way.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you upstairs,’ I said swiftly, taking her arm. ‘We can talk about joint promotional opportunities while we’re at it.’

  By eleven o’clock the thirteen bloggers (eleven women, including one heavily pregnant one, and two men) had arrived and were tying up their Fresh from the Sea aprons in the teaching kitchen. I’d assumed that they’d all write food blogs, but that wasn’t the case.

  ‘We’re reaching out to all corners of the blogging community,’ Rachel explained, in between shepherding her guests into two rows for a group photo. ‘Mummy bloggers and lifestyle bloggers as well as the foodie ones.’

  I raised my eyebrows, impressed. ‘And what is your goal for today?’