‘Is Angus coming, Holly?’ Tom asks, shooing the flowers away, causing Simona to burst into tears. Tom is asked to apologise; he refuses.
‘Who knows,’ Scottie answers for me, watching Lauren in awe as she peels the potatoes at lightning speed.
‘Speedy Gonzales,’ Scottie says. ‘Wow. When I need potatoes peeling, I know who to ask.’
I notice Lauren’s cheeks glowing. It’s not often Scottie compliments us, so when he does, it means something.
I return to my ingredients, but remain distracted. ‘How’s Angus?’ I ask Scottie, failing to sound casual.
Scottie turns to me. ‘He was out again last night. Woke us up, and the boys.’ Scottie reminds me he has a six-year-old who needs his sleep. ‘I swear I’m this close to chucking him out,’ he declares, pointing his knife at me. ‘I know he’s going through a shit time, sorry for swearing, Lauren.’
She shrugs as if nothing could shock her.
Scottie pauses, as if revising how much he should tell me in front of her. ‘We’re bending over backwards to help him, but he lets everyone down,allthe time.’
I can see how worried Scottie is, especially when he says, ‘I don’t know what to do anymore.’
‘We were supposed to meet up last weekend for lunch,’ I confide.
‘Sorry Holly,’ he says, as if used to apologising for his brother. ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean to forget. He never does.’
‘Can I sit down?’ Lauren asks, after peeling five kilos of potatoes in record time.
I only have to look at Lauren to see she’s uncomfortable. ‘Is it your back?’
She nods, before Scottie quickly grabs her a chair from the dining room.
‘Do you need some painkillers?’ I ask.
Nina sticks her head round the door. ‘Too much talking, not enough cooking going on in here. Lauren, why don’t you make a start on the cutlery? You can do it sitting down. If you don’t need her, Holly?’
I shake my head, relieved to be on my own. Maybe Angus didn’t want to meet up? He was only being kind? Maybe he decided, after all, it was a bad idea. Perhaps he thought I meant adate. He thinks I fancy him and that idea is so horrifying that he’s now hiding from me? No! I might have only known Angus for eight weeks but that’s not his style. As Scottie said, he has a habit of letting people down. Hurting them. He never means to. But he does.
I look down at the punnets of raspberries and nectarines again; we have eggs, cream, butter, and fresh ginger. If he turns up today, I’m going to ask him straight what happened because I sense Scottie is keeping something from me. What was it Angus did that was so bad his family don’t want him around and he drinks himself into oblivion most nights? I can’t help thinking I’m missing a giant piece of the puzzle, the centrepiece which might help me make sense of everything. I open the cupboard door to my left which houses all the basic baking ingredients and reach for the flour, sugar and vanilla extract. I’m also thinking, to show Tom that I dolove him, a vanilla sponge cake with a raspberry, cream and ginger filling. I can thinly slice some nectarines on top of the icing. One big cake won’t be enough though, what else can I do? The ingredients are about as inspiring as I am today.
‘What’s for pudding?’ Tom asks again, head poked through the hatch.
‘Cake and meringues,’ I announce, at last making him smile.
‘Where’s Angus?’ Tom scans the kitchen as if Angus might be hiding in a cupboard.
‘Don’t know,’ Scottie says with impatience and I sense a touch of envy because it seems, no matter how many times Angus messes up, everyone forgives and wants to see him again. Including me.
Lauren pours the creamy sponge mixture into two large round baking tins before I place it in the oven and set the timer for twenty-five minutes. I glance at the door. Still no sign of him.
Monika and Scottie are slicing peppers and a couple of limes for a summer curry, the kitchen now smelling of ginger, coriander and turmeric.
‘Mine’s szarlotka, apple tart,’ Monika says to Lauren. They’ve been talking about their favourite food. ‘I can show you one day Lauren, how to make it. And my mum used to make the best Polish coffee cake.’
‘Mint choc chip ice cream,’ offers Lauren.
‘On the beach,’ Monika adds. ‘What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to cook, Scottie?’
‘Toast,’ he replies. ‘I used to work in a girls’ boarding school, breakfast was the worst meal. So much bread gets wasted.’
‘What do you do when you’re not here?’ I ask him.
‘I work for a mate part time. He runs a restaurant in Covent Garden, French food. I told him right from the start I’d never give up this café though. My Saturdays are sacred. I tell you, it means more to me working here, seeing how much the food is appreciated, than being in a fancy restaurant.’
