her didn’t go down well, though. It was almost as if I irritated her just by opening my mouth. She just shrugged after I voiced my opinion, and we ate the rest of our meal in silence. Afterwards, she stacked the dishwasher with her usual crashing impatience, and I tried not to think about the chipped crockery. It didn’t matter. I could buy new plates.
I suggested we watch a movie I thought she’d like on TV, but she muttered that she had homework to do and disappeared upstairs. And I confess, there was a part of me that sighed with relief because with Tavie gone, I could relax at last…
‘How’s it going, girls?’
Marjery, popping her head round the door, breaks into my thoughts. And instantly, I’m on high alert, glancing around at our preparations, hoping she’ll be pleased.
‘Great!’ I smile at her. ‘We’re right on target to serve starters at seven-thirty.’
She frowns. ‘There’s enough to go around?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Good. I felt bad adding four extra guests to the list at the last minute. But you can cope?’
‘Of course,’ I say smoothly. ‘Absolutely no problem at all.’
Flo steals a glance in my direction as I brazen it out, and I know what she’s thinking.
Marjery doesn’t have to know about my mad panic this afternoon, hoping the last-minute ice-cream would be ready in time!
When Marjery disappears, I feel my entire body slump with relief. I wish there wasn’t so much riding on this and I could just enjoy the experience. But there’s no way I can do that with the mortgage company’s axe hovering over our heads…
Everything will be fine!
But when I check the ice-cream in the freezer, my heart plummets into my sensible flat shoes. The texture isn’t right. Ice crystals have formed, making it slightly gritty on the tongue.
My chest tightens with tension. Serves me right for deciding to use slightly less sugar in the recipe to offset the sweetness of the white chocolate in the meringue roulade. It’s essential to get the balance of solids and liquids right when you’re making ice-cream, and I’ve somehow missed the mark.
Now what?
Flo looks over. ‘Something wrong?’
‘The ice-cream isn’t right.’
‘No?’ She’s over to test it in a second. ‘It tastes great.’
‘It’s got ice crystals?’
She makes a doubtful face. ‘You could still serve it.’
I shake my head firmly. ‘This is the first dessert I’ve made for Marjery. It has to be right.’ The cogs in my mind are whirring. ‘We have black cherries left over, don’t we?’
Flo nods and brings them out of the cool box on the floor. ‘Ta-dah!’
‘Great. I think we should serve the roulade with a black cherry compote. And we’ll whip up some cream.’
‘Good solution,’ says Flo, diving straight into action with the cherries. ‘The compote will be slightly tart – a great foil for the sweetness of the roulade.’
‘I hope so,’ I murmur fervently, my cheeks scorched with panic. ‘It won’t be as specified on the menu, though.’
‘I doubt anyone will mind – just as long as it tastes fabulous.’ She grins. ‘And I’m a hundred per cent certain it will.’
I grin shakily. ‘I like your confidence.’
She laughs. ‘I’m generally right about these things.’
‘How’s the head?’
She groans. ‘Don’t remind me. I’ve got a team of tiny excavators chipping away inside my skull, mining for gold. Although I doubt they’ll find much treasure in my raddled old head.’
‘I keep telling you. You’re still young.’
‘But not young enough to be going out drinking every night,’ she mutters, going to a drawer and rattling around in it.
‘Hey, if you’ve got the stamina for it, why not?’ Far more exciting than sitting in on a Saturday night, watching Strictly…
She doesn’t reply. I guess she didn’t hear me. She’s too focused on getting the cherry compote made, and not for the first time, I give silent thanks that Flo came into my life when she did.
We work in easy silence for a while, as Flo puts together the hot-smoked salmon starters and I begin browning the meat. Soon, the kitchen is filled with glorious herby aromas, which would have my stomach rumbling if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m so on edge about tonight, I couldn’t eat a single thing.
Flo, probably sensing my nerves, remarks that if the main course tastes as good as it smells, Marjery is going to be delighted, and I smile over at her, my stress levels calming just a little.
‘Would you like me to serve the first course, while you’re busy in here?’ Flo asks, as I slide the