Chapter 26
By the end of the following week, Rae was beginning to believe she might actually be able to pull off two events before the end of summer.
A marquee and floral arch had been delivered and stored, ready for the wedding celebrations, and Rae had already run her menu plans by Harper and Fraser.
She’d forgotten just how enthusiastic Martha could be when she chipped in, but Rae wasn’t complaining.
While she focused on the wedding, Martha had dived into Rae’s Strawberry Fair checklist, as well as offered some samples to farms and businesses outside of town on her day trips with Vik.
Of course, the lighter workload meant that there was no avoiding the weekend visit to Aberdeen, but she wasn’t thinking about that yet, nor was she thinking about Struan and how much she missed him.
Between the influx of tourists and Mountain Rescue duties, she’d barely seen him: a good thing, she’d convinced herself.
Less good was the near constant ache, both between her ribs and between her thighs, her body’s way of making this unbearable.
Her fingers weren’t enough to find release, and her vibrator was too loud with Martha and Vik in the spare room next door – although, that hadn’t stopped them from having a bit of fun in the wee hours – so she was trapped with painful lust, wishing she could go back to that afternoon at the falls, when she’d been full and satiated and finally, finally relaxed.
She’d been so busy that, only now, with her laptop open on the farm shop counter, did she have time to check her emails, which were mostly composed of Pinterest notifications from Harper adding more images to her shared wedding board.
Rae smiled. It looked like she’d decided on a cake, which was thankfully not Rae’s responsibility.
She enjoyed baking, but she’d never been much of a pastry chef.
Her three courses were more than enough to manage.
A few businesses had gotten back to her about marketing features and produce purchases, and she worked through these with Maisy on her lap and a glass of peach iced tea in front of her.
This was the only place she could find quiet, especially with the intermittent rain providing a calming patter against the roof’s cedar shingles.
She loved her house guests, but she’d forgotten just how exhausting it could be to share a space with other people.
She’d seen Martha’s knickers more than her own this week.
A name buried among the countless unread emails stuck out to her on the second page in, giving her pause. Haru, one of her old colleagues from her time in Tokyo, had sent her a message with the subject line, Will sous be my new chef?
With her blood running cold, she considered accidentally deleting the email with the rest of the spam, pretending she’d never seen the offer at all.
If Haru hadn’t been one of the few chefs she’d formed a lasting connection with, she probably would have without thinking twice, but they’d experienced so much of their journeys together she felt she couldn’t do that to him.
She’d even flown out to visit him in Japan last year, shortly before he’d moved to the UK.
She opened his message.
Hi Rae,
I hope you’re doing well – it has been too long since we last talked!
I’m reaching out because I saw via Instagram you are no longer in Sydney and I was rather hoping that means I could steal your talents.
I am finally opening the Japanese-Caribbean fusion restaurant of our dreams and I could think of no better sous than you. All the info is here.
Rae clicked the link that followed, her chest already swelling with pride.
She and Haru had spent hours between, after, and sometimes even during shifts chatting about his dream of blending his two favourite cuisines together in his own restaurant.
He’d carried colouring pencils everywhere with him just to sketch dozens of sushi and noodle dishes, providing Rae with the much-needed reminder of the passion she had once felt for food at a time when she’d started being afraid of losing it.
Their heads had been filled with everything from menus to luxury decor – and now, she saw those ideas come to life on the scrolling marquee images, the first depicting the restaurant’s glowing sign that read Calypso.
She smiled as the image switched to a glossy photograph of the interior.
Some of these ideas had been hers, too: the tables built around a pink Sakura tree in the centre of the room, matched with gorgeous, dark mahogany antiques and walls of vibrant Caribbean art.
There was even a performance space for live music.
Then came the dishes: ramen with ackee and saltfish, breaded jerk pork on a bed of fresh peppers and saffron rice, mouthwatering curry blends, savoury Asian pancakes matched with delicious tropical fruit and spices.
He’d created something completely his. Moved away from the restrictions of following another chef’s orders to bring new cultures to the UK.
To London, she realised. The restaurant was on New Oxford Street, just around the corner from where Rae had studied at Le Cordon Bleu for a year.
At least she wouldn’t have to relocate to another country, not to mention she’d be working for someone she trusted.
It was a perfect offer. A dream, really.
Yet she found herself chewing her thumbnail down to the quick as she stared at the overwhelmingly colourful images.
She’d have to rent an apartment in the capital again, where it was always busy and loud and lonely.
She’d never trained in Caribbean cuisine before, so that would be a learning curve.
Though Yvette wouldn’t be there, nor any of the other strict head chefs she’d worked under over the years, her ears still rang with their shouts.
What are you doing? Is it your first day in a kitchen, chef?
There’s no way on God’s green earth you’re serving that garbage, Docharty.
She was a great chef. She knew that, and so did Haru, otherwise he wouldn’t have reached out.
Yet those insults had buried under her skin all the same, and not just that, but the near constant discomfort of being rushed off her feet for hours on end, plating up with sweaty, trembling hands, fighting every instinct in her body to tear off her apron and escape.
Headaches, backaches, no time for bathroom breaks even when she was on her period or struggling with tummy aches, which, in those last months, had been near constant thanks to the stress.
Her mind and body had decided they’d had enough of the constant maelstrom, and even after weeks away from work, the idea of getting sucked back in had her breaking into a cold sweat.
Rae closed her laptop when the screen began to blur.
For minutes, she was paralysed, fingernails digging into her thighs as her mind spiralled somewhere she couldn’t follow.
The door opened suddenly, and startled, she wiped her eyes, glad to find them dry.
It was Myra who entered with a ducked head.
‘Sorry, love. I didn’t realise you’d be in here. I forgot my crutch is all.’
She cleared her throat. ‘No worries. I was just catching up on Harper’s emails.’
‘She’s ever so excited, bless her. I can’t thank you enough for how much work you’re putting into all this. You’re making them both very happy.’
She limped over to lean against the counter, frizzy red hair falling around her shoulders. Though Myra had never been anything but lovely, Rae still shifted awkwardly.
‘I’m just grateful for the chance to get the farm back on its feet,’ Rae admitted.
Myra patted her hand with an understanding nod. ‘Your dad probably doesn’t say it, but I know he’s glad to have you here. I want you to know that I’ll be here to support you both when he has his surgery. If you want to focus on plans for the fair, I don’t mind keeping him occupied at the hospital.’
Rae’s fears thawed slightly. She’d been trying not to think about what life would be like when the surgery day came around at the end of August. He would go into hospital two days after Rae and Martha came home from Aberdeen, just over a week before the Strawberry Fair.
It was a relief to know there’d be somebody else around to take care of him. She’d worried about how she’d handle it alone if something happened.
‘Thank you, Myra.’
‘Of course. I know you’re a very strong, capable woman, but nobody expects you to shoulder all this alone.’
That itch in her throat returned, threatening tears.
For once, she didn’t want to stave them off, because they weren’t all sadness.
They were gratitude. Her own mother had never said anything like that to her.
When Rae had called her the other night, telling her about the chaos of the summer, Mum had only hummed and then changed the subject to work gossip.
No invitation to visit, no call if you need me, no reassurance at all.
‘I don’t know. I’m doing a great job at messing everything up.’ Her career, her relationships. Struan. It was the first time in her life when nothing felt clear to her, and she didn’t know what loose thread to best hold on to.
Myra clucked her tongue. ‘Now, I know that’s not true.’
Rae smiled softly, leaning her chin on her palm. She’d forgotten how comforting it could be to simply have someone around telling her she was going to be okay. Someone older and wiser and far, far stronger. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a bit weird about you and Dad.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing compared to Cam’s reaction.’
Rae could believe that. Cam had feigned retching when they’d met up for a coffee the other day, pleading that Rae never try to talk about her mum’s love life again. Ever. In the end, Rae had decided maybe she wouldn’t mind being part of the Milligan family. They were all lovely – and loved up.
She cleared her throat, staring down at her laptop. She wasn’t quite ready to open it again yet.