And I was sure Gabe wouldn’t mind if I told Tom the truth. My stomach lurched suddenly, remembering that right at this moment Gabe was waiting for my answer, hoping that the two of us could start a relationship. The thought of that – lovely as he was – was enough to bring me out in a rash.
Oh God, what a mess. I’d have to tell Gabe exactly how I felt too, just as soon as I’d told Tom.
I brushed the tears off my face, picked up my mobile and called Tom’s number.
I could have wept with frustration when the call diverted to voicemail. I was about to hang up, but summoned up all my courage and left a message instead.
‘Tom, this is Verity. I got your note,’ I said, trying to keep my voice bright and breezy. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t accept your resignation. So there. Please call me back at your earliest convenience. Goodbye.’
I ended the call with a groan. Earliest convenience? That sounded like an urgent summons from the library to return an overdue book. Hardly the most romantic message he’d ever received, I was sure.
I looked at the phone in my hand, willing it to ring. It sat there taunting me with its unlit screen and lifeless body and after the longest ten seconds in history I stuck it in my pocket with a sigh.
It was quite likely he was still driving, of course. Even though the last couple of minutes had seemed like a life sentence, it probably was actually only, well, a couple of minutes. If he really cared, he’d call me back, I was sure of it, librarian voice or not. I’d tell him everything – better still I’d arrange to meet him, then tell him everything. That way we could make up. Making-up kisses with Tom would be delicious . . .
I let out a shaky breath, checked my phone wasn’t on silent or divert and began tidying my desk ready to go home.
As I moved round the office, clearing away the day’s activities, putting rubbish in the bin, filing loose papers and collecting dirty cups, my mind began to construct plans and ideas for the cookery school and my future.
I wasn’t completely out of the woods; I still had to let Gabe down gently, somehow explain that even though I loved both him and Noah, I could never fill Mimi’s shoes. And neither did I want to. Gabe would always be Mimi’s husband to me and the sooner he got back to punching me in the arm and calling me Bloomers, the better.
I also had to persuade Tom that there was a place for him at the cookery school and in my heart. The corners of my mouth lifted as I remembered Pixie’s plaice pun. I was a great believer in fate and good intentions. Things had gone awry between us, but if it was meant to be, it would all be salvageable. I just had to have faith.
And the business, too, would come right, I was sure of it. Closing it so soon after it had opened was a setback but it had been the right thing to do under difficult circumstances.
My phone beeped and I grabbed it quickly, holding my breath. But it wasn’t from Tom, it was from Rosie:
Hope you’re OK? How’s everyone? What’s going on with Tom? I’m here when you’re ready to talk R xxx
My heart swelled with affection for her. She had been entirely baffled by what had happened between Tom and me at the hospital and by Gabe’s comments. But she hadn’t pushed me for answers, for which I was massively grateful. Once all this mess was cleared up I would ring her and tell her everything. I owed her that much. My thumbs flew over the screen as I sent her a quick reply.
Mad busy but OK. I now own half a cookery school! Speak soon with ALL the details V xxx I wandered out of the office and through the teaching kitchen, trailing my fingers across the gleaming granite worktops, admiring the run of stainless-steel ovens and the shine on the creamy wooden kitchen cabinets. I paused now and then to rearrange the coloured utensils in their pots, humming softly to myself. It truly was a special place.
And the sooner we could have it bustling with people and full of mouth-watering aromas again the better.
Gabe and I (and hopefully Tom) would have our work cut out to kick-start the business that Gloria had set her heart on running. Put some oomph back into our advertising, contact all those who’d enquired about courses only to be told we were closed temporarily. Whip up a storm of publicity to bring in new bookings. Busy, busy, busy.
It would be a challenge, but it was possible. Anything is possible if you set your mind to it. What had Pixie’s granddad said? If you want something badly enough you have to fight for it . . .
And I would fight for it. Because the Plumberry School of Comfort Food had given me back my zest for life and now I had it, I never wanted to let it go again.
My chest heaved with determination and resolve and I headed back to the office to collect my handbag, ready to go home. The sun was still shining and it would be a warm evening. I’d perhaps have a glass of wine in the garden and jot down a few marketing ideas on paper unless Tom called and then who knows what the night would bring . . .
As I walked back into the office, the corner of a folder sticking out of a drawer under Gloria’s desk caught my eye. I pulled open the drawer to push it in properly and noticed that it was Gloria’s recipe bible that was protruding.
I pulled it out for a look and smiled at the sight of her handwriting on the front. She had quite spiky writing, as if she was always in a rush to get her words down. I opened the folder and flicked through the first few pages.
Her writing might be difficult to read, but her note-taking was meticulous. She had recorded exactly when she’d made each dish, which TV show it had been for and the description of the feature. She’d made a Greek mezze platter for a romantic sharing platter for a Valentine’s Day spot, a chestnut and cranberry pithivier for a vegetarian Christmas menu and a fatless sponge cake for a cake-lover’s diet feature. Such a talented cook, I thought with a sigh, and such a shame that these recipes were languishing in a drawer. No wonder Mags missed her; the two of them had cooked up a storm together every evening for the past year.
I closed the folder and was about to replace it in the drawer when I hesitated. Maybe the recipes could have a new lease of life, maybe I should do something with them . . .
A flash of inspiration made me leap into action and I turned Gloria’s computer on. Five minutes later my brain was fizzing with a new idea. And this one, though I’d said this many times before, did take the absolute biscuit. It might not meet with Dave’s approval, because I doubted it would be a huge money-spinner, but not everything had to be about money, did it? Some things are worth doing simply because of the joy they would bring to the people around us. And I knew someone with a principle of pleasure who would not be able to resist this idea.
I grinned to myself, debating whether to shout down to Mags and tell her straight away. But maybe I should do a bit more digging first, see if I could source a photographer. I decided to tell her in the morning and as I started to replace the folder, the edge of a DVD case caught my eye amongst the confusion of papers.
I tugged it out, thinking that perhaps it was a compilation of clips from the TV programmes that had featured her food. But when I prised open the plastic case, a folded note fell out, dated two years ago.
I might as well read it, I mused, no one else was going to and we’d have to clear this desk out sooner or later anyway.
Hi Gloria,
After our conversation I managed to salvage these videos from various cameras and computers. I know Verity deleted their YouTube channel but I kept these so that I could show them to Noah one day: films of the two most important women in his life cooking together. If nothing else, he’ll get a lesson in how to cook something halfway edible if my skills haven’t improved by then! Anyway, thought you might like them. They made quite a pair, didn’t they!
Love
Gabe
My heart thumped wildly; Gabe must have compiled some of mine and Mimi’s cooking videos. Videos I hadn’t had the courage to watch since she’d died. Precious memories of the two of us doing what we loved best: having fun in the kitchen. I scrapped the idea of wine in the garden; I knew exactly what I’d be do
ing as soon as I got in . . .
‘Wakey, wakey!’ Mags laughed, bustling into the office.
‘Mags,’ I yelped, dropping the note. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’
‘Sorry,’ she trilled, not in the least apologetically. ‘You were gazing into the distance dreamily. Anyway, I just came to tell you I’m off. Dave’s picking me up early tonight.’
‘Going anywhere nice?’ I asked, suppressing a sigh.
Much as I was pleased for them, I’d miss not having someone to eat with. Although they’d happily oblige, Comfrey and Sage were somewhat lacking in the conversation department.
‘We’re taking his mum to the cinema.’ She grinned mischievously, patting her bun. ‘So no snogging in the back row tonight.’
I laughed; it was good to see her smiling again.
‘There’s a first time for everything, Mags.’
She nodded and cast her eye around the room.
‘I’m glad you’re planning on making a go of the cookery school,’ she said in a more serious tone. ‘It doesn’t seem five minutes since it was Gloria sitting in that chair, telling me her hopes and dreams for the place. It would be such a pity if all that went to waste.’
I glanced down at Gloria’s recipe bible still lying on the desk and made a snap decision to tell Mags. Research was overrated anyway.
‘It definitely won’t go to waste,’ I beamed, wrapping my arm round her shoulder. ‘We are going to make this cookery school the hub of Plumberry, a place for foodies to share their passion, just as Gloria wanted. We’re going to pass on her love of comfort food and more importantly we’re going to share her recipes.’
I picked up the folder with both hands.
‘The bible,’ Mags breathed reverently.
‘Or rather, you’re going to share them.’ I twinkled my eyes at her.
She blinked at me. ‘Me, how?’
‘Remember how you suggested that we produced a recipe book for the cookery school? Well, I thought you could produce a book from all Gloria’s recipes instead. The ones she’d planned to teach to her students.’
‘Do you think?’ She pressed a hand to her bosom. I held my breath as she stared at the folder for a long moment and gradually began to nod. ‘I’d love to do that. What a fabulous idea! Mind you, it must be fifteen years since I published a book, I’m sure things will have changed.’
‘Possibly.’ I shrugged. ‘But I’ve no doubt you’ve still got the skills.’
Her eyes glittered and I could see the idea both excited and delighted her.
‘The idea has only just come to me,’ I said. ‘I’ve barely had a chance to think it through. There’ll be lots to do but I bet the printer will help us and we’d need to find a good photographer.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ she said, waving a hand. ‘I can look up some of my old contacts. Hey, I know exactly what we can call the book too: Food, Gloria’s Food.’
‘That was the name for the cookery school you came up with.’ I grinned. ‘You do know how brilliant you are, don’t you?’
‘It has been said.’ She waggled her eyebrows, took the folder from my hands and reverently turned the pages. ‘Me, Mags Honeyford, back in publishing. Who’d have thought.’ She chuckled.
‘I remembered you saying that you sort of regretted leaving the job years ago, so this is your chance to have a last hurrah.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘I can’t think why it didn’t occur to me myself. Ooh, look at that, salmon en croute, that was her favourite, that’ll have to go in. And this one . . .’
We spent a nostalgic – if a little tearful – ten minutes flicking through Gloria’s recipes.
‘And Mags,’ I said, waiting until she looked me in the eye, ‘this would be more than just recipes; this is you paying the ultimate compliment to your friend. And in a way it would be a legacy for you both.’
Mags’s eyes misted over. ‘Gloria was right about you,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘You’ve been a ray of sunshine in our lives since you arrived in Plumberry.’
I smiled, wondering if Tom felt the same way. I was pretty sure Gabe would disagree once I’d let him down, but for now I simply nodded and kissed Mags’s cheek.
‘So what are you planning to do tonight?’ she said, tucking the folder under her arm and making for the door.
‘Um . . .’ I slipped my phone out of my pocket to check for new messages. Nothing. I picked the DVD off the desk instead and waved it at Mags.
‘Looks like I’m staying in with a cup of tea and a DVD,’ I said wryly. ‘Unless I get a better offer.’
Chapter 39
Back at Gloria’s cottage – or Noah’s as it was now, I supposed – I let myself in, scampered around the garden with the dogs and a ball for a few minutes to let off steam and then made myself a cup of tea. A very strong cup of tea with sugar.
My pulse, already racing from my jaunt outside, picked up pace as I plucked the DVD case from my bag and strode purposefully into the living room.
I paused in front of the mirror and set down my mug, taking in the slightly hot and pink face, dishevelled hair and wide anxious eyes staring back at me.
I looked at the DVD. It held remnants of mine and Mimi’s happy times. A reminder of the fun we’d shared and the silly things we used to laugh over. I’d shied away from these memories for too long; it was time to let them back in.
‘This probably doesn’t look very much to you, boys,’ I said, stooping to scratch behind their ears. Sage slipped into the gap between Comfrey and my leg to get an extra portion of fuss. ‘But this is a big deal. A proper turning-point.’
As I knelt down on the floor in front of the TV and tried to work out which remote went with which device, I remembered a leaflet that someone had thrust in my hand about bereavement when Mimi died.
There were five stages of grief, apparently, and I recalled being able to identify with all of them at once at the time. And while it had been useful to know that what I was feeling was perfectly normal, it hadn’t helped me prepare for what was supposed to come next, i.e. building a life for myself without Mimi in it. OK, I’d thought crossly at the time, I’ve had the denial and anger stuff, when does the moving-on kick in?
But maybe that was something you simply had to arrive at by yourself. Let your inner grief-o-meter be your guide. I switched the TV on at the wall and waited for the blue light to come on.
I hadn’t watched any videos from the old days for ages. Two and a bit years, to be precise. As soon as Mimi’s funeral was over, just as Gabe had written in that note to Gloria, I’d closed down our YouTube channel and ignored the emails that came though from confused subscribers wondering what had happened to the links they’d shared and what we’d be baking next. I felt awful about that now. I should have explained really, I supposed. Told people that Mimi had gone to some hi-tech, designer kitchen in the sky and was probably delighting all the angels with daily batches of buttery shortbread.
But the time had come.
Heart thudding, I slotted the disc into Gloria’s DVD player and sank on to the sofa, waiting for Comfrey and Sage to finish their habitual circle-turning to get themselves comfortable in the crook of my knee before pressing play.
You know how when you buy a DVD you have to sit through a million ads for films you’re completely not interested in and then endure a warning on the perils of piracy? And even though you’d really rather slip straight to the film, you don’t mind too much because it gives you chance to adjust cushions, slip your shoes off and put your tea exactly where you want it. Well, you don’t get that with a home DVD compilation. Oh no. Two seconds after pressing the play button Mimi’s face filled the screen and I gasped so loudly that I startled the dogs.
Tears sprang instantly to my eyes. I brushed them away before offering a comforting pat to the boys.
‘Welcome to the kitchen of Mimi and Verity’s delights.’ Mimi beamed and waved at the camera.
I was instantly whisked back in time to the nineties and the winter’s evening we’d decided to make nachos. (They were quite the in thing at the time.) Judging by our outfits, we must have been about sixteen.
‘Hello, my lovely friend,’ I cried at the TV screen, laughing at the scrunchy in her unruly golden hair. ‘Oh my God, Mimi, it’s so nice to see you again.’
This was pre-YouTube, when we’d been teenagers simply filming ourselves for the hell of it, pretending to be TV chefs. We’d had a great big chunky camera then and editing the videos had taken longer than the actual cooking. Gabe had helped quite a bit, I remembered. In fact, it had been round about this time when he’d become a more permanent fixture in Mimi’s life.
‘Nachos make a great snack for watching TV,’ said a super-cool me in hideous coral lipstick. ‘And you can mix it up with jalapenos, sour cream and guacamole—’
‘Aka vomitus gloop,’ Mimi cut in, thrusting her head between the camera and me. ‘I just stick to grated cheese.’
I settled back on the sofa and lost myself in the memories, laughing and crying as the two of us as teenagers giggled our way through a host of calamitous cooking capers.
Gabe had managed to compile the DVD in chronological order and after an hour, during which time I’d got through a stack of tissues, I came to a more recent clip.
‘Welcome to our recipe for the best mac and cheese ever!’ I announced.
‘Mac and cheese is the ultimate “I love you” food,’ an older Mimi said with a twinkle in her eye.
This video had been on YouTube. I sat up straighter in my chair. This was more like the Mimi I remembered. Effortlessly radiant, hair smoothed with serum and her teenage chubby cheeks slimmed down to reveal cheekbones that Kate Moss would kill for. We must have been about twenty-five in this clip.
‘Feed this to the one you love and you’re guaranteed to put a smile on their face,’ she purred.
The Plumberry School of Comfort Food Page 37