Eighteen
Bel lifted her head from her arms where she’d been resting it, feeling defeated. She’d just taken her second batch of biscuits from the oven and they were as terrible as the first. She didn’t know what she was doing wrong. How hard could it be? It was basic science. You measured out a bunch of ingredients and followed the instructions. It should have worked.
The sound of heavy footsteps coming up the steps outside made her give an irritated sigh. The kitchen was a mess and she hadn’t gotten a single other thing done all morning.
‘Hey,’ Dean said. ‘Whoa.’ His cheerful tone nosedived rapidly as he surveyed the chaos. ‘What happened here?’
‘Me. I happened,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been trying to cook these bloody biscuits for the kids’ lunches and it’s not working.’
‘They don’t look that bad,’ he said, eyeing the biscuits cooling on the wire rack beside her. He picked one up and bit into it. ‘Oh fu—’ His muffled exclamation was lost as he put a hand to his mouth to feel for broken teeth.
‘They’re a little hard.’
‘Just a tad,’ he agreed, and dropped the half-eaten biscuit in the bin. ‘We’ll give these to the dog,’ he said, taking the tray outside. He returned seconds later wearing a lopsided grin. ‘Apparently he’s had enough.’
‘Great. Even the dog won’t eat my cooking.’
‘It takes a bit of practice,’ Dean said. ‘Is there more flour?’
‘In the pantry,’ she said a little grudgingly. She’d really wanted to discover a new talent for cooking. ‘I should have known you can also bake,’ Bel said as he carried out a new packet of flour and placed it on the bench.
‘Not really. But I figure, between the two of us, we can work it out. It can’t be that hard, right?’
Bel sent him a narrowed glare. ‘That’s what I thought two batches ago.’
‘Well, third time lucky?’
He really was annoyingly cheery. It kinda made her want to stab him with a fork.
‘Where’s the recipe book?’
‘It’s from a website, Emma sent it to me.’
‘Well, there’s your problem. You have to use the old-fashioned paper method. Emma must have a cookbook around heresomewhere … here we go,’ he said, triumphantly holding up a pretty hardcover book withThe Country Women’s Association Cookbookemblazoned across the front.
‘Seventy years in the kitchen,’ Bel read aloud. ‘Surely there’s a foolproof recipe in there we can use.’ She was almost certain Gran had had an older edition of the same book. Not that Bel had ever read through it. She’d missed out on the cooking gene.
Dean looked around for a place to put the book, then gave a small grunt. ‘Maybe we should clean up a bit first?’
They worked side by side until the dishwasher had been stacked and the bench wiped down, restoring the kitchen to its original condition. ‘Are you sure you don’t have something more important you need to be doing?’ Bel asked him.
‘Nothing that can’t wait. Besides, you’re going to need something to feed the kids when they come bounding through that door in a few hours’ time. I’d say this is pretty important.’
It’s not like they’re going to starve. She decided to keep that thought to herself. If he thought he could do better, who was she to stop him?
‘Do we have a sifter?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘It says we need to sift the flour.’
‘But do we really?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘I mean, surely it can’t make that much difference?’
‘Did you sift it before?’
‘No. Who has time for that?’
‘And how did that work out?’ he asked.
