Chapter 5
It was foodie Friday. The day soon coming around, and with it the next supper club. Hurrah!
Cath had been praying the balmy Indian summer weather would last, allowing them to enjoy her revamped garden shed for one more social gathering this year.
Her plan was to decorate it with a pumpkin-style harvest-festival theme, and with Halloween on the horizon, she had found a big orange pumpkin and some fabulous speckled green-and-yellow squash in the garden centre yesterday.
She was going to display them along with a purple swede and a bunch of her fresh carrots strung together by their feathery fronds.
She’d also gone back to the woods where she’d taken that gorgeous stroll with Will, and collected some fallen autumn leaves in an array of beautiful burnished colours, and some pine cones.
The man himself had offered to come around in the early afternoon to ‘help her cook’.
She pondered whether the real reason was that Will wanted to try and pick up a few more tricks of the trade to improve his limited cooking skills, and hey, that was fine by her.
But hopefully, he was looking forward to seeing her too, and the chance to spend some time together before the rest of the gang arrived.
Either way, the thought of having him all to herself for a while made her happy. He could be her sous-chef anytime.
After trawling through her cookery books last night, sat curled up on her sofa by the log burner, she’d decided on a slow-cooked casserole as the main dish.
A heartwarming ensemble of beef and autumn root vegetables in a rich ale gravy.
She’d already made the trip to the butcher’s in Kirkton to get the stewing beef.
And she’d stuck with her dessert plan. Her blackberry picking in the country lanes meant she had a ready supply of the dark, juicy fruit, along with tart ripe apples from her bountiful tree in the garden, perfect to make a crowd-pleasing crumble for pudding.
*
It was almost two p.m. when the doorbell went.
Her pulse rate lifted with a stirring of anticipation.
She wiped her hands on her apron, fluffed her hair a little, and swiftly applied some peachy lip balm from her handbag.
She then strolled to the door, catching sight of herself en route in the hallway mirror: dark wavy hair, recently recoloured to keep the greys at bay, her mascara still in place, a touch of rosy blusher and the fresh gloss on her lips. She’d do.
She opened the door, with her heart thrumming. ‘Hi.’ She gave a nervous smile.
‘Hey.’ Will was standing there in dark jeans, and a black top under a shirt-jacket in a cosy-looking red and black tartan, bearing a sexy smile and oh, those hazel-green eyes.
Taking him in, she felt all warm and fuzzy. How did he do that to her just by standing there?
‘This is great. I’m looking forward to our cooking session and …’ he raised a quirky smile ‘… with what limited skills I have, I am at your service. Feel free to boss me around.’
‘Oh, I will do.’ She laughed, her mind whizzing off to some pretty steamy places that definitely weren’t the kitchen.
Hah, so maybe he was here for the cooking class, but hopefully for something a little more personal too.
Their recent woodland walk had been lovely, but things had quietened off between them these past few days, and despite their occasional messages and a friendly chat over the phone, it still felt somehow measured.
He’d been working, of course. And well, life took over; she knew that.
Perhaps they had both also needed a bit of time and space at this point.
Not wanting to pressure him – his situation as a recent widower being a complex one she knew she couldn’t fully understand – Cath’d held back from over-contacting him.
But she couldn’t help but wonder where they stood in this blossoming relationship.
She’d agreed to slow things down, after all.
Rushing in to a full-blown relationship might well just burst their balloon and call time upon the whole thing.
‘Ah, it’ll be fun.’ Cath pulled herself back to the task in hand. This afternoon was going to be a busy one. ‘Cooking’s not so bad if you keep it simple and use good quality ingredients.’
‘Well, I tend to stick to the basics at home: steak, salads and pizza. I can roast a chicken, too. Outside of that, well, I have to confess I’m pretty hopeless really.’
‘No worries, I’ll ease you in gently. Come on through, and let’s have a coffee first.’
‘Okay, great.’
‘So how are you?’ she asked, trying her best to sound relaxed but, in reality, feeling like a coiled spring. What was the matter with her? He was here to help her get set up for the supper club, she reminded herself.
‘Yeah, good thanks.’
‘I went back … to the woods,’ she broached, perhaps hoping to remind him of their walk and trying to regain a little of that previous closeness.
‘Ah, right.’
‘Yeah, I picked some greenery and some colourful leaves for tonight’s table.’
‘Sounds interesting.’ Despite the words, his voice held a note of indifference.
‘It was nice in the woods, our walk …’ she persevered, feeling even more nervous mentioning that.
‘Yeah, it’s very scenic there.’ His response seemed non-committal, non-personal.
She felt a bit hurt, put out. Had he not felt that same sense of togetherness? Had she built that hug under the trees into something more than it was ever meant to be? Oh, well that put her whizzy emotions in their place.
‘Ahm, yes, it is.’
Cath then found herself filling the gaps with polite conversation as she sourced milk and mugs, and popped the kettle on. It was such a domestic, homely situation, both of them there in the kitchen, which somehow made it all the more awkward. She stifled a sigh.
Cooking together, acting like a couple, what had she been thinking?
*
Five minutes later, over mugs of rich coffee with frothy milk, Will looked up, his brow creased thoughtfully. It was so hard to read him.
‘Hey, thanks for offering to help teach me how to cook today.’ His tone had softened.
‘Oh, that’s no problem.’ She had been looking forward to doing that, too.
‘I tend to take my cooking skills for granted, to be honest. Even when I was younger it seemed to come naturally; perhaps it was all the time I spent watching my mum in the kitchen. And I was only interested in licking the bowl back then.’ She smiled.
‘And then, cooking for my own family, trying out new recipes here and there, well, it was a pleasure, most of the time.’ She paused, her chatter stalled by a sudden flush of memories.
An image of the three of them, her family, sat around the dinner table.
The past always nearer than you imagined.
‘And, hey,’ she continued, pushing herself back on track, ‘having friends around for a social evening like tonight, well, that’s even better. Our happy little band here, chatting away and enjoying the fruits of my labours. It doesn’t seem like work at all.’
‘Well, I haven’t had much incentive to do a lot cooking-wise, what with the girls away,’ Will confessed.
‘It hardly seems worth it just for me. But I’ve been thinking …
’ he hesitated, the sorrow there in his eyes once more ‘… if perhaps I could cook a bit better, and maybe more often, then the girls might want to come home more. Look, I know it’s the stereotype of uni students coming back for home-cooked food and getting their laundry done, and I can certainly put on a wash, but I’d love to be able to do more for them, to be able to look after them in that way.
It seems like another thing the girls have lost. With everything that’s happened, it’s like we’re still struggling along rather than anywhere near enjoying ourselves. ’
‘Oh, Will, I’m sure they enjoy seeing you, whether or not you can cook. And hey, it’s bound to feel difficult for you all,’ Cath tried to reassure him, her heart full of sympathy. ‘But I’ll certainly give you a few tips today. You’ll soon be feeling much more confident in the kitchen.’
‘Thank you.’
They sipped their coffees, briefly lost in their own thoughts.
‘Well then, there’s no time like the present. Shall we?’ Cath stood up, taking their now empty cups to the sink.
With that, she placed the veggies for the casserole out on the kitchen side, and Will helped to peel, then cut up the carrots and cube some parsnips, whilst she deftly sliced a large onion showing him the easiest way. Working side by side at the kitchen work surface felt kind of right.
The butcher at Kirkton had already cubed the stewing steak for her, which she dusted with flour, salt and pepper. She opened a large bottle of local brown ale, and then made up a jug of hot beef stock. They were ready to begin cooking.
‘Okay, here we go. Time for the “cheffy” stuff.’ Cath gave a broad smile.
As the oil began to warm in the pan, Cath watched as Will fried the onions to a golden brown, after a few minutes adding the other vegetables.
Setting this aside, she got him to add a splash more oil, and then turned up the heat.
Under her guidance, Will tipped in the floury steak cubes, searing them to a toasty brown, then slowly poured over the fragrant ale and rich beef stock.
He happily stood and stirred, watching it all come together, whilst Cath sprinkled in a good pinch of seasoning, and a dollop of pungent mustard and a teaspoon of horseradish sauce for good measure.
‘That smells delicious already.’ Will grinned, raising his head above the steam. It was lovely to see how the act of cooking had lifted his mood.
‘It may well do, but it now needs around three hours to become meltingly tender. So, we need to just pop it in the oven on medium, and let the slow-cooking do its magic.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Will was beaming.