Page 65 of The Only Way Is Up

The atmosphere in the lounge was amicable, if not exactly relaxed. Daisy sat on the sofa with Hank tucked behind her knees, reading the introduction to one of Justin’s cookbooks. He’d been a proponent of instinctive cooking – chuck in a bit of this, sprinkle in a handful of that – before it was the defining feature of geezer chefs on the internet. For Justin a recipe was simply a direction of travel, but how you got there was very much open to artistic interpretation. Experimentation was encouraged, with a lot of tasting along the way: as far as Justin was concerned that was how every classic recipe had started out. It was a method that definitely wasn’t to everyone’s tastes, but Daisy rather liked it.

Every now and then she glanced up at Tom, who was stroking Henry and staring intently into the wood burner, periodically kneeling forward to feed in another log. He’d switched his Christmas Day red jumper for soft grey cashmere over a blue check shirt, paired with dark grey cords and tan brogues. The whole outfit was pure rural headmaster; all he needed was a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches.

‘How’s your day been?’ asked Daisy as another burst of laughter rang out from the kitchen. Tom looked up at her, and for a second Daisy had a glimpse of what normal life must be like – just two people getting home from work and chatting about their ordinary days. She had no concept of this – every man she’d ever dated had been in the public eye to some degree or other. There’d been the odd date with TV presenter colleagues after her split with Simon, then a brief relationship with a pop star that was doomed from the minute they realised their hectic schedules rarely aligned. He married a minor royal in the end; Daisy had even gone to their wedding. Normality was a foreign concept.

‘Fine,’ said Tom with a hint of amusement. Daisy assumed he was also thinking about the little tableau of domestication they had created. A fire, two dogs, inane conversation. ‘I’ve had loads of positive responses to your classes; pretty much all the slots have gone already.’

‘That’s good news. I’m looking forward to it.’ Another barrage of clattering emanated from the kitchen, along with a whoop of joy. ‘Are you sure you want to let those two loose on your pupils?’

‘I’d sort of assumed your mum would keep Justin under control,’ Tom smiled.

‘I think it might be the other way round, actually,’ said Daisy, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

Will came back into the lounge and sat on the arm of the sofa, looking from Daisy to Tom like he was trying to work out a particularly tricky equation. The kitchen noise continued behind him.

‘Is everything OK?’ Daisy finally asked.

‘Have you ever seen those two cooking?’ Will shook his head, as if dazed. ‘Like, together?’

Daisy sat up. ‘No. Why?’ She felt another flurry of concern and wondered if all her carefully laid plans were about to come crashing down.

‘They’re . . . AM-AZ-ING! Here.’ He held out his phone and tapped play. Daisy scooped Hank onto her lap and scooted along the sofa so Tom could watch too. His arm pressed against hers as he leaned over to see the screen, and the warmth and closeness of him made her feel a little giddy.

It was clear from the off that Stella and Justin had something unique going – the kind of natural rapport that couldn’t be forced or manufactured. They chopped and fried and told stories about their careers as chefs, writers and presenters, stopping every now and then to fall about laughing. Occasionally one of them would remember to explain a technique, but mostly it was about two people cooking and chatting and bouncing off each other, like they’d been doing this routine all their lives. Daisy had seen a lot of TV partnerships over the years, and there was no question this was something special.

‘Wow!’ She looked at Will. ‘I had no idea.’

‘I’m not sure they did either,’ Tom smiled. ‘You can’t fake that.’

‘No,’ Daisy shook her head. ‘You really can’t. What are you thinking, Will?’ He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, staring at the screen with a furrowed brow.

‘I’m thinking we should get these two on YouTube as soon as possible. They could be massive.’

Daisy didn’t argue with him; she knew Will was right. ‘Do I need to call some people? I have a few contacts in the TV industry.’

Will and Tom both laughed, as Tom leaned back to make room for Hank, who clambered over from Daisy’s lap onto his, turning a couple of circles before sitting down with a yawn. Feeling left out, Henry loped over and jumped into the tiny space between Tom and the arm of the sofa, forcing Tom to move even closer to Daisy. He mouthed a ‘sorry’ and blushed, as Daisy clicked to the next video and watched intently, hyper-aware of the heat of his strong thigh against hers. She’d seen enough, but it gave Tom a reason to stay there.

‘No, I think we should put them on YouTube. Nothing feels too . . . I don’t know, what’s the word—’

‘Polished?’ suggested Tom.

‘Exactly,’ Will nodded vigorously. ‘Then if it does numbers, it’ll be because of their thing. Nothing that’s been messed about with.’ He looked from Daisy to Tom. ‘Does that make sense?’

‘It does,’ Daisy said; Tom nodded in agreement. She was all too aware of how a barrage of TV executives could pull the arms and legs off a perfectly good idea.

Will stood up. ‘I’m going to film some more.’ He looked at Daisy. ‘Can we talk to them about it?’

Daisy smiled. ‘We probably should, before we make them internet famous. Let them cook for now, get a bit more video. Then we’ll talk about it over dinner.’

Will nodded and took his phone back to the kitchen, leaving Daisy and Tom floundering on the sofa under a pile of dogs.

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Er, do you want me to move?’ Tom waved his arms helplessly; Henry and Hank were both sprawled across his lap.

‘It’s fine.’ Daisy shuffled to the edge of the sofa so she could stand up. ‘You stay there.’

‘No.’ Tom placed his hand on Daisy’s back. Her shirt had ridden up as she leaned forward, and the feeling of his warm skin on hers felt like electricity. She gasped and he immediately whipped his hand away. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s OK.’ Daisy twisted round to look at him, still buried under the unrepentant dogs and looking entirely delicious. She paused for a second, then made an impulsive decision. ‘Don’t go home.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back.