Julie Caplin - The Little Paris Patisserie

‘What’s with the huffing and puffing?’ asked Nick, turning his head to look her way.

‘Nothing,’ said Nina, closing her eyes. ‘Holy moly, I’m tired. My feet feel like they’ve been stomped on by a dozen elephants.’

‘Wuss,’ teased Nick.

‘I’ve been on the go since nine o’clock this morning,’ said Nina. ‘And the restaurant was rammed. I didn’t even get lunch.’

‘That’s not on. You should say something.’

‘It’s not that easy. Everyone’s busy. There wasn’t time for a proper break.’

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten anything today?’

Nina shrugged. She’d rushed out without breakfast, much to her mother’s consternation. ‘A little.’ Her stomach rumbled rather inconveniently at the very moment as if to dispute her answer. Clearly it didn’t think that a bread roll and a slice of cheese constituted enough.

Nick frowned heavily. ‘Even so. Do you want me to say something to the manager, when they re-open?’

‘No, it’s fine. We’ll be having dinner when we get home.’

‘Well, it isn’t—’

‘You don’t work there, you don’t understand.’ Nina’s voice rose in heat. Typical Nick, assuming that he knew best.

‘I don’t need to understand. There are labour laws. You’re entitled to breaks. It’s—’

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the timely horn fanfare ringtone of his phone booming out through the radio on his handsfree set up.

‘Nick Hadley,’ he said pressing the ‘accept call’ button on the dashboard.

Nina slumped back in her chair, relieved at the interruption; it gave her the perfect opportunity to close her eyes, tune out and pretend to doze for the rest of the way home.

‘Hey Shep, how’re the socks?’ Nina tensed, every sinew locking into place at the sound of a familiar mocking voice. Her brother was often referred to as Shep, short for shepherd, by his friends who seemed obsessed with their childhood version of the carol, ‘While shepherds washed their socks by night’.

‘All good. How are you, Knifeman? Still supporting that shite excuse for a rugby team?’ And apparently Knifeman was the not-so clever nickname for a chef. An arrogant, supercilious, one at that.

‘No words, mate. They were bloody useless against France. And I paid good money for tickets.’

‘What, you went to Stade de France? You jammy git.’

‘Not so jammy when the buggers lost.’

‘Fancy coming over for the Calcutta Cup? You don’t want to be too long in France. You might pick up some bad habits.’

‘Slight problem there.’

‘What?’ asked Nick.

‘I’m laid up. That’s why I’m ringing you.’

Nina pressed her lips together in what some might call a snarky smile. Sebastian clearly had no idea she was there, and she didn’t want him to either. Listening to this ridiculous conversation, no one would ever know they were grown men rather than a pair of adolescents, which would be the obvious inference. She definitely did not want to remember Sebastian as a teenager or how she’d made a complete dick of herself over him. Unfortunately having a teenage crush on your brother’s best friend was possibly the worst thing you could do because ten years on, even now, someone in the family would still occasionally bring it up.

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve only gone and broken my leg.’

‘Shit, man, when?’

‘A couple of days ago. Taken out by one of those bloody cabin bag pull-along fuckers. Twisted as I fell.’

‘Ouch. You OK?’

‘No,’ Sebastian growled. ‘Everything’s gone tits up. Turns out one of the new places I bought in Paris has a metaphorical sitting tenant. The previous owner ran pastry courses and forgot to tell me that there’s a seven-week course coming up that’s all booked and paid for.’

‘Can’t you cancel?’ asked Nick, flicking the indicator and turning the car off the main road towards the village.

‘Unfortunately, I committed to it. I thought I might as well because I can get my French contractors to start work on the other two places first and they’ll take a couple of months, so I might as well keep this going. Which would have been fine if I hadn’t broken my sodding leg.’

In the darkness, Nina pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t normally wish misfortune on anyone but somehow Sebastian just irked her. It wasn’t his success she begrudged, Lord knew he’d worked hard enough to become a top chef with a small restaurant chain of his own. Too hard, if you asked her. No, it was his superior, dismissive attitude. Over the last ten years, whenever she’d seen him, she’d always managed to appear at a disadvantage. And the last time had been truly mortifying.

‘Can’t you get someone else to do it?’

‘I’m not sure I’m going to find anyone at such short notice. The course starts next week. Besides, all I need is a spare pair of legs for the next few weeks. Until I get this cast off.’

‘Nina could help. She’s just been laid off at the restaurant she works at.’

Nina shot up in her seat, narrowing her eyes at her impossibly stupid brother. Had he had a brain fart or something? Seeing the movement in the car, Nick turned and she saw the flash of his teeth in the dark as he gave her a great big grin.

‘With respect Nick, your sister is the last person in the world I’d want helping me.’

Nick’s grin faded. There was a lengthening silence in the car.

Then Sebastian muttered, ‘Oh shit, she’s there, isn’t she?’

With an icy smile, Nina drew herself up. ‘Oh shit, indeed. But don’t worry, with respect Sebastian, castrating the lambs on the farm with my own teeth would be preferable to helping you out.’

With that, she leaned forward and disconnected the call.

The family kitchen was a hive of activity and her mother was bustling about with hands in floral oven gloves, the big kitchen table laid for eight and several pans steaming and bubbling on the big range oven.

‘Nina, Nick. Just in time.’

‘Something smells good,’ said Nick chucking his car keys on the dresser to join the assorted detritus that seemed to collect there on a daily basis, no matter how often their mother tidied up. Despite all four of her grown up sons having left home in varying degrees they continued to treat the kitchen as their own, which Nina’s mother just adored. None of her offspring had strayed very far. Nick, older than her by two years, lived in the farm cottage across the courtyard and helped Dad with the farm and the sheep. Still single, he seemed in no hurry to find a wife and was taking his time checking out potential candidates.

‘Sit down. You must be starving. Where are Dan and Gail? They’d said they’d be here five minutes ago.’

‘Mum, it’s Dan. It’s guaranteed he’ll be late for his own funeral,’ said Nick, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as he unwound his scarf.

‘Don’t talk about things like that,’ she shuddered. ‘They were very busy in the brewery and the farm shop today. Had a coachload in from North Wales. Poor Cath.’ Nina’s mother, Lynda, shot a sympathetic look at Nina’s sister-in-law sitting down at the table slumped over an empty cup of coffee. Cath, who was married to her second oldest brother Jonathon, one of twins, lifted her blonde head and gave Nina a pathetic little wave.

‘It was mental. We ran out of scones and coffee and walnut cake. Honestly those OAPs are like locusts. You’d think they hadn’t had a square meal for days. The cupboards are bare.’

Her mother gave Nina a worried half-smile.

Nina groaned as she slipped off her coat. ‘Don’t worry, as soon as I’ve had dinner I can knock up a batch of scones and make a quick cake. I can do the buttercream in the morning.’