Recipe for Disaster (27 page)

Kate was silent and longed to tell him that she knew just
how he felt. Her writing was the one area of her life where
she could feel very vulnerable. Her stories were her
children; she loved them dearly, would protect them
fiercely and felt acute anxiety when they came under other
people's scrutiny. Jake gave the same passion and dedication
to his cooking. Then she thought, why not tell him?
He wasn't likely to cast her out into tonight's storm. She
would tell him, she decided. It would be good to get
everything out in the open and she wanted a relationship
with him that was based on honesty. It had to be; it would
not work any other way.

She took a deep breath, leaned forward – and kissed him.
Hang on! This wasn't supposed to happen. But she was
glad it had, because it felt so good and he obviously thought
the same way, because he was kissing her back.

'Jake – I've got something to tell you.'

'Mmm . . . OK, but first I've got things to do to you, like
this . . . and this . . .'

'No, listen –'

'Are you telling me you want me to stop?'

'Oh, certainly not.'

'Was this what you had to say – that your bra fastens at
the front instead of at the back?'

'Yeah . . . I guess so . . .'

Georgia was quite wrong about this sofa, Jake thought,
hazily, some time later. It was a brilliant sofa. It was
perfectly comfortable. It accommodated two people very
well indeed and allowed them to do all sorts of things. To
be sure, it may have creaked a little, but only in a gentle,
friendly way. It shut out the wind and rain, the devastation
to his business downstairs, and it blew away the bitterness
which had permeated the room only a few hours before.

It was cold in this room, but their skin gleamed with
sweat as they explored each other's bodies with great
delight. Although Jake's touch was soft and sure, she could
feel the muscles rippling under his skin. And he discovered
once more, with pleased astonishment, how much more
interesting a woman's body was when there were flesh and
curves to sink into.

It was as if their bodies were having a most satisfying
conversation. Like compatriots meeting in a foreign land,
they shared the same language. It was a long time since his
skin had talked like this to a woman, and there was so much
else he wanted to say, when the phone rang.

They listened to it for a few minutes, wondering whether
to push the world away and then realised in perfect
accord that they couldn't, and shouldn't. Jake got up and
answered it.

'Man, it's wild out there,' said Godfrey. 'One of our trees
fell down and missed the house by inches half the roof of
the barn blew off but luckily there are no animals in it I got
soaked to the skin twice and then Tess rang and she told me
what happened is everything in a real mess?'

Jake mentally added some punctuation to this breathless
speech, extracted the sense and replied happily that, yes, it
was a complete disaster downstairs.

'Er, you sound a bit light-headed, Boss; are you sure you
haven't had a bang on the head?'

'Never felt better.'

'It's been a hell of a night.'

'It certainly has,' said Jake happily, then pulled himself
together and told Godfrey to get his butt into work early
tomorrow. Reassured by this return to normality, Godfrey
rang off.

Jake looked at Kate. It had been a long night but he was
still buzzing with energy. The wind and rain had died down
at last.

'Do you fancy a walk?'

'That's exactly what I want to do,' said Kate. How
wonderful that they were in such perfect agreement about
everything! Tonight was a time for kissing, not confession.
But tomorrow, when they had sobered up slightly from
each other – but not too much, she hoped – then she would
talk.

They found their clothes, got dressed and went out by
the back door because Jake couldn't face the chaos within
just yet. Outside, in the now serene sky, it was as if the storm
had never happened. Underfoot, it was a different matter.
The rain was at last draining away but there were still huge
puddles swamping the pavements and they had to negotiate
an obstacle course of broken roof tiles and litter. In the
end they gave up and decided it was safer to walk in the
road. Kate was wearing an old coat of Jake's, which was
extremely shabby but smelled deliciously of him. She
tucked her arm into his, where it fitted perfectly. They
walked down to the lake, which was now lapping peacefully
across the road. It had come close to the row of buildings
that housed Harry's restaurant, but not near enough to do
any damage. It was typical; Harry had the luck of the devil,
thought Jake, but he didn't care – he had his own luck
tonight. One or two ducks were swimming about quite
happily in the road. Kate pointed them out and they both
laughed. The wind had finally blown all the clouds away
and a huge moon was skirting the tops of the trees.

'What a perfect night,' she said.

'I feel exactly the same. Though you do realise that
makes us both completely mad?'

'Well, in that case, insanity is a good place to be. It feels
just right.'

'Get used to it. I seem to spend most of my time there.'

Kate hugged to herself the implied acceptance that they
had a future together. Then she shivered. She needed to
tell him now while they were still silly with love and sex.

But before she could open her mouth, Jake said: 'Are you
cold? You mustn't get cold. I have a bed as well as a sofa,
you know. The duvet, I admit, does have a very old cover,
which will tell you that I used to have a slight obsession with
Star Wars
. But it is clean and warm and we can pretend we
are hurtling through space under it.'

What was the matter with him? He was talking absolute
drivel. He never talked like this. How wonderful that he
had found someone who didn't seem to mind what
nonsense came out of his mouth. Indeed, she seemed to
encourage it.

'I don't mind at all if you want me to pretend I'm
Princess Leia.'

'Actually, I would prefer it if you stayed yourself. Race
you back!'

When they got to the door, he hesitated for a moment.

There! Now, just say it! urged Kate's conscience. But
again he spoke first.

'I think, just for a few more hours, we will forget about
the rest of the world.'

'Absolutely, Chef,' said Kate.

'"If you can meet with triumph and disaster / And treat
those two impostors just the same," ' said Kirsty, adding,
when they all stared at her: 'I had to do Kipling for GCSE.'

'Oh, I'm on first-name terms with disaster,' said Jake.

The team were all standing in the restaurant, trying not
to breathe in too deeply. The carpet was completely ruined;
the whole place would need repainting and it stank of
stagnant water.

Jake had been on the phone to the insurance people that
morning. They would certainly pay up, but that wasn't the
problem, as he explained to Godfrey, who was unable to see
that there was any sort of problem at all.

'Even if the cheque arrives tomorrow it will be at least two
weeks before we can open again. If there are no customers,
there's no money coming in. No money at all.'

A few people went pale as they thought about overdrafts
and no wages.

'Don't panic. The bank has agreed to loan me enough to
pay you all.'

That was typical of Jake, thought Kate. He took care of
his people before himself.

'I've got cash. You don't need to pay me,' she said,
feeling horribly guilty and making frantic calculations
about how much she could lend him. Not enough,
probably.

'My dad will bail me out for a couple of weeks,' Godfrey
offered.

'And I have finally got a huge maintenance cheque, so
I'm rich, rich!' said Tess.

Jake swallowed. They were all being so nice. He couldn't
bring himself to tell them that their wages were but a drop
in the ocean of debt that he was swimming in. 'Oh, well, let's
go and clean the kitchen, again. Maybe one of us will come
up with a cunning plan.'

They had already cleaned the kitchen twice but he still
wasn't satisfied. If he was going down, it would be
immaculately.

All the way down his street people were stopping their
mopping-up operations to share similar tales of woe. The
delicatessen two doors down had lost nearly all of its stock.
'We've only just clawed back what we lost during foot and
mouth,' said the owner tearfully, when Jake met her on his
way to buy coffee and doughnuts.

Jake had no appetite. The elation he had felt the
previous night was being sucked away by the spectre of
financial ruin. What would happen to him and Kate if he
had to close? He knew he could always find work with Louis
down in London, but she might not want to follow him
there.

Back in front of his computer screen the figures danced
in front of him, mockingly. He could swear they were
talking to him. 'You arrogant fool,' they whispered. 'Better
Recipe for Disaster
chefs than you have run aground on these very rocks. Why
did you think you were any different?'

'Aargh!' he shouted, picked up all the bills, which had
been carefully stacked in order of importance, and flung
them across the room. It didn't matter if they were all
messed up – he couldn't pay any of them.

When Jake was unhappy he conjured up an image of his
grandmother. She had survived far worse than he had ever
faced. 'You can mope all you like. You still have to get on
with things. And tidy up that dreadful mess you've just
made,' she would have added briskly.

'OK, Oma,' he said, and bent down to pick up the papers.
'I might as well burn them,' he grumbled, and then noticed
the letter from the television company.

We are calling the programme
Great Grub
because that
is exactly what it is all about. Viewers are sick of people
telling them how to make a good bacon butty. We want
to show them that we have the best chefs in the county
and that they can cook the most sublime food away
from the comfort of their own kitchens. We know you
can cook, but are you up to the challenge of doing it
with the eyes of the county on you?

We would of course pay you to take part, and the
winner will walk away with a cheque for £20,000 and
an increased profile, which can only be good for your
business.

'Oh, no, I might as well jack it all in and become a burger
chef.'

'Stop kvetching,' said his grandmother irritably. 'Your
grandfather had to take a job as a street cleaner after the
war, and him with a university education. If he hadn't, we
wouldn't have survived. Of course, if you're too proud to
pay the bills this way . . .'

'I haven't got much to be proud of at the moment.'

'Well, I wouldn't say that. For instance, you seem to have
made a very nice new friend in that girl . . .'

'Oh God! I'd forgotten you were dead and in heaven and
see everything,' groaned Jake.

'Please come out of there and stop talking to yourself –
it's scaring us,' said Tess, appearing in the doorway.

He took the letter out and read it to them.

'Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dream of
doing anything like this. But I need to make some cash and,
apparently, I can't afford to be picky.'

To his great annoyance, they all thought it was a brilliant
idea.

'You'd go down a storm,' said Godfrey.

'You'd knock the spots off any competition,' said Tess.

'Move aside, Jamie Oliver. Anyway, you're far better looking,'
grinned Kirsty. 'Even when you're scowling, you
have a certain charisma.'

'I certainly do not,' said Jake firmly. Harry had charisma,
of a nasty, hypnotic sort, he considered, quite unaware that
he had his own brand of charm.

'So, you think I should look into it, then?'

'Yes!' they all shouted.

Kate had been studying the letter. 'You might have left it
a bit late. The competition starts next week.'

Tess handed him the phone and they all stood looking at
him.

'You want me to do this now and you all want to listen in,
right. Oh, OK.'

It was impossible to work out what was going on. The
conversation was terse, at least from Jake's side, his contribution
being, 'Uh-huh. . . . Oh, I see. . . . Well, never
mind. . . . Oh, really? . . . Yes, I think so. . . . OK, thanks very
much, I think.'

He put the phone down. 'Well, first of all, you were right,
Kate.'

There was a chorus of groans at this.

'Everyone they asked, apart from me, accepted. There
were also quite a few people who begged to take part,
apparently, whom they put on a reserve list. But they've just
found out that one of the chefs has done a bunk with his
head waitress. His wife has said that if he still takes part she
plans to be part of the audience, armed with a meat cleaver.
Anyway, then I rang up and . . .' he paused, milking the
moment, 'for some reason they put me at the top of the list
anyway and – I'm in!'

When the cheering had died down, he said: 'You know, I
can't help thinking this is all going to be a very big mistake.'

'Well, you won't know that until you've done it,' said
Kirsty.

'The other thing is that I need to bring two assistants with
me.'

'Tess for one,' said Godfrey, and everyone nodded. Then
he looked at Kate.

She knew he had seen her come out of Jake's flat that
morning and had jumped to a bunch of entirely correct
conclusions. They were a couple – of course she could go.
But she couldn't. She knew at least half the people who
worked at Lakes Television and there was no way she could
get round them all and warn them to keep quiet. They
wouldn't, anyway.

'There is no doubt that Kirsty is a much better waitress
than I'll ever be. For one thing, she has learned not to swear
in front of the public, which I, alas, have not.'

'That's true. But you did apologise very nicely after you
dropped table four's wine and said, "Oh, fuck it",' grinned
Jake, who was still in that 'my loved one can do no wrong'
mood.

'Well, that's really nice of you, Kate,' said Kirsty. 'Are you
sure? I'd love to do it – ooh, I'm excited already!'

Everyone agreed that it was really nice of Kate, so she had
to slip out, pretending she wanted a fag. She actually felt
slightly sick with shame. She wasn't being nice at all. She was
being duplicitous. Oh God! Why hadn't she just told Jake
yesterday? Every day she let pass without saying something
made it more difficult. Now it was practically impossible. For
a minute she entertained a wild notion of handing in her
notice at the paper and becoming a bona fide waitress. Then
she really could write a novel in her spare time. It couldn't
be that difficult. Loads of people did it. But what she loved
about journalism was having to pare things down to an
absolute minimum so that every word counted. And
anyway, if she wrote a real novel, it would have to be about
Jake, and there, she was back at square one again.

'Are you all right?' Jake had followed her out.

'I'm fine, but are you?' He was looking slightly green.

'I just think this is such an unprofessional thing to do.
And I am a hypocrite – the things I've said about TV chefs
in the past! I daren't let my old boss hear of this. It's only
local television, though, isn't it? Probably only a handful of
people and their dogs will be watching.' He started pacing
up and down. He even looked as though he were about to
wring his hands.

'You're absolutely terrified, aren't you? Kate said slowly.
'Not about cooking, of course. You're scared of having to
stand up in front of a bunch of strangers.'

'You're right – you're absolutely right. I'd rather cook a
meal for Michael Winner than have to perform to some
smirking guy behind a camera. I just know I'm going to be
totally crap and I'm going to look a complete fool! If I don't
manage it myself, Harry will certainly ensure that I do, in
some underhand way. Yes, he's taking part, of course. He
was the first to reply. Prat!'

'Which of you does that epithet refer to?'

'Both of us – him for being such a show-off and me for
being pathetic.'

'Look, television hasn't done Gordon Ramsay or Jamie
Oliver any real harm, has it?'

'I don't have their television-friendly qualities. Anyway, I
have to say that for someone who used to be in PR, you're
being a bit idealistic. The telly is such a distorting medium.
They'll decide how they want me to come across and that's
how it will be, whatever I say or do. The media are
manipulative and dishonest, driven solely by ratings and
completely lacking in any moral sense.'

Kate winced. And then Jake made it worse by kissing her,
which she couldn't enjoy at all because she felt like Judas for
kissing him back.

They were ten minutes late setting off for the studios
because Jake decided just as they were leaving that he
needed his lucky apron. Louis had lent it to him one night
and never asked for it back. Jake had never thought of it as
a talisman before, but now, with the irrationality borne out
of sheer terror, he decided that he had cooked all his best
meals while wearing it.

When he got back in the car, he put his hand on the
gearstick and his mind went completely blank. He looked at
it and for a split second, which actually felt like an hour –
nothing. He didn't know what it was, or what you did with
it, and he had been driving for years. Pulling away very,
very slowly, in case he had also forgotten where the brake
was, he thought: that's it, we're doomed. If this happens,
and it probably will when Tess hands me a saucepan, the
last thing I will see before I die of shame is Harry smirking
at me.

Luckily, he had Kirsty sitting next to him and she had so
much to say there was no space for anyone to think their
own thoughts. Kirsty was positively fizzing with excitement
and anticipation. Basically, she couldn't wait for her chance
to show off.

'Of course, all waitresses are performers really. Maybe
I'm in the wrong job; maybe I should move to Hollywood.'

'Are you trying to tell me that I give you a good wage to
tell tales to my customers?'

'Well, they did hear you swearing once so I told them you
were this mad creative genius like Van Gogh and they were
absolutely thrilled – they were Americans, of course – and
then I had to stop them coming down to the kitchen and
taking a picture of you.'

The conversation moved on to Kirsty's current boyfriend,
whom she was planning to ditch. 'He's really nice,
but there's no spark, you know.'

'Oh, there have got to be sparks,' agreed Jake, thinking
of Kate. He glanced in the mirror but Tess was listening to
music on her headphones and obviously wasn't interested
in talking.

Lakes Television was in Windermere and as they parked,
all of Jake's butterflies came back. A young girl with a
clipboard and a harassed expression met them in the foyer.
Jake was the tenth chef she had met that morning. In her
opinion they were all temperamental, egotistical bastards.
Jake was feeling so sick by now he could only smile at her
and she instantly revised her opinion. This one seemed
really sweet.

Jake couldn't believe how many people were apparently
needed to make one poxy programme. There were dozens
of them, all milling around in what he hoped was organised
chaos. Lakes Television didn't have the best reputation for
slick, professional programming and were only hanging on
to their franchise by a whisker. It was quite probable that he
would go on set to find that they were expecting him to
cook a three-course meal on one hob.

He was shaking so much by the time they arrived in
make-up that the girl had to hold his face steady while she
applied powder, to which he submitted meekly, being
incapable of doing anything else by now.

They were allowed on to the set to have a look around
and familiarise themselves, and Jake had a small argument
with one of the organisers who didn't want him to use his
own knives.

'They look much sharper than ours. We are worried
about people cutting themselves.'

'Of course they are sharp – they are meant to be! And yes,
it's highly likely someone will cut themselves – it's a kitchen
hazard. You want to see some real cooking, you're going to
get it – sweat, stress and blood, if necessary.'