The Worst Case Scenario Cookery Club

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘The thing is,’ she said, while she suctioned the water from his mouth, ‘the last year has been a really tough one for me, Dr Thomas. My husband left me for a much younger woman and trying to keep our daughter from suffering too much in the fallout was so much harder than I ever would have thought. There was no outlet for my own distress. When you spoke about how we project our own psychological issues onto our animals, that really touched a nerve. I didn’t want to admit it, but I realised poor Ted had become the focus of my unhappiness. I was overfeeding him because I wanted him to love me more than Ian. I wanted to be sure that I wouldn’t lose him too. It was bribery.’

  Dr Thomas nodded. He couldn’t do much else.

  ‘I took against you unfairly from the start. When you told me that he had to go on a diet, I suppose that was a threat to my ability to keep Ted on my side. If I had to discipline him, then he would stop loving me. That’s what I thought.

  ‘I was spiralling out of control. That night, when I decorated your Cinquecento with salami, I was really suffering. I’d waved my teenage daughter off to a family party I wasn’t invited to even though I helped to plan it. When my husband picked her up, he had his new girlfriend in the passenger seat of the car, in my place, going to spend the evening with my in-laws. I tried to make myself feel better by going to my cookery teacher’s birthday party but it was full of really young, attractive people and that made me feel even worse.’

  Dr Thomas tried to say something.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ said Liz, assuming he was just trying to tell her that she was young and attractive too. ‘But I really didn’t feel that way. So, when I was walking home I was sad and angry and still really rather drunk, and I wanted to lash out in my pain.’

  ‘Nnnngh,’ said Dr Thomas.

  ‘I know, I should have known better,’ said Liz. ‘I can only beg for your forgiveness.’

  Dr Thomas desperately tried to signal his forgiveness with his eyes.

  ‘The irony is, now my husband tells me he wants to come back.’

  Dr Thomas’s eyes suddenly narrowed.

  ‘Yeah. I’m not sure what I think about that.’

  Liz paused and looked off into the distance with the suction pipe still in Dr Thomas’s mouth. He struggled to be free of it.

  ‘Oh sorry,’ she said, turning the pump off. ‘You can rinse now if you like.’

  Dr Thomas sat up. He looked at Liz seriously.

  ‘I said too much,’ she said.

  ‘No. No. I feel honoured that you opened up,’ he said. ‘Mrs Ted. I mean, Mrs Chandler …’

  ‘Call me Liz.’

  ‘Liz, I—’

  Dr Thomas tried to say something but Liz headed him off.

  ‘I know you didn’t want to hear about my love life. But I needed you to know I’m not always such a nut job. It’s been a tough time, that’s all.’

  Dr Thomas nodded.

  ‘I’m so embarrassed,’ said Liz.

  ‘There’s no need to be.’

  ‘And now I’ve got this big decision to make. After everything we’ve been through this past year, can Ian and I really make a go of it again?’

  ‘Mrs Ted …’

  ‘Liz!’

  ‘Liz! Yes, of course. Liz, I’ve not always been so good at human relationships – I’m aware you’ve noticed that – but I can offer you one piece of advice that has never let me down.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Trust in your dog, Liz. Trust Ted. Dogs are very rarely wrong about people. I can tell from the way Ted interacts with you, that you’re a soft-hearted woman underneath.’

  ‘Really?’ Liz flushed.

  ‘But how does Ted interact with your husband? And how does your husband interact with him? Is there affection there? Love? Respect? The way people treat animals speaks volumes about their personality. That’s what my father taught me.’

  ‘I know,’ said Liz, remembering the time she’d impersonated Mrs Coco and got Dr Thomas’s life story by deception.

  ‘So, what does Ted think?’

  Liz cast her mind back to the last time Ian had been at the house. Ted was not as enthusiastic about Ian as he had once been. And hadn’t Ian pushed Ted away, fearing for his fancy trousers? He didn’t want them covered in paw prints and hairs.

  Liz thought it was Brittney’s influence. With her cream-coloured flat, she’d drilled it into Ian that cleanliness was next to godliness. The Dalai Lama had probably said that. But then Liz had a sudden stabbing memory of Saskia’s babyhood. Of Ian coming home from work and refusing to take his baby for even a minute so that Liz could dash to the bathroom because Saskia had chocolate around her mouth. He would not take her until she’d been wiped clean. Liz remembered Saskia’s face as she tried and failed to charm Ian into a cuddle. Liz still found it impossible to resist her daughter’s soft round cheeks. But Ian …

  ‘I’ve upset you,’ said Dr Thomas, misreading Liz’s expression of sadness.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. What you said makes perfect sense.’

  But could she act on it?

  ‘I hope you make the right decision for you,’ said Dr Thomas. ‘Now, how is Ted?’ he asked. ‘Are you sticking to the diet?’

  ‘Of course,’ Liz assured him. Then she joked, ‘Only half a box of cake mix the at weekends.’

  Dr Thomas grinned at the memory. ‘Your face when that situation exploded …’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘Funniest thing I’d seen in years. Tell me, Liz, now that we’re friends again. How did Ted really come to eat a whole box of cake mix and those Lunchables?’

  ‘That’s definitely a three-Martini story. As in that’s how drunk I’d need to be to tell the truth. I don’t think we’re at that stage of our friendship yet,’ replied Liz.

  ‘If Ted really can open a fridge, I’d love to see it. It’d make an interesting paper for The Institute of Canine Biology.’

  ‘Ted can’t really open a fridge,’ said Liz.

  ‘I didn’t think so. I can see I’m going to have to buy you three Martinis.’

  ‘I still need to buy you a windscreen wiper. You didn’t ever send me the invoice.’

  ‘How petty would that have been? Let’s say we’re quits on that.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘In the meantime, come back to Waggy Weight Loss,’ said Dr Thomas. ‘I know Mrs Coco would love to see you there. Me too.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ Liz assured him. ‘But only if you promise to floss.’

  Chapter Fifty

  For the last but one session of the beginners’ cookery course, Alex had prepared a very special recipe. He’d already cooked Bella’s melanzane parmigiana. A great main course or starter. For John, he’d prepared the beef Wellington. A fabulous centrepiece for any special meal. For Liz, it had to be dessert.

  Liz had been wondering all week how on earth Alex was going to turn her food memories into something he could actually teach. The traffic light biscuits she’d told him about were the kind of thing you ‘cooked’ with small children on a wet afternoon. Well, it wasn’t cooking was it? Just food assembly.

  Liz picked up the tube of Smarties Alex had placed on her chopping board. She helped herself to a couple while the others got ready to begin. There were sponge fingers too. And icing sugar. Were they really going to make her mother’s birthday speciality? Was that it?

  Alex asked the class how they’d fared with finishing their beef Wellingtons at home. John said he’d enjoyed his. Bella admitted that she’d been swept up with work and hadn’t had time to eat it. Liz said she was pleased with how hers had turned out. She didn’t tell the class that it might have won her husband back.

  ‘So today,’ said Alex, ‘we’re going to prepare the final part of our three course meal of recipes. Liz’s traffic lights.’

  ‘It’ll only take three minutes,’ said Liz.

  After all, how hard could it be to put some icing on a sponge finger?

  ‘We’re not do
ing that,’ said Alex. ‘At least, that’s not the whole recipe. We’re going to make traffic light tiramisu.’

  Tiramisu, or ‘Pick Me Up’, one of the world’s favourite puddings. It was so ubiquitous that it was hard to believe it had only been invented in the nineteen-sixties.

  ‘Which means that I have no compunction whatsoever in giving it a thoroughly English twist.’ Alex shook the Smarties. ‘However, we’ll start in the traditional way.’

  Alex poured a cup of coffee for each of his students but the coffee was cold and not for drinking. It was for dipping the sponge fingers. In another bowl, he had the students mix mascarpone and Cointreau. ‘Because we’re going to pick up the taste of the orange Smarties.’

  ‘The orange Smarties don’t actually taste of orange,’ said Bella. ‘All Smarties taste the same. It’s just a trick of the mind. You see the colour orange and orange is what you think you taste.’

  ‘I’m not having that,’ said Liz, insisting on an instant taste trial, which even she had to agree was inconclusive.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Alex. ‘The Cointreau will make up for it.’

  He splashed a slug into each students’ mixing bowl.

  ‘This is an easy version of tiramisu,’ he told them. ‘The ones you get in Italy are made with whipped eggs.’

  ‘That’s how Dad used to do it,’ Bella agreed.

  ‘I hope he’d approve of this version.’

  ‘I’m sure he would,’ said Bella.

  Bella and Alex shared a soft sort of look that made the other two students smile soppily.

  ‘OK, mix the mascarpone and Cointreau together until it starts to soften. Add a bit more orange juice if it’s not getting smooth enough. If it looks like it’s curdling, just keep mixing. It’ll soon bind together again. What do you think of the scent of that?’

  Already the smell had Liz wanting to lick her fingers.

  Alex showed them how to layer the sponge fingers soaked in the coffee with the creamy mascarpone in a glass.

  ‘Save at least one of the sponge fingers for the decoration.’

  Liz cursed as the first of her sponge fingers soaked up too much coffee and fell apart.

  ‘Don’t worry about making it too perfect,’ Alex said when he saw that John was fretting over not having even layers. Liz’s bench was covered in blobs of cream. Bella had a splodge on her cheek.

  ‘May I?’ Alex asked her permission to wipe her face clean. She stood still as he tenderly ran his thumb across her cheekbone. John and Liz sighed.

  ‘I don’t need to tell you how we’re going to be decorating this,’ said Alex, getting back to the pudding.

  A sprinkle of icing sugar and three Smarties.

  ‘Red comes at the top,’ John had to remind Liz.

  ‘No wonder I’ve got six points on my license.’

  Alex had them put their desserts in the freezer while they tidied up their benches.

  If only Liz had known that cooking could be a pleasure. She thought of her mother, always in the kitchen but always harassed and unhappy about it, cooking meat, veg, fish and puddings until they were all exactly the same shade of grey. As a result, Liz had never had any expectation that she might be able to produce something that actually tasted nice or that she might enjoy herself while she was at it.

  And yet, as she ate the traffic light tiramisu, Liz had a lump in her throat that wasn’t due to bad cooking. She could picture quite clearly her mother’s smile as she placed the traffic light biscuits in front of Liz on her birthday. They may have been simple but they had been made with love, that was for sure. A mother’s love. Endlessly forgiving and unconditional.

  She wanted Saskia to have memories like that.

  ‘What do you think?’ Alex asked. ‘Does it take you back, Liz?’

  ‘It’s the Cointreau that does it. Mum used to put that in my bottle.’

  The others took a moment to realise she was joking.

  ‘Yes,’ Liz said. ‘It does take me back and it makes me sad. It makes me think of all the things I should have said while I had the chance. I wish I’d told her I loved her every day. I wish I’d made her this pudding. I can’t believe I’ve never learned to cook up until now. My daughter is almost sixteen and she’s never had a birthday cake baked by me. If you don’t count the one for her first birthday that came out like a cow pat. Doing this course has made me realise that I can cook after all. And I like doing it. And it’s shown me how important food is to all of us. I don’t want my daughter’s, and maybe my grandchildren’s, abiding taste memory of me to be something created in a lab for the Sainsbury’s ready meal range.’

  ‘Then you can make them traffic light tiramisu,’ said Alex. ‘Though maybe go easy on the Cointreau.’

  The four happy chefs finished off their pudding together. It was almost nine o’clock by the time they finished eating. The community centre caretaker was hovering, keen to be certain that the place was locked up on time. He was momentarily placated by a taste of the tiramisu but he was soon back again, reminding Alex that the cookery course was, strictly speaking, only meant to take place between half six and half eight.

  Alex duly brought the session to a close.

  ‘Ladies and gent, as you know, our cookery course must come to end next week. I’ve enjoyed working with you all so much and I’d like to make next week’s session really special. How do you feel about a graduation dinner?’

  ‘Will we get certificates?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Perhaps. But I was thinking what would be really nice would be for each of you to bring a guest to the class next Thursday. They can sit at the table and have a nice glass of wine while we prepare a special dinner to eat together here instead of taking the food home.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said John.

  ‘I’m up for it,’ said Liz.

  ‘Me three,’ Bella confirmed.

  ‘Then all we’ve got to do is decide who’s cooking what. And who we’re going to invite to eat it. We’ll all bring a bottle of wine and some nibbles. There are plates and glasses and silverware here, of course. It would be nice to have a tablecloth. Does anybody have one?’

  ‘I can bring one,’ said John. ‘My wife was always buying tablecloths.’

  ‘I can bring a pair of candlesticks,’ said Liz. Like her big fish pie dish, Liz’s candlesticks were an unused wedding present.

  ‘I’ll bring flowers,’ said Bella.

  ‘This is coming together,’ said Alex. ‘Any idea as to who you might bring along as your guests?’

  All three students were silent, looking hopefully to the others to leap in with their suggestions.

  ‘Boyfriends? Girlfriends?’ Alex asked.

  Liz and John knew at once that Alex really only wanted to know who Bella was going to bring along.

  ‘I don’t have either of those,’ she said at last. The relief on Alex’s face was comically palpable to Liz and John.

  ‘Then bring a friend,’ he said.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Though she still had another four weeks to work out her notice, that Friday was to be Bella’s last night on the CDS rota, and for once it was turning out to be a quiet one. She felt quite restless as she sat in her living room, waiting for the phone to ring. She was trying to read, but couldn’t find the concentration it required. She turned on the television. There was nothing she wanted to watch. Five minutes flicking through the channels convinced her that she had missed nothing all those nights she spent down the police station. Real life was so much more surprising.

  Bella made herself a cup of tea. Putting the kettle on was usually a sure-fire way to make the phone ring. If that didn’t work, then sticking something in the microwave definitely would. Bella pulled a frozen spaghetti Bolognese out of the freezer. This was the last time she would eat such rubbish. From now on she would have the time to shop and cook properly. For that reason, she was looking forward to this last indulgence. She’d have no more excuses for eating so much processed stuff after that nig
ht.

  The spaghetti needed to be cooked on max power for five minutes. Bella watched as the black plastic tray turned in the orange light. One minute, two minutes, three minutes, four minutes, four minutes and thirty seconds, four minutes and forty seconds, fifty seconds …

  Ring!

  As if by magic, Bella’s mobile started buzzing as the microwave pinged to tell her dinner was ready. She snatched her phone up, while simultaneously popping the microwave door to stop it from beeping. A smile spread across her lips as she saw that the call was from the Defence Solicitor Call Centre. She would have hated to spend her last night on duty sitting at home.

  Leaving the spaghetti in the microwave, as she had left so many ready meals cooked and uneaten before, Bella pulled on her coat and headed out into the misty November night.

  She was expecting to see Jimmy Cricket when she got to the station. She was not expecting to see him on the wrong side of the desk. Or should that be the right side? The side where people who hadn’t been arrested waited to be seen.

  ‘Jimmy? I thought … Shouldn’t you be in one of the cells? I got a call from the CDS about you. Haven’t you been arrested?’

  ‘Not tonight, Miss B.’

  ‘Then what am I doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re taking you out,’ said Jimmy. Sergeant Mellor appeared. He was wearing not his uniform but a grey woolly jumper over a pair of jeans and a checked blue shirt. It struck Bella that she had never seen him out of uniform before. Just as he had never seen her out of the smart formal suit that she wore in her professional life.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked him.

  ‘We’ve had reports of unusual activity near the town centre,’ Sergeant Mellor said. ‘I think we ought to go and investigate.’

  ‘And I’m to come with you?’

  ‘You can resist if you like,’ said Sergeant Mellor. ‘But it would make all our lives easier if you didn’t.’

  Bella smiled at the phrase she had heard him use so often in other more usual contexts.