‘Are you a professional cook, Jessie?’
‘I’ve worked in plenty of kitchens.’
‘As a chef?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Washing up?’
I nodded.
Without saying another word, she got up and left.
‘I’ll take that as a no, then?’ I muttered after her.
A couple of hours later, three recipes with minutely detailed instructions pinged through to my phone from an unrecognised number.
16
I was still trying to figure out when and where I’d be able to have an urgently needed recipe practice when on Wednesday afternoon, Isaac mentioned that he’d be working late, due to a last-minute meeting with the nightmare Bridgerton-to-Boho couple. I made a casual query in the recently formed Boys to Men WhatsApp group, and Arthur informed me that he was helping Elsa out at the church youth group until nine, and Elliot had football training until seven.
Perfect.
I was out the Barn door at five sharp, making a swift detour to Houghton’s tiny supermarket before hurrying home to get cracking. I had ninety minutes to turn two carrier bags of ingredients into culinary magic, clear up any mess and then eat all the evidence.
* * *
I got the fright of my life when a velvety nose bumped into the back of my knee, what felt like an age later.
Whirling around with the electric whisk still in my hand, everything within a two-metre radius ended up splattered with cream, including me and Penny.
‘Go and stall him!’ I whispered frantically once the whisk was off. The dog licked a blob off her nose and opted to stay where there was more cream. I gave her a gentle nudge. ‘Go on! Ten minutes should do it.’
‘Ten minutes should do what?’ Elliot asked, striding into the kitchen and then coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room. His eyes swept over me, the worktops and table before coming to rest on his dog, trying to reach another splash behind her ear. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he took in the carnage.
‘Yeah, so it turns out learning to cook is harder than I thought.’
He used a piece of kitchen roll to wipe Penny’s head, placed it in the bin and then peered at the baking tray I’d left on top of the hob. ‘Apparently so.’
He looked at me then, eyes dancing, mouth twitching at both corners. ‘I can’t believe you had the nerve to criticise that lunch we made for you.’
‘That was sausages and eggs! This is…’ I gave up. I’d lost control of what the hell this was a long time ago.
‘This is a disaster of spectacular proportions.’ He gave in to the enormous grin. ‘What happened?’
‘You weren’t supposed to be back until after seven,’ I said, slumping against the worktop.
‘It’s seven twenty-five.’
‘What? This has taken two hours? I’m only on step three of dessert. The chicken is still marinating and I haven’t even thought about the salad yet!’ I shook my head, aghast. ‘How on earth does Wendy do this for eighty people? She said it would be easy!’
‘I don’t know who Wendy is, but I think she was wrong.’
A solitary tear squeezed out and dribbled down my cheek. I swiped it away, but Elliot had already spotted it.
‘Here.’ He handed me some kitchen roll. ‘I’m sorry for laughing. It’s one way of coping with seeing my kitchen in… moderate disarray.’
I nodded, wiping my face and giving my nose an unflattering blow. Elliot held out a couple more sheets.
