Yes Chef, No Chef

chapter Nine



After collecting the keys for the flat from Frances, Katie drove over to the other side of Putney onto Egliston Road and when she pulled up outside the house Lisa commented upon the nice tree lined street. Sarah got out of her car behind them and the three girls looked around deciding it looked quiet, well-kept and definitely a good area.

“Here we go then,” Katie said a little nervously and approached the front door with three outside name tags. “It looks like Claire’s is on the top floor.”

“Oh well, that’s good. I always like to be above people,” Lisa commented helpfully. “If you’re on the ground floor and have noisy neighbours it can be hell.”

Sarah touched Katie’s arm when they mounted the stairs. “Now, Katie if we get inside and it’s a dump or you don’t like it you can always come straight back to mine. I don’t want you to be unhappy or miserable staying here.”

Thanking her, Katie opened the door to a large lounge overlooking the street with a big square bay window and Lisa walked across to pull the curtains back. It was a pleasant room Katie decided which was decorated with an African theme in dark wood furniture, a brown and orange vibrant mat on the wood floor and some very strange African paintings hanging on the walls. Two huge carved elephants stood in one corner and numerous other animals were scattered around the room but it was spotlessly clean and Katie thought it had a nice homely feel.

“Well, you can see how much she loves Africa. But you could always stack the animals away in a cupboard somewhere,” Lisa said positively.

“Yeah, I like it,” Katie said. “It’ll certainly do for a couple of months until I get sorted out.”

Sarah had wandered into the kitchen and called through that it was clean and well stocked with white goods, fridge, freezer, and washing machine, and Katie liked the small bedroom which had clean white sheets on the double bed.

“All in all,” Lisa said. “It’s very good for a rental property. Will you be OK here?”

Katie nodded slowly but decisively. “Definitely. Right, let’s get started with the cases and bags.”

After numerous trips to the car and with the animals stacked carefully in a kitchen cupboard out of sight she was soon feeling more settled. Lisa hung her clothes in the wardrobe having brought her extra hangers and Sarah produced a bag of provisions containing bread, milk, coffee and eggs. Katie placed her framed family photographs on the window ledge and toiletries in the bathroom cabinet forcing herself to block out the memories from the apartment the day before.

With the last bag in her hand she went into the bedroom and unwrapped her old wood jewellery box placing it on top of the chest of drawers. Tim had wanted to buy her a new one for her birthday last year but she’d told him it would be a waste because she’d never use any other but this one. It was her only prized possession, not because of its monetary value, but because it was the last thing her father had bought for her before he died and she would always treasure it.

With the box in place and a photograph of her father next to it she gently stroked the glass over the side of his cheek. ‘I’m up and running again, Dad,’ she whispered and feeling more positive than she had done all week she headed back into the lounge where Lisa handed her a mug of coffee and they all plonked down onto the settee sighing with a job well done. Looking around at her familiar bits and pieces she felt reassured and much more able to cope with the upheaval of the last week and told the girls exactly that.

“Great,” Sarah said. “Now, how about we all go back to mine for some early supper and I’ll tell you all about Mark last night and Lisa can tell us about her gorgeous guy, Adam?”

“I only want the X-rated bits,” Katie cried as they clattered and laughed their way back down the stairs to the cars and Sarah declared it was so good to see her looking much happier.

Frances was waiting for her the next morning with a look of slight trepidation in her eyes. “Well?” she asked. “Is it OK? I’ve never been in Claire’s flat and worried last night that you wouldn’t like it?”

Katie smiled at her kindly. “It’s great, Fran,” she said. “It’s just the job for a couple of months. The girls helped me move in then we went to Sarah’s for supper and I got back around seven. And then by the time I’d ironed clothes for this week, rang mum with the address, had a shower and pottered around it was time for bed.”

“Oh that’s good, and did you manage to sleep?” Francis asked.

Katie booted up her PC. “You, know, I didn’t think I would but then I realised I’ve been in three different beds this week, so it was nothing unusual and I went out like a light.”

The last bit was a little white lie because she’d actually lain awake for a while thinking how much her life had changed in just one short week and for one feeble moment she’d wondered if Tim was doing the same but at least he’d only had their break up to unsettle him, he hadn’t lost his home into the bargain. He couldn’t possibly be thinking about her at all she reckoned because if he had he would have been in touch.

Frances called across to her. “Just wait until you read the latest email from the planners about the continuing saga of the missing green leaf coffee mug. It’s bloody hilarious,” she said laughing. “Can you believe the amount of fuss over one mug going missing?”

Smiling back at Frances seemed an effort because once more she could feel another headache starting and wondered if it was just the stress or whether she needed an eye test because this was the third time in two days she’d had to take painkillers.

Rubbing her forehead she answered, “Well, all I can say is if this is all they have to write on emails, they can’t be as busy as they’re always complaining they are.”

Deciding the headache was just stress she forced herself to concentrate and began to read through emails and organise the teams work for the day. The new packaging had arrived for the lemon desserts and Frances applied the new label onto an empty pot admiring the printers work. Frances had already edited every single word on the label checking it against the proofs to make sure it was word perfect and thankfully it was.

After lunch she asked Harry to double check their arrangements for the trip to Shrewsbury the following day and suggested they go straight to Paddington station after work at four o’clock so they could check into the hotel ready for dinner at eight. They had to travel the night before because production in the factory was scheduled to begin early the next morning at seven o’clock sharp.

The train left Paddington on time and almost as soon as she relaxed back in the warmth of the carriage she put her head on the side of the window and instantly fell asleep, only jumping awake at Harry touching her arm.

“Not long now and we’ll be at Shrewsbury station,” he said quietly.

Snapping her eyes open and rubbing the crick in her neck she apologised, “Heavens, I’m not much company, am I?” she asked. “Fancy sleeping throughout the journey…”

He laughed. “Oh, not to worry, I’ve finished the last three chapters of my book. It’s about a murder in a restaurant and is quite apt really - the foodie bits were great. I think it must have been written by a chef because it’s so true to life,” he said and then realising what the word chef would mean to her he blushed red and lowered his head. “Sorry, I…I, didn’t mean to, well, you know…”

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t be silly, it’s fine,” she reassured him knowing full well that Frances would have told him and Alice that she’d left Tim.

They listened to the guard announcing their approach to Shrewsbury and she sat up further, buttoning her jacket amidst a general rustle of people gathering their bags and pulling things down from the overhead racks.

Obviously trying to get their conversation back on track, Harry asked, “Katie, when you tell people that you are a food technologist do they often ask if that means you are a chef?”

Smiling at his eager young face, she nodded. “Yes of course, we all do. Mainly it’s because people don’t understand the difference in our jobs,” she said fastening the strap on her handbag and hooking it onto her shoulder. “People don’t know that we’ve got food science degrees and that we know all the background to developing new food products whereas chefs are mainly concerned with cooking and recipes.”

Smoothing her skirt down she stood up to walk down to the vestibule while he untangled his long legs from under the table and followed her.

“I know and there’s just so much to learn,” he said excitedly, then, taking her holdall, he insisted upon carrying it from the train and along the platform. Striding ahead out of the station Katie quickened her pace to keep up with his long legs while explaining that it was the third time she’d been to the factory and because she knew her way through Shrewsbury town centre to the hotel, she suggested they walk past the castle along the side streets of old Tudor buildings.

“I hope you’re going to enjoy the experience,” she said. “But unfortunately you won’t get much time to look around the town because the managers from the factory will be arriving shortly to take us out for dinner.”

Katie told him who they were and their exact roles on the site and he chattered enthusiastically all the way to check in at the grand reception desk of The Prince Rupert Hotel. Within an hour they were seated in The Peach Tree restaurant where the food was excellent and after his second bottle of lager Katie could see Harry was enjoying the company of the site managers bombarding them with questions in his earnest mission to learn as much as he could. The restaurant was busy with large parties of stags and hens but Katie felt grateful for the background noise and with the conversation taking place around her she slid off her shoes leant back in the chair and remembered how she’d been exactly the same as Harry when she first started as a junior technologist.

Sipping her wine she twirled the linen napkin between her fingers and stared out of the window at people walking past the restaurant wondering if she was becoming stale and losing her motivation and energy. Or was it just tiredness after all the upheaval she’d been through with Tim.

When she’d first started her mentor had been a food expert and the most organised woman anyone could wish to meet. She’d worked in new product development for years and Katie had soaked up all her knowledge like a sponge. Before she retired she’d impressed upon Katie the need to be prepared and have the ability to work within strict time limits when managing a new product right through to launch in the supermarket. ‘You are the lynch-pin in the company’, she’d chanted at her on a regular basis, ‘You need to be focused and organise all the other teams to contribute their own expertise, on time, and with no excuses’.

Katie smiled with fondness at the memory of her and wondered if she’d have been proud to see her reach middle management and into what she’d hoped and prayed would be the project manager’s role. Realising everyone was getting up to leave she shook herself back to reality and thanked the managers politely.

Back in the hotel bar and with a cautious warning to Harry not to stay up too late drinking as they would be leaving the hotel at six am she made her excuses and went up to her room, settling down into the old four poster bed to read her novel. At Christmas Tim had wanted to buy her a new Kindle device to read her books but she’d refused the offer because she would always love the smell and feel of a book in her hands. If they were new books she loved the smell of the fresh print and how unused the pages felt knowing she was the first person to turn them over. And, if they were old books she loved the musty smell and well-thumbed pages with sometimes the odd coffee stain. She’d often try to imagine who had split the coffee and if they’d been so engrossed in what they were reading they’d lost all train of thought. She picked her book up and studied the cover image of the Alexander McCall Smith book and remembered last week’s visit to the local library. And that was another reason not to be electronic, she thought, because she’d really miss her monthly trips to the library with her reserved list of up and coming novels. She was nearly to the end of reading Alexander’s 44 Scotland Street series and couldn’t help being totally absorbed with the most amazing characters he wrote about, their lives and their dreams. Drifting off to sleep she wondered if she would ever be able to use her imagination to be creative and write a book, or she sighed, was she just too much of a damn control freak.

The noise in the factory was loud and she strained to listen to the team leader on the line who was explaining the process of depositing the lemon mousse and sauce into the pots. Her feet were cold in the factory-issue white wellington boots and although she’d remembered to wear a thick jumper, her shoulders and back were quivering with the cold five degree temperature that was of course necessary in the area.

She looked around the large production area with nine long automated lines of gleaming stainless steel pieces of equipment which when joined together made wonderful trifles and desserts. She spotted Harry with his usual black gelled hair hidden in the factory mop-cap and smiled - his face looked younger than ever. He was totally animated following the technical manager everywhere, watching the recipes being made in huge vats and then the automated transfer down to the line. Both the mousse and sauce looked lovely in the two separate layers and the operation on the line ran smooth and effortlessly. The cream at the end of the line was pumped into a huge whipping machine in its single state and when it had been whipped to the correct texture, which was stiff enough to hold a peak in the pot, it was transferred into an overhead vessel.

“Wow! How cool is that?” Harry grinned excitedly as he stood next to her watching the cream being deposited through a metal head with holes to make a decorative fluted pattern.

She smiled at him. “Well, how did you think they did it? Did you think the pattern was made by lots of ladies with piping bags?”

Throwing his head back Harry laughed raucously in response.

Katie turned to the production manager. “Can we take some of the samples back upstairs to the office?” she asked. “And then we can look at them in more detail when we go through the specification.”

He gladly agreed and when they sat down in the office with welcoming hot coffee and bacon rolls she gave Harry a copy of the check list that she intended to talk through. Harry listened intently while she checked each ingredient which went into the three recipes, which supplier the factory had bought them from, and stating the country of origin the suppliers were using. The planning orders for depots up and down the country were discussed and then she examined the factories daily record checks of temperature, storage and transport. The sample pots were examined for appearance and label fit, correct texture, smell and taste and when Katie couldn’t find any issues with the production run she agreed that the product could be released for dispatch to their supermarkets.

Harry talked non-stop on the train journey back to London while she told him exactly what they were responsible for and how important it was not to miss any mistakes. “The worst and most expensive thing that can happen is what we call a product re-call,” she told him. “And if the product actually reaches the supermarket shelves and something is wrong then every single pot has to be removed and sent back to Shrewsbury. It can cost mega bucks.”

Harry whistled through his teeth in amazement and then thanked her profusely for his trip, told her how great she’d been, and how first-hand experience beat reading books anytime. Good manners and well brought up Katie thought, and then horrified at how much like her mother she sounded she stifled a giggle.

After dropping Harry off at home in the station taxi, she wearily mounted the stairs to her new flat yawning with tiredness after the early five o’clock alarm. She decided a snooze on the bed was in order and then she’d take a trip to the supermarket and fill the freezer and fridge with food. She’d also treat herself to some fresh fruit and vegetables because her diet had suffered during the last week with all the upheaval and Lisa’s endless offerings of pizzas.

It seemed strange cooking for one again she thought as she climbed onto the bed because she’d been so used to Tim cooking for them. Actually, food had been a huge part of their lives together because they both worked with it all day, talked about it endlessly at home, shopped for it at markets, and of course ate it when he tried out new recipes for the restaurant. Sadly, she wondered if he was getting used to boiling only enough pasta or rice for one and then firmly pushed the thought of him out of her mind. Feeling her eyes droop she made a new resolution and decided every time she thought of a memory with him from the past she would blot it out of her mind as quickly as possible. She was not going to end up like one of these single women who droned on and on about a broken relationship.



The next morning when she arrived into the office a huge bouquet of flowers had been delivered for her and Frances was practically jumping up and down with excitement when with trembling hands Katie fished the card out of the centre and opened the small envelope. The flowers were from Lynne and Graham. A crashing feeling of disappointment and unhappiness swept through her especially when she saw Frances’s face crumble with empathy.

Lynne had written to say how sorry she was to hear that she’d left Tim and wondered if Katie could find it in herself to keep in touch with her. She added that Graham was sorting a cash settlement out for her and she’d have a cheque through the post if she could forward her new address to them.

She read it out to Frances who immediately raved at their kindness and thoughtfulness.

“Yeah, I’ll miss them,” Katie said. “They’re really nice people and I’d grown quite attached, especially to Lynne.”

Frances bent over the flowers and sniffed the fragrance. “Well, give it a few weeks and then maybe you’ll feel up to ringing her for a chat?”

Katie took a deep breath, remembered her new resolve and mumbled an agreement to Frances although she knew she wouldn’t. Tim had cut her off and there was no way she would go snivelling around to his parents to listen to stories about his new life. It was blatantly obvious now he had no intention of any type of communication and lifting her shoulders with pride she composed an email to him.

To tim.davies from katie.charles

Hi Tim,

Please thank your mum and dad for the flowers – they are beautiful. Here is my temporary address for the settlement cheque and any post that may arrive for me.

Katie



During another busy morning she started to look at three new product launches that were scheduled to take place in the May and took a telephone message from personnel. They asked if she could clear her diary for the following morning at ten o’clock for a meeting with them and her business unit manager. It wasn’t an interview but as team leader they wanted to discuss something with her. Hmm, she wondered excitedly, maybe it was something to do with the project manager’s job? Automatically she looked across to Frances’s desk to ask her opinion but remembered she’d taken the afternoon off for some dental work. Oh well, she’d find out soon enough tomorrow she decided to carry on with the pile of paperwork.