Читать книгу The Little Cornish Kitchen: A heartwarming and funny romance set in Cornwall - Jane Linfoot - Страница 15

In Trenowden, Trenowden and Trenowden Solicitors’ office

Sorbet and melting ice caps

Monday morning

‘Morning, Clementine, good weekend?’ As he breezes past my desk to his office, George’s greeting sounds like he’s on autopilot.

‘Great thanks.’ Even if he was taking notice, I’d spare him the details.

As I staggered away from the market stall with Sophie on Saturday afternoon, under a fruit mountain so huge I could barely see the toes of my kitten heeled pumps I’d decided to go with the flow. By the time we reached Sophie’s kitchen, which is literally the size of a barn, I was relaxing into it. The minute we added in Laura’s name it stopped feeling like I was being press ganged, and I began to feel part of the mission. In spite of my huge reservations and doubts, I began to enjoy myself.

Sophie’s a whizz at multi-tasking. Somehow she managed to sort French plaits for Tilly, wade through a marketing report, pass Maisie her organic carrots and chickpeas, stop Marco from crashing his ride-on tractor through the bi-fold doors into the courtyard outside, and shout instructions at me and Milla too. After an afternoon of doing as I was told at her polished concrete work surfaces, I’d liquidised so much fruit and dipped in and out of her stable-size freezer so many times, I swear I’ll be making strawberry sorbet in my sleep forever more. But at least I’d nailed the technicalities and learned how to operate a hand blender without sending a tidal wave of fruit puree up the walls.

The up side of trialing recipes is we all got to taste the sorbets. Pause for a brief sorbet swoon there – the icy crystals hitting my tongue was like an electric shock to my brain. Out of nowhere I could remember sitting at my little table on the balcony, hulling strawberries, with Laura sitting on the planks beside me, her legs outstretched. Me holding her hand, as we hurried out to the ice cream kiosk to get wafers. Standing them up like sails in our sorbet balls. Then later I found the splashy blue and orange flowery fabric of the dress she’d been wearing that day in a patchwork cushion on the sofa. For someone who usually has trouble remembering much beyond last Tuesday, it was a revelation.

By Saturday tea time, we’d made our selection from the samples, bought more fruit for making the full amounts, and trundled it up the stairs at Seaspray Cottage. All without bumping into Charlie. Why did I ever think this was going to be hard?

Then on Sunday, Nell, Plum and I spent the afternoon at the flat, tweeking the sofas and side tables into party order, cleaning the loo, and sorting out the best cups and glasses to use, and still finished in time to go for a hot chocolate at the Surf Shack along the beach.

So now I’m tapping my heels under George’s reception desk, flicking through this morning’s appointments on my screen, willing lunchtime to arrive so Plum and I can get back and crack on with the sorbets.

‘How are you getting on with the flat? I hear you’ve moved in.’

Shucks. So much for autopilot. This time around George is full on warm and interested, with a disarming smile to match.

‘Yes, all fabulous, thanks for asking.’ My throat constricts in panic. I skip straight over the Airbnb people underneath who could have been bonking for England all night on Saturday. Does he know about the flat because he’s put himself down for the Laura’s Lovely Sorbets event? I might be softening to the idea of twenty strangers invading Laura’s living room in return for a discreet yet extortionate cash payment. But I’m damn sure I’m not up for my boss seeing me fall flat on my face when it goes all kinds of wrong, even if he does have kind crinkles at the corners of his eyes. ‘I’m not up to speed here because I’ve been away, but do you go to Nell’s singles’ events?’ Hopefully I make the crucial question sound super casual.

George’s smile fades in a second. ‘Hell, no.’

‘Jeez, I’m so pleased to hear that.’ And that gave too much away. This calls for some serious back pedalling. ‘Any particular reason? I’ve heard they’re excellent, even for people like us who are happy with their “alone” status.’

For a moment, he looks confused. ‘I do long hours here, then take work home.’ Now he’s found an answer he looks happier. ‘Socialising isn’t on my radar, probably how I’ve avoided getting pushed into it like everyone else has.’ Although it’s on his radar enough to know it exists.

‘Great, well I’d better get on.’ I need to wind this up, before I get into any more deep water. ‘This human works best on Monday mornings if coffee is added. Are you ready for one too?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ The grin that spreads across his face at the offer of a caffeine hit makes his previous one look arctic. ‘Only joking, why not let me make them?’

‘That’s what I’m here for.’ Obviously, I don’t want him at my sorbet evening, but all the same I can’t quite work out why Nell hasn’t snapped this one up for her singles’ group. With lines like that I’d say he has all the makings of a ‘keeper’.

Despite being a twenty-four seven workaholic, it turns out George is just as shit as me about the Monday thing. Four coffees on for each of us, with no visit from Charlie, we finally get to lunchtime, and I’m free to go and make sorbet. Ten hours from now the micro-venue theory will have been tested to destruction, and my life will be back on its old course again. All I have to do is hold my nerve and get through to midnight.

Two hours later, Plum and I are up to our elbows in pureed raspberries in Laura’s kitchen, looking out across the blue sparkling water of St Aidan Bay as we sieve the last double batch.

Plum counts them off on her fingers as she juggles the containers in the freezer, which is rammed. ‘Strawberry, pear and rosemary, lemon, lime and peppermint, water melon, orange and mango, cucumber and mint. There’s just about enough room to squeeze the raspberry in here too.’

‘As Sophie says, they’re gluten-free, dairy-free, suitable for vegetarians, pescetarians, vegans, celiacs and lactose intolerants.’ Now they’re almost done, I’m feeling dizzy, excited and so uptight I’m squeaking when I should be talking.

Plum laughs. ‘Sophie would say that. Better still, they’re bloody delicious, those recipes of Laura’s are on point.’

‘I can’t believe it was so easy. If this is cooking, bring it on.’ Even if I’m joking, I’m still stunned at what we’ve done. If Laura could see me now, somehow, I know she’d be happy.

Plum scrapes the last of the dark ruby mixture into a shallow dish. ‘I had a flick through the recipe basket earlier. Nothing’s too complicated to make, but everything in there looks seriously yummy.’

‘Which kind of reminds me …’ Edible being everyone else’s description of the man in question, not mine. ‘Do you think Nell’s interested in my neighbour?’ I can’t quite bring myself to say his name. When I think of him trying to wrestle the flat away from me I’m livid. But then I catch my stomach disintegrating when I think about the way he looked at me afterwards.

Plum wrinkles her nose and rubs her finger round the rim of the bowl. ‘Nell would never admit it. But she does get extra animated whenever he’s around.’

I’ve no idea why I wish she hadn’t said that. ‘I’d noticed too.’ It’s good to get this out in the open.

‘Then she always claims it’s on other people’s behalf.’ Plum rolls her eyes as she sucks raspberry mixture off her finger. ‘She loves it when she gets couples together at her events. But she always holds back herself.’

I let my lips curl into a smile. ‘Maybe we’ll have to give her a helping hand, one of these days.’

Plum grins. ‘A bloody great push more like.’

It’s funny how differently our lives have all panned out. When Sophie was brave enough to have Milla on her own not long after uni, none of us imagined ten years later she’d have Nate, her business and three more children. Plum and I were always the ones to prioritise life not relationships. Whereas Nell was the one who always had a boyfriend in tow, from the age of thirteen onwards. She settled down early and bought into the whole mortgage and the house on the estate with way more bedrooms than they needed, only to have it all crack up. Last year, quite abruptly, she and Guy decided they’d be better apart than together. He moved to Glasgow, and that was that. One weekend she was enjoying a married mini break in Bridport. The next she had her house on the market and was flinging herself into singles’ karaoke at the Hungry Shark.

Somehow the parade of wooden penguins has migrated from the living room shelf to the kitchen table. Okay, they didn’t move on their own, it was me. That’s another thing I’ve remembered. Laura used to move them around. I pick one up and rub its white painted stomach. ‘Nell definitely deserves a second chance to find her special penguin.’

Plum’s eyes light up at the reference. ‘Oh my, remember Drew Barrymore and Never Been Kissed? How many times did we watch that film when we were teenagers?’

I laugh. ‘Enough times to know the scenes off by heart. And for you and me to decide the bit about spending our lives looking for one penguin to stay with forever with was bollocks.’

She wrinkles her nose. ‘Josie Geller getting her penguin at the end was still one of the best movie snogs ever.’

‘Even though I’d hate to be tied down personally, it still gives me teenage goosebumps when I think about it.’ It’s great to be able to admit this to Plum and know she won’t ever try to hook me up with anyone. ‘So what’s the story with George? How come he isn’t press ganged into going to Nell’s events?’ I may as well ask now we’re here. Then we’ve covered everything.

She laughs. ‘George goes his own way; we all gave up on him years ago.’ She adds the empty bowl to the huge stack next to the sink and slides the last dish into the freezer. ‘So what’s next? Shall we clear away, then go for the booze?’

I turn on the tap. ‘Good idea. At least with washing up and Gin Fizz, I’m back in my comfort zone.’

Plum picks up a tea towel. ‘And there can’t be too many sinks in the world with a view straight out to sea. Which is a good thing, because looking at the number of dishes, we’re going to be here forever.’

It turns out that she’s right. By the time we get back from town it’s late afternoon. We’re on the landing letting ourselves into the flat, when the door across the way swings open.

‘Charlie, lovely to see you.’ I’m over compensating here. He’s the last person I want to meet when our bags are clinking with enough gin and soda for twenty, plus helpers.

‘Diesel and I thought you might like some tea?’

I’m kicking myself for staring at his bare feet and tanned ankles. ‘Errrr …’ My mouth gapes. As I try to work out the best excuse I let my eyes rise, and notice he’s carrying a loaded tray.

He’s too quick for me. ‘Great, it’s all ready, and we have brownies. Just showing there’s no hard feelings after yesterday. I’ll grab another mug for Plum.’

I pull a face at Plum as he disappears. ‘Because obviously the six shelves of mugs at ours won’t be enough.’ As for who’s the hard feelings are, he doesn’t say. I’m guessing if he was the one apologising, he’d come out and say it. In which case this is him saying he’s forgiven me for calling him an ‘opportunist’. Or was it an ‘arse’? I refuse to be forgiven for telling the truth, so those brownies had better be amazing, or it could all kick off again.

‘He probably wants all the mugs to match.’ She drops her voice to a hiss. ‘And while he’s around, it might be a good idea to come clean about tonight.’

I glance at my phone and my stomach leap frogs. ‘Shit, three hours from now they’ll be arriving.’ As I look through into the living room and imagine twenty guests filing in from the landing my squeak rises to a shriek. ‘How the hell will they all fit in? There’s nowhere near enough chairs for everyone, it’s going to be like playing Sardines.’

Plum sniffs. ‘Maybe Nell has over extended with the numbers, but with the singles’ the more they’re squashed the better they like it.’ She winks at me. ‘Close encounters and all that.’

‘Whatever floats their boats.’ I shudder at that thought, then hold the door open for Charlie as he wanders back across, with Diesel two steps behind. ‘Let’s have tea in the kitchen.’ I’m saying it so often it’s feeling like a habit. This way we avoid Diesel dropping chocolate crumbs on the rug, and I can take a look in the freezer while we’re there.

As Charlie pours the tea and offers the cakes round I whisk a brownie off the plate and sink my teeth into the dark sticky slab. After a few minutes of cocoa swoon, I screw up my courage to speak. ‘So I’m having a few people over this evening.’ I’d planned to sound brighter and more airy, but my throat is clogged with chocolate. As I point to the embarrassingly large cluster of Gordon’s bottles poking out of the carrier bags and amble across to the freezer, it strikes me I need to make it clear he’s not getting an invitation. ‘Gin and home-made sweets for some very, very, very close friends.’ Okay, I’m only bragging about the ‘home-made’ thing because I’m over the effing moon with what we’ve pulled off here. And hopefully he’ll get that the ‘close’ bit excludes pushy neighbours. As I open the freezer door a crack, I’m praying the jammed-in dishes don’t dislodge and come cascading out.

‘Sounds like a chilled kind of evening.’ Charlie’s giving Diesel a bone shaped biscuit from the tray. ‘By the way, I’m not being mean with the brownies, but chocolate’s bad for dogs.’

‘All the more for me then. Excuse me a sec, I’ll just check on the sorbets.’ That’s another sentence I’d never planned to say in my entire life ever. Feeling very like someone else’s mother – obviously not mine, as she doesn’t cook – I lift the cling film and peer into the raspberry mixture. ‘This looks a bit weird, I was expecting it to be solid.’ I’m already regretting my boast. As I stick my finger in and find it’s still as runny as when we put it in, I let out a scream. ‘Waaaaahhhh, it’s still liquid, this can’t be right?’ I turn to Plum.

Plum blinks at her phone. ‘How long’s it been in?’

It feels like hours. ‘It froze solid in half this time when we tried it out at Sophie’s.’

She comes and pokes at the others. ‘Shit, none of it’s anywhere near frozen.’ As she purses her lips her eyes are popping out. ‘There’s no way this is going to be ready for tonight.’

Charlie’s frowning over his tea mug. It’s hand thrown, with grey and blue and white in random stripes. Plum was right, they’re all a teensy bit different but essentially they do all match. In the most on-trend, guy-type of a way. Which kind of suggests he’d fit in very well with a proper ‘Waitrose’ woman. ‘Anything I can help with?’

I send him my most ironic beam. ‘Seriously, I doubt it. Not unless you can explain why an entire sodding freezer full of sodding sorbet is sloppy when it should be frozen?’

He looks like he’s holding back one of those cough-laughs of his. ‘I think you just answered your own question there.’

‘Well thanks a lot, that’s really helpful.’ As I look at his superior sneer something inside me snaps. I don’t even care that I’m shouting. ‘I’ve got no effing idea when the hell I’m doing here. All I know is in a couple of hours a whole load of people are going to descend on me expecting to eat sorbet, and this far all I’ve got to offer them is smoothies. So, unless you’ve got something useful to say, cut the jokes please.’

His lips are twitching. ‘Hang on, there’s no need for a full-scale melt down.’ His smirk’s gone now. ‘What I meant is, if you put a massive amount of food into a freezer it’ll take longer to freeze than a small amount, that’s all. It’s the laws of physics.’

Physics? ‘Still not helpful.’

‘But maybe I can help. I do have an industrial size freezer next door. That should chill your sorbets to perfection in no time.’

‘What?’ Now I am listening. Somehow it’s no surprise he’s got this kind of kit. A freezer like that could save me here, but before I get my hopes up I need to check that it’s not just more bullshit. ‘Just a minute. How did you get one of those up the stairs? Or even fit it into the flat?’

He’s back to looking super pleased with himself without actually smiling. ‘My flat’s a lot bigger than yours. And the builders craned the fridges in when they were doing the balcony work.’ He pauses for a second. ‘It’s got a fast freeze option.’

I feel like my fairy godmother’s flying over the area. ‘Really?’ This time I don’t bother hiding my enthusiasm.

‘It’s a shame you weren’t here, or we could have craned a new one in for you too.’

Oh my days. ‘I’m not sure I’ve actually got the room.’ The man is so out of touch. If I’m having to flog sorbets to pay for roof work, I’m damn sure I can’t afford super-sized fridges. What’s worse, when I look around for a space to put anything tall, the kitchen suddenly feels minute rather than cosy.

‘So …’ He’s staring at me expectantly. ‘What are we waiting for?’

Plum sends me a ‘WTF?’ grin as she slides some trays out from the gap beside the dresser. ‘Best not waste valuable chilling time.’

I know I secretly vowed never to set foot next door, or talk to the neighbour, let alone accept favours from him. But sometimes a situation is so desperate you can’t hold on to your principles. And this is one of those times.