The Plumberry School of Comfort Food

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Or if you’re still single like me . . .’ I pulled a cross-eyed expression.

  Mimi snorted. ‘Can’t think why that is.’

  ‘. . . it’s also perfect comfort food,’ I continued, ‘for nights alone in front of the TV.’

  I pretended to cry and Mimi patted my arm.

  ‘Now we all have our own way of doing it,’ she went on, waving a hand over the assembled ingredients.

  ‘Hmm,’ I said, pulling a face. ‘For example, Mimi adds a dollop of Dijon mustard to her cheese sauce.’

  She put a hand to the side of her mouth. ‘Shush! Don’t tell Gabe, he claims to hate the stuff.’

  ‘And I like to add crispy bacon to mine.’

  I chuckled as I watched Mimi trying to prove just how much she loved mustard by licking it off the spoon only to burn the back of her nose.

  ‘Too strong,’ she winced, swiping a hand at me as I bent over double in the background, breathless with laughter.

  Suddenly the dogs jumped up and began yapping, jolting me back to the present moment in Gloria’s living room. A second later the doorbell chimed. I pressed a hand to my beating heart, paused the DVD and went out into the hall.

  ‘RAR!’ yelled Noah, waving a sword about in the air as I opened the door. ‘I’m a Viking, RAR!’

  Gabe was standing behind him looking shattered. He rolled his eyes indulgently at his son.

  ‘Hello, you two!’ I smiled.

  Noah rammed a plastic helmet on his head, pushed past me and ran along the hall, straight through the kitchen and out into the garden, roaring jubilantly. The dogs pattered along behind, pleased to have someone to play with.

  Gabe raked a hand through his hair and grinned self-consciously. ‘Hope we aren’t disturbing you? We’ve been to the Jorvik Viking Centre in York and Noah was adamant that you’d want to see his new sword and helmet.’

  I nodded. ‘He’s right. I’ve never seen such a fierce Viking.’

  I felt unsure and awkward; Gabe and I had always hugged, always kissed our hellos. But the last time I saw him he’d kissed me full on the lips and I didn’t know what to do or how to be any more.

  ‘Come in,’ I said, standing aside to let him into the hall.

  He dropped a rucksack on the floor and stepped towards me, his arms dangling at his side. Poor Gabe; he looked as uneasy as I felt. I was on the verge of diving on him for a hug to break the tension when he cleared his throat.

  ‘Verity, about the other day.’ He folded his arms and looked at his feet. ‘I . . . I . . . probably shouldn’t have kissed you.’

  My heart melted for him.

  ‘I probably agree,’ I answered.

  He grinned at me and my heart gave a whoop of relief.

  I looped my arm through his and led him into the living room. ‘Funny you should have turned up now; look what I’m watching.’

  I nodded towards the TV where Mimi’s lovely face filled the screen.

  Gabe’s eyes widened and he sank on to the sofa.

  ‘Oh, look at her. Look at my golden girl,’ he breathed. ‘Press play!’

  I did as I was told and sat down next to him and the two of us watched as the recipe for the best mac and cheese ever unfolded on screen.

  ‘Now,’ said Mimi, spooning a generous portion of pasta on to a plate, ‘Let’s put my theory to the test: Is this the ultimate “I love you” food or not.’

  ‘I remember this,’ Gabe whispered, shooting a sideways glance at me. His eyes looked suspiciously moist. As were mine.

  We edged nearer to one another as Mimi cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, ‘Gabe? Come and taste this.’

  ‘Wow!’ I said as a young suited Gabe with short neat hair appeared in the kitchen and slipped his arms around his wife’s waist. He must have come straight from his solicitor’s office.

  ‘Jeez,’ muttered the real-life Gabe, swiping at a stray tear. I reached out and grabbed his hand.

  Mimi loaded a fork with piping-hot macaroni. ‘Blow,’ she ordered.

  Gabe blew on it and then she popped the forkful in his mouth.

  ‘Mmm, I love it.’ Gabe kissed Mimi tenderly. ‘And I love you too.’

  She winked at her audience. ‘Kisses guaranteed.’

  The video finished, Mimi’s laughing face disappeared and the screen went black. The seconds ticked by as neither Gabe nor I could find the words to speak.

  Finally, I turned to face him and squeezing his hand tightly, I drew in a shaky breath.

  ‘Gabe, I love you and Noah and I loved Mimi with all my heart. We were closer than any sisters ever could have been. Donating my eggs, particularly the one super-duper egg that made Noah, was my gift to you both to make your happiness complete.’

  ‘Becoming parents was the icing on the cake for us, especially her,’ murmured Gabe. ‘I hope you don’t regret what you did, under the circumstances?’

  I shook my head fervently. ‘It was a gift I was privileged to give. None of us could have foreseen what would happen to Mimi.’

  I hugged him then and told him that I didn’t have a single regret about what we’d done. We’d got Noah as a result. He would always hold a special place in my heart and even though they had only been a family for a short while, they had been a very happy family and that was more than some people ever had.

  Gabe nodded slowly and fixed his pale grey eyes on me. ‘I want that again, Verity. I want to walk along the street with a woman, swinging Noah between us. I want to cuddle up at night under a blanket on the deck of The Neptune and stare at the stars. I want someone to share special moments with us, like his first day at school, his sports days, his school plays. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said gently, ‘but I hope you understand that that woman can’t be me.’

  He lowered his gaze to his knees. ‘You seemed like the perfect choice to me.’

  My heart squeezed for him. ‘And I’m honoured. Truly. But one day, Gabe Green, you’ll meet a girl who makes your heart skip. And she won’t be a better or a worse match for you than Mimi, she won’t be a replacement, she’ll simply be the person who takes the next step on life’s journey with you. The person whose very smile sends your spirits soaring. Now be honest, is that me?’

  He looked sideways at me and we grinned at each other. ‘You are cute, though. And,’ he shrugged sheepishly, ‘I thought it could work seeing as we know each other so well. I thought you’d be easy to get on with, like a pair of comfy slippers.’

  ‘Gabe!’ I hit him with a cushion. ‘You are seriously going to have to work on your lines if you’re ever going to get another girlfriend. Slippers!’ I tutted, shaking my head.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gabe laughed. ‘Beautiful slippers.’

  ‘Enough already,’ I said, holding up a hand. ‘You’re not helping yourself.’

  We smiled at each other then and I leaned towards him, bumping him with my shoulder.

  ‘Now that he’s a bit older, perhaps Noah can start coming to stay with me for the weekend now and then? I’d love to spoil him like a proper Fairy Godmother and teach him to cook. I think Mimi would like that, don’t you?’

  He wrapped an arm round my shoulders and kissed the side of my head. ‘Yes to all of the above.’

  We talked then about the future of the cookery school and how we thought it might work, us co-owning it. Gabe admitted that he’d probably be better going back to Nottingham where his parents were on hand to help with Noah. And we agreed that I would stay in Gloria’s cottage and run the school on a day-to-day basis and refer to him for big decisions for the first twelve months and see how it turned out.

  I breathed a contented sigh. ‘I’m so relieved that all that’s out in the open. About the cookery school and, you know, you and me.’

  Gabe chuckled.

  ‘And what about you? Have you met someone who does that heart-skipping business for you?’ He cocked an eyebrow rather knowingly. ‘Hmm? Are Verity Bloom’s spirits getting any soaring action?’


  I took a deep breath. ‘Well—’

  ‘Daddy!’ came a panicky yell from the garden. ‘Daaddy!’

  The two of us leapt to our feet and ran outside. Noah had managed to climb up on to the fence separating our garden from Mags’s. He was stuck on the top and had just got to the red-faced about-to-cry stage. Gabe lifted him down and after he’d finished wincing at the pain in his privates, the two of them ran round and round the garden roaring like Vikings.

  And as the sun started to set in an orangey pink sky, kissing the tops of the trees with golden light, I watched happily, feeling blessed to be part of such a loving, unconventional family. Noah would always know that I loved him, I vowed. And when he was old enough to understand how babies are made, Gabe and I would explain everything so that he would know just how special he is. And why he had green eyes just like mine when his mum’s were the colour of bluebells.

  Noah soon ran out of puff and Gabe declared it was time to head back to The Neptune.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay for supper?’ I said, walking them to the door.

  Gabe shook his head. ‘We had fish and chips in York. At least Noah did. He tripped me up with his sword, my cod went flying and he laughed so hard he needed a wee, so I had to abandon mine and find a loo.’

  ‘You’re a brilliant dad,’ I said quietly, slipping my hand into his. ‘Mimi would be very proud. As am I.’

  We stared at each other for a long moment until Noah poked his dad with his sword. ‘Daddy, come on.’

  ‘OK, dude. Oh, I almost forgot.’

  Gabe fumbled in his rucksack and pulled out a newspaper.

  ‘Picked this up for you. Page thirty-something. Business section.’

  Of course; I’d almost forgotten about this. The Supper Club write-up was in today’s York Mail. I flicked through the pages, expecting to see a typical cheffy photograph of Tom: his white tunic, arms folded, perhaps against a backdrop of stainless steel.

  Oh. Gosh. The breath caught in my throat. I’d made a terrible mistake; it wasn’t about Tom at all. It was about me. My eyes scanned the headline: Plumberry School of Comfort Food Appoints New Marketing Director and She Has Had Her Best Idea Yet!

  And there across two whole pages was a picture of me. Pixie must have taken it on the day of the Challenge Chester filming. I was standing alone amongst a bustling crowd with my hands on my hips, mouth upturned in a secret smile, gazing at some faraway sight. Behind me was the beautiful plum and cream cookery school logo and just visible at the edge of the frame was the old mill’s lovely waterwheel. It was quite a flattering photograph; it almost looked like it must have been posed. But I hadn’t even been aware it was being taken.

  Tears pricked at my eyes as realization dawned: Tom had promised me that he’d never steal my ideas and he hadn’t. I felt awful for doubting him. I should have known he was a better man than that.

  I quickly skimmed the article while Gabe walked Noah to the car and strapped him into his car seat. It talked about how successful the launch of the cookery school had been and the various marketing ideas I’d come up with. And how since we’d been open we’d grown our bookings to almost maximum capacity, helped in no small way by our TV appearance on Challenge Chester.

  And now, thanks to Verity Bloom’s constantly creative approach to marketing, the cookery school is venturing into monthly Supper Clubs, filling a much-needed gap in the Plumberry food offering. The cookery school aims to reproduce a restaurant-standard dining experience in a relaxed and entertaining environment, sharing their passion for food, the ethos handed down by cookery school founder, Gloria Ramsbottom.

  ‘Verity is fond of saying that she has had her best idea yet,’ commented top chef and the cookery school’s tutor, Tom MacDonald, ‘and this time I’d have to agree with her. I think Verity Bloom is the Plumberry School of Comfort Food’s magic ingredient.’

  That was possibly the nicest, most generous thing anyone had ever said about me.

  ‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ said Gabe softly.

  ‘It is.’ I nodded, lowering the newspaper and looking up at him.

  ‘Is your heart skipping?’

  ‘Practically doing the double Dutch,’ I said with a laugh that came out a bit gulpy and weird. ‘Unfortunately he handed his notice in this afternoon. I was going to tell you, you being the co-owner . . .’ My voice drifted off. I felt tearful all of a sudden; I really, really needed to see Tom.

  Gabe grabbed hold of my shoulders and pressed a firm kiss to my forehead. And then he punched my arm. I grinned with relief. Equilibrium had been restored.

  ‘Then go and sort it out, Bloomers. Go and tell him what he means to you.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised.

  I kissed them both goodbye and waved them off. I closed the front door and leaned against it for a second before charging towards the kitchen.

  I would go and sort it out. And I knew just how because a brilliant idea had just occurred to me.

  I plunged two cups of pasta into boiling water and then added a third for good measure. I took out a pan, contemplated making a roux for about one second before deciding that Tom would be none the wiser and bunged a jug of milk in the microwave instead, thickening it with cornflour mixed with a drop of water.

  Next, the cheese. The most important ingredient in mac and cheese, or perhaps I should say the magic ingredient.

  I giggled headily to myself and opened the fridge to find the cheddar. Mimi had been all for combining cheeses: cheddar for tanginess, mozzarella for gooiness and parmesan for no good reason at all that I could fathom. I, on the other hand, had always been a purist: mature cheddar all the way – in the sauce and on top for a glorious brown crust. But there on the shelf was the thick wedge of creamy blue cheese I’d bought from the Plumberry cheesemonger’s. Tom loved Yorkshire Blue.

  I unwrapped it and popped a piece in my mouth. The sourness of the blue vein was there but at the same time it was mild and sweet and buttery. My face split into a huge smile; this would be perfect.

  There was just one thing left to do. My heart hammered anxiously as I took my phone out of my pocket and began to type a message.

  Tom, I know you are ignoring my calls, but this is very, very important . . .

  Chapter 40

  I’d drained the pasta into a pretty ovenproof dish, stirred in the sauce and slammed it in the oven to brown by the time he sent me a reply.

  It’s not that I’m ignoring your calls, I just know that you’ll try and persuade me to stay and I can’t do that. I’m packing a bag and heading off into the Yorkshire Dales for a couple of days to clear my head. I’ll call when I get back. Take care, Tom x

  Crikey, there wasn’t much time. If I didn’t make it to his flat in Pudston before he left, who knew how long it would be until I got another chance to talk? And I’d cooked for him – food made with love – and he needed to know that before it was too late.

  I whacked the oven up to max, dashed upstairs, dragged a brush through my hair, spritzed on a bit of perfume and ran back down.

  ‘Keys, purse, lipstick, bag,’ I muttered to myself, racing round locking doors and finally removing the dish from the oven. A bit singed on one side but it would do.

  ‘Right, boys,’ I called, looking round for the dogs as I opened the treats tin. ‘In your basket.’

  No response.

  I found them sitting neatly at the front door, bristling with excitement at the prospect of an outing. And the expressions on their bright little faces were so hopeful that I couldn’t refuse.

  It wasn’t easy transporting a scorching-hot oven dish along with two dogs with a penchant for cheese. But by looping the dogs’ leads around the seatbelt and laying the dish on a towel in the foot well, I cracked it.

  So far so good.

  My face had gone red from cooking and rushing and I opened the window. Now all I had to do, I thought, breathing in lungfuls of cool air, was show Tom exactly what he meant to me. I glanced down at the food, which was alread
y starting to steam up the windscreen.

  Would Mimi’s theory work on Tom? I pondered. Would it be the perfect ‘I love you’ food? Or would I be coming back, tail between my legs, eating supper alone and consoling myself with mac and cheese as comfort food.

  I exhaled a calming breath and started the car.

  Time to find out whether the way to a man’s heart truly was through his stomach . . .

  Juggling leads and a still piping-hot dish cradled in a towel, I ran up the steps to Tom’s flat with Comfrey and Sage scampering beside me, squeaking with joy. As I raised my hand to knock on the door it opened. I jumped, startled by the sudden movement, and the dogs’ leads slipped through my fingers. Two triumphant sausage dogs took instant advantage of the slackness in the lead and made a dash through the gap, as a tall red-headed man with a wonky bruised nose and a black eye appeared, carrying a large sports bag.

  ‘Sorry about the invasion.’ I grimaced, peering past him for the dogs. And Tom.

  He laughed. ‘No worries. Verity, I presume?’

  I nodded and tried not to stare at his nose. It looked very sore.

  ‘I’m off to cricket practice.’ He grinned, lifting his bag. Adding with a gesture towards his face, ‘God knows I need it.’

  ‘Right.’ I really wanted to go in but Tom’s flatmate showed no sign of moving. ‘Well, be careful then.’

  ‘So you’ll be alone,’ he said with a wink. And then hoicked his bag over his shoulder and sauntered off.

  Thank goodness.

  ‘Hello?’ I edged into the hall, looking for somewhere to put the dish down as soon as possible. The heat had seeped through the towel and was getting too much for my fingers.

  The tiny console table piled high with letters and tucked behind the door would do. I deposited the dish and blew on my fingers. The smell of cooking wafted out from the kitchen but there were no dogs or humans to be seen.

  ‘Tom?’

  There was a clatter from the kitchen and then Tom poked his head out, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. His eyes, as dark as espresso, looked bemused. He glanced over his shoulder shiftily, blocking my view of the kitchen. Comfrey and Sage appeared immediately afterwards, licking their lips triumphantly, and flopped at his feet.