Fiona Gibson - The Woman Who Upped and Left - A laugh-out-loud read that will put a spring in your step!

Whilst the women are definitely younger than I am, the sole male student present is ridiculously youthful: he has the carefree air of a gap year boy, complete with a mop of long dark hair, messily ponytailed, and an extravagant sleeve tattoo. How on earth am I going to fit in here? I mean, what will we talk about? I sense that flurry of apprehension starting up again.

The room is split into several cooking areas, each with its own worktop, oven and sink. The walls are whitewashed brickwork and shelves bear numerous stainless steel containers and bottles of various oils. Clumps of fresh herbs and garlic bulbs dangle from silver hooks, and several women in white overalls are buzzing around efficiently. Heck, I’ll just throw myself into the cooking. It’s always appealed to me, the idea of being able to rustle up proper, grown-up meals rather than the teen-friendly fare I consume daily. I could start inviting friends round more: maybe even Stevie. Yep, I sense my oven chip days are over …

Chloe reappears with a tray of shimmering glasses. ‘Would you like a drink, Audrey?’

‘Oh, thank you.’

She smiles briskly. ‘Wine, sparkling water or elderflower cordial?’

‘Cordial please,’ I say, hoping it’ll mask any lingering scent of Tanqueray.

A burst of deep, barking laughter rattles down the room. ‘That’s Brad,’ Chloe adds with a wry smile, indicating the huge bear of a man who’s just strolled in. ‘He’s your teacher. He’s an amazingly talented chef, but then, you’ll know all about him already …’

‘Yes, of course,’ I say quickly, assessing his broad, ruddy face topped off with a mop of cherubic pale blond curls. Several women have gathered around and are gazing at him reverentially while he holds court.

‘The plan is to have a bite to eat and get to know each other,’ Chloe continues cheerfully, ‘then you’ll start cooking …’

‘Really? We’re cooking today?’

She nods. ‘Didn’t you receive your itinerary when you booked?’

‘Um … no. It was a sort of last-minute thing.’

‘Well,’ she says kindly, ‘don’t worry. Just go with the flow and I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.’ With that, she scampers away to greet another new arrival.

It’s Hugo, thank goodness. He’s all jovial smiles as he pulls on his apron, pins on his badge and takes a glass from Chloe’s tray. ‘Do help yourselves to the buffet, everyone,’ she calls out, and we all drift towards the enormous table which is now entirely covered with platters of beautifully-presented miniature delicacies. There are tiny speckled eggs and prawns blanketed in what looks like fluffy foliage. There are dainty rolls of some kind of ham wrapped around dates, and tiny pancakes with blobs of creamy stuff, topped with little black beads. It’s quite dizzying.

‘Well, this is quite a spread, isn’t it?’ Hugo grabs a plate and starts loading it up with enthusiasm.

‘It all looks delicious,’ I agree. ‘Mmm, I like these pancakes.’

‘Blinis,’ he corrects me, adding quickly, ‘At least, I think that’s what they’re called. You know, the little Russian things …’

‘Oh yes,’ I say as he expertly shells one of the tiny eggs. I want to ask him what kind of bird might have laid it – a pigeon perhaps? – as he seems approachable and I’m warming to him already. At least he’s around my age.

‘Hang on a sec,’ he says, putting down his plate and reaching for my badge. ‘It’s the wrong way up,’ he adds with a grin.

‘Oh!’ I laugh as he repositions it. ‘So, um, how are you feeling about the course?’

‘A bit apprehensive, I suppose, but who cares if we mess up? I’m just regarding it as a bit of fun.’

‘Me too. I didn’t think we’d be thrown into cooking today, though. I thought, you know, we’d be broken in gently …’

‘You’ll be fine,’ he insists. ‘You seem like a very capable person, Audrey.’

‘Really?’ I ask with a smile.

‘Yes, um … I’m sorry …’ He flushes endearingly. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop when we were arriving but I couldn’t help overhearing …’

I sip my cordial, genuinely uncomprehending.

‘… It’s just,’ Hugo goes on, ‘I gather things don’t go too well at home in your absence. And I thought, ah, she’s one of those women who runs everything brilliantly, like a well-oiled machine, and whenever she’s not on hand it all falls apart …’

I peer at him, fascinated by his observation. ‘Like a well-oiled machine? Whatever makes you think that?’

‘Well,’ he explains, ‘you’re certainly very tolerant, telling your other half how to use the washing machine.’

I watch as he pops the egg into his mouth. ‘You thought I was on the phone to my husband?’

‘Well, er, I just assumed …’

I laugh loudly. ‘That wasn’t my husband. I don’t actually have one. It was my son.’

‘Oh! Oh, I see …’ He chuckles awkwardly. ‘Sorry, Audrey. It’s just the way it sounded …’

‘That’s okay,’ I say, grinning at the thought of my non-existent, appliance-phobic husband. ‘It’s ridiculous anyway. I mean, Morgan’s not a baby. He’s eighteen and he should be able to cope on his own.’

‘I’m sure he can,’ Hugo says firmly.

‘You’re right. In fact, I suspect he could be perfectly capable. He just botches things up – I mean, if I ask him to hoover I can guarantee he’ll choke the tube with a sock …’

‘… Smart move,’ Hugo remarks.

‘Exactly. It’s his way of getting out of doing stuff …’

‘Phoney ineptitude,’ he adds with a smirk.

‘Phoney ineptitude?’ repeats the slender blonde woman who’s arrived at our side.

‘It means pretending you can’t do something when you’re perfectly capable,’ I explain, checking her name badge: Lottie.

‘Oh, I don’t need to pretend,’ she exclaims, widening her blue eyes. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before …’

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