Page 66 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
‘This is sugar,’ she said. ‘And this over here is salt. A very important rule of cooking is to not mix them up.’
‘My dad says salt comes from the sea,’ Paul said.
‘My dad says you came from the sea,’ Gavin said, nudging Paul in the ribs. ‘He said you got caught in a fishing net, but no zoo wanted you so they gave you to your mum and dad.’
‘Seven one,’ Paul replied.
‘Shut up. The ref was blind.’
‘Boys,’ Jennifer said, patting both on the shoulder. ‘Concentrate.’
The door opened and a man entered, a shy smile on his face. Jennifer wasn’t sure who was more surprised to see Greg Downton, herself or the kids. One person who clearly wasn’t surprised, however, was Angela, who looked up, gave Downton a warm smile, and then nodded to a side table.
‘Ah, Greg, just in time. I’m about to split them into groups. You’ll lead group two.’ The kids sniggered at the use of Downton’s first name. Angela was unconcerned as she waved at Jennifer and Tom. ‘You guys will take group three, since you have less experience.’
‘Less experience?’
As Downton went to his allocated table, Angela leaned over and whispered, ‘Greg’s a regular at an evening cookery class I teach. He’s my best student.’
‘You mean—’
Angela’s eyebrows rose and she tilted her head. ‘You didn’t think I pulled him at a nightclub, did you? Although … I did know he would be there.’
Jennifer grimaced. ‘There’s so much I wish I could unhear right now,’ she said, as Angela burst into singsong laughter.
‘Ha, you’re with the Pope,’ one of the kids said to another, just a little too loud.
‘Yeah, but at least I’m not with Miss and her boyfriend.’
Jennifer cringed. ‘And there’s another one.’
Tom, who had reached down to pick up a dropped serving spoon, smiled. ‘What was that?’
‘Oh, nothing. Kids being kids.’
Angela clapped her hands together. ‘Okay, everyone. For today’s lesson, we’re going to make caramel shortcake. How does that sound?’
The wind had got up,and the flurries of falling leaves were heavier than ever as Jennifer made her way back through Sycamore Park just after six o’clock. The sun was low in the sky, about to dip below the horizon. The clocks didn’t go back for another couple of weeks—on Halloween this year—so she tried to enjoy the last few days of light she would have walking home. With the park getting a little spooky after dark, and with the cold drawing in, she would probably revert back to driving to and from work, and saving Sycamore Park for Bonky’s walks on Saturday mornings.
She sighed. Just six weeks she had lived in Brentwell, yet already she felt she had lived a lifetime since leaving Mark. She had friends, responsibilities, even a potential boyfriend if she could just pluck up the courage to agree to one of Tom’s frequent invitations. She felt part of a web, a string that if plucked would make a resonance, leaving an impression on the others. In her years with Mark she had been a piece of driftwood floating just below the surface of a lonely lake, invisible to everyone.
The Oak Leaf Café was closed, Angela having begun to shorten her hours for the coming winter. In November she would shorten even further, closing at 4 p.m., then from December to January she would open only at weekends and for a couple of lunchtimes per week. Some years, she had told Jennifer, she shut entirely over January and February, and went off travelling somewhere. With many of the trees now turning skeletal, everything had the air of settling down for the winter.
To Jennifer’s surprise, a light glowed through the frosted window in the door of Tom’s shack. She found her heart thumping with nerves as she went over and knocked, wondering what had kept Tom so late.
‘It’s me,’ she said.
‘Come on in,’ came Tom’s cheerful reply.
Jennifer found him hunkered over a table against one ramshackle wall, an electric heater at his feet, a lamp bent over a piece of paper.
‘What are you doing?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Come and have a look at this,’ he said. ‘I’m useless with words.’
He grabbed a chair for her and set it next to his.
‘So, you decided to do it after all?’
