“I want a chance to get used to the kitchen.” Up until a month ago, I’d lived with Shane in a beautiful house in Buckinghamshire, which had a kitchen at least ten times the size of this one.
“Is it much more difficult to cook in a small kitchen?”
Before last month, Cynthia and I hadn’t spoken for a couple of years. She’d been my closest friend since school, but as my relationship with Shane progressed, I seemed to lose touch with everyone in my world. Even my relationship with my parents—which had never fully recovered from me dropping out of university—was relegated to the occasional phone call. But Cynthia hadn’t hesitated when I’d called her to tell her I needed help moving out of Shane’s place and what I’d thought was my home. As fate would have it, her lease had been up just as I needed a place to live. Now I have my first flatmate. It’s a new city and a fresh start after more than ten years with a man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I’m unspeakably grateful to be facing it with a friend by my side.
“No,” I reply, shaping the pastry with my palms. “It’s good practice. At Le Cordon Bleu, you don’t even have this much space. You get about a meter squared to do all your prep.”
“So really it’s a good thing you’ve moved out of that ginormous house.” She smiles the same sympathetic smile I got when people learned I was Shane’s manager.
“Exactly.” I press the floured rolling pin into the pastry and start to flatten it. I’m trying to see all the bright sides of Shane and I splitting. I certainly have more time to cook. Cynthia is back in my life. My parents even dropped by the week Cynthia and I moved into this place. I worked out it was the first time I’d seen them in nearly two years. I gorged myself on crow pie and kept it down. Only a lifetime of hearty portions to go and they might start to forgive me, although my mother would never stop mentioning the career I could have had, if only…
My mother didn’t need to keep reminding me. Like the smell of burnt onions, my terrible decision at eighteen would follow me around for the rest of my life.
“I was kidding,” she says.
“I’m completely serious. It’s not like I could afford to keep the place on my own, even if I had had that option.”
“And he’s not agreed to pay you any kind of settlement, even though you were together all those years?”
“I haven’t asked him. I have some savings.” I hadn’t deliberately kept money from Shane, but I’d quietly been putting a tiny percentage of what we earned away in savings every month. I’d thought it was for us—for a rainy day or our retirement. When it became clear during the split that I was walking away from my job, my house, and any financial settlement, I didn’t say a word about the savings. Shane always refused to pay me a salary—he said there was no point as we shared everything. Which we did. Until we didn’t. Those savings would help with the tuition at Le Cordon Bleu. That, and nineteen months with Dr. Cove.
“But you lost your job, too.”
“Like he said, I could have stayed if I’d wanted to. It was my choice to walk away.”
“After he cheated on you. How could he expect you to stay?”
The short answer is, because he’s a self-centered twat. I was bloody good at my job. He wouldn’t find anyone better, and on some level, he must know it. But there was no way I was going to stay while he paraded his new girlfriend among the friends and fellow riders and WAGs I’d grown close to over the years. I’d lost my boyfriend, my home, my job, and my social circle in one fell swoop.
I focus on my pastry—its perfect consistency and even thickness. It took me a while to master the perfect pastry. But like most things, it just takes practice.
“Sorry,” Cynthia says. “I’m still furious at him.”
“I know,” I reply. “He’s not top of my Christmas card list either. But I’m trying to look at the bright side and not spend any more of my energy on him. I have a great flatmate who likes to drink wine, I get to cook more now, I even have a job.” I couldn’t think about Shane for long. It was still too fresh. Too painful. I was still holding the burn under cold water. I wasn’t ready for the bandage just yet.
“Tell me more about your boss. Can I look him up? What’s his full name?” I tell her and she shrieks as she Googles his name. “He’s gorgeous. Is he single?”
“No idea.” I pull my tart dish from the cupboard. I hadn’t walked away with much from my relationship with Shane. I had no place to live, no furniture. When I talked to him about taking one of the cars, he’d lost it and told me his money had paid for it. So when it came to the contents of the kitchen, I’d not said a word. He was away the weekend I moved out and I took every single bit of kitchen equipment. I left him with a knife, fork, spoon, and plate. The rest—every glass, whisk, and tart dish—came with me.
“Did Dr. Gorgeous mention a wife or girlfriend? Did he have a picture on his desk or a ring on his finger?”
Okay, so I’d checked out his ring finger. I guess it was ovary-instinct or something. Shane and I had been together for so long, it had been a while since I’d even noticed how attractive other men were—but it was biologically impossible for Zach Cove to fly under my impervious radar. “I was focusing on the job. You know I need to impress this guy. I need this job for nineteen months.”
She slumps back in her chair and makes a dismissive sound. “But you’re so organized. You’re used to problem solving. If Dr. Gorgeous has a temper, you’re the impatient, spoiled-brat whisperer. Plus, you’re the nicest person I know. You’re going to kill it at this job.”
“First off, you’re a lawyer. It’s not a high bar to be the nicest person you know.” Cynthia’s mum and my mum were friends. Cynthia was always used as an example of what I could have been, could have achieved, if only I’d stayed on at university.
“True,” she says.
“Plus, Dr. Cove isn’t my boyfriend, so I’m not sure I’ll see the side of him that may or may not be a little spoiled.” He didn’t strike me as spoiled. More…moody and terse. Or maybe he just didn’t like people very much.
“I’d like to see every side and every angle of Dr. Gorgeous.”
Cynthia continues to salivate at images of my new boss while I finish off our tart and put it in the oven.
“Perhaps you’ll have a wild office affair where he’ll bend you over the examination table or do things to you with his stethoscope.”
“I said I was trying to impress him, not scare him. I’ve not done my bikini line since I left Shane.” Waxing habits aside, there is no way I’m getting naked with Dr. Cove. I can’t risk jeopardizing this job before I’ve saved what I need for Le Cordon Bleu.
“While that cooks, I’m just going to do a bit of research.” I’d brought my work laptop home because I wanted to research the insurer recognition process Dr. Cove had mentioned. For whatever reason, he didn’t seem overly eager to get the wheels in motion, even though he won’t get any patients until he does. The last thing I need is for him to decide against setting up a private practice and go back to the National Health Service full-time. I need to help him get patients through that door so I keep my job.