Scarlet Feather (16 page)

‘Dead exciting,’ June said.

It flashed across Tom’s mind that June could have been Joe’s companion, the woman who had gone back to the hotel with him after the launch party. But no, surely not June. Her interpretation of having a bit of freedom could hardly have extended to staying out all night. She did have children at home. Then of course, he realised, it couldn’t have been June, she had been here dancing at the very end, when Joe was long gone. But she could have gone on and joined him there later. Sexy little thing, in her way. Not something he would ask Cathy. What he really needed were those two Mitchell children. They’d get to the heart of any story. For some reason, nobody seemed able to refuse to answer their questions.

Cathy and Tom had been trained on the catering course to do their accounting very carefully, pricing their ingredients, labour and staff very precisely. They had to work out portion control in advance
and
take out the hours they worked afterwards. On the theatre job they lost a total of £76. Tom was shaken to the core.

‘It’s a one-off,’ Cathy soothed. ‘It’s buying goodwill. We should put part of that under the promotional budget.’

‘We don’t
have
a promotional budget. The launch party saw to that,’ Tom wailed in despair.

It will lead to other things,’ she pleaded.

‘No, Cathy, it won’t, it was to please my theatre friends, that’s all. They asked half the audience in, so no future business in that crowd… and we were hours getting the place right.’

‘
And
we had to send June home in a taxi, which was miles,’ Cathy agreed.

‘
And
we had to pay her two extra hours because she worked them. I had no idea it was going to go on so late.’ Tom was contrite.

‘Okay, three jobs this month and we lost seventy-six pounds on the first. I wonder what we’ll end up losing? If we did it spectacularly enough they could use our books as an exhibit on some marketing course. How
not
to go into business.’

‘We’ll have to
get
bloody books, you know, otherwise we’ll end up in jail as well as bankrupt. It all looked so simple in theory, didn’t it?’ Tom sounded less cheerful.

‘What we need just now is one of those strokes of luck we kept saying that we were having,’ Cathy said.

The phone rang. Cathy was nearer.

‘Oh, yes, James, how are you?’ Tom watched as Cathy frowned.

‘Yes of course, James, it would be a pleasure.’ She put the receiver down. ‘You’ll never guess what James wants.’

‘Nothing would surprise me these days. It’s not one of those strokes of luck we were looking for, is it?’

I don’t think so,’ Cathy said slowly. ‘He wants us to teach him to make a supper for two people, three courses. He says we are to buy the ingredients and come to his place. He’s costing our time at fifteen pounds an hour. Minimum four hours, including the shopping.’

‘When does he want it?’ Tom asked. ‘We’re very busy this week, we’re going to…’

‘No, it’s ages away, but he’s going to pay us in advance to book us, he says it’s proper professional practice and he insists upon it,’ Cathy said, knowing well that James was only trying to put some money into their very meagre bank account.

‘That’s okay. Sixty quid will nearly make up the deficit on the theatre party.’

‘Listen, he said fifteen pounds an hour
each
.’[* *

**]

‘He’s going to pay a hundred and twenty pounds to make a dinner? He’s off his skull.’

‘I suppose it’s for some woman, he did say that discretion was to be a part of it,’ Cathy said.

‘Good. Then let’s not let Simon and Maud know; they’d have it on the six o’clock news,’ said Tom happily.

Once a month Neil and Marcella cooked a meal for them all. They were both utterly hopeless at cooking, and Tom and Cathy itched to get up and do it themselves. It would have taken half the time, and been so much better. But they had to sit through the endless fussing, sauces burning, meat shrivelling and salads being drenched in dressing. It was a ritual.

Tom thought to himself that if they were giving a lesson to poor James Byrne, perhaps they should include their partners as well. But it wasn’t something you could suggest. It would look too critical of all that had gone before. But unexpectedly, it was Marcella who suggested it. When she heard about the lesson she said that she and Neil had been thinking of going secretly to Quentin’s restaurant to ask Brenda and Patrick for a lesson. Could this be the solution, here on their doorstep? A rehearsal for Mr Byrne? This month it was to be Stoneyfield in their own flat. Perfect.

If you were as old as James and he was trying to seduce you, what would you like him to serve you?’ Tom asked Marcella.

‘She mightn’t be old, she might just be a young one,’ Marcella said.

‘Well, what?’

‘Oysters, grilled fillet of sole, French beans and fresh fruit salad with no sugar.’ Marcella spoke with certainty.

‘But that’s because you’ve been on a diet since you were nine,’  Tom complained. ‘She might be a big fat lady dying for steak and kidney pie and apple pie to follow.’

‘Yes, but she wouldn’t like it on a date, she likes to be treated as if she were fragile, even if she isn’t.’

Tom thought this was a good idea, and so did Cathy. ‘We should put Marcella down as our group psychologist,’ she said approvingly. And, as always, Tom beamed at the compliment for his girl. He loved people to praise Marcella, as he sometimes feared that they didn’t know her well enough to realise how much she cared about the enterprise.

The cookery lesson was much discussed. Tom and Cathy had to accept that Neil and Marcella were even more hopeless than they had suspected. Everything was going to take three times as long as it should have; they would get flustered and confused. Even the very language of cooking, the simplest terms, seemed to upset them. Tom and Cathy had presented them with the instructions, which had proved far from clear. They didn’t know what it meant to ‘reduce’ something. Neil was in a rush to leave, and he read the list briefly.

I suppose reduce means you throw half of it away?’ he said absent-mindedly as he hunted for his papers.

I can’t believe that anyone thinks you are an adult,’ Cathy laughed. ‘Of
course
it doesn’t mean that, why would you make twice as much and throw half away?’

Neil shrugged. ‘It’s all very odd, anyway. See you tonight at their place.’ He kissed her and was gone.

Cathy wanted to shout that he mustn’t be late, Marcella was giving up a dance class to be there. But somehow it sounded trivial, so she didn’t. Tom reported that Marcella thought to reduce something meant you had it wrong and should start again with fewer ingredients.

‘We have an uphill job,’ he said sadly.

Cathy drove past a house where she knew her mother would be working. Lizzie’s face lit up when she saw her.

‘Well now, isn’t that a wonderful surprise,’ she said, settling into the van.  I feel like a great lady driving in this. I hope they all see me.’

Cathy looked at her fondly. She met so many people who would have looked askance at getting into a big white delivery van, but to Lizzie Scarlet it was a treat.

‘Did the others like cooking at home when they were young, or was it only me?’ Cathy asked.

‘Marian was quite good. She’s so efficient about everything she touches, it came automatically to her, but the others didn’t have the feel that you do. They didn’t have much time, really; they all left so young. What was there to stay for, when there was all that fortune to be made over there?’

Lizzie sighed. Ever since the first boy had emigrated to Chicago to his uncle’s house, and told the youngsters about the wages that could be earned in Illinois, her children could barely wait to be eighteen and out at the airport. They had been amazed when Cathy had never shown the slightest interest in leaving. Her mother looked tired, as well she might after a day’s cleaning.

‘Are those kids too much for you, Mam?’

‘No, I tell you, I like their company and your dad is great altogether with them. He’ll take no guff from them. I’m inclined to be a bit more…’

I know you are, Mam. You’re too kind to everyone.’

‘And it’s
nice
having children around. I was always getting ready to look after babies again when you and Neil… that is, if you and Neil…’

‘Mam, I told you lots of times there isn’t any possibility of that, not for ages yet, if ever. We’re far too busy now.’

‘God be with the old days when you didn’t have any choice in the matter,’ her mother said.

‘Now you sound just like Tom’s mother, talking about the good old days. They were
not
good old days, Mam, you had eleven in your family and Da had ten in his. Where was the chance for any of you?’

‘We did all right,’ Lizzie’s voice was small and tight and she had taken offence.

‘Mam, of course you did, and you did so well by all of us, but it wasn’t easy for you, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Yes. Yes, I see.’

They had arrived at St Jarlath’s Crescent. Her mother was still hurt by the thoughtless remark.

Cathy looked at her pleadingly.  I don’t suppose there’s a hope you’d make me some tea?’

‘Well of course, if you have the time.’

‘And would there be any apple tart left, do you think?’

‘Oh, come on Cathy, stop behaving like a five-year-old.’ Lizzie was rooting for her key and dying to put the kettle on. Forty-five seconds, the longest sulk she had ever known her mother to hold. Cathy felt a prickle of tears in her eyes.

They gathered in Tom’s flat in Stoneyfield. All the ingredients were out on the table and Marcella was looking at them doubtfully. There was no sign of Neil yet.

‘Should we start?’ Tom wondered. Neil and Marcella made such heavy weather out of everything, they might not eat until midnight otherwise. Patiently Tom and Cathy explained, and industriously poor Marcella struggled to follow their instructions. Then Cathy’s mobile rang. Neil was tied up, he’d be there in an hour, could they start without him.

‘Traitor,’ called out Marcella from the other side of the room.

‘Swear to her I’ll be there and do my share,’ he begged.

But Cathy had taken too many of those calls to make any such promise. They ran out of wine, and Neil, who was meant to be looking after that side of things, still hadn’t turned up. Cathy knew he might easily forget so she called him. The background noise was a pub.

‘Sorry honey, I’m on my way.’ He sounded annoyed to be nagged.

‘Just to remind you about the wine,’ she said coldly.

‘God, I’m glad you did. I forgot totally, can you open what you have there just in case…’

‘We have,’ she was brisk.

‘All
right
, Cathy,’ Neil said.

He was in Stoneyfield an hour later, exactly two hours after the time they were meant to start. He had brought a bottle of expensive wine which he opened and poured for them. Marcella had fumbled her way through a starter and a chicken with wine main course, and she was exhausted.

‘You’re to do the dessert Neil,’ she said, collapsing in a chair.

‘Of course I will,
and
the washing up.’ Neil smiled them all into good humour.

‘Tell me what was this reducing business, anyway? I asked someone at the meeting and they thought it had to do with calories.’

They explained. ‘Well why don’t they use proper words like… well, make a concentrate?’ Neil objected.

‘Or like boil the divil out of it?’ Marcella said.

Tom and Cathy took notes on the cookery lesson. It would have to be radically altered before they presented it to James Byrne. The salmon mousse was beyond them, they would have to take that off the list. The coq au vin was fine, but it took them all day and all night. The tiramisu looked and tasted disgusting. Tom couldn’t see why, but it was soggy and bore no relation to what they had been asked to do. The food was terrible, but somehow the evening was not ruined. Cathy noticed that Marcella ate practically nothing and only sipped at her wine. Neil offered to keep his promise of washing up but Tom and Cathy knew they would be there until dawn if they let him, so they cleared the place up at high speed.

‘Cleans up a treat, doesn’t it?’ Cathy admired their handiwork.

Tom looked around the flat. ‘It’s very practical, but I wouldn’t want to live here for ever. It’s like as if we’re passing through without leaving any mark at all.’

Once he had mentioned it, the place did look very minimalist. Clean white walls and empty surfaces. No pictures on the walls, not many books on the shelf, no ornaments on the mantelpiece or window ledge. A little like a hotel suite, in fact.

I know, I feel the same about Waterview sometimes. Move Neil’s books out in one van load and it’s just the way we got it. But then would you want it like St Jarlath’s Crescent, where there isn’t a space to put anything down?’ she asked.

‘Or Fatima. I know,’ Tom agreed.

The happy medium was something that eluded the world, they all agreed.

They had no idea how hard it was to make contacts. People either didn’t consider themselves in the league which hired a caterer, or if they did then they already knew someone who was doing just fine. Geraldine and Ricky gave them names, but they drew blank after blank. Tom was determined not to be downcast.

‘Listen, we’ll do leaflets and get some kid to deliver a thousand or two.’

If Cathy thought it was useless she didn’t say so. Sometimes, after a fruitless day of searching for work, she would say that it was only Tom’s enthusiasm that kept her going. And it was sincere, he really believed it. He wasn’t just trying to keep her spirits up. They were so good, they had such imaginative ideas and worked so hard. It was only a matter of time until everyone realised this and recognised them for what they were. But Tom never sat back and just waited for things to happen: he was always on the move looking, asking and hunting.

I hate breaking into your time, Geraldine, but could I come and spend just thirty minutes going through your client list again? You
know
we’re good, it wouldn’t be compromising you to recommend us.’