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

‘The usual.’

‘Back to normal?’

‘I think smothering the rocking horse in yoghurt constitutes them being back to normal.’

‘Right. Good.’

‘I rang the agency to organise another locum for the practice.’

‘Oh.’

‘I thought it might be a bit short notice, but they seem confident they can find someone.’

‘Good. Did you ring about the dishwasher?’

‘No. I’ll do it now.’

‘Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.’

‘Yes,’ replied Kate, nerves already knotting at the prospect. ‘You will.’

She ended the call and heaved a despondent sigh. Over the week he’d been away, Andrew had phoned every day to enquire about the children and the dishwasher, but not once had he enquired about her.

Resorting to the old faithful choc-ice bribe to persuade the terrible twosome to climb into the car, Kate eventually drove to Cornfield to collect Jemima from Cecilia’s house.

The only child of piano teacher Frances and dentist husband Jeremy, Cecilia resided in a huge, built-to-their-own-specifications new-build, in its own grounds. Unlike the front of the Ellis residence, which consisted of a scrappy bit of lawn, a smattering of discarded toys and a dead twig in a pot (a nice tree in its former, regularly watered life), this one boasted clusters of beautifully potted blooms, a garden gnome poised at a keyboard, a gleaming “Welcome to our home” sign and windows so sparklingly clean you had to don sunglasses to look at them.

Jeremy answered the door, bearing a smile almost as dazzling as the windows. It dipped significantly when he spotted the ice cream-smeared twins in the car.

‘I’ll get Jemima,’ he muttered with notable panic.

As he darted inside, Frances glided into his place – still in her floral skirt and lacy white blouse, but minus the frilly apron Kate wouldn’t have been surprised to see around her waist.

‘Has Jemima been okay?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Fine.’ Frances tossed an appalled look in the direction of the car, where “Old MacDonald” was cranking up again. ‘The invitations are currently at the printers, but I might as well tell you that we’re having Cecilia’s birthday party at the house this year. Two o’clock on Sunday, the fifteenth.’

Kate’s heart sank. Was this the latest thing – having kids’ party invitations professionally printed? And having parties in the house? Evidently it must be. Not that she could imagine doing either – ever. ‘Great. Thank you for the invite,’ she said.

‘No siblings,’ Frances swiftly added.

‘Oh, the twins will be disappointed.’ Kate turned her head to the car in time to witness Milo hurling his ice-cream wrapper out of the window. To Frances’s horror, it landed on the piano-playing gnome.

Just as she’d struggled to coax the twins into the car, Kate now had an equally difficult task in persuading Jemima. Only this time with an audience of Jeremy, Frances and mini Frances – aka Cecilia – lined up at the door like a soap-powder advert.

‘Can’t I just stay here?’ Jemima whimpered.

‘No, darling. We have to go home.’

‘But I don’t want to. The twins are there and I hate them.’

Kate lifted her head and flashed the soap-powder trio her most winsome smile. ‘Kids, eh?’ she tutted, with an emphasised eye-roll.

The trio gazed blankly back.

Kate bent back down to her daughter and whispered, ‘If you don’t get in the car this minute, Milo is going to need another poo. In Cecilia’s house.’

Jemima let out an excruciating howl before scrambling into the vehicle.

‘Bye then,’ called Kate, in a voice two thousand times cheerier than she felt. Hauling herself into the driver’s seat, she waved effusively as the twins began singing “The Farmer’s in His Den”, and Jemima wailed at them to shut up.

Three stupefied faces stared back.

‘So, did you have a nice time?’ Kate ventured, back at the house where she could hear herself think.

‘Yes,’ muttered Jemima.

‘What did you have to eat?’

‘Carrot, pepper and celery batons with sweet potato dip, mini pittas with mozzarella, pesto and tomatoes, and little apple and cinnamon muffins.’

Kate blinked. Blimey. Whatever happened to chicken nuggets and jelly? ‘That sounds nice.’

‘It was. And after tea I listened to Cecilia practising her violin.’

‘Fantastic,’ said Kate, thinking it sounded anything but. ‘Would you like to learn the violin?’

‘No. If I had one, Milo would break it.’

‘He wouldn’t.’

‘He would. He breaks everything. I wish I could live at Cecilia’s house.’

Kate sighed as she regarded her son. Right on cue – on the subject of breaking things – he broke wind.

‘But just think of all the fun you’d miss,’ she’d replied, as Jemima, once again, began to cry.

Two hours later, the children tucked up in bed, Kate followed them. It was only as she crawled under the duvet that she realised yet another day had passed without her calling the dishwasher repairman.

Chapter Five (#ua3aefc6b-7495-56a8-9bdb-a566b24f4035)

The moment Kate opened her eyes on Saturday morning, it occurred to her that she hadn’t properly thanked Melody, Connie and Trish for their kindness and consideration the evening of the cookery club. A situation she determined to rectify that same day.

‘How about we make some cupcakes?’ she suggested to poor Jemima, who’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t looking forward to a day with the twins.

Still in her Little Mermaid pyjamas, the child awarded the proposal some consideration. ‘Can we put chocolate sprinkles on top?’

‘We can put whatever you like on top.’