Page 19 of Eden's Comfort Kitchen
‘Next time I’ll be sure to ask someone else. You do that a lot – Ralph letting people have…Where does the food come from? Just so I know for next time. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.’
‘Sorry…’ Livia paused, studying Eden thoughtfully for a moment. ‘That was my fault – I don’t know why I didn’t mention any of that at the start of the night. Should have known someone new might come in and ask you. Most people who come know the drill. It’s usually the same ones.’
‘What is the drill then?’
‘It’s nothing complicated. Ralph just keeps his leftovers for anyone who needs them. Not for long, obviously – it’ll be stuff from the day before; he won’t keep anything that wouldn’t reheat safely. He always says he’d only be binning it anyway. I think it’s a brilliant idea.’
‘Is there a lot of need for that sort of thing?’
‘Oh, there’s a need, all right. That’s the thing about places like this – to outsiders it’s all pretty and everyone’s on holiday, but it’s not like that when you live here. I mean, of course it’s an amazing place and we’re all lucky to live by the sea and everything, but it can be tough making ends meet.’
Eden watched as Livia sprayed the bar and began to wipe it down. She and her mum both did two jobs. Was that because they found it tough to make ends meet? Eden would have thought the ice-cream parlour would be a little goldmine in a place like this, but perhaps that wasn’t how it really was. Perhaps even then it wasn’t enough – it can’t have been if they were forced to do all this extra work, could it?
‘Trouble is,’ Livia continued in between panting breaths as she scrubbed at a sticky spot, ‘a lot of people feel embarrassed about coming in here for Ralph’s bits. Which is a shame. Someof them try to pay a bit towards it, but we can’t take the money because of all the food rules – Ralph can’t be seen to be selling it. Quite honestly, we have to keep the whole thing on the down-low because we might get in trouble just for giving it away. The law is daft like that. But as long as we all keep it between ourselves, we might be able to help a few out. You’ve got to do your bit for your community, haven’t you?’
Eden leaned on her mop. ‘Yes,’ she said absently, a plan already forming in her mind. Wasn’t that what her mum had always said? And her mum did do her bit for her community, for many years. She’d baked and cooked for all sorts of charities and events. All that had only stopped when Eden had…
She didn’t want to think about that now because it still hurt to remember the pain she’d caused her mum. Yet another selfish and thoughtless act she’d rather forget.
‘What if…’ she began slowly. ‘What if there was a proper place they could go? One that wouldn’t have to be secret.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like a subsidised café or something?’
‘That’d be great, I’m sure,’ Livia said briskly as she put the spray away under the counter. ‘Are you volunteering?’ she added with a grin.
‘I don’t know,’ Eden said, her mind racing with possibilities. She wouldn’t even know where to start, but the idea was suddenly so strong and so appealing, it was as if it had grabbed her around the neck and wouldn’t let go. She had some money, and she had time on her hands. Why couldn’t she do it? It would be something to take her mind off her own recent tragedy, to atone for her mistakes, and maybe, just maybe, if her mum could somehow see her from wherever she was, she might look at Eden making a difference for the first time in her life and be a little bit proud.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eden got up early the following morning, despite her late bedtime, and went out exploring. She’d gone to bed thinking about the entirely off-the-cuff idea she’d mooted to Livia the night before about a community kitchen. At first it had been almost a throwaway remark, but it had quickly taken hold. She’d fallen asleep with her mum on her mind too, and they were bittersweet memories of her baking for charity coffee mornings at the local church, cooking pies and casseroles to take to the local shelter, helping prepare Christmas lunch for the lonely and vulnerable old people in their neighbourhood, those who didn’t have family to spend Christmas Day with. She recalled one winter’s day when she’d been revising for exams while her mother baked, and the memory was so alive, so vivid, it was as if she was back there.
‘There you are! Just in time to taste-test!’
Her mother set a tray she’d just taken from the oven down on the counter. It had been snowing outside, the windows framed by a thick frost, the bare branches in the garden heavy with it, but the air in the kitchen was warm and sweet. Edenhad slammed closed a textbook and marched down from her bedroom to find something to drink, certain that she didn’t care one bit about passing a single exam no matter what anyone said.
‘I’m on a diet.’
Eden’s mum wiped flour from her hands and turned to her with a vague frown. She was wearing one of her favourite blouses – baby-blue florals – covered by a pink apron – Eden had always thought she looked so pretty in it. ‘What for?’
‘Because…’ Eden said, going to the fridge. She wanted a cake, of course, but there was a school disco coming up, and she had to look her best.
‘You have a lovely little figure coming; I don’t know what you’re worrying about. Look, I’ve made some chocolate-and-cherry muffins. You always said you loved my chocolate-and-cherry muffins. One won’t hurt you.’
‘One is like five hundred calories or something.’
‘Eden…’ Her mum looked serious. ‘I don’t like this diet talk; it worries me. You really don’t need to be dieting, especially at your age. You’re perfect as you are.’
‘I only want to lose half a stone.’
‘All right…’ her mum replied slowly. ‘If you don’t want to taste-test, then maybe you’d like a break from your books and sit with me here a while? We haven’t chatted for ages, and I could do with the company.’
‘You’re baking.’
‘You could help. You used to love helping me.’
‘Mum, I was about five.’
