MacAllister's Baby (23 page)

‘We could be happy together,’ he said. ‘I know we would. We could get married and stick two fingers up at the gossipmongers and the press and it would be very good, Elisabeth.’ He curled his magician’s fingers around her hand, as if with his touch he could make everything he was saying come true. ‘I love you so much.’

‘You’re not saying this to be noble? Because I might be pregnant?’

He barked out a laugh. ‘Forget noble. I’m begging you, if you haven’t noticed. This past week has been torture. I want to touch you, hold you, sleep with you, be with you in every way and all I’ve had is the Elisabeth with her walls up. If you’re pregnant, that’s great. But it’s you that I want.’

‘I…’ She couldn’t think when he was touching her, so she lifted her hand away from his. ‘I can’t.’

‘You think you can’t. But, Elisabeth, be a student for once. Learn from Danny. Don’t throw away a chance of happiness because it’s easier to do the wrong thing.’

She stood. Her ears were roaring, her hands shaking. ‘It’s not easy at all,’ she choked. ‘You say it’s been torture for you—it’s been hell for me. Every second, fighting and fighting what my body wants to do and I can’t take it any more.’

He stood beside her and held out his arms to her. ‘Stop fighting. Be with me. Even if you don’t love me. Give in.’

Even if you don’t love me.
He didn’t know the half of it, had no idea how close she was to losing herself entirely to him. She shook her head. ‘No. I can’t.’

He dropped his arms. ‘You mean you won’t.’

‘The difference is only in words, Angus.’ She looked around, anywhere except at him, and saw for the first time an underground station far down a side street and knew exactly where she was.

‘I’m going to go home and get changed,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you at ten.’

She turned and walked rapidly away from him, feeling the weight of his eyes on her back the entire time, like a cord joining the two of them that she was stretching and stretching thinner and thinner until it broke.

Jennifer was nearly as white as her uniform.

‘Not here?’ she whispered.

Elisabeth put her arm around the girl’s narrow shoulders. ‘There was an emergency and he couldn’t compete. It’s all right, Jennifer. You’ve done this plenty of times. And Danny wouldn’t be anywhere near you anyway.’

Jennifer looked around the massive room, full of contestants and their supporters. From here, near the door, the stand-alone cooking workspaces looked like tiny islands in a sea of people and space.

‘But I’m—I expected him to be here.’

Her voice was full of dismay. Elisabeth bit her lip in sympathy. Routine, repetition, a clear framework: it all created security. The smallest disruption, even if it wasn’t strictly relevant, could crush confidence.

‘You are going to be absolutely fine,’ she told Jennifer with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. ‘Come on, let’s find your workspace and check everything.’

Angus had been standing beside them in silence, letting Elisabeth deal with Jennifer’s fear, but now he stepped forward.

‘You’ve got talent, Jennifer, and nothing can stop talent. Talk me through what you’re going to do. The clock starts. What do you pick up first?’

‘I’ll st-start the pasta,’ she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. As they walked across the floor a light flashed at them. Elisabeth blinked, seeing bright spots.

A photographer. The tabloids, of course, getting the celebrity chef and the teacher and the child for the front of their newspaper. Jennifer stopped, frozen, her face a picture of panic.

‘Pasta,’ prompted Angus gently. ‘What’s the first step?’

He touched her lightly on the elbow, got her moving again towards the workspace. Elisabeth trailed behind and watched as Angus let her talk her way through her panic. He took it step by step and reminded her of her routine, rebuilt the framework with words. When they reached the workspace she was still pale, but looked marginally less like a rabbit in headlights.

Marginally.

A woman with a clipboard approached Jennifer and started talking with her about the rules of the contest, how she’d be judged and what she wasn’t allowed to do. Jennifer answered her in mumbled monosyllables.

Angus joined Elisabeth. He’d showered and shaved since she’d seen him, and wore a casual jacket and jeans that looked as elegant on him as a suit. She could smell his lemony scent, the freshness of his clothes and his skin, but his eyes still looked weary.

‘I hope she doesn’t choke,’ he murmured.

‘The next two hours might determine the course of her entire life,’ Elisabeth said. ‘I can’t blame her for being scared.’

‘If she’s too scared, she won’t be able to do it. Cooking well requires flexibility and confidence. That’s where Danny excelled.’ He shook his head. ‘On a good day, he could’ve won this easily. Jennifer’s technical skills are better, but I’m worried.’

‘You’ve done your best,’ she said, wanting to give him the same sort of comfort he’d just given Jennifer.

He smiled sadly. ‘My best doesn’t seem to be good enough these days.’

‘Contestants, please take your places and family and friends take your seats; the Kid Culinaire competition will begin in ten minutes.’

Elisabeth scooted behind the counter to give Jennifer a hug. ‘I believe in you,’ she whispered in the girl’s ear. Jennifer’s hands clutched on to Elisabeth as if she were about to fall.

‘I don’t know if I can do it,’ she whispered.

‘Remember what Angus said. Food is emotion. You’re not doing this for yourself; you’re doing this because you remember your mum.’ She squeezed the girl one last time and let her go. ‘Put your feelings into it and take it one step at a time. I’m very proud of you. So is your dad. Your mum would be too.’

Jennifer nodded. When Elisabeth looked back at her on her way to the stands, the girl looked like a castaway in her own private world of fear.

Jennifer’s father was already in his seat, and Jo was sitting beside him, chatting about cars, though Mr Keeling didn’t say much. He drove a van for a living and had taken the day off work to come to the competition; Elisabeth suspected Jo’s persuasive skills had come into that. She sat beside Joanna, noticing the two empty seats reserved for Danny’s parents on the other side of Mr Keeling.

Angus sat next to her. As he took his seat a camera flashed again. ‘I understand why the paparazzi get punched,’ he muttered.

It would feel so natural to lean into him. Instead, she picked up her programme and pretended to scrutinise it until the room silenced around her and the announcer declared the start of the competition.

Two hours of cooking, and then the judges would taste and assess the finished products. All of the contestants looked very small from here. Especially Jennifer, who was standing utterly still.

‘She needs to get started,’ she heard Angus saying beside her. ‘If you do the first step, the other steps are easier. One follows another like logic. The hardest part is starting.’

Jennifer moved. She took out a bowl and began to prepare her ingredients.

Elisabeth sighed in relief.

‘What’s she cooking?’ Jo asked, and Angus began to explain.

Elisabeth looked at Mr Keeling listening to Angus. He was a heavy-set man, with some of Jennifer’s paleness, and he looked as tired as Angus did, though without the reserves of energy and strength she knew Angus had. Joanna had told her the man worked all hours, often leaving Jennifer on her own overnight. Elisabeth wondered how much he worked to make ends meet, and how much he worked to keep himself busy after the death of his wife.

While the contestants worked, an announcer with a microphone wandered through the room, asking the kids questions about themselves and what they were cooking.
Don’t choose Jennifer,
Elisabeth willed him as the minutes dragged on. The girl had developed a rhythm, and if she had to speak she could lose it.

‘Where’s the Welsh tango dancer?’ she whispered to Jo, to distract herself from the tension.

‘He had a dance-off in Cardiff. Wanted me to come, but I told him you needed me more. I’ll tell you what, the tango really does teach a man some hip movements.’

Elisabeth smiled. ‘Sounds like an interesting man. I should meet him for real.’

‘You’ve tamed Angus MacAllister,’ Jo replied. ‘He hasn’t flirted with me once since he’s seen you. If I weren’t so happy for you, I’d hate you for depriving the world of a precious natural resource.’

That knife of pain again. She hadn’t told Jo that her relationship with Angus was over. She’d barely seen her in the past week, and they’d had plenty of other things to talk about: Dewi, the press, what Elisabeth was missing at school, and, today, Danny’s arrest. Angus had been too painful a subject to bring up. She’d sidestepped every mention.

Back to her old tricks, she thought grimly.

‘Jennifer Keeling, from the Slater School.’ The announcer’s voice came over the PA loud and clear. ‘Hi, Jennifer.’

The girl’s answer was inaudible.

‘You’re the only student from Slater, I hear,’ the announcer continued. ‘Your friend had to drop out unexpectedly. How does it feel to be representing your school?’

The girl didn’t answer. Elisabeth could see her face reddening; even from here she could see her movements becoming jerkier, less fluent. The announcer tried again.

‘I think I can safely say that you’re the most famous of our contestants today, after your photograph was printed in last weekend’s newspapers. How does it feel to be taught by a celebrity chef?’

‘Angus is wonderful.’ Her voice was small, but every word was clear.

Elisabeth looked over at Angus. He was leaning forward and there was a smile on his face. Not the blinding one, not the mischievous one, not the arrogant one. Just a smile.

She sat on her hands to stop herself pulling him to her and kissing that smile of pride and pleasure.

The announcer moved on to fresh meat and Elisabeth let herself relax the tiniest amount. An iota of relief, when every fibre of her being was strung as tightly as a drum.

One of the kids was a show-off, playing games with his knife, tossing his ingredients around his frying pan like one of the chef-performers in a Japanese steakhouse Elisabeth had been to once. The announcer spent some time with him, trading jokes. Danny would have been jealous if he’d been here, Elisabeth thought. But at least Jennifer was getting a reprieve.

She felt Angus tensing beside her and heard his sharp intake of breath. Immediately she focused on Jennifer. From here, she couldn’t see anything wrong.

‘What is it?’ she whispered to him.

‘That damn velouté,’ he answered in low tones. ‘She’s stirring it like a clockwork elephant and if she doesn’t take it off the heat in the next few seconds it’s going to curdle again.’

She chewed on her fingertip as she watched Jennifer, concentrating as hard as she could on what the girl was doing.
Don’t go wrong,
she thought, trying to send all of her extra nervous energy to the sauce in Jennifer’s pan.

The exact moment it curdled she saw it on Jennifer’s face, and heard it in Angus’s groan. The girl took the pan off the heat and stood with it, transfixed by dismay and indecision.

She couldn’t take it any more. Elisabeth stood, and slipped by Angus into the aisle. His knees brushed the side of her leg as she went by, and she saw him looking at her with concern.

‘Need fresh air,’ she told him. She hurried to the back of the room, through the lobby, and out onto the street.

It was a warm day, as she’d predicted, muggy and close with the overcast heat of early July. She breathed in the outside air full of petrol fumes and the smell of warm concrete. As oppressive as it was, it was still easier than being inside.

She shouldn’t be out here. She should be supporting Jennifer at this moment of crisis. What if the girl looked up and saw her gone?

And these were the last few moments she would ever spend with Angus. Even though she couldn’t touch him, could barely speak to him, every one was precious, heart-wrenchingly intense. Her watch said there was a little less than half an hour left of the competition. Twenty-six minutes with Angus, and then however long it took to judge, and then goodbye for ever.

Unless she was carrying his baby.

It was Saturday; she should have started her period on Thursday. She’d been late before. Stress could cause it, or not sleeping enough, and God knew she’d had plenty of both of those in the past week.

If they were having a baby, he’d sworn he’d stay with her. He’d offered to marry her. And not, he’d said, because he was being noble. Because he wanted her more than anything, because he loved her.

She spotted a chemist’s shop down the street and she started for it. The suspense was too much to take. She’d find out, today, what the rest of her life held in store.

The inside of the shop was a bit cooler than outside. She found a blue box on the shelf. The last time she’d bought one of these tests it had been two and a half years ago and she had been excited, hopeful, sure the future was going to be bright.

The woman who rang up her purchase was in her fifties, very slim, with cat’s-eye glasses and bouffant hair. ‘I hope this turns out the way you want it to, dear,’ she said. Elisabeth felt the woman’s gaze on her left hand, where her third finger was conspicuously ringless.

And how did she want this to turn out? she thought as she left the shop, hid the test in her bag, and headed back for the building where the competition was being held.

If she was pregnant, she wouldn’t have a choice. Her future would be mapped out for her in an instant. She would be with Angus; she would marry him. They would live together and bring up their child.

She bit back a sharp cry of longing.

And if she wasn’t…

That would be it. She would thank Angus and leave him and she would continue on with the life she could understand.

In about an hour.

She threaded her way quietly back to the row of seats where she’d left Angus and Joanna and Mr Keeling. She looked for Jennifer and saw her chopping away furiously at something.

‘She’s done it,’ Angus whispered to her as she passed him to get to her seat. ‘She ditched the velouté and she’s started something new. It looks like some sort of salsa with tarragon. She’s improvising like I’ve never seen her do before. Brilliant.’