They sauntered into the classroom, not late but also not trying to give the impression that they were hurrying.
‘Glad you could find the time to join us,’ said Miss Palmer dryly as they took their places. ‘Now, has everyone come prepared?’
A vague murmur rose in reply.
‘As enthusiastic as ever, I see,’ she said. ‘Now, before we get down to it, does anyone have any questions?’
Al raised a hand. That was his cue. ‘I do, Miss,’ he said.
‘Yes, Alex Bristow.’
‘What are The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’
For a moment, she seemed taken aback. It wasn’t something related to Cookery and she would normally have thrown it out without even consideration, let alone answer. This time, she didn’t, and they could pretty much guess why.
‘That’s an unusual question,’ she said instead. ‘Where did you hear the term?’
‘Oh, I just…heard it. So what are they?’
‘They’re—’
‘Perhaps you might permit me, Miss Palmer?’ said another voice.
Miss Palmer snapped round to look at Spike, blinked back the shock of someone in her class actually offering to help her.
‘Yes,’ she said vaguely. ‘Yes, all right, Sebastian. Tell us, what are The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’
‘They are the mounted personifications of the four great plagues sent to burden mankind.’
‘Just so,’ said Miss Palmer. ‘And what are those four great plagues?’
Spike glanced at Al before replying. The look said it all.
‘Time, Death, War…and Cookery Teachers.’
The whole class pitched into laughter. Al grinned across at his friend. That was awesome! There was no other word for it.
‘Yes, Sebastian, very amusing,’ said Miss Palmer as the laughter began to die down. ‘Now, perhaps you will kindly give us the correct fourth horseman.’
‘Certainly, Miss Palmer. It’s Famine.’
‘Correct. Famine. Singularly appropriate for this Cookery class, don’t you think?’
It might have been a joke had it not been so tragically true. Either way, no one seemed to be laughing any more. She sighed and went on:
‘Right, let’s get down to it, shall we?’
They got down to it. They were doing something with mince today. It seemed Miss Palmer liked mince. Indeed, she had almost hinted as much when she listed the things that could be made with it, things like Shepherd’s Pie or Spaghetti Bolognese or Chilli Con Carne—why, the list was almost endless. All told, she finished, a most versatile ingredient. Vastly underrated. Must be on a good whack from the mince industry, they all agreed later.
‘…so,’ she went on, ‘any suggestions as to what we make with it today?’
She looked round the class. No one seemed about to offer any suggestions.
‘Come on, someone must have some idea. What about you, Alex Bristow? You seem more than usually fond of the sound of your own voice this lesson so let’s hear you exercise it in a more fruitful direction.’
Al just gazed at her blankly. ‘Er…Er…’
He glanced round helplessly. No one was looking at him, no one ready to jump in with a surreptitious rescue, no one except...Spike? He was mouthing something, something that looked vaguely like the words—
‘Shepherd’s Pie!’ he blurted. ‘Let’s try making Shepherd’s Pie.’
‘A sound suggestion,’ said Miss Palmer, ‘if a little unadventurous. I also seem to have neglected to ask the class to bring along potatoes for this lesson.’
‘Yeah an’ I forgot to bring a shepherd.’
‘That’s enough, Alex Bristow,’ said Miss above laughter for the second time that morning. ‘No, Shepherd’s Pie is out.’
‘We can make the meat bit, though, can’t we, Miss?’ said Jon.
For a moment, she seemed nonplussed, as though this was something that hadn’t occurred to her.
‘We could,’ she said slowly.
‘And it’s simple,’ Al persisted.
‘It would have to be simple for you to make a success of it. All right, Shepherd’s Pie it is—but without the pie. Pair off as usual.’
Al glanced round. Normally with any lesson that required their working in twos, the four of them would pair off together, but since Spike had joined the gang, they’d decided to take it in turns, one of them left out to pair off with whoever happened to be available. This time, it was Al’s turn, and there seemed to be no one left. He didn’t mind: there were, after all, worse ways to spend a cookery lesson. Then someone was stepping into view right in front of him. His eyes seemed unable to focus for a moment, as though unwilling to acknowledge what they were seeing.
‘I don’t have anyone,’ said Keren, ‘and neither do you, so how about you and me…you know…?’
Panic! He glanced about desperately, his eyes darting this way and that in the hope of finding someone else and therefore some way out of her clutches.
‘I’ve already checked,’ said Keren, ‘and there is no one else. It’s me or nothing.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the nothing.’
She went to respond but another voice broke in first.
‘What’s going on here?’—Miss Palmer, bearing down on them like a battleship under full steam.
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Keren lightly. ‘Alex here has just kindly offered to pair off with me.’
‘Has he now,’ said Miss Palmer suspiciously. ‘I suppose he also offered to clear up afterwards, too.’
‘Well, a gentleman would, it’s true.’
‘I ain’t no gentleman,’ said Al.
‘Never a truer word have you spoken, Alex Bristow,’ said Miss Palmer. ‘Go on. You’ve got your partner, now get on with it.’
They got on with it. With a sigh and much slamming down of ingredients on the table, they got on with it. Al was cross, and probably more with the one that had allowed himself to be tricked than the one that had done the tricking. This would not, he vowed silently, ever happen again.
‘You slice the onion,’ said Keren. ‘I’ll get the mince ready.’
‘Miss ain’t told us to slice any onions,’ he growled. ‘Ain’t told us to slice anything, come to that.’
Keren sighed wearily. ‘Don’t you know the first thing about cookery? Meat on its own can be a little bland. It needs flavouring. And onion is good for flavouring.’
‘So’s chocolate. You want me to chop up some of that as well?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! Who’d ever think of using chocolate?’
‘MacDonald's do.’
‘In their burgers?’
‘Well…no,’ Al said grudgingly. ‘Sprinkled on their ice cream, actually.’
‘Well, then.’
Round One to her. While she busied herself with unwrapping their two portions of mince, he took the opportunity to check on how his friends were getting on. Tony was partnered with Spike who was arranging their ingredients in a neat row in order of use, while Jon was patiently explaining to Eddie that you don’t put heat under a frying pan before you put oil in it.
‘Hey, are you with me?’—Keren, standing before him with two opened trays of mince.
‘You want something?’ he said sullenly.
‘Well, a pan warming over some heat might be useful.’
He reached round for a pan, slammed it down onto the cooker, sloshed some oil in it and yanked the heat on.
‘Satisfied?’
‘And the onion?’
Damn! The onion, he’d forgotten about the onion! He grabbed one and proceeded to chop it into thin slices. When he’d finished, he threw the knife onto the table and leaned on his hands, looking like he wanted to slice her up next.
‘Onion,’ he growled.
She looked down at it lying in several uneven slices on the chopping board. For some strange reason, she did not seem particularly impressed.
‘It might be nice if you’d peeled it first,’ she observed dryly.
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‘God, you’re never satisfied, are you!’
‘I might be if you put a little more thought into what you do.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe I don’t feel much like thinking right now.’
‘I give up.’
‘Yeah, go on, Keren, give up. Quit while you’re behind.’
She went to answer but was suddenly turning away and busying herself. Al glanced round, saw the reason why. Miss Palmer was bearing down on them again, a look of thunder on her face.
‘What’s going on here?’ she was demanding. ‘Is Alex Bristow giving you any trouble, Keren?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied triumphantly, folding her arms and looking pointedly at him. ‘Actually, Alex Bristow is being really rather useful.’
Miss Palmer glanced from one to the other, like she didn’t believe what she was being told here.
‘Your use of the English language needs attention, Keren,’ she said eventually. ‘The words “Alex Bristow.” and “useful” never appear together in the same sentence. Carry on.’
And with that, she was thankfully gone, leaving Al and Keren to glare coldly at each other.
‘You heard her,’ she said. ‘Another onion, if you please.’
Al didn’t answer, just reached sullenly for another onion. This time, he peeled it.
The lesson that followed was not one of the best he’d ever known. It was bad enough being paired off with Keren but he found himself having to talk to her, and worse than that, having to listen to her, even to take advice from her, dammit! How high should the heat under the pan be?...Is this onion supposed to be turning brown?...How much salt should I add? And from time to time, she would be checking on him, glancing into the pan as though trying to find fault or sniffing at it as though trying to detect burning. Not once did she say anything, though, just reached for a bottle or a jar, added a dash of this and a few drops of that, then left him to it for a few minutes more. Until the next time.
‘I think this is ready,’ he said eventually, grudgingly.
Keren glanced over from chopping up parsley. ‘Looks that way, doesn’t it. Okay, turn it out onto the plate.’
He turned it out onto the plate. It lay there steaming, looking oddly as though it was waiting for something else to be added, though he couldn’t begin to think what. Then Keren was carefully placing a sprig of parsley on it, arranging it just so, like she wanted it to be the pinnacle of all they’d achieved that lesson.
‘What’s that in aid of?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘Just a little finishing touch.’
‘Ain’t it finished already?’
‘Presentation is just as important as taste,’ she said firmly. ‘Make it look good and people will want to eat it.’
‘And what if they’re just plain hungry?’
It was a reasonable question, one to which she did not seem to have a reasonable answer, but Miss Palmer was clapping her hands for attention.
‘Right! Everyone finished?...Good. As usual, I shall make a tour of the tables and sample each and every dish. Forks at the ready, please.’
As she made a start, Al took the opportunity to check how the others had done. Tony and Spike seemed to have made the better effort. Their mince at least looked cooked whereas the soggy mass residing forlornly on the plate belonging to Jon and Eddie looked as though it could have done with a little more turning in the pan. Miss seemed to think so, too. When she came to it, she just prodded it a little with a fork, glanced ruefully at its two cooks and went to the next table without further comment.
Then, all too soon, Miss Palmer was standing by his table, his and Keren’s table. She seemed to like what she was seeing.
‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ she said. ‘Properly cooked, well-presented—which of you created this culinary masterpiece, as if I need to ask?’
‘It was a joint effort,’ said Keren before Al could open his mouth to disclaim all responsibility.
‘Really! Look out the window, you’ll see the pigs ready for take-off.’
While the class were laughing again, she took a forkful and placed it gingerly in her mouth. As she chewed, her eyebrows leapt up in appreciative surprise.
‘You know, this is actually rather good. Do I detect Worcester Sauce, Keren?’
‘Just a dash, Miss. Just adds that little extra zing.’
‘Indeed it does.’ She looked directly at Al. ‘And what did you add—apart from a large measure of disinterest?’
‘Actually, Alex Bristow was very helpful,’ said Keren, jumping in again before he could speak. ‘Asked all the right questions, too.’
‘Did he now?’ she said wryly, placing her fork back on the plate. ‘Well, since you’re such a positive influence on him, perhaps you and he should consider spending future lessons together.’
Yeah, right, he thought as she moved on to the next table. He glanced at Keren. Keren glanced away, seemed suddenly to be busying herself with dirty dishes and washing-up liquid. He hated having to admit it but being with her had actually taught him something about cooking, and especially about cooking mince. Without knowing it, she had actually helped them along the way with their plan...
TWELVE