Page 11 of The Missing Ingredient

More importantly, the social worker had turned out to be extremely understanding and sympathetic to Tom’s situation. Having insisted on being there throughout the interview, Moira had given Marcus the full download. Tom, for his part, had been relieved they would not be considering further action, although the social worker confirmed that there would be monthly visits for the foreseeable future to ensure everything stayed on track.

Joining his goddaughters, Marcus parked himself on the free seat around the table and pulled the paper over. That morning he’d had barely enough time to get showered and dressed and make pack lunches for the family. Strange, too, because normally Tina would have called him. She scoured the national dailies each morning over breakfast, keen to capitalize on any publicity. When he picked up the paper, he realized why. This was a local rag, a freebie popped into everyone’s letter box in Tom’s borough. But the story was priceless.

Marcus vaguely remembered the situation. Apparently two of the paper’s staff had rocked up at his Edgware Road branch one Thursday night—a traditionally busy night when Marcus usually ruled the kitchen—with a party of twelve, only to realize that nobody had made a booking. The head waiter—who would have been Michelle that night—had apologized that they wouldn’t be able to fit them in, but then immediately phoned the Shepherd’s Bush outlet and managed to secure them a table. Not only that, but she organized cabs for them all to be ferried across. The article, which took up a good half a page, then went on to talk up the excellent food and service, and was nothing short of solid gold publicity for Old Country. And of course, next to a photo of the outside of the Edgware Road restaurant was Marcus’s standard publicity photo in his kitchen whites, holding a flour-peppered rolling pin and grinning at the camera.

“Right” came Tom’s voice from behind, a heavy hand on Marcus’s shoulder, which took Marcus by surprise, especially at how nice it felt there. “I need to be off. Final meeting today, but I think we’re going to win this tender on the new estate in Burleigh. Finally a bit of good news.”

“Excellent stuff. Go knock ’em dead.”

“Thanks, honey,” said Tom, squeezing Marcus’s shoulder. “Uh, I mean Marcus.”

For some reason the comment warmed Marcus inside, while Charlotte found this hilarious. After a few seconds almost choking and then the next tipping her head back in uncontrollable laughter with a tiny hand over her mouth, she finally managed to speak.

“Daddy just called Uncle Marcushoney.”

Even Katie had trouble suppressing a fit of giggles. A smiling Tom came around the table and, from behind, kissed the top of Charlotte’s head, then pulled her into his arms and rubbed his stubble into her cheek until she squealed even louder.

“That’s what he used to say to Mummy,” Katie explained, smiling still.

Yes, thought Marcus, they’d all come a long way if they could remember Raine without getting sad. While they had a family moment, Marcus stood and began clearing away bowls and packets of cereal from the table.

“I’ve made pack lunches,” called Marcus to Tom from the open kitchen. “So no need for lunch money today. There’s even one here for you, just in case.”

“Remember Katie’s got a checkup at ten. Her appointment card’s on the table. Doctor’s surgery is a stone’s throw from here. Moira let Miss Colbert know she’ll be in school just before lunch break.”

“No problem. I’ll swing by to pick up some groceries and then get the girls at the usual time. What do you fancy for dinner, ladies?”

“Shepherd’s pie,” shouted Charlotte, her all-time favorite.

“You always want shepherd’s pie,” said Katie. “We had it on Friday. Let Uncle Marc make something else for a change.”

“I agree with Katie. Whatever you fancy cooking. God, you’re a lucky so-and-so having Sundays and Mondays off,” said Tom, picking up his case.

“Lucky?” replied Marcus, stopping halfway to the sink. “Do you know what time we finished on Saturday night? Sorry, scratch that, Sunday morning?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. You work hard when you’re there. I am not disputing that. Just surprised you guys don’t capitalize on the Sunday trade.”

Many times Tina had tried to convince Marcus to open on Sunday, even if only for a lunch service to entice tourists to London. But after consulting many of his contemporaries in the trade, Marcus had stuck to his guns and decided to remain closed. His staff got one day off a week anyway, but the guarantee of Sunday with their families and loved ones definitely worked in his favor. Besides, he didn’t need his accountant to tell him they were making healthy profits; the reservation lists for the next six months alone bore that out.

“If my manager has her way, we may well do. But for now things are going well enough that it’s not a consideration. And anyway, I might have been otherwise engaged.”

At that comment, Tom looked up from the letter he had scanned but not opened. “Oh, yes? And were you?”

“Might have been,” said Marcus, flashing a wink at Tom. “Come on, Charlie, go brush your teeth and then Katie and I can drop you off to school.”

He thought Tom might reward him with a knowing smile in return, but the man turned away and busied himself with his briefcase. Too much information, perhaps. Marcus made a mental note to keep his private life off-limits in conversation with Tom.

LATERthat morning, after Marcus had dropped Charlotte off and returned home, as Katie packed her schoolbag while Marcus sat at the kitchen table organizing his accounts, the phone began to ring.

“Uncle Marc,” said Katie, holding the phone out to Marcus. Her sad eyes said everything. “Someone’s asking to speak to Mummy or Daddy.”

Marcus hesitated. His heart stalled for a moment. Looking momentarily into Katie’s gaze, he realized he had not been prepared for this. Nevertheless, he took the phone from her and placed the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?” he said tentatively.

“Good morning. I’m calling from Modern Dance Fitness” came a female voice attempting professionalism. His own trepidation evaporated in that haughtiness. “We’re offering special memberships for people in your area. Sign up now for a three-year membership with nothing to pay for three months and then the option to renew on the same monthly terms.”

“Thank you, but we’re really not interested.”

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