Zara doesn’t hesitate to take her hands out of the soapy water, dry them on her T-shirt and wrap her arms around me. It’s a warm, maternal hug and that is just what I needed: to properly take in the news and have someone celebrate it with me. ‘Chloe, that’s bloody fantastic! Why didn’t you tell us all?’
‘It’s been a day, you know? All the rushing around. I think I was only just absorbing it myself. The scale of the work they do, it wins awards. I can’t believe she would get in touch.’
‘I told you it would work out,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I tell you, it’s the magic of this bloody island, it heals, it puts things right.’
‘Perhaps,’ I say.
‘I sense some hesitation though,’ she says, studying my face.
‘Maybe. Don’t tell anyone else yet, yeah?’Especially Ben. Because before that phone call, I’m not going to lie, there was a part of me beginning to imagine asking if I could stay longer, get to know him better, see where we could go. I could have become invested here. But now it’s like London is trying to lure me back, it’s telling me to make a choice and come up with a better plan.
‘You’d be silly not to snap that job up though, right?’ Zara says, reassuring me. ‘Is it a money thing? Contracts?’
I think it might be a love thing but I can’t say that out loud because it sounds ridiculous. I shrug my shoulders.
‘Then I would grab that opportunity with both hands and dive into it. Well done, you clever, talented little thing.’ Zara hugs me again and I hug her back. I want to find Bella now and tell her she has the best mum, she really does, because this feels completely validating.
‘Ladies,’ a voice suddenly says behind us. It’s Ben walking in with an empty pan.
‘I might have to put in a complaint about the lack of breaks here, gaffer, it’s the law,’ Zara jokes, putting her hands back in the sink to make it look like she’s doing her job. ‘Give it here?’
‘Just leave it to soak. Actually, could you go down with more of the champagne, Zara? I’ve got to get to mycroquembouche.’ She salutes, grabbing a bottle and winking at me before she leaves.
‘Fancy a hand?’ I ask him and he pauses for a moment but then nods.
I follow Ben into the back of the kitchen, seeing a dark shadow on the back of his T-shirt from all his sweat and hard work. I’ve never seen anyone work like that, under that kind of pressure. But now, there are around eighty littlechouxbuns sitting on this counter and it feels like this is the real test. I’ve watched him pipe each one meticulously and make his owncaramel; with every step, he’s taken care to make sure it all comes together. He cracks his knuckles and stretches his arms above his chest, and I study the gorgeous contour of his torso as he does this.
‘So, you’ve not said how you learned how to make one of these?’ I say as he finishes washing his hands and lines up a massive white serving platter.
‘I haven’t,’ he says. ‘I jumped on YouTube before. But I’ve seen it done when I worked in Paris. I’ve cheated though with thecrèmefilling. I’ve shop-bought some macarons and edible flowers to decorate it.’
‘Yeah, I noticed you know French,’ I say.
‘Un petit peu. I did a bit of pastry training in Paris but all thepâtisseriestuff wasn’t quite for me,’ he says, smiling and flicking the top of one of the puffs.
‘Why?’ I ask him, in awe of what he’s achieved.
‘I’m too impatient. I like things a little messy,’ he says. ‘Right, the caramel has set, it’s time to build – this could be your thing as you’re the architect.’
‘That’s a lot of pressure,’ I tell him.
‘Yep and we’ve all met Odette. This thing could turn on a sixpence if it’s wonky or collapses?—’
‘Says he who told her he’d make her acroquembouche. Next time, maybe offer a Victoria sponge,’ I say.
Ben laughs. ‘Where’s the challenge and fun in that?’ He lifts up a puff and examines it for a moment. ‘Could you just top up the filling in this one?’ he asks, handing it over.
‘How do I do that?’ I ask, picking up the piping bag.
‘Get it in the hole, push until the ball is full, make sure it doesn’t squirt everywhere,’ he says, po-faced, not even searching for the innuendo as he’s so focused.
‘And if it does squirt?’ I reply, biting my lip.
‘It’s because you’re squeezing too tight,’ he says, smiling.
I fill the pastry ball with cream perfectly and hand it back to him, smirking.He’s not rising to it, is he?
He continues to dip the other pastry balls in the caramel and arranges them in a large circle so it’s like they’re balancing on their side. ‘And we just layer it up in alternating circles…with the caramel?’ I ask.
