Eleven
On Monday afternoon, Fiona was sitting at the kitchen table in the upstairs flat.
In front of her was a flurry of crayons, notebooks and scattered papers.
George was at his desk, staring at his laptop and Rose lay on the sofa surrounded by credit card slips and stock sheets.
There was a fire burning in the hearth, the logs crackling as if demonstrating they were working as hard as everyone else in the room.
Beside Fiona, eight year old Timmy was struggling with his maths homework, his brow furrowed.
‘Takings have jumped since your sous chef joined,’ Rose said brightly. She got up and walked towards George, leaning over to look at his papers. He pushed her aside, slamming the screen shut with a crash.
‘Don’t pry,’ he snapped.
Rose backed away. ‘Sorry!’ There was a pause before she added, ‘How long is Ruben staying? How long does it take someone like that to get a yearning to cook fish fresh from the sea out of his system?’
Fiona smiled, now understanding Ru’s cover story.
‘No idea, love.’ George barked a laugh. ‘It’s strange being with him in the kitchen.
He’s so talented, he makes me look a bit ham-fisted.
When I stare at a basket of fish my mind comes up with what’s already on the menu.
He’s spinning through alternatives faster than I can work out if I’ve got the ingredients for his last suggestion. ’
‘But it must be fun, working alongside someone so enthusiastic.’
‘It is. I will miss him when he goes, but I don’t think that will be before Easter. He’s taken a six month winter let on a holiday flat, so fingers crossed ...’
Fiona looked down at Timmy’s maths problem.
She leaned in, her voice gentle and encouraging, just as Aunt Ivy used to be when Fiona was struggling with homework.
She guided Timmy, showing him how to break down the numbers and check his work.
‘You try the next one alone,’ she suggested, watching from the sidelines.
She wondered if she should be making homework this much fun.
Timmy and Becky must learn the importance of completing the task diligently like her parents had taught her.
Rose’s coughing interrupted her thoughts.
It was a hacking sound that lasted nearly a minute and had Fiona scurrying to the tap for a glass of water.
She carried it to where George was leaning over his wife, a hand stroking her forehead.
‘Here, have some water,’ Fiona suggested.
George took the glass and held it up to his wife’s lips. ‘Take a sip, love. You okay?’
Rose took hold of the glass and drank thirstily. ‘I think I might finish this lot tomorrow, and have a nap,’ muttered Rose.
George rested his hand against Rose’s forehead and frowned. ‘You’re a bit hot,’ he said. ‘Leave everything there. I’ll finish them.’
‘Is Mummy sick?’ whined Becky.
‘Come on, love, off to bed.’ George held out a helping hand to his wife. ‘I’ll do the books. Ruben can start prep without me.’
Fiona watched Rose stumble out and George carry the accounting records to his desk. They were a team, just like she and Ru used to be, but better balanced.
Walking back to the pub for evening service, the air was fresh and sliced through Fiona’s raincoat.
She would have to invest in a winter coat.
None of Ivy’s fitted and hers were in London.
The sea breeze brushed against her face, bringing with it the faint smell of seaweed.
She turned into the alleyway, shoving her hands into her pockets for warmth.
By the back door, Josh was changing a pod on his vape.
George was close by, dealing with another courier.
‘Good evening, Josh,’ Fiona called out cheerily. ‘Got a few minutes for a chat about wine?’
Josh exhaled slowly then nodded enthusiastically.
‘Meet you in the staffroom in five?’ she suggested.
‘Be right there,’ said Josh.
George patted the courier on the back. ‘Glad I’ve caught you, Fiona. Rose isn’t well. Trish from Prosecco & Prose is coming in to help. Rose says you’re in charge, please.’
Fiona felt a swell of pride. ‘Great,’ she said. The motorcyclist revved his engine and accelerated off up the hill. Wondering what was in George’s plastic pouches, Fiona asked him.
George blushed. ‘I sell herb rubs online for a bit of extra cash.’ He coughed, barked a laugh, then added, ‘But I might give that up now I’m working with a celebrity chef.’
This time, Fiona sat across from Josh. He leaned back in his chair, giving her an appreciative look that made her blush.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
‘I’ll start with reds and whites – the basic grape varieties.
I’ll mention each, but often a wine is a combination of more than one type of grape.
Understanding the characteristics of these grapes helps you to recognize flavours and identify which wines you enjoy. ’
Josh nodded and gave her his full attention, though Fiona noticed his eyes flickering to her hands as she gestured.
‘Let’s start with Cabernet Sauvignon ,’ she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.
‘It’s grown in warmer places like Bordeaux in France, and it’s strong, bold .
.. the king of red grapes, you could say.
Imagine dark, rich flavours – blackcurrant, cedar, even a hint of tobacco.
It’s a grape with high tannins, so it ages really well and gets better with time. ’
Josh was scribbling in his notebook. He dropped his pen and looked up. ‘Tannins? You get them in tea as well, right? What the heck are they?’
Hmm, how to explain tannins to a novice.
‘Tannins are a group of chemical compounds. You’re right that tea leaves contain tannin, and so do grapes.
Tannins are extracted from grape skins, seeds and stems during the winemaking process, and tend to add a slightly bitter flavour.
But in a high quality wine, they naturally soften over time and become more integrated, losing their harshness and developing a smoother, more velvety texture which balances the wine’s flavour. ’
‘Neat! I’ll fill in the gaps – in a shit wine they just taste nasty!’
She chuckled. ‘Now back to grape varieties. Merlot is softer. Still bold, but a bit gentler around the edges. When I think of Merlot, I imagine flavours like plum, blackberry, maybe even a touch of chocolate. It’s friendly, smooth and approachable.’
‘Like a more relaxed Cabernet?’ Josh asked, clearly intrigued.
‘Exactly,’ she agreed, buoyed by his enthusiasm.
‘Then there’s Pinot Noir – my personal favourite of the reds.
’ The door pushed open. ‘Is this a private party or can anyone join?’ asked Kim, wafting in.
She was wearing cherry red lipstick, smoky eye make-up and loose-hanging hair.
It wasn’t the combination Fiona would have chosen for work, but then again, she wasn’t twenty-four anymore.
‘Fiona’s explaining about different wine grapes. We’re on Pinot Noir,’ drawled Josh.
‘Don’t let me stop you,’ said Kim, shrugging off a stunning jacket which Fiona guessed would have cost a month’s wages, revealing a flame red dress that clung to her body.
Fiona saw Josh giving Kim the same slow, appreciative look he had given her earlier.
She resolved to keep her mind on the lesson.
‘Pinot,’ continued Fiona. ‘It’s delicate, almost shy, with soft tannins and red fruit flavours like cherry and strawberry. It’s usually grown in cooler climates like Burgundy in France or Oregon in America. It’s an earthy, floral wine.’
Josh smiled. ‘Ah, a gentle wine.’
‘Not for me then.’ Kim raised an eyebrow and leaned over the table.
Fiona couldn’t help but notice how she squeezed her arms together as she did so, making her cleavage even more pronounced in her clinging dress.
Kim peered at Josh’s notebook. ‘Gosh this looks dull. Waste of time studying, I just grab what I want from life. It’s too short for swotting. ’
‘I hear you, mate,’ said Josh. ‘But Fiona here really makes it come alive.’
Fiona blushed again. ‘Well, study and qualifications open up opportunities,’ she said.
‘Ha! Dad’s wallet does that for me.’ Kim snickered. ‘Anyway, I just read the wine list – tells you if it’s red or white and gives you the prices. That’s all you need to know,’ Kim said, pushing herself off the table.
Not wanting to delay Kim’s departure, Fiona held her tongue. She watched the other woman secure an apron round her waist, and bit back her irritation when Kim then pulled a nail file from her handbag and sat back down at the table.
Fiona wasn’t wild on teaching in front of Kim, so she wrapped up the reds quickly, zipping from Shiraz, with its intense full-bodied flavour and notes of black pepper, dark berries and spices, to Malbec, Argentina’s star grape, bold and plush with a slightly smoky finish.
‘Ready to move on to whites?’ she asked awkwardly, looking at Kim, who was still filing her nails and pretending not to listen.
Josh nodded happily, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two women.
‘First, Chardonnay . This one changes depending on where it’s grown and how it’s aged. In Burgundy, it’s often crisp and citrusy, but in California, it can be rich and buttery – especially if it’s been aged in oak barrels.’
Josh’s eyes widened. ‘The same grape, but it can taste totally different?’
She gave a soft laugh. ‘Yes,’ she said, a glint of passion in her eyes. ‘It’s all about the climate and technique. Now, Sauvignon Blanc , that’s fresh, often with bright acidity, tasting of green apple, citrus, sometimes even herbs or grass.’
The door opened. It was Ru, wearing a pinched expression. ‘He’s in here, George.’
Ru stood back and George walked in, wiping his hands on a towel. ‘Come on, Josh, the pots are piling up. What’s going on in here?’ he asked.
Fiona rose, glancing at the clock. ‘Sorry, my fault. We were discussing wine.’
‘It’s a little tutorial,’ said Kim, standing up and smoothing her dress over her hips.
Ru’s eyes widened. George puffed out his cheeks. ‘Evening, Kim. You’re dressed smartly tonight.’
‘I like to make an effort for you, George,’ she replied breezily. Fiona clenched her teeth. ‘How many covers are we tonight, Chef?’ asked Kim politely.
‘Uh, Fiona will brief you, Rose isn’t well. Trish from Prosecco & Prose is coming in to help.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ purred Kim.
‘Shall I go up and check on her before we open?’ offered Fiona. ‘Make her supper, if she’s hungry?’
‘I could come with you,’ simpered Kim.
Fiona had a mental image of Becky’s sticky fingers on Kim’s red dress and hid a smile.
George shot Fiona a grateful look. ‘I’ve left Rose her supper, but maybe you could pop up and check the kids aren’t being a nuisance.
They’re under strict instructions to take her the tray and then leave her alone.
’ He switched his attention to Kim. ‘With Rose in bed, Fiona’s in charge tonight. ’
‘The dream team,’ said Kim, beaming.
George smiled at Kim, ‘and Rose says please leave all the wine decisions to Fiona.’
As soon as the men left the staffroom, Kim turned to Fiona. ‘Just because you’ve been put in charge, don’t try ordering me around.’
Fiona watched the door shut behind the men, the sharp echo of Kim’s words settling like a slap.
For a moment, she said nothing, just blinked, her heart thudding a little harder than it should be.
She didn’t understand it. What had she done to deserve Kim’s constant barbs?
She was polite. Helpful. Never criticised.
So why did it always feel like Fiona was walking into a fight that she hadn’t started?
Ten minutes later, as Fiona nudged the door of the attic flat open, a smell greeted her.
It was the pungent aftermath of cooking, but she couldn’t pin down exactly what it was.
She walked inside, feeling the squelch of something underfoot.
Jam? Honey? She didn’t want to think about it.
A trail of sticky footprints led to the kitchen area.
Fiona crossed to the sitting room, picking up cushions from the floor and retrieving a pink sock that dangled from a curtain rod.
She heard footsteps and spun around. The perpetrators of the mess stood a few feet away.
‘We’ve made Mummy’s supper,’ announced Timmy proudly.
‘Yes. Daddy’s meal didn’t look very nice, so we’ve cooked, like Daddy does.’
Fiona picked up the tray, her nose wrinkling. Something offensive wafted from the plate. Eggs, certainly. But the sharp tang of burned butter and an undercurrent of something sweet suggested the children may have mixed in sugar.
Outside the master bedroom, she paused, tray balanced, then knocked, the tray wobbling.
‘Come in!’ croaked Rose, her voice muffled and rough.
Pushing open the bedroom door, Rose greeted her, sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, her face pale but smiling.
‘We made you eggs, Mummy!’ Becky chirped, scrambling onto the bed and curling up beside her mother.
Timmy puffed out his chest. ‘By ourselves!’
Fiona eyed the tray before setting it on Rose’s lap. The plate of scrambled eggs shimmered with an unsettling greyish hue, flecked with blackened bits that might have once been onion – or charcoal.
Rose mustered maternal courage and took a tiny forkful. Fiona winced in sympathy as her boss chewed and swallowed, her eyes watering slightly. ‘Mm,’ Rose croaked. ‘Delicious, darlings.’ She smiled conspiratorially at Fiona. ‘Shame I’m too ill to have more than one bite.’
Timmy beamed. Becky frowned, then fetched a cloth, and laid it, dripping, on Rose’s face. ‘Better now, Mummy?’
Fiona snorted softly, gently removed the cloth and stepped back, watching the scene.
There was something oddly touching about the kids’ pride in their food and Rose’s sheer determination not to gag.
Then the pang hit. Sudden, sharp and sad.
This sticky, smelly mess was the sort of thing she might never have.
No burned eggs lovingly cooked, no sticky footprints, no dripping cloth, no little faces looking at her with shining pride.
Rose’s voice broke through her thoughts. ‘Earth to Fiona?’
Fiona blinked. ‘Sorry. Zoned out for a moment.’
‘Thinking about escaping before they make you taste it?’
Fiona laughed and shook her head. ‘I’m tougher than I look.’
She stayed a moment longer, watching the children’s animated faces as they chattered over each other, then made her way out.
A familiar ache settled in her chest, one she’d grown accustomed to carrying.
The smell of burned eggs lingered behind her, along with the echo of small voices that followed her down the hall.