Cooking Up Christmas. Katie Ginger

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СКАЧАТЬ It just wore off a bit in London. Believe me, I still found myself saying things like “Ooo, it’s going to rain,” every time I came home and saw a cow sitting down.’ Mark stared, astonished.

      ‘Well, I love it,’ said Lola, smiling. ‘And us country folk always say weird things like that. My mum used to say wind from the east for two weeks at least when we were facing a cold snap—’

      ‘Or saluting magpies,’ added Esme.

      ‘Sweet Barbra Streisand,’ Mark mumbled, then smiled broadly. ‘But it is actually very cute, even though it’s in the middle of nowhere. Did you know we couldn’t use the satnav to get here? It tried to take us into a field. We got a very strange look from a horse when we pulled up at its gate. It’s a good job you texted us directions.’

      Helena’s eyes were wide as she tried her best to smile. ‘Who was the last person to live here?’

      Esme stared at the ground and mumbled, ‘A crazy old lady. But it’s much better now I’ve cleaned up.’

      ‘I’m telling you now, my sweet,’ said Mark, ‘you are not buying any cats.’

      ‘Deal,’ Esme replied, and led them inside.

      Esme sat on the old worn sofa, now covered with pretty throws and cushions donated by Carol and Alice. Leo hadn’t liked cushions. He found them annoying, so Esme hadn’t ever really bought any, but as this was her home, she could decorate it however she wished. Joe had even said she could paint if she wanted too; the landlord didn’t mind at all. The owners didn’t care what she did as long as the rent was paid and someone was in there so it didn’t get damp. Mark brushed the seat with his hands before sitting and Esme tutted at him before bringing over a tray with steaming cups of tea.

      ‘It does have a certain something,’ said Lola. ‘It’s old-fashioned and homely.’

      ‘I think it’s called shabby chic,’ Esme replied.

      ‘Definitely shabby, sweetie, not so much chic.’ After gawping around, Mark gave Esme a reassuring grin. ‘But I agree, it does have a certain something. It’s bloody cold though.’

      ‘It doesn’t have central heating,’ Esme replied.

      Mark’s astonishment returned and Esme had to stop herself laughing at his incredulous expression. ‘How do you keep warm?’

      ‘I’ve got a log fire but I don’t know how to light it. So it’s lots of jumpers and this little four-bar fire-thing Dad gave me. I might even treat myself to some thermals.’

      ‘Jesus wept,’ he replied, shaking his head.

      Lola sat forward and took a cup of tea. ‘I’ve been thinking about this whole cookbook thing.’ Esme worried she was going to say she’d changed her mind and now thought it all a terrible idea, or that Esme was mental. ‘I think you should start a blog while you do it and record the recipes you test.’

      ‘Me? Write a blog?’ Esme fiddled with the corner of a cushion. Technology wasn’t her strong point and whilst she was quite outgoing, did the world care what she had to say?

      Helena brightened. ‘Lola, that’s a great idea. Esme, you should totally write a blog, you’d be amazing. And if you’re cooking and stuff, testing recipes, you could post all the ones you’re not going to use in the book.’

      Esme considered this new development. Lola did work in marketing, which meant she knew more about this stuff than any of them. If she said it was a good idea, it probably was. She could start a blog with no outlay, but could she write stuff that people actually wanted to read?

      ‘I think that if you want to publish a recipe book,’ said Lola, ‘it’d be good for you to build your own brand first. Then you’ll be well known, or at least known, when you’re approaching publishers; you’ll have an audience ready-made for them to sell to.’

      Esme pictured her name on a website with people writing kind comments about her food, then she’d be mentioned in magazines and on TV shows and soon they’d be referring to her as a blogging sensation now launching her own recipe book. Okay, so maybe that was getting a little bit ahead of herself, but if she was going to embark on fulfilling her dream, she might as well dream big. ‘Okay,’ she said, nodding. ‘Yes, I will. I’ll do it. We need a name though.’

      ‘You have a name,’ said Mark, teasingly.

      ‘You know what I mean,’ Esme replied. ‘For the blog. I can’t just call it Esme’s Blog. Even I think that’s boring and I know nothing about marketing.’

      ‘How about The Easy Cook?’ said Mark. ‘Don’t you say all your recipes are easy to make?’

      Helena laughed. ‘No way.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘It makes me sound like a slapper,’ Esme cut in.

      ‘What about The Outback Cook?’ offered Lola. ‘You are in the middle of nowhere.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Mark shook his head. ‘She’s not Australian and the back of beyond isn’t the same as the outback. People will expect recipes for kangaroo meat or something.’ Esme’s mind shot back to Joe. He’d mentioned travelling to Australia. Then he’d suddenly switched the conversation back to business. It was a stupid thing to say but he’d grown up a lot since she’d seen him last. Not just physically. He’d seemed too old in a way, weighed down almost, but then, being a grown-up did that to you sometimes.

      ‘Recipeasy?’ asked Helena.

      ‘I like it, but I think it’s taken,’ said Esme. She regarded the old furniture and the ancient kitchen, her grandma’s recipe book already sitting on the worktop waiting for her. ‘How about Grandma’s Kitchen? I’ll be using my grandma’s recipe book and you guys know how special she was to me.’ Thinking about the blog, she wanted the world to know how special her grandma had been. So full of advice and love, and with the most caring, nurturing nature. Esme had loved her with all her heart.

      Esme’s friends turned to her and for a moment, said nothing, then their faces erupted in wide grins. ‘It’s perfect,’ said Mark, clapping.

      Helena nodded. ‘I love it.’

      ‘Definitely,’ said Lola. ‘It’s just right.’

      ‘That’s got to be it, hasn’t it?’ Esme bounced in her seat with excitement.

      ‘To Grandma’s Kitchen,’ said Helena and they all clinked their tea cups as a toast. The living-room light flickered for a few seconds and Mark and Helena eyed each other.

      ‘Ghosts, or dodgy electrics?’ he asked.

      ‘Neither,’ Esme replied. ‘It’s just that bulb is a bit loose.’

      Mark shook his head. ‘I do hope you know what you’re doing, Ezzy.’

      Esme chuckled. ‘Yeah, so do I.’

      After they finished their tea, Esme gave them a tour of the house and enjoyed watching Mark’s expression when he saw the bathroom.

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