The Plumberry School of Comfort Food

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. But in a nice, amused sort of way. ‘Not that I don’t enjoy your visits.’

  We both blushed. I was remembering the last time I was here and how we’d kissed on his sofa, ignoring our Eggs Benedict and forgetting to watch Challenge Chester, which had been the whole reason for my visit in the first place. I hoped he was too.

  I swallowed. ‘I’m glad I caught you. I really needed to see you before you left.’

  ‘I meant what I said,’ he said, folding his arms and looking down at his feet. They were bare. Like last time. Only today he didn’t look like he was going to play footsie with me any time soon. He looked defensive and determined. ‘I need to get away. And I think perhaps you and Gabe need space.’

  This was going to be harder than I thought. My stomach was churning like mad and I felt sick. Only I wouldn’t be able to be sick because my throat was so constricted and tight. What happens then, I wondered, if sick can’t escape? I shuddered. And what was going on with my armpits? I swear I never normally perspired; today it felt like someone had turned the hot tap on under there.

  ‘I don’t need space,’ I argued. ‘We don’t. Because there isn’t a we.’

  Tom frowned and threaded his fingers through his hair roughly. ‘You and I have both had a tough time over the last few weeks: losing Gloria, me splitting up with Rebecca, selling the business and then, Gabe turning up . . .’ His voice tailed off and he looked down at his feet.

  He had to be the most stubborn man on the planet. I’d said there was no ‘we’ but it was as if he couldn’t hear me. I decided to change tack, talk his language.

  ‘And I’ve cooked for you,’ I blurted out, feeling the heat rise to my face. I pointed towards the table.

  His face cleared then and he stared at me for a long moment, a tentative smile playing at his lips. ‘Nobody ever cooks just for me.’

  ‘Well, I have because . . .’ I blinked at him. ‘Because . . .’

  Mimi’s words rang in my head: it’s the perfect ‘I love you’ food. I didn’t dare say that.

  ‘Because mac and cheese,’ I said, my voice barely a whisper, ‘is the ultimate comfort food.’

  His lips twitched. ‘But I have it on very good authority that a fish finger sandwich is the ultimate comfort food.’

  ‘Well, so is mac and cheese.’ I smiled at him, feeling my body relax. He hadn’t thrown me out yet and he was almost smiling. He hadn’t smiled at me like that for ages. That had to mean something, didn’t it? ‘And I couldn’t very well bring a sandwich to Plumberry’s answer to Michel Roux, could I?’

  ‘There’d be no need anyway.’

  He took a step backwards, his eyes still on mine and a cheeky grin on his face. And reaching into the kitchen, he brought out a fish finger sandwich on a plate.

  ‘You made that?’ I exclaimed, laughing. ‘I thought you were a skate-in-black-butter sort of man.’

  ‘I needed cheering up.’ He shrugged bashfully. ‘I’m a fish finger sandwich virgin, how have I done?’

  How adorable was that? And sad at the same time. Tom needed comfort food presumably because of me. Well, not any more, because I was here in person and I had every intention of cheering him up.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ I grinned, taking the plate from him, ‘seeing as I am the authority on these things.’

  The bread was soft and fluffy and the fish fingers had been grilled to have just the right amount of crispiness on the outside and flakiness on the inside. He’d even invested in a bottle of Heinz tomato sauce.

  ‘Hmm, just one small thing,’ I concluded.

  ‘No way!’ he said, pretending to be outraged.

  ‘The ketchup should go on the fish, not the bread, in my opinion. But not bad for a first attempt.’

  I handed him the plate. ‘And now for my attempt.’

  I carried the ovenproof dish into the kitchen, brushing his arm as I passed him, and made a space on the worktop. Even that small touch was enough to send my stomach into a fit of fluttering. The dogs, sensing that I was about to serve up, started squeaking with delight so I fetched a chew stick each from my handbag and dropped them in the hall to keep them quiet and rejoined Tom in the tiny kitchen.

  He was leaning against the worktop, arms folded, his chest rising and falling and a tiny tuft of hair was just visible at the neck of his T-shirt. His smile had slipped again.

  ‘Verity,’ he said softly, ‘you know why I resigned?’

  I nodded. ‘I think so. But you’ve got it all wrong; it’s all been a big misunderstanding. But I couldn’t explain because I made a promise.’

  He raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

  ‘But I do owe you an explanation, I realize that now.’ I swallowed. ‘So here I am.’

  ‘OK.’ He lifted a shoulder. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Well, the thing is,’ I floundered, wrapping the towel I’d brought with me round and round my hand like a tourniquet. Discussing the merits of a fish finger sandwich was a whole lot easier.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, taking pity on me.

  ‘God. Yes,’ I groaned.

  He pulled a cork out of an already open bottle of red wine and poured us both a glass.

  I gulped at it and tried again. ‘Right, here goes . . .’

  So many things had happened over the past few years, so many times I’d done things to make other people happy, that I’d sort of forgotten that what I wanted mattered too. Not that I had any regrets about Noah, or continually bailing Liam out at work. And I certainly had no regrets about moving to Plumberry when Gloria needed help opening the cookery school.

  But now it was time to do something purely for myself, to reach for what I wanted. And what I wanted was standing right in front of me: passionate, thoughtful, massively talented and frankly the most gorgeous man on the planet . . .

  Tom was watching me pensively but at least he wasn’t interrupting so I ploughed on.

  ‘There never was a “me and Gabe”. Well, there was one physical occasion, I suppose, when our planets collided. But it happened in a test tube or a petri dish or whatever they use,’ I laughed. ‘I never was any good at science.’

  ‘Oh, Verity,’ said Tom, rubbing his neck.

  I blathered on, undaunted by his discomfort. Correction: I was daunted; my knees were trembling terribly. My dress was probably quivering like a magnetic field. I reached out and took his hand as I explained that once my donated egg had been fertilized and implanted into Mimi’s womb, from that moment on that tiny spark of life was Noah, Gabe and Mimi’s son. We shared DNA and a bond that was incredibly precious to me, but my part in his creation was over, never to be revealed according to Mimi’s wishes. And I’d done my best; keeping my secret from everyone, even Rosie, even during the depths of my grief when I really needed to talk. But that had meant misleading the very person who had grown to be more and more important to me over the last couple of months. And I couldn’t do it any more.

  Tom’s forehead furrowed and he nodded, taking it all in. ‘But that kiss . . .’

  ‘What you saw in the office on Monday was just a silly mistake. Gabe is lonely; he wants a woman in his life again and someone to mother Noah. He’d confused the love we have for each other as friends as something else. It’s all sorted now. So,’ I worried a piece of skin on my lip and looked down to where my hand was holding his strong one, ‘what have you got to say to that?’

  ‘I think he’s a great kid and a very lucky one to have you in his life.’ Tom’s eyes glistened as he set his glass down and brought my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers lightly. ‘You are an amazingly gorgeous and generous woman. Selfless and kind-hearted and—’

  ‘Don’t say nice.’ I shot him a warning glance.

  He laughed and touched my cheek, filling my entire body with a warm glow. ‘I was going to say that I’ve been blown away by your spirit since I met you. I should never have doubted you. And I’m touched that you cooked for me. I meant wha
t I said: people are always scared to cook for chefs. I think I can count on one hand the things Rebecca made for me.’

  I glanced at the slightly odd-coloured mac and cheese. The melted blue cheese had given the whole thing a greyish tinge. Perhaps Mimi had been right to do a combination of cheeses. The Yorkshire Blue for flavour and then a sprinkling of cheddar on the top for colour . . .

  Tom cleared his throat, jolting me back to the moment.

  ‘I made the sauce with Yorkshire Blue,’ I began falteringly. ‘It reminds me of the day we met. And I made it not only because it’s comforting but because my best friend once said that it was also the perfect “I love you” food.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He quirked an eyebrow.

  ‘Yep. Guaranteed to put a smile on your loved one’s face,’ I said boldly. ‘So, I thought I’d test out the theory.’

  ‘And I’m to be your guinea pig?’ he said, twisting his mouth into a smile.

  ‘Well, as I’ve been banging on about ever since I met you, to cook for someone is to show how much you . . . care.’ I eyed him nervously, chickening out of the ‘L’ word at the last second.

  He was gazing back at me with a curious expression, which was doing incredible things somewhere down in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘And I haven’t been very good at making you aware of that recently. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that my actions seem to have made you think that I don’t care. But for the record, I do.’ I swallowed.

  Tom’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘So what now?’

  ‘You pass me a spoon.’

  He opened a drawer and rummaged around, muttering to himself that it was really about time that he moved out and into somewhere with a decent kitchen and eventually pulled out a spoon. I waited anxiously, licking my lips like the contestants do on MasterChef when awaiting the judges’ verdict.

  He dug into the centre and lifted a spoonful out and a clump of pasta tubes fell off, splashing the floor with blue sauce. My heart sank; the sauce was too runny. The spillage was quickly hoovered up by the dogs who squeaked at the temperature of it.

  Comfrey and Sage, seemingly none the worse for burning their tongues, stretched up on their hind legs to reach the dish for more.

  ‘Get down,’ I scolded, sneakily pleased they liked it.

  ‘They’ve got good taste.’ Tom grinned. ‘Like their owner.’

  We shared a sad smile then, remembering the first time we met when he’d assumed I had been their owner and now, of course, unbelievably, I was.

  ‘Well, try it then,’ I said, blinking back a tear.

  He put the spoon in his mouth and chewed. He narrowed his eyes consideringly and widened them again, nodded and made appreciative noises.

  ‘It’s good.’

  ‘Really?’ I didn’t believe him; I took the spoon from him and took a mouthful.

  It was dire. The pasta was undercooked, the sauce tasted of raw flour and the burnt bits were acrid.

  ‘It’s the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had,’ he said stoutly.

  ‘Is it?’ I said with a dubious smile.

  ‘Yes, because you made it. For me.’ He reached across to smooth my hair from my face. ‘I’ve cooked all my life, trying harder and harder to perfect my craft. Experimenting with techniques and flavours and pushing myself to be a better chef. But until I met you I never really understood what food could do for the soul. For the heart.’

  He took a step towards me. He didn’t need to say any more, his eyes told me everything I needed to know and my heart soared.

  ‘I’m so glad you came tonight,’ he murmured.

  ‘I know; you couldn’t have possibly gone another moment without tasting my mac and cheese, could you?’ I giggled.

  His dark eyes were mere inches from mine. ‘No. Or you.’

  And then he kissed me, softly and then deeply, once, twice and then I stopped counting.

  Mimi was right, I thought happily a few minutes later as we came up for air: kisses guaranteed with that recipe.

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘Mmm.’ He looked up briefly from kissing my neck.

  ‘Does this mean you’re not resigning? Because I’ll understand if you’d rather open your own restaurant.’

  ‘You didn’t accept my resignation, remember? Besides, opening a restaurant can wait,’ he said stroking my cheek. ‘I want to enjoy being near you for a while.’

  I sighed happily.

  ‘Seriously.’ He stared intently at me. ‘You don’t know how hard it has been for me, letting you go.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I tutted playfully. ‘Thinking about it, you hardly put up much of a fight for me.’

  ‘I couldn’t, not when there was a child involved. Not that I understood exactly how Noah was involved. To be honest, I didn’t know what was going on.’

  I nodded. ‘I know what it must have looked like. But I’d made a promise to Mimi and at that point I still wasn’t sure about breaking it. But now I think she’d be happy for all of us to move on in the way that feels right for each of us.’

  He traced a line so tenderly and slowly along my face with his fingertip that my stomach fizzed.

  ‘I was pretty confused,’ he admitted. ‘Especially when I saw the likeness between you and Noah . . .’ He shook his head.

  ‘You truly thought I could have a son and not acknowledge him?’

  He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Look, you’re talking to a man who completely missed that his girlfriend was having an affair with his sous chef; my instincts have let me down big time this year. I thought I was doing the right thing, standing back, not staking my manly claim.’

  ‘I quite fancy you staking your manly claim.’ I flashed my eyes at him daringly. ‘And what are your instincts telling you now?’

  ‘Well,’ he cupped my face in his hands and my pulse quickened in anticipation, ‘if I’m reading this right, they’re telling me to do this.’

  And he kissed me softly on the lips.

  ‘I think your instincts are pretty spot on,’ I said breathlessly.

  His arms circled me and he pulled me close, so close that I could feel the beat of his heart through his shirt, the warmth of his breath on my face.

  ‘That’s a relief.’

  And as he leaned in for another kiss, something in my heart clicked. Like a recipe when you finally get the flavours just right after discovering the missing ingredient. Or magic ingredient, in this case.

  ‘Hey, I nearly forgot,’ I gasped, ‘I owe you an apology. I saw that article in the newspaper, you didn’t steal my ideas at all. You said some lovely things about me, like me being the magic ingredient.’

  He nodded sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t really talking about the cookery school.’

  ‘Oh?’ I pulled back to stare at him.

  ‘I was talking about the recipe for making me happy. You’re my magic ingredient. When I’m with you my heart explodes like popping candy.’

  What a lovely thing to say. My heart flickered in response.

  He traced a line with his finger from my chin to my collarbone and then kept going.

  ‘You are adorable, Tom MacDonald,’ I said, shivering with pleasure.

  ‘And you are the cutest, sexiest woman in Plumberry.’

  ‘Only Plumberry?’ I said in mock horror.

  He chuckled. ‘OK, England, Britain, Europe—’

  ‘Tom,’ I said, pressing a finger to his lips, ‘stop talking and kiss me again.’

  ‘That,’ he said, lowering his mouth to mine, ‘is your best idea yet.’

  Epilogue

  Extract from York Mail, November 2015:

  New Restaurant Opens in Plumberry, Food Capital of Yorkshire

  Tom MacDonald, who recently sold his share in Manchester’s Michelin-starred Salinger’s, unveiled his new venture in Plumberry last night to great acclaim from his peers who travelled from all over the UK to show their support to the talented Irish chef.

  Tom, pictured with his arm around girlfriend Verity Blo
om, credits her with the idea.

  ‘It started with Verity’s idea of running a Supper Club at the Plumberry School of Comfort Food,’ MacDonald explains. ‘The first one took place in June and we have been inundated with bookings ever since. The demand for fine dining in Plumberry has blown us away. When the brewery offered the pub on Plumberry high street for sale it was an opportunity for me to start a new venture. Whilst I’ll remain as head tutor at the cookery school, opening Dinner at Tom’s is something I’ve dreamed about all my life.’

  Located in the village pub, which closed down two years ago, Dinner at Tom’s claims to offer the best in British cuisine made traditionally, always seasonal with precision and flair. And if the hordes of foodie fans who queued up to be amongst the first diners last night are anything to go by, MacDonald looks to have a winning formula on his hands.

  ‘Tom and I are very privileged to live and work in Plumberry. It’s a food lover’s paradise here,’ says Bloom, who co-owns the cookery school with silent partner Gabe Green. ‘For us, food should be about flavour and fun, sharing good times with loved ones. Both the cookery school and the new restaurant allow us to indulge in our passion for food and we couldn’t be happier.’

  MacDonald will be assisted in the restaurant by a handpicked team of talented staff, including Aaron Collins, who won the Plumberry Signature Dish competition at the cookery school earlier this year, a contest that they aim to run every year to promote new talent.

  So have Plumberry’s culinary couple got any more plans for next year?

  ‘Verity’s always full of ideas,’ says MacDonald, pausing to gaze dotingly at his girlfriend. ‘But for now we’re focusing on moving in together and making Plumberry our permanent home.’

  And judging by the packed cookery course schedule and the three-week waiting list for a table at Dinner at Tom’s, that is just as well.

  The Thank Yous

  This book is another team effort; I’m sure my thank-you pages get longer each time!

  Thank you to the extremely clever team at Transworld; you’re doing a Plumberry job (yes, it’s a word) with my books. With special thanks to Christina Ellicott, Sophie Murray, Laura Swainbank, Sarah Harwood, Sarah Whittaker and Alison Tulett.