The Recipe for Happiness, page 3
There were definite noises in there. Clonks and scuffs. Someone was inside. There was nothing much worth stealing, but then again, there was nothing much for the local kids to do, and long warm summer evenings tended to bring out menace and boredom like it brought out heat rash. I flung the door open, wielding my weapon, and announcing my presence in slightly muffled tones, as my heart was thumping so hard that it wouldn’t let me speak clearly.
‘What’s going on?’
Ned, who’d been in the process of upending a packet of pork scratchings to tip the last into his mouth, jumped, choked and fell backwards off his stool. He landed, like a load of damp washing, out of sight on the floor behind the table.
I stood and stared. Seeing it was Ned had settled my heart a bit, and I now realised that the rolled-up copy of The Yorkshire Post I was carrying probably wasn’t the burglar deterrent that I imagined. Eventually, his head appeared over the top of the table as he got to his feet. His dark hair was sticking out at angles, damp with sweat, and his face, when it moved within view, looked shocked.
‘What are you doing?’ He pulled himself to his feet and flopped, as though exhausted, over the tabletop.
‘Investigating strange noises.’ I tapped the newspaper cudgel on my hand, for all the world like a cartoon wife about to say, ‘And what time of night do you call this to be rolling in drunk?’
Except Ned wasn’t drunk and he wasn’t rolling in. By the look of the equipment he’d got spread out on the floor, he was here replacing the dodgy element on the cooker.
‘I thought you were out,’ he said. ‘I came over to fix this. You’ve been complaining about it all week.’
None of these statements were anything I could deny. He was perfectly right. Part of his job would involve a degree of ‘handyman’ work: mending small items, keeping the place in good repair. Just as part of mine involved cleaning, tidying, and replenishing the teabags. And I had been muttering grimly to myself about the cooker element, which only heated up properly when I wiggled the knob. I had to mutter it to myself, because the phrase ‘wiggling the knob’ had caused John and Will a fit of the most childish giggles and a retrospective examination of their marriages.
‘Um.’ I tapped the newspaper again. ‘Well, I’m here.’
‘I can see that,’ Ned said dryly. ‘Now you know it’s only me, you can go upstairs again. I won’t be much longer.’ Then he turned his back, screwed up the pork-scratchings bag with what looked to be a degree of ferocity, and flung it down with the obviously defunct cooker element, laid on a towel on the floor.
Ned and I hadn’t really had much to do with one another since our introduction. He seemed friendly enough when we interacted, but then we’d usually got a crowd of onlookers – even if some of them did have to look on through fairly thick spectacles. He’d been busy and I’d been busy; the summer meant that we were getting more drop-ins than usual, as people came into town to shop or just for company in the warm weather.
‘I’m sorry,’ I felt bound to say. ‘I really didn’t know you were coming over. I thought it might be burglars.’
Ned looked, ostentatiously, around the large kitchen space, quite clearly devoid of any items of resalable value.
‘We were broken into once.’ For some reason I carried on. ‘OK, that was by a drugged-up idiot who mistook this place for a pharmacy and who was apprehended by the police staggering down the street carrying a decorative warming pan, but even so.’ Once. Years ago, before I’d even worked here, when the building had been used only as a lunch club for the elderly.
‘You don’t need to keep talking,’ Ned said, his voice echoing around the cooker’s insides as he bent back to his task. ‘I know you’re upstairs as a security measure.’ He looked at me over his shoulder. He was doubled up, half inside the big, recalcitrant stove, looking as though an absent-minded wicked witch had been called away mid preparation. ‘As I said, I won’t be much longer.’
I’d been about to offer him a cup of tea, but his tone was as cold as the inside of the oven. Or was it embarrassment? Which was ridiculous as it was I who should have been embarrassed; bursting in like an avenging angel armed with unbiblical newsprint.
Without another word, I turned around and went back up my staircase, closing the door to the little flat behind me with something that felt like reluctance. Was I so desperate for company that I’d wanted to stick around and watch someone fix a cooker? Maybe, I thought, as I reclaimed my sandwich, that should be my new hobby, forcing myself into situations where I was unwanted. I’d be good at that. The Hairy Boys, as I had taken to thinking about them, had been polite and accepting, but clearly slightly mystified at my presence in their game, despite Greg’s assurances that it would be fine. My lack of any evident talent for, or real interest in, Dungeons & Dragons had scattered over the tabletop with the crisp crumbs.
No. Gaming would not be my new interest in life. Despite Gregor and Andrew’s best hopes, it would not be the medium through which I gained myself a partner, a hobby and a life. I had tried and it was not for me. I needed another plan.
4
‘So, how was the dungeon?’ Joe asked, wilfully loudly, the next morning as I brought out a plate of homemade shortbread to add to the replenished teapot.
He’d casually enquired about my plans for the evening yesterday, and I had, equally casually, told him that I was off to play Dungeons & Dragons. Then I’d had to explain what Dungeons & Dragons was, as Joe and half the others had never heard of it. I couldn’t believe that none of Lena and Margaret’s innumerable grandchildren had ever played, mentioned, or otherwise had an interest in gaming, and had to conclude that neither of them actually paid much attention to what their offspring talked about, contenting themselves with nodding, smiling and counting heads.
Total number of grandchildren was what mattered, apparently. Their score was about equal, although Lena was slightly ahead on points as one had just qualified as a doctor. Margaret was coming up hard on the inside though, with the imminent birth of a great-grandchild.
‘It was fun,’ I told Joe, and then sidled off before he could quiz me any further. I had the awful feeling that he thought there had been either Devil worship involved – he watched far too much reactionary television – or something sexual. He’d read Fifty Shades of Grey and was quietly convinced that everyone else was ‘at it, like rabbits’.
‘Ah, Seren.’ Holly came in, elbows indicating that she was speed-walking, whilst the rest of her body remained still. ‘Could you pop out and help Ned? Mimi’s having a bit of trouble getting out of the minibus, and you know some of these ladies aren’t keen on men – well, handling them.’
Grateful not to have to go into detail about last night’s gaming session, I went out into the car park where the day hit me in a burst of clammy light. Mimi was hesitant on the steps, and I offered her my arm to supplement her stick.
‘They’re a bit steep,’ I said. ‘A lot of people have problems. We should get a ramp,’ I addressed Ned, who was standing a few metres away.
He, and Mimi, said nothing, and all three of us shuffled to the main doors like a minor branch of a Trappist order. Mimi’s hands were knotted and gnarled around the joints with the arthritis that clearly caused her pain on walking. But, from her absolutely upright posture, she was not going to admit to it, or give in. I wondered how she got so immaculately dressed – she must have help at home, I reasoned. A family, out all day so Mimi was left by the roadside to be collected, like a dustbin on rubbish day. It was extraordinary how some of our clients were treated by their families as untidy extras; like an unruly dog that wasn’t completely housetrained and needed to be socialised and exercised by someone else whilst they went out to work.
But then, I chastised myself silently as I lent my arm to Mimi to walk up the step into the centre, if you had to leave a dog alone all day, you’d get a dog walker in, wouldn’t you? It wasn’t kind to let them sit, solitary and unattended to, for hours on end. So surely it was just as kind to send your elderly relation to our centre?
I settled Mimi in the chair that had become her usual spot, near the window that opened out onto the tiny stretch of concrete between us and the antique centre. Holly had dotted a few pots about, and, at this time of year, the sun sliced between the buildings to make the flowers glow a Mediterranean red. Mimi sat silently and gazed out on this patch of terrace until it was time to go home, refusing all approaches from anyone. She’d accept a cup of tea and occasionally eat a biscuit or a small sandwich, but that was all.
‘Can I talk to you for a moment?’ It was Ned, appearing at my shoulder as I backed away from Mimi like a guard in the presence of royalty. Some of our customers had been brought up in a time when you didn’t turn your back on your elders – it was a sign of dismissal, apparently, so I always bore it in mind with new people, even if it did make me bump into furniture.
‘I’m a bit busy. I’ve got some buns to get out of the oven.’ I reviewed my statement. ‘Which is working much better now, thank you.’
‘In the kitchen, then.’ Ned followed me through. The kitchen was quiet and calm compared to competitive Scrabble, aches and pains and grandchildren. The big urn popped and steamed, a bee bumped mindlessly against the already open window and I’d arranged my nicest set of tea towels on the big hanging rack. This is my domain, they announced, in their multicoloured, National Trust glory. I may not be allowed to hang pictures, but these will do. Dunster Castle had flopped over and I rearranged it whilst Ned leaned against the island surface.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said, in tones that made me profoundly glad we were in here and not amid the prurience of next door. ‘I was rude and abrupt and you were only doing your job.’
I was a bit taken aback. People didn’t often apologise to me. ‘I, er, no, it’s fine.’ To give myself something to do with my face other than look shocked, I bent to the oven. The buns were a mild tan colour. Another five minutes.
‘No. I was dismissive, and that really wasn’t very nice of me.’
I had to turn round and face him now or I’d look as though I were trying to hide in with the buns. I stayed by the oven though. Those buns could overcook in a trice.
‘I think we were both a bit surprised, weren’t we?’ After all, I’d not exactly been warm and welcoming. I might have thought about offering him tea, but I hadn’t actually done it. ‘I’m not used to anyone being here after hours. Oh, sometimes Holly comes by to pick something up, if we’ve had an open day, but that’s not very often.’
I’d noticed that Ned wasn’t hugely tall already, but now was the first time I noticed that his hazel eyes were made up from shades of yellow and brown with a hint of wariness about them. His hair was dark and neatly cut and his shirt and jeans were clean, but there was an un-ironedness about his clothes and a slight off-centre parting that made it look as though he wasn’t bothered about how he looked. Now, as he lifted a hand and wiped an arm over his forehead, I noticed that the cuff button on his shirt was hanging by a thread.
‘I overreacted when you came in, you see. You startled me and I… I’m not good at sudden shocks.’ He gave me a grin that sparked from his eyes. ‘Plus, you caught me with pork scratchings.’
I went with it. ‘Yes, if you’re trying to make an impression, eating pork scratchings is probably not the way to go.’
‘Who says I was trying to make an impression?’ But he spoke lightly, with a trace of humour in his tone, and he’d lost the defensive look. ‘I thought I was being sufficiently manly by holding a screwdriver and looking as though I knew which end to shove in the thingy.’
‘You just lost the advantage by calling the oven element a “thingy”,’ I pointed out. The buns were beginning to scent the kitchen with warm sugar and overheating raisins.
‘But I fixed it, so you have to allow me that. Anyway, I’d better get on out there. Charlie has promised to show me his photograph album and I want to talk to him about his angina.’ Then, in a movement of limbs that would have left Holly in the shade, he was gone, carefully closing the door between me and the customers, as though he thought I needed peace and quiet to get over his presence. Or maybe it was just to stop the smell of newly cooked buns causing a riot.
I got the buns out of the oven, left it on to heat the lunch through, and found a cooling rack. Shepherd’s pie for lunch, already prepped and just needing a bit of cheese to top the potato, some peas to boil up and maybe a few carrots. My hands were already busy, readying pans and grater, while I thought about Ned.
It was nice of him to apologise. He hadn’t needed to, his abruptness hadn’t been enough to cause me to rewrite my opinion of his character this far, not that I really had an opinion. He was a fellow worker, presumably sticking around, unlike some of the volunteers who could be a bit fly-by-night when they realised that helping out older people wasn’t a constant round of whist and crochet patterns. Being elderly wasn’t a shortcut to losing all ambition or desire to experience the world, it just slowed down your ability to do it, that was all. Our clients were just as keen to attend music concerts, learn to speak Spanish and watch Love Island then gossip about it as anyone younger. Whist and crochet, to them, was for ‘old people’, a nomenclature that none of them, even Joe, were ready to assume yet.
Lunch was successfully negotiated, with a minimum of complaint, and I went to stack the dishwasher. I had a few bits upstairs to put in too, so I dashed up to my flat to fetch them. My kitchen was too small for a dishwasher and, whilst I normally hand-washed my few plates and cups, sometimes I’d shove some in the industrial washer downstairs to keep it full.
Whilst I was up there, my phone rang. This was an unusual occurrence. It normally meant that Andrew and Greg were having some kind of crisis and they needed me to adjudicate.
‘Hello?’ I answered the phone one-handed, the other being full of a tray of crockery.
‘Seren, love, I’ve had an idea.’
‘Andrew, I’m not sure I—’
‘Y’see, we’ve got a friend, Mattie, you may have met her at the party, not sure, she was there but she does tend to be a bit on the loud side, for you, anyway. She’s just asked me if we know anyone over your side.’
I breathed in. ‘Over your side’ could mean anything from geographical location to sexual orientation and I didn’t want to commit to anything until I had a firmer grasp of my brother’s intention. Well, I didn’t want to commit to anything full stop, really.
‘She runs dog training classes out at Appleton and her assistant has called in sick for tonight.’ The juggernaut that was Andrew’s conversational technique continued. ‘She just needs a pair of hands and a body on the floor, and I thought, well, you want to get a new interest and some hobbies or somesuch, don’t you? Dog training might be just the thing.’
I looked around me at the tiny flat, the resolutely pet-free nature of my entire life so far, and considered my previous experience with dogs. The absence of any interest in canines should have been glowing down the phone at Andrew. ‘So I told her you’d be over there at seven,’ Andrew finished, with a flourish that sounded as though he wanted congratulation.
‘But I…’ I began, with no idea what I was going to use as an excuse.
‘I know you don’t like going to new places and all that, but you know Appleton, and you know the hall, we used to go to dance classes there when we were small.’
He was right in one way, I did know the place. ‘But I gave up dance when I was seven, Andrew!’ I almost wailed. ‘It’s twenty-five years since I knew it!’
‘You used to come with Sophie when she picked me up,’ Andrew said reasonably. He’d kept up dance until he was seventeen, when his height meant he’d kept banging his head on the tin roof of the hall during the jeté. ‘So, you do know it. Anyway. Seven o’clock. There will be lots of cute puppies there, apparently.’
Then he hung up.
The crockery rattled. It was only when my favourite bowl began jingling against last night’s tea plate that I realised I was shaking. I didn’t go to new places. I went into Pickering, occasionally, to get some bits of shopping that the online shop had missed. I drove to Andrew and Gregor’s flat, because I could park right outside and go up with a minimum amount of exposure to outdoors.
New places unsettled me. I might get lost on the way there, or not be able to park the car, or not find the actual location and end up walking for hours.
But, on the other hand, Andrew was right, I did know Appleton. It had about ten houses, a wide road, plenty of parking and a village hall on the outskirts, which meant I didn’t even need to go into the village itself. And I had decided I needed some kind of life, hadn’t I? A hobby? An interest? Whilst I hardly thought that dog training was going to be my metier in life, my previous lack of any contact with dogs being a bit of a giveaway there, actually going out to somewhere would be a good start.
Knowing Andrew as I did, my lack of cogent argument would have been taken as acquiescence and he would already have told Mattie, whoever she was, that I’d be there, trembling with eager excitement like a – well, I couldn’t think of any breed of dog off the top of my head, but I was sure there would be one that trembled with excitement – at seven on the dot.
I was going to kill him when I next saw him.
I descended the stairs and began to stack the dishwasher. Holly rotated her way in and stood beside me as I slotted plates into the rack. She still seemed to be in motion, even though she was standing still.
‘Did you see that we’re having the Kirkbymoorside Brass Band next month?’ she asked.
‘I did.’ My voice echoed off the crockery in a sepulchral manner.
‘I thought we might make a bit more of a “do” of it.’ Holly’s elbows indicated extreme excitement at this prospect by churning the air. ‘Have an open day kind of thing, alongside the usual stalls. Sell a bit of baking, invite the rellies of our clients, hang a bit of bunting. You know the drill.’
