Yes Chef, No Chef

chapter Fourteen



Draining the blanched asparagus spears from the boiling pan of water, Tim put them aside to cool while he continued filling an inch of his round pastry flan with lightly flavoured cheese mousse. Jessie was hovering at his elbow while he stood each fat asparagus tip horizontally into the flan case until the cluster resembled the shape of a helmet.

“Aw, Tim, that’s brilliant,” she said admiringly and he beamed with pleasure.

Trotting alongside him back into the office to look for the camera, she said, “I think we should make it the centre piece when we get all the other main courses finished - it’ll look fabulous with the game pies.”

Tim glanced at his emails and saw Kate’s address. “Thanks, Jessie, I just need a minute, can you pull the door shut behind you?” he asked as she sauntered out of the room without a backward glance.

He wanted to be on his own when he opened the email to read what she had to say. Again it was short, business-like and to the point. She asked him to thank his mum and dad for the flowers, and gave him a temporary address for post and the settlement fee that his dad had told her to expect.

Christ, he didn’t know his mum had sent Kate flowers but there again he had ignored her messages on his mobile, and because of the extra work he hadn’t called to see her as planned. The image of his mum’s lovely face came to him and he mellowed - it was just the automatic kind gesture she would make to anyone, let alone his estranged girlfriend. He decided to go and see her straight after lunch time service was finished because it would be the best time to catch her alone without running into his dad.

Kate’s temporary address was neither her mum’s house, nor either of the girls and he wondered whether it was a flat or a house? And more importantly who it belonged to. Surely, she couldn’t have met someone else already, could she? Well, he decided glumly, she wouldn’t be single for long because she was so attractive and what most men would think of as a really good catch.

For some reason a sudden memory of the long weekend they’d spent in Menorca flashed back into his mind and he remembered how she’d looked on the beach in a skimpy pink bikini with two small triangles of material straining to hold her full breasts.

He remembered smoothing sun cream onto her flat stomach and sliding a finger under one of the triangles hoping nobody could see. “Erm, thanks very much for creaming my back, Tim,” she’d said. “But I can manage to do my stomach myself.

“I know,” he’d breathed, ragged with desire. “It was just an excuse to get closer to those gorgeous breasts of yours.”

She’d teased him with her giggle. It wasn’t a girly giggle that she had, it was more of chuckle which when they were making love would turn into a throaty sexual sound from deep inside her that drove him mad with desire. Oh God, he groaned thinking of the soft gasp of pleasure she always made when he entered her. He was filled with such a deep longing that it seemed to gather in the back of his throat into a ball of complete and utter misery. Grabbing his jacket he strode out of the restaurant and drove out to Belgravia.

Driving up to the house he prayed his mum would be home because now he’d made the decision to come he felt desperate to talk and when he thought of the last time he’d walked up this path with Kate, he cringed with shame at how obnoxious he’d been. Turning his key in the lock he could see her running down the last few stairs and she cried out with pleasure at the sight of him.

“Oh Tim, thank goodness you’ve come. I’ve been so worried about you?” she said reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek and put her arms around him. At the warmth of her embrace and her clean familiar smell he leant down and buried his face in her neck and felt tears sting the back of his eyes.

“Hi, Mum,” he managed to say in a voice strangled by the same lump in his throat.

She stood hugging him and he remembered the day when he’d arrived back from school aged eleven and she’d gone. He’d dropped his school bag onto the floor and an old housekeeper they’d had scuttled through from the kitchen scolding him about leaving his things lying around then casually told him that his mum had left that morning with a suitcase and that she’d be staying to look after him and Jenny until his father got home.

He untangled himself from his mums embrace now and they walked arm in arm into the lounge where he sat down heavily on the settee and she automatically went to pour them drinks. “Not for me, Mum,” he said. “I’ll just have some juice because I’ve got to go back into work at five o’clock.”

He looked at her slender, elegant back standing at the drinks cabinet and remembered how long those three weeks had seemed when he was little and she simply hadn’t been there. He’d cried himself to sleep at night because he missed her so much and on the third morning had rolled over in bed onto a cold damp sheet and realised he’d wet the bed. The tetchy housekeeper tutted at him when he ate his cornflakes and grumbled under her breath about the extra washing, and although dad told him mum would be coming back after she’d had a little holiday on her own, he’d felt desolate. He hadn’t been able to understand why she’d wanted to go on holiday without him and Jenny because they’d always had such great, fun-packed holidays. And eventually when she had returned he’d often seen her wiping tears away from her eyes and forcing a bright smile onto her face. He’d followed her around the house for days and hadn’t wanted to go to school just in case she’d disappeared again when he got back, and even though she’d promised him faithfully that she’d never leave again, the morbid fear of losing her had never been very far from his mind.

She put a glass of orange juice onto the coffee table in front of him and he started to tell her about Kate and the argument and everything that had happened. She didn’t comment or interrupt but just sat next to him stroking his hand and smiling with encouragement for him to get it all out of his system. Her eyes filled with tears when he told her about the drinking and she squeezed his hand tightly more with concern and fear than upset, but still she didn’t speak until he finally came to a halt.

“And that’s about the gist of it…” he said sadly and looked across the room to a beautiful arrangement of white lilies and green foliage in a huge vase.

She followed his eyes. “I sent Katie some flowers when it first happened and a note telling her how much I’d miss her,” she said wistfully. “Because I will…”

“Not half as much as I do,” he mumbled.

She sighed, “Is there no way you can patch things up? I mean, what did she say when you talked to her?”

Feeling more in control now he released his hand from hers to drink the juice. “We didn’t talk. I mean, she emailed me and I answered her,” he said gulping the juice down greedily. His mouth was dry and he suddenly felt a wave of tiredness sweep over him. Emotional upset always made his body feel weary and he had to fight the urge to lie down on the settee.

She was aghast and looked in amazement at him. “So you haven’t even tried to explain or tell her what you’ve just told me?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said petulantly and shuffled uneasily. “She was the one who walked out, Mum, so I figure she should be the one to come and talk to me…” he said avoiding her eyes. “I mean, I’d always thought she was with me for keeps, and I couldn’t believe she would simply run out just because we were having a few tricky weeks.”

She shook her head slowly in obvious disbelief but before she had time to say anything more he butted in and bristled indignantly. “Oh here we go, I thought you, at least, would be on my side? So you’re telling me it’s all my fault?”

She took a large gulp of her wine. “No, of course I’m not, Tim,” she said, “I’m not taking anyone’s side, but it was a lot more than a few tricky weeks and you have to take some responsibility for what’s happened, darling.”

He stood up and started to pace around the room while she sat looking unhappily at him.

“You’re so much like your father,” she mused to herself.

Suddenly he swung around to face her with temper flashing in his eyes. “Don’t say that. I’m nothing like him!” he practically snarled at her. “I’ll never be a big shot, workaholic like him.”

“Your father is a good man, Tim,” she said defensively. “He is a man of great character and principles.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “It’s a pity he wasn’t a family man and work had been more important to him than being around to see us grow up.”

She went to him and tried to stroke his arm but he pulled away from her and for the second time that afternoon he felt tears weren’t too far away.

“Look, Tim, I know he wasn’t around much when you were little but he worked hard to provide us with all this,” she said waving her arm around the room.

He grunted in retaliation. “And who told him we wanted all of this? I know you didn’t, because you’re not and never have been materialistic,” he said and then plonked himself back down onto the settee with his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I would rather have lived in a hut, Mum, and have him play a game of cricket or kick a ball with me, than all of this.”

“Well, Jenny didn’t complain?” she said huffily. “And, I will remind you that you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in today if it hadn’t been for all his hard work. And another thing, it’s very easy to be blasé about money when you’ve never had to live without it, believe you me!”

Feeling exhausted with just the thought of his sister, he said, “Ah, Jenny, let’s not go down that road. I haven’t the energy…”

He looked at her long neck and proud shoulders, and felt ashamed. What was he doing arguing and upsetting his mum when she was only trying to help. “Look, I’m sorry, Mum,” he said feeling contrite. “I didn’t come here to upset you and thanks for talking but I’d better hit the road.”

He stood up to leave and she went to him. “It’s okay love, I know you’ll never get along with your father but even though he doesn’t say much he does love you and has been as worried as I have since Katie left,” she said. “And you know, Tim, there comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to stop blaming other people for the way things turned out and accept that life is what you make of it yourself.”

She looked distantly passed his shoulder as though she too was lost in her own memories but when he bent down to kiss her cheek she shook herself back into mum-mode insisting that he come home for lunch on Sunday and that she’d also ask Jenny and Greg. He strode down the path to his car grimacing, and that, he thought, was surely a recipe for disaster.