Alice Ross - The Cotswolds Cookery Club - a deliciously uplifting feel-good read

‘I am.’ Kate plonked down her basket on the island. ‘Mia’s had a tummy bug for the last four days. Honestly, give me animals to deal with any day of the week. But let’s not talk about kids. I’ve come here to escape for a few hours and just be me. I know it’s a complete cliché, but since having children I feel like I’ve completely lost the sense of who I am. Like nothing else I’ve achieved matters now I’m a mother.’

Melody puffed out a sigh as she hooked a butcher’s apron over her head. ‘Don’t knock it. I’d love a family. We’ve been trying for the last eight months but it’s just not happening.’

Kate grimaced. ‘Oops. Me and my big mouth. Sorry. I had no idea. But don’t despair. I’m sure it will happen. It took me ages to fall pregnant the first time. And look what’s happened since.’

Melody nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m sure it will happen. I’m just being impatient. And as you don’t want to talk about kids, let’s change the subject.’

‘Thank you.’ Kate flashed a grateful smile. ‘Actually, on a non-kid positive note, I do have some news. My dad’s agreed to join the bridge club—’ She broke off as the plastic container Eleanor had just removed from the basket fell to the floor.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, bending down to retrieve it.

Kate carried on. ‘Anyway, that might not seem remotely significant to you lot. But, having done nothing more than mope about and kick his heels since Mum died, I’m looking on it as a major leap for mankind.’

‘So you should,’ said Connie. ‘It’s lovely to hear he’s becoming interested in things again.’

‘It is. Not to mention a weight off my already overloaded mind. If he hadn’t agreed to it, I might have had to resort to desperate measures and sign him up for the cookery club.’

At which remark, Eleanor’s newly retrieved box tumbled to the floor again.

‘Crikey, for the first time in my life I think my mouth is watering,’ giggled Kate as, at the gleaming silver Aga, Melody lifted the lid on the simmering peperonata and tossed in the red and yellow peppers Eleanor had just sliced. At the kitchen island, meanwhile, Connie emptied a tub of mascarpone into a bowl, tipped in caster sugar and began furiously whisking.

‘Meatballs with peperonata followed by baked figs with mascarpone whip. Heaven on two plates,’ exclaimed Kate. ‘Although goodness only knows what my waistline will make of it all. Rather depressingly, I’ve put on two stone since having the twins.’

‘Well, if my fitness classes are ever approved by the Residents’ Committee, you’ll have to come along,’ said Melody, replacing the lid on the pan and turning up the heat. ‘But don’t hold your breath.’

‘I can’t believe they haven’t given you the green light,’ huffed Eleanor. ‘Zumba and boxercise would make a lovely change from all that ponsey Tai Chi and flower arranging they do in the hall these days.’

‘Tell that to Celia Smythe,’ retorted Melody, now pouring olive oil into a frying pan. ‘The woman won’t approve them because she thinks I’m nothing but a bimbo gold-digger.’

‘Then she can’t know you very well,’ pointed out Kate. ‘Anybody who’s spent more than five minutes in your company can tell you’re potty about your husband.’

‘Hear, hear,’ piped up Eleanor. ‘And Celia Smythe wants to take a good look around. In my opinion, half the women in Little Biddington – including those in her inner circle – are only with their husbands because of their big fat wallets.’

‘I thought you were going to say big fat something else’s there,’ chuckled Kate.

‘Trust you to lower the tone, Kate Ellis. And you a respectable married woman and all.’

‘Well, I might be married – or at least I think I am,’ tittered Kate, ‘but I’m not sure about the respectable bit. The other day I was pegging out washing in my knickers because Milo had chucked a carton of blackcurrant juice all over me. And just to complete the image for you – they were a large greying pair with frayed elastic.’

‘Too much info,’ puffed Eleanor.

‘Indeed. Heaven only knows what Domenique, the au pair, makes of it all. If I was her, I’d have legged it months ago and found myself a normal family.’

‘I’m sure you are normal,’ said Connie, removing a tray of figs from under the grill.

‘Far from it, I assure you. Oh, those figs look gorgeous.’

‘Don’t they. I’m going to let them cool before I serve them. In the meantime, I’ll finish the whip.’

‘What else are you putting in it?’

‘Marsala wine and orange juice. Then I’ll fold in a couple of egg whites and maybe a bit more sugar. And that should be it.’

‘Mmm,’ gushed Eleanor. ‘Can I propose that we cook together every night?’

‘You can. But then you’d be talking serious weight issues,’ chuckled Melody.

‘True. But would we care?’ tittered Eleanor, as Eric and Tilly hared into the room.

‘That’s never Eric,’ remarked Kate.

‘It is.’

‘Wow. He’s perked up.’

‘In more ways than one,’ snorted Connie.

At eleven o’clock, the group declared the meeting a resounding success, said their goodbyes, took their leave of Melody and stepped out into the balmy night. Kate and Eleanor chatted incessantly as the three of them – and a very miffed Eric at having been dragged away from Tilly – made their way through the village. Connie chipped in with the odd comment, but wasn’t in the mood for talking. She wanted to bask in the triumph of another great evening: excellent food, fantastic company and probably one glass of wine too many. The club might be small but it was perfectly formed, she concluded, her ears suddenly pricking up as they sauntered past Cedarwood Cottage.

‘How’s Max these days?’ Kate enquired of Eleanor. ‘I haven’t seen him for ages.’

‘He’s great. Usual Max.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Kate, her voice ringing with affection, just as Eleanor’s had when she’d talked about him.

Causing Connie to conclude that Max Templeton might be charming all the other female residents of Little Biddington. But he’d have to go a very long way – preferably to another continent – to impress her.

Chapter Seven

Accompanying Eric on his trot around the village the following morning, Connie couldn’t stop smiling. Restless after her walk home from the cookery club meeting at Melody’s house – and, more specifically, after Eleanor and Kate’s exchange about Max Templeton – she’d texted Liam last night.

Got some whipped cream going spare. Any ideas what to do with it?

Plenty. Be there in fifteen minutes had zipped back the reply.

Which had both amazed and delighted her. And not least because the old Connie wouldn’t have dreamed of:

1. propositioning a guy

2. acting like a brazen harlot

3. using whipped cream for anything other than panna cotta or salted coffee caramel sauce

The old Connie would have stressed, deliberated and prevaricated. The new – much more confident one – had simply made a decision and gone with it. And even if Liam had turned her down, she wouldn’t have viewed it as the world’s greatest rejection, like she would have before moving to the Cotswolds. She’d merely have brushed it off and looked forward to enjoying his company the next time they were both in the mood.

Floating along Little Biddington’s adorable streets, on a bubble of orgasmic euphoria, aware of the soppy smile on her face, and lost in X-rated musings, she started as she heard Eleanor calling her.

‘Another lovely night last night, wasn’t it?’ the older woman gushed, as Connie approached the newsagent’s. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m still so full I haven’t managed any breakfast.’