The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of France - Book 3

‘Saturday,’ huffed Kate, riving the knife from the root vegetable, then stabbing it back in again.

‘The day after Daddy comes back?’

Kate’s hand slipped, and the turnip and knife tumbled to the floor. ‘Yes.’

The child pursed her lips as she studied her pot of felt-tip pens. ‘I think it’s rubbish they’ve both been away at the same time again.’

‘So do I,’ agreed Kate. But for completely different reasons.

Unlike that paragon of domesticity, otherwise known as Cecilia’s mummy, Kate didn’t brush her hair or don a pretty dress before the cookery club meeting that evening. And not just because she didn’t have time. Her wardrobe, once jammed with classic trouser suits and silk shirts, now consisted of a jumble of elasticated leggings, baggy T-shirts and shapeless cardigans – the majority stained with things she’d rather not think about. Occasionally in the pickle, there’d be a sighting of one of her old jackets or a pair of suit trousers, but she never bothered rescuing the item. First, because she’d never find the other half, and second, because nothing would fit her now courtesy of the extra stone she lugged about. Her sartorial preparations were therefore brief, consisting of a quick hose down in the shower while the twins were zonked out in front of CBeebies, Jemima under strict instructions to call her the moment they woke.

At a holler of ‘Mummyyyyyyyy’, Kate flung herself out of the bathroom, hair still slick with conditioner, grabbed a clean-ish pair of leggings and a T-shirt, and hurtled down the stairs dripping wet and starkers.

To find Mia doing a headstand in her potty.

Milo stuffing a green felt-tip up his nose.

And Jemima standing in the doorway looking terrified.

‘Mummy’s boobies,’ roared Milo.

At which point Jemima burst into tears.

Mia toppled over onto the rocking horse.

And Kate emitted a very long, despairing sigh.

‘Wow. Something smells good,’ Connie exclaimed, being the first to arrive that evening.

‘Thanks. I managed to grab a shower,’ Kate replied.

Her guest giggled. ‘I meant the food. It smells delicious. And…’ She bent her head to her host and inhaled deeply. ‘…You smell rather nice too.’

Kate laughed. ‘Sorry. Blimey, it comes to something when you count a wash among your list of daily achievements. In fact, come to think of it, that’s probably been my only achievement today. I’ve been so knackered, I didn’t have the energy to take poor Jemima to nursery.’

‘There are worse things,’ said Connie. ‘I think it’s a major achievement just getting through a day with everything you have on your plate: three tots and still managing the veterinary clinic.’

‘Keep talking like that for the next seventy-two hours and I might feel marginally less of a failure than I currently do.’

Connie tutted. ‘You’re far from a failure. It’s just too much for one person to cope with on their own…’

She broke off as Mia waddled into the room – a bandage around her head, which she’d insisted on following the toppling-out-of-the-potty incident. Having been subjected to heaven only knew what since its application, it had slipped down and now covered one of her huge blue eyes. She swiped up a toy fire engine from the floor, then toddled off again.

‘So cute,’ chuckled Connie.

‘Bloody nightmare,’ countered Kate.

‘It’ll be better when Domenique’s back. It’s such a shame her holiday coincided with Andrew’s course.’

Kate puckered her forehead. Did she detect a hint of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on in her friend’s tone? Or was tiredness causing her to hallucinate?

‘They’re both back at the weekend. Thank God,’ she added. And not just for the reasons the visitor would likely suppose.

The doorbell rang.

‘You stay there,’ instructed Connie. ‘I’ll go.’

The other two members of the cookery club – Melody and Trish – arrived together. Melody, resplendent in blue with her perfect little pregnancy bump; and Trish, resplendent with the flush that accompanied a new relationship.

‘Wow. Something smells good,’ Melody gushed upon entering the kitchen.

Kate looked at Connie and burst out laughing, thanking whoever might be up there, for bringing the Cotswolds Cookery Club to her this evening.

Although no surprise to Kate, the group not only met its lofty culinary standards again that evening, but was as supportive as ever regarding her manic life. Having revealed the fabulous, rustic, golden French loaf she’d baked to accompany Kate’s pot-au-feu, Melody subsequently tottered off to play with the children, thereby allowing the cooking to proceed unhindered in the kitchen. Assuming control of the main dish, Connie added succulent free-range chicken and browned pork and leek sausages to the pot, then turned down the heat to allow it to simmer for thirty minutes. She then moved on to preparing the starter: market salad with walnuts and goat’s cheese croutons. Trish, meanwhile, ploughed on with the dessert of pumpkin tart. The pastry having been prepared beforehand, she threw together the filling – pumpkin, milk, sugar and a vanilla pod – and stirred it in a saucepan on the hob.

Kate remained at the table under strict instructions not to lift a finger other than those required to raise her wine glass to her lips. After a swift quashing of her feeble protests, she found herself enjoying the break – from the children and from doing stuff – relishing the easy chatter that flowed between her friends.

‘So, what’s going on with you two?’ she asked. ‘Both still loved-up?’

‘I’m not,’ batted back Connie.

‘Liar,’ countered Trish. ‘Don’t forget I saw you and Max in town last weekend and you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.’

Connie blushed as she shook a jam jar containing the ingredients for the salad dressing. ‘Only because Max was just back from ten days away.’

‘Ah. The joys of dating a pilot, eh? Ten whole days apart. No wonder you were stuck together like velcro.’

‘Er, you need talk. As I recall, there was someone attached to your hand when we saw you.’

‘Steve?’ enquired Kate.

‘Of course. Who had eyes for no one other than Trish.’

Trish gave a dismissive tut as she transferred the tart filling from the pan to the blender. ‘I wish. I have to admit, though, for a woman of forty-two, I’ve never felt more like a sixteen-year-old since I was sixteen. Although I think I probably felt about twenty-two then.’

Connie giggled. ‘You and Amber could be sisters. You could share her paper round.’

‘Nice thought. But no thank you. Talking of my daughter’s paper round, though, I can’t believe she’s stuck it all this time. I honestly thought, as soon as she went back to school, she wouldn’t last a week.’

‘Oh ye of little faith,’ said Connie. ‘She’s actually turned out to be one of the most reliable members of the team. Miguel being the other. And the two of them seem completely besotted with one another.’

‘They are. Which is slightly worrying given they have their GCSEs next year. Steve and I are already stressing about it.’

‘Goodness. That sounds very couple-ish.’

‘It’s very parent-ish,’ countered Trish, playfully swiping at her friend with a tea towel.

Melody staggered into the room, her long brown hair decidedly more dishevelled than when she’d left.