A Family Recipe Read online

Apologies in advance for doing one of those embarrassingly sentimental mum things. You know how good I am at those! But I wanted to send you off on your adventure with something to remind you of home, and I couldn’t think of anything better than these recipes. They all come from the little recipe box I keep in the pantry. You and Jasmine have used them often enough over the years because they still have your sticky paw prints on them!

  The oldest recipes go all the way back to your great-great-grandma – the flapjack and the Yorkshire pudding come from her (also good for toad-in-the-hole!). The crumble and the tea loaf come from Kanga – she used to cook them during the war for the people she had living with her at Number 11. The avgolemono and the spanakopita are from my mother, from her travels in Greece … I was not the only thing she brought back!! You can taste the sunshine in them – they are for when the wind is howling outside and you want to feel warmed.

  The rest are from me: things I have made for you over the years. Brownies and pancakes and sausage rolls for sharing. And your favourite suppers: spag bol and chilli and Thai curry. I know you probably know how to cook them, but I wanted you to have a keepsake, a little bit of family history to keep with you. And I know you will probably live on Cheerios and Cheesy Puffs and Chinese takeaways, but maybe from time to time you might want some proper home-made comfort food to share with your new friends.

  I’m so proud of you, darling girl. I know you will fly, and make the most of this wonderful opportunity.

  With lots of love and kisses

  Mum xx

  Laura looked down at the letter, the inevitable tears blurring her eyes, then folded the sheet into three. She tucked it inside the Moleskine notebook she had bought specially. Each page held a different recipe, carefully copied. It had taken her over a week to write it, as she’d had to hide it from everyone. She wanted it to be a surprise, but she was also a bit self-conscious. Was it too sentimental?

  ‘My goodness – it smells absolutely wonderful in here.’

  ‘Kanga! You made me jump.’ Laura put a hand to her chest. ‘I was miles away.’

  Kanga walked through the kitchen, lifting the lid on the pot and smelling it appreciatively. She looked around the room.

  ‘What is this? Fiesta time?’

  ‘You know me. I can’t help myself.’ Laura grinned, sliding the notebook into a drawer. ‘I’m sure Willow would much rather go to the pub with her mates.’

  ‘She did that last night. Tonight’s for family – she knows that.’

  ‘Yes. I want it to be a good send-off, though.’

  ‘You’re a good mummy.’

  ‘I had a good role model.’ Laura smiled at her grandmother. Kanga had brought her up from the age of four, when Laura’s mum had died. The tiny, thoughtful Laura had decided that she didn’t want to call her ‘Granny’ any more, as she was so much more than that, and had christened her Kanga, after her favourite Winnie the Pooh character.

  At ninety-three, Kanga was still more than just a grandmother – though she looked barely seventy-three. She was in a pale-pink linen shirt and black trousers and soft boots, her bright white hair cut close to her jaw, her dark-grey eyes with their hooded lids missing nothing. Of course Laura worried she was too thin, but Kanga had laughed that her appetite had gone with her libido many years ago, and she was much happier for it. ‘I have so much more time now I don’t have to think about sex or food,’ she claimed. Laura wasn’t sure what else there was to live for.

  ‘No Dom?’ asked Kanga, taking a seat at the island.

  ‘He’s got a meeting with the quantity surveyor this afternoon. So he’s bound to stop off at the Wellie on the way home.’

  The Wellington Arms was Dom’s favourite watering hole, where he and his property mates cut deals and watched rugby and sneaked in dirty pints on a Friday afternoon.

  Kanga frowned. ‘Even on Willow’s last night?’

  ‘It’s fine. He’d only drive me mad if he was here. It’s always much better if he turns up five minutes before everyone else and doesn’t interfere.’ Laura pulled the elastic band out of her hair, wincing as it caught. ‘Can I leave you to keep an eye on everything while I get changed?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘There’s wine in the fridge.’

  In her bedroom, Laura tipped her head upside down and sprayed dry shampoo onto her roots then ran her fingers through her curls. There was no time now for a shower. She pulled off the sweatshirt she’d been cooking in and rifled through her wardrobe for something to wear. Sadie was incredibly generous and always gave Laura things from La for her birthday she would never dare choose for herself. She pulled out a pearl grey shirt with pintucks and pearl buttons, pulling it over her head. It looked perfect – it fitted in all the right places, as expensive clothes tend to.

  ‘Hey, Mum.’ Willow sauntered in. Laura’s heart squeezed. Every time she saw her she wanted to hold her tight. All her fears whooshed in – a runaway bus, an insecure balcony, a virulent strain of meningitis … Oh God, had Willow actually had all the jabs she should have? Laura knew she’d checked a trillion times, but what if she thought she’d arranged it but had forgotten? The familiar dry mouth of anxiety hit her and she worked her tongue to get some saliva.

  ‘Have you finished packing?’

  ‘I think so. I’m going to do make-up and stuff in the morning.’ Willow flopped on the bed.

  ‘Are you excited?’

  ‘I don’t know about excited …’

  Of course. Excited wasn’t cool. ‘Looking forward to it?’

  ‘It’ll be what it is, won’t it?’

  ‘Well, I think it’s exciting. York’s lovely. We can explore tomorrow. Maybe an open-topped bus tour if it’s sunny.’

  Willow laughed.

  ‘What?’ asked Laura, hurt.

  ‘You’re so funny, Mum.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be funny.’

  ‘I know. That’s why you are.’

  Willow jumped up and put her arms round her. Laura breathed her in. Sugary, powdery perfume and Wrigley’s and the awful incense she insisted on burning in her bedroom. Not like Jasmine, who was driving back to her third year at uni in Loughborough by herself the next morning, who smelled of chlorine and talc and muscle rub.

  Laura had always been grateful for Jasmine’s love of sport. It had given their life structure at a time when everything else was chaos. Asthma was nothing if not disruptive. They had never really known when Willow might have an attack. There’d been a team of mums ready to help whenever she did: the netball mafia were fiercely loyal and supportive, taking Jasmine home for tea or for a sleepover or dropping her home. Laura could never repay them as long as she lived, but they didn’t want repaying. Of course not.

  Jasmine could have told her she was going to Timbuktu on a skateboard and she wouldn’t have worried. They were close, but in a very different way. When Jaz had gone off to Loughborough, Laura had treated them both to a day at the spa in Bath, swimming on the rooftop and sitting in the Roman steam room and the ice chamber and the celestial relaxation room; a physical treat for the physical Jaz, who rarely sat still for a moment and didn’t really need nurturing.

  But Willow …

  She felt tears fill her eyes. She didn’t want to go down to the kitchen and share Willow with everyone else. She wanted to curl up on the bed with her, watch a few episodes of Gilmore Girls on Netflix, eat a bowlful of M&M’s, let her daughter fall asleep in her arms, like they always used to when she was recuperating.

  ‘Do you think I should take Magic?’ Willow asked.

  Magic. The white toy rabbit whose fur had worn away to nothing, he had been hugged so much. So called because he was the Magic Rabbit who helped her fall asleep in a plethora of strange hospitals. Laura felt fearful for him. What if he got lost or stolen or thrown out of the window as a student jape?

  ‘If you want to leave him here, I’ll look after him.’

  ‘I kind of want him, but I don’t know if you’re supposed to take your c
uddly animals to uni.’ Willow made a face. ‘Of course Jasmine didn’t, but we all know Jaz doesn’t need looking after.’

  Jasmine’s teddy was as pristine as the day it had been bought.

  ‘I’d leave him here,’ said Laura, not wanting to admit that Magic had been as much a talisman for her as Willow. ‘You will look after yourself, won’t you?’

  ‘Mum.’ Willow sat up and fixed her mother with a stern stare. ‘Will you stop worrying? I’m not an idiot. And it’s been nearly eighteen months.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you won’t have an attack. Anything could trigger one.’

  York, thought Laura. If something went wrong, she couldn’t be there quickly. Even London would have been nearer. But maybe Willow felt the need to escape. She knew she’d been guilty of smothering, but what mother wouldn’t?

  Let her go, her inner voice told her.

  She turned and picked up her mascara wand. They must have had this conversation a thousand times, starting from the moment Willow filled out her UCAS form. If it had been up to Laura, she’d have chosen Bristol.

  ‘Mummy. I will be fine. I promise you.’

  Her daughter’s voice was kind and understanding. Which made her want to cry even more.

  There was a tap on the door and Jaz put her head round.

  ‘Are you OK? Is there anything else you want me to do? I picked up a bag of ice from the garage when I went to fill my car up.’

  Laura felt grateful. Jaz was a practical girl, and often thought ahead – not like most young people. She put down her make-up and turned.

  ‘Come on in. Come here, both of you.’

  The two girls tucked themselves under her outstretched arms.

  ‘Group hug,’ said Jaz, and they all squeezed each other tight.

  ‘I’m so proud of you both,’ said Laura, choked. ‘What am I going to do without you?’

  ‘We’ve talked about this, Mum,’ said Jaz sternly. ‘You’ve got plans, you know you have. And I said I’d help you with the techy stuff.’

  Laura gave her eldest daughter a squeeze, appreciative of her reassurance. Practical Jaz was never phased by anything. Laura thought it was probably Kanga that Jaz got it from. She didn’t have her daughter’s confidence, though as an adult and a mum she often had to pretend.

  ‘Go the Griffin Girls,’ she said, giving a cheerleader’s punch to the air. It was their team name, the name they invoked when they needed some family solidarity.

  ‘The Griffin Girls,’ echoed Willow and Jaz.

  Laura grinned.

  ‘Come on, then. Let’s get this party started.’

  An hour later, Laura thought the party had been the right thing. There was no time for her to dwell. Sadie had turned up first, with a shoebox for Willow. Inside was a pair of silver sequinned sneakers.

  ‘Oh my God, these are perfect!’ Willow squealed with delight.

  ‘They’ll bring you good luck whenever you wear them,’ said Sadie. ‘There’s a pair for Jaz too.’

  ‘Darling, that’s very generous.’ Laura smiled at her friend. Sadie always showered Willow and Jasmine with presents as she had no children of her own.

  Mike and Daphne from next door turned up with a popcorn machine. Then came Edmond, the owner of the bar Willow had been working in all summer. The Reprobate was a glamorous cocktail bar with a reputation for being rather decadent. Edmond, with his pale face, large grey eyes and emerald velvet suit, looked just that, but Laura knew that underneath his glittery exterior he was extremely kind and was also very good to his staff – part of the reason for the bar’s raging success.

  He gave Willow a Gustav Klimt card with two fifty-pound notes tucked inside. He only had to phone when someone rang in sick and Willow would cover at a moment’s notice, and he appreciated the fact she was reliable.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without her,’ he told Laura. ‘I hope she’ll come and help me out at Christmas.’

  ‘I’m sure she will. She’ll be needing the money.’ Laura smiled at him.

  He lifted up a tendril of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. ‘What about you, darling? The dreaded empty nest. What are you going to do?’

  She was touched by his concern. He wasn’t the sort of person you’d expect to be empathetic about the things that affected middle-aged women. ‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ she said. ‘It’s about time I contributed to the coffers, for a start.’

  Edmond frowned. ‘That’s not Dom speaking, I hope?’

  ‘God, no. But let’s be honest. I haven’t done a day’s work for as long as anyone can remember. I’ve got no excuse now.’ She smiled brightly.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  Laura had mentioned her idea to the girls, but only in passing to Dom, because he was so busy and had enough business worries without hearing her paltry plans. But she thought she’d test the water with Edmond, whose opinion she respected.

  ‘Actually, I was thinking about doing Airbnb. I’ve got two rooms at the top of the house. They’re just full of junk at the moment. They’d be perfect.’

  Edmund nodded. ‘You’d make a killing. Honestly, it’s money for old rope. You’ve got this bloody great house. You wouldn’t even know they were there. You could almost charge what you like. Just lob them a croissant at breakfast and give them the bill. Job done. Kerching.’

  She laughed. ‘It can’t be that easy.’

  ‘It is! Honestly, everyone’s doing it. I’m telling you, Laura. You could clear a couple of hundred quid in a weekend just for making up the beds and plonking a few freesias in a vase. Check-in early evening, leave by elevenses next morning. And you’re such a great cook – you could charge another fifty quid for a couple of plates of boeuf bourguignon and a slice of roulade.’

  ‘Do you think?’ She was delighted by his enthusiasm.

  ‘Absolutely, yes. This town is crammed with visitors, all looking for somewhere to stay. You could have people booked in by the next weekend. No stags or hens, though.’ Edmond curled his lip. He didn’t allow them in the Reprobate. ‘They’re sucking the soul out of Bath. They might spend money but they make a mess.’

  It was true – the city was an incredibly popular destination for pre-wedding knees-ups, and they were definitely a double-edged sword.

  Laura felt excited. Maybe she’d run it past Dom as a serious proposition, rather than an idle fantasy. It had just been a germ of an idea, as she had long been meaning to clear out the attic rooms. Now she had actually vocalised it, it made a lot of sense. The perfect way to ease herself into doing something constructive and potentially lucrative. Dom never ever complained about being the breadwinner, but he had worked incredibly hard over the years. Maybe she could take some of that pressure off him with an easy source of revenue. And she and Dom might meet some fun new people as a result. She loved having the house full of laughter, and with the girls going …

  She looked at her watch. Surely Dom should be here by now? It was gone eight o’clock. A few more friends and neighbours had arrived, and some of Willow’s friends from school. Sasha, Poppy and Emma were heading off on their gap year in a month’s time. Laura felt grateful that she wasn’t having to face the horror of Willow going to Colombia. She couldn’t even imagine the fear of your kids loose in South America. York held enough terror for her.

  ‘I swear I never had a send-off like this,’ Jaz grinned, but she didn’t mind. Everyone knew it was a miracle Willow had got through her A levels and got the place she wanted. She’d lost a lot of school time over the years, but had worked valiantly to catch up. There had once been a suggestion that she stay down a year, but she was desperate to stay with her friends, and it was her determination that had kept her on track. So this was a celebration as well as a farewell.

  At half past eight, as Laura was handing out warm plates for everyone to start helping themselves, Dom turned up. He looked strained.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Eventually. I had to do a lot of
sweet-talking to release the next tranche of money. I’m sorry I’m so late. But it was time well spent.’

  Laura knew Dom was under a lot of pressure with his latest development: three apartments converted from a seven-storey house in Wellington Buildings, a grand eighteenth-century terrace in a prime position near the Royal Crescent. It was the biggest project he had done so far. The financing was complicated and the building itself beset with problems – the vagaries of Georgian drains, the logistics of keeping the Listed Buildings people happy, the conundrum of future-proofing. Every day brought a fresh set of challenges. Not least keeping the bank sweet so the money to do it was available. So Laura wasn’t going to moan about him being late. She knew Dom would have much preferred to be at home than schmoozing but it was a necessary evil.

  She hugged him instead, her big bear of a husband. People often mistook him for Will Carling, with his thick dark hair and dimpled chin. Dom had given up rugby after uni, though he was a familiar fixture at the rugby ground on match days.

  ‘Shall I get you a plate of food?’

  ‘Thanks.’ He grabbed a bottle of beer, held it to his lips and drank thirstily. ‘What time are we off in the morning?’

  Laura felt a flash of irritation. If she’d told him once, she’d told him ten times. She ladled some chilli onto a plate for him.

  ‘Seven.’

  He puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes. Laura felt guilty for being irritated. He was tired. She knew he lay awake at night worrying about the apartments. He needed to get them on the market in the New Year if he was going to stay on target, and there was still a long way to go. Time was money: every day he was paying interest on his development loan. She decided she’d try and drive the next day. She wasn’t keen on motorway driving but he could nap in the car if he needed to catch up on sleep.

  When everyone had finished eating, Willow stood up and tinged a fork on her glass. She was usually quite reserved, but she smiled around at everyone.

  ‘This is such a massive deal for me. I never thought this day would come. So I want to say thank you to a few people. Firstly, to my big sister, Jaz – for never complaining when I upset everything because I was ill, not even when we had to cancel our trip to Euro Disney. And for making me awesome playlists to listen to in hospital, and letting me watch Skins in her bedroom when she knew I wasn’t allowed.’