Yes Chef, No Chef - By Susan Willis Page 0,39
to the cars and Sarah declared it was so good to see her looking much happier.
Frances was waiting for her the next morning with a look of slight trepidation in her eyes. “Well?” she asked. “Is it OK? I’ve never been in Claire’s flat and worried last night that you wouldn’t like it?”
Katie smiled at her kindly. “It’s great, Fran,” she said. “It’s just the job for a couple of months. The girls helped me move in then we went to Sarah’s for supper and I got back around seven. And then by the time I’d ironed clothes for this week, rang mum with the address, had a shower and pottered around it was time for bed.”
“Oh that’s good, and did you manage to sleep?” Francis asked.
Katie booted up her PC. “You, know, I didn’t think I would but then I realised I’ve been in three different beds this week, so it was nothing unusual and I went out like a light.”
The last bit was a little white lie because she’d actually lain awake for a while thinking how much her life had changed in just one short week and for one feeble moment she’d wondered if Tim was doing the same but at least he’d only had their break up to unsettle him, he hadn’t lost his home into the bargain. He couldn’t possibly be thinking about her at all she reckoned because if he had he would have been in touch.
Frances called across to her. “Just wait until you read the latest email from the planners about the continuing saga of the missing green leaf coffee mug. It’s bloody hilarious,” she said laughing. “Can you believe the amount of fuss over one mug going missing?”
Smiling back at Frances seemed an effort because once more she could feel another headache starting and wondered if it was just the stress or whether she needed an eye test because this was the third time in two days she’d had to take painkillers.
Rubbing her forehead she answered, “Well, all I can say is if this is all they have to write on emails, they can’t be as busy as they’re always complaining they are.”
Deciding the headache was just stress she forced herself to concentrate and began to read through emails and organise the teams work for the day. The new packaging had arrived for the lemon desserts and Frances applied the new label onto an empty pot admiring the printers work. Frances had already edited every single word on the label checking it against the proofs to make sure it was word perfect and thankfully it was.
After lunch she asked Harry to double check their arrangements for the trip to Shrewsbury the following day and suggested they go straight to Paddington station after work at four o’clock so they could check into the hotel ready for dinner at eight. They had to travel the night before because production in the factory was scheduled to begin early the next morning at seven o’clock sharp.
The train left Paddington on time and almost as soon as she relaxed back in the warmth of the carriage she put her head on the side of the window and instantly fell asleep, only jumping awake at Harry touching her arm.
“Not long now and we’ll be at Shrewsbury station,” he said quietly.
Snapping her eyes open and rubbing the crick in her neck she apologised, “Heavens, I’m not much company, am I?” she asked. “Fancy sleeping throughout the journey…”
He laughed. “Oh, not to worry, I’ve finished the last three chapters of my book. It’s about a murder in a restaurant and is quite apt really - the foodie bits were great. I think it must have been written by a chef because it’s so true to life,” he said and then realising what the word chef would mean to her he blushed red and lowered his head. “Sorry, I…I, didn’t mean to, well, you know…”
She squeezed his hand. “Don’t be silly, it’s fine,” she reassured him knowing full well that Frances would have told him and Alice that she’d left Tim.
They listened to the guard announcing their approach to Shrewsbury and she sat up further, buttoning her jacket amidst a general rustle of people gathering their bags and pulling things down from the overhead racks.
Obviously trying to get their conversation back on track, Harry asked, “Katie, when you tell people that you are a food technologist do they often ask if that means you are a chef?”
Smiling at his eager