Page 23 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
“We’ll be clearing in about twenty minutes, until then maybe just go and mingle? Make sure everything is okay? I need to start on the mains.”
He nods and takes a deep breath – gathering his game face, I realise. He heads over to introduce himself to George, who he hasn’t yet met, and I see my father-in-law stand up to shake his hand. George is not far from ninety, but still hale and hearty, with a shock of white hair and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Exactly the same eyes as Simon, to the point where I sometimes find it hard to look at them.
I head back to the kitchen, grateful for the breakneck speed of our work. Work is good. Work keeps you busy, and I like busy. We all know what the devil does with idle hands, and in my experience idle minds are even worse.
The main courses come in three options, although nobody here tonight has ordered the veggie dish so I’ve made it for the girls to try later. Tonight, I have locally sourced lamb with garlic-and-thyme-infused fondant potatoes, purple sprouting broccoli fresh from Archie’s vegetable patch and a rich red-wine gravy.
The fish is fresh Dover sole, with more to be sourced for tomorrow’s guests on the day. That comes with a delicatelyflavoured lemon-and-mint risotto, salsa verde made with home-grown herbs, and spring greens wilted in butter. If I do say so myself, it’s pretty darn good – real food, cooked well, and served in portions designed to satisfy the stomach as well as the eyes.
I wait to see that everyone is happily enjoying their soup, and head back into the kitchens. The next half hour is the usual mix of chaos and calm – minor burns from boiling water, swearing, heat from the ovens and people bumping into each other. It’s all the usual clamour of a busy kitchen, and I love it. Marcy and Sophie are fantastic additions, and I wonder how I ever did this without two assistants in the past.
Zack starts clearing as soon as people are done, and joins in with serving. To give him his due, he does it with style – he clearly has done this before, even if it was many years ago.
All of the dishes are delivered without incident, and I lean back against the serving counter and look on as my friends tuck in. Even now, after doing this all of my adult life, I still get a thrill from watching it – seeing the happy faces, hearing the sighs of pleasure as the first forkful hits the taste buds. I know I could have served up fish and chips and this lot would have been happy, but it’s a relief to see them all enjoying it.
As they near the end, I clink a fork against a glass to get their attention, and all of their party-hat-wearing heads turn in my direction.
“Okay, people – before we bring out the pud, a reminder that usual rules apply. You are my guinea pigs, and I need feedback. Let me know if anything didn’t work, or you think anything could be done better.”
There are rumbles of chatter at this, and most of them just shout out compliments and tell me it was perfect. George holds up a wooden paddle with the number 10 painted on it – it’s an old ping-pong bat, one we used when we did aStrictly Come Dancing-themed party a few years ago.
I see the Betties taking it more seriously though, their heads bent together as they discuss things. They’re professional bakers, and they get what I’m asking for – fine tuning. The Betties are in their seventies, and one of them – Big Betty – is tiny, and the other – Little Betty – is amazonian. They’ve been a couple as long as I can remember, and got married as soon as they were legally allowed to. When they’re not baking, they’re usually to be found watching action flicks that involve sub-machine guns and heavily muscled men fighting their way through enemies of indeterminate nationality. Like most things in Starshine, they’re not quite what you expect.
They nod over to me, and I know they’ll give me their advice later. It will be valuable, and I will not take it as a criticism.
We clear the tables, and emerge with the desserts. Both options are rhubarb based, because of Archie’s bumper crop – nothing quite beats food that is fresh from the earth. There’s a traditional crumble with vanilla and lemon custard, and a rhubarb and ginger sorbet with dark-chocolate shavings.
I head first to Cally, who is slumped in her seat holding a glass of wine, her party hat all askew.
“Cally, I know you ordered the sorbet because you’re on a diet,” I say, placing dishes in front of her, “but I also know you actually want the crumble. So I’ve brought you both.”
She looks up at me and grins, saying: “You’re an evil genius. Do you want me to do your hair tomorrow?”
I usually just bundle everything up into a wonky bun and hope for the best, but there is something to be said for having your own personal hair stylist on tap. She does some kind of magic thing where she straightens it, and it flows in a smooth curtain instead of looking like a bird’s nest.
“That would be lovely,” I say. “Yes please.”
“Great. I’ll see you whenever suits you, assuming I haven’t gone into a pudding coma…”
I laugh and leave her to it, heading into the kitchen to start on the clear-up. The girls are ahead of the game, putting away produce and sanitising the surfaces, and Zack is standing behind a cloud of steam as he opens the dishwasher.
I notice that he has a red-wine gravy stain on his posh shirt, and fight the urge to go and clean it off for him. I’m sure Zack has many other shirts.
“What happens now?” he asks, as the steam cloud swirls around him. The effect is a bit like a rock music video for middle-aged people.
“Now,” Sophie replies as she carefully hand-dries the mezzaluna, “we all go to the pub!”
“Though to be fair,” Marcy adds, “since I’ve been here, it seems like that’s the answer to ‘what happens now’ on most nights!”
“Not true,” I say, taking the mezzaluna from Sophie. I still feel nervous about any of my offspring handling especially sharp objects. “Sometimes we go to the community centre and watch a film, or meet up at one of our houses, or…”
“Go to the pub?” Zack suggests helpfully as I trail off.
“Well. Yeah, I suppose there is a fair bit of that – it’s a sociable place, what can I say?”
Before long, we hear chanting from the main room, along with the sound of party blowers and slow handclapping.
“Co-nnie, Co-nnie, Co-nnie!” the chant goes, making me grin.
