“We did.”
“Blimey.” Beryl shook her head. “No one at home would ever believe that, I can tell you right now.”
Joyce smiled and took it in stride. “Maybe so but we still have shopping to do.”
They finished up in produce and headed around to the next aisle.
“Might have to tell Neville about that,” Beryl said. She tutted. “And he thinks I’m going to get homesick. Little does he know.”
Joyce smiled to herself.
“What will we do for the next show?” Beryl asked.
“I thought we’d decided on cottage pie?”
“I don’t know,” Beryl said. “It’s not very sexy, is it?”
Joyce almost choked. “Since when do you care about sexy food?”
Beryl busied herself comparing different brands of flour. “We have to keep our audience happy. You heard that young woman. Do you really think cottage pie is on the same level as a Sunday roast?”
“When you put it that way, nothing really compares to a Sunday roast. But cottage pie is a very good dish. Feeds a large crowd and it’s very tasty. Not to mention traditional.”
“I don’t know.” Beryl put the chosen bag of flour into the trolley.
They moved on to chocolate chips, where more comparing was done.
“You could do a fancier pudding,” Joyce suggested. “Jam tarts are lovely, but what else goes nicely with cottage pie? Maybe your Battenburg? I bet it would look gorgeous on camera. Would that do, you think?”
“A slice of Battenburg is a treat for all the senses, innit?” Beryl put her hands together, brows bent in thought. After a moment, she nodded. “Do they sell marzipan here or will I have to make my own? Also, we’ll need to get apricot preserves. Add that to the list so we don’t forget. I’ll have to do a test run before I make one for the show, you know.”
Joyce fished a pen from her purse and dutifully added apricot preserves. “I don’t know about the marzipan. We’ll have to ask at customer service.”
All told, the trip took them thirty minutes longer than if Joyce had gone alone. She wasn’t whinging, mind. The novelty of the new store would wear off eventually for Beryl.
Still, Joyce was happy to get back, unload the car, and get the groceries sorted. When that was done, Beryl went to give Ruthie a bottle and Joyce went to work on lunch. She filled two baking sheets with rashers of bacon, then popped them into the oven to cook.
The tomatoeshadbeen nice. She planned on BLTs for lunch. The bacon that didn’t go into the sandwiches would be chopped up, along with some of the tomatoes, a little onion, and some goat cheese in a quiche for dinner. Or maybe even for breakfast the next day.
Mitch came out of his office. “Travel arrangements are made. I’ll be leaving at about six thirty.”
Joyce stopped what she was doing. “Need anything laundered before you go?”
“I think I’m good.” He sighed to himself, a sound Joyce recognized.
The death of Harper’s mum had to be reminding him of losing Jeanie. Didn’t matter that there were no real similarities. Harper loved her mum and Mitch loved Jeanie. Losing someone dear to you hurt no matter who they were or the reason they passed. “You all right?”
He nodded, a reassuring smile offered as proof. “I just know what Harper’s going through.”
“That you do. I’m sure you’ll be a great comfort to her.”
“I hope so.”
“Lunch in about twenty minutes or so. BLTs, if that’s all right.”
“Sounds great. Haven’t had one of those in ages.”
“The tomatoes were especially nice today.”
