Chapter 7
CHAPTER
For as long as he could remember, cooking had soothed Cruz.
As a kid, he’d loved standing alongside his mother in the kitchen, surrounded by warmth from the old Aga as he helped her toss flour into the giant ceramic mixing bowl with piglets on it, clumsily cracked eggs, licked the tip of his finger and dipped it into sugar, and tested how many chocolate chips he could sneak into his mouth before she told him off.
Brownies had been their thing and he still couldn’t smell chocolate without thinking of Ferne and those times in the kitchen at Rosevale Grove.
As he grew older, he took over cooking duties some nights.
Roast chook and lasagne had been his go-to family meals, along with burritos and vegetarian stir fry.
At first, he’d cooked those dinners to help his mum, who’d looked too exhausted after running the farm to then stand for an extra hour to prep dinner.
But surprisingly, the repetitiveness of chopping and mincing and dicing calmed him, after he’d trudged into the homestead at the end of a school day like he’d entered a prison.
That’s what his home had felt like most days, a jail he couldn’t wait to escape, his father the malevolent prison warden. The way Mac had looked at him sometimes … like Cruz had been a mistake he wished he could erase.
For some reason, Cruz picked up on people’s feelings, absorbing them like a sponge, so he felt every ounce of his father’s enmity, anger and discontent.
It had made him retreat into himself to the point that he lost himself in online gaming and music, turning it up loud to drown out his thoughts.
He didn’t have close friends at school because he wasn’t an academic to fit in with the brainiacs and couldn’t kick a football, so the sporty kids ostracised him too, but in the end, he didn’t care.
He’d had grand plans to leave Rosevale Grove the moment he finished school, but that hadn’t happened, thanks to dear old dad.
His father had made it clear what he thought of Cruz’s love for cooking: ‘Wimpy. Waste of time. Women’s work.’ His father had been a moody, misogynistic prick, and Cruz had hated him.
To this day, he had no idea what had prompted Mac to allow him the freedom to pursue his cooking dream, but he knew, deep down, his mum must’ve had something to do with it.
Whatever she had on Mac to blackmail him with must’ve been a doozy.
Cruz’s only regret in leaving Rosevale Grove behind had been abandoning her.
When he’d farewelled her a little while ago, it struck him how much of her life she’d given up for him, and he hoped she enjoyed her new taste of freedom.
Elora had requested his signature lamb shanks, but he preferred braising them in the slow-cooker over eight hours, so for a quicker dinner he’d settled on a one-pot chicken and asparagus stew that featured loads of garlic and lemon.
He’d assembled the ingredients on the benchtop when a knock sounded at the back door.
Great, just what he needed; Elora, with her sunny smile and quick quips, watching him cook.
However, when he opened the door, Kyle, the farm manager, tipped his hat.
‘Good to see you back, Cruz.’ Kyle stuck out his hand. ‘Been too long.’
‘Yeah.’ Cruz gripped Kyle’s hand. ‘How are things?’
‘The farm’s doing okay.’
The worried glint in Kyle’s eyes indicated otherwise.
‘Come in,’ Cruz said, opening the door wider, but Kyle shook his head.
‘Just wanted to pop by and say hi. We’ll catch up tomorrow and I’ll walk you through everything.’
Of course Kyle knew about Ferne’s plan to leave.
She would’ve done a complete handover, just like Cruz knew she’d done with the accounts.
He hadn’t set foot in the study yet, because that room held nothing but bad memories for him, so he’d tacked it onto his ‘ jobs for tomorrow’ list. Though he’d need to get up to scratch before he caught up with Kyle, considering they’d be working together for the next year, and he didn’t want to appear incompetent.
Kyle had been the farm manager for five years.
Kyle’s father had done the job before him, and old Noel had been as cantankerous as Mac.
They’d made Cruz’s life hell when he’d been learning how to run the farm.
Back then, he’d envied Kyle. They’d been in the same year at school, and when they finished, Kyle had gone to an agriculture college in Albury, leaving Rosevale Grove behind, like Cruz yearned to do.
At school, they’d been casual acquaintances more than friends: shared a few classes, been lab partners in chemistry.
Kyle excelled at footy, one of the popular kids everyone flocked to, the exact opposite of Cruz.
The times they crossed paths at the farm over the last few years, Kyle had appeared happy, like he’d scored his dream job, something Cruz understood.
That’s what being head chef at Tiles had been like. Pity he’d had to leave it all behind.
‘Is eight tomorrow morning too early?’ Kyle asked.
‘Earlier is fine if it suits you,’ Cruz said. ‘I’m used to rising early to get to the seafood market.’
‘Ferne said that you’re the head chef at some fancy joint in Melbourne. Good for you.’
‘Not anymore,’ Cruz said, hoping Kyle didn’t hear the hint of bitterness in his tone. ‘It’s back to farming for me.’
Kyle hesitated, as if weighing up his response. ‘Ferne told me about the will, how you have to stick around before you can sell.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s fucked up, man.’
Cruz barked out a laugh. ‘Couldn’t agree more. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Dad may have been begrudging in his praise, but Mum always said you were the number one farm manager in the region.’
Kyle beamed. ‘Ferne’s the best, but your father was an arsehole.’
‘Again, we agree. Got time for a beer?’ If he had to work along-side Kyle for the next year, it wouldn’t hurt to build a camaraderie.
He’d done it throughout his working life as a chef, inviting fellow cooks out for a drink at the end of their first shift.
It made for easier transitions and smoother operations in the kitchen.
‘Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got a date.’
‘No worries. Another time.’
‘Speaking of dates, who’s the hottie I saw you with earlier? Is she your missus from the city?’
‘Hell, no.’
Kyle laughed at his quick, vehement response, while Cruz mused that if he had to be shackled to anyone, Elora wouldn’t be such a bad option. The way they’d combusted last night proved they had chemistry in spades.
‘Elora’s a social media marketer that Mum hired to improve the profile of the farm and bring in fresh business to boost our asking price when we sell.’
‘When Ferne mentioned selling, I said I’d stick around until that happens.’
‘I appreciate it, mate. I need all the help I can get.’
‘City slickers usually do.’
‘Hey, I helped run this place after school, while the likes of you were gallivanting.’
Kyle chuckled. ‘Yeah, but my gallivanting resulted in a diploma in agriculture, which I’m putting to good use on your farm.’
‘Point taken.’
As they grinned at each other, Cruz realised their interaction had been the first time they’d really talked since high school, and he liked it. If his plans for the next year involved hibernating here, it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend, beyond professional camaraderie.
‘Are you still staying in the cottage near the dam?’
‘Nah. I’m living in town now.’
‘In that case, how about I cook up a batch of homemade meals and package them for you, so you get to benefit from the results of my gallivanting?’
‘You’re on. See you tomorrow at eight.’
As Kyle turned away, Cruz said, ‘Thanks for staying, mate. And for helping Mum over the last few months.’
‘Maybe I deserve a raise?’
Cruz chuckled. ‘Don’t push your luck.’
As he shut the door, he pondered whether loathing his father and this farm had infiltrated all aspects of his life, to the point he’d hated the entire town and all those associated with it.
While he didn’t intend on spending too much time in town socialising, it would be interesting to see if his other classmates were as laidback as Kyle.
The next twelve months would drag if he became a hermit confined to Kinstead Grove, so perhaps he could reach out to a few people?
Cruz couldn’t help but wonder if turning his back on this town and most people in it years ago had been a mistake. Had he contributed to his own misery?