Recipe for Disaster (29 page)

He went to his work station to reassure himself that his
dishes were as good as they could be. They were good, if
you liked that sort of thing and he didn't, and they would
only get better in the waiting, unlike Jake's.

Two of the cameramen were jabbering away to each
other and he looked up in irritation, wanting them to fuck
off and leave him in peace.

'I didn't expect to see Kate here tonight.'

'That's why she's such a good journalist – she's always
popping up in unexpected places. She's going to have to be
quick to get her "Chefs Uncovered" story out before her
cover's blown and she gets the sack. That Jake has got a hell
of a temper. He's not going to be happy when he finds out
he's been taken for a ride.'

At first Harry was furious. The little bitch! Pretending to
be a waitress while all the time she was snooping around
looking for shit to besmirch his profession! Of course, if
she'd tried to get a job in his restaurant he would have
smelled a rat instantly. Then he realised exactly what had
happened and a wide and unpleasant smile spread across
his face. She wasn't working for him – she was pretending
to work for Jake and he'd already picked up a few signs
that they were more pally than they should be. His nose
twitched like a fox that had just caught the scent of a
nearby henhouse. But there wasn't a moment to lose. He
had to find Jake and impart this interesting information
just before he had to go in front of the cameras and cook
again.

He found Jake leaning against a wall, looking down at a
plastic cup of canteen coffee with a sort of disgusted
wonder: did people really believe they were refuelling
themselves with this stuff? He didn't realise Harry was
coming towards him until it was too late. Inwardly he
groaned. Conversations with Harry always ended badly
and just now he couldn't be bothered. All he wanted to do
was get this over and go home.

'I just wanted to say that it is good we can both be so
civilised over this business with Georgia.'

Jake shrugged. 'Water under the bridge,' he said, and
turned to move off, but Harry seemed determined to continue
the conversation. 'It looks like you've moved on as
well. I'm glad. Kate seems like a nice person.'

'Uh-huh – oh good – it looks like we're getting going
again,' he said with relief. If Harry was trying to be nice, it
would be better to keep the conversation short.

But Harry continued to drone in his ear like a persistent
wasp. 'I must say, I think you're very brave letting a
journalist into your kitchen, especially one who's looking
for a warts-and-all story.'

'A what? What on earth are you talking about?'

Harry almost purred with pleasure at the thought of
inflicting pain. 'Oh, so you didn't know? Well, I don't know
what she told you, but she's really a reporter. Apparently
she's doing some piece called "Chefs Uncovered". It will be
some crappy story that tries to bring our profession into
disrepute – not that you've got anything to worry about, I'm
sure.'

'Oh, there you are,' said Tess, giving Harry a basilisk
stare and wondering what the hell he had said to make Jake
go so pale.

When Jake didn't seem to be moving, she took him by the
arm and gave it a little shake. 'Come on – we're on again.'

'Well, good luck,' said Harry and went off with a spring
in his step. He knew he had just delivered a lethal blow and
without even grazing his knuckles.

'What on earth's the matter?' demanded Tess.

'Nothing. Everything.' Jake had his hand over his
mouth. He looked like he was going to be sick.

'He was only talking to you for about thirty seconds.'

'Yeah, that was all he needed.'

Jake was glad he was leaning against the wall because he
needed its support. The enormity of what Harry had told
him was still sinking in and it was getting worse with every
second.

Tess was very worried. He looked like he was in serious
shock but there wasn't time for warm blankets and a cup of
tea. She took his face in her hands and forced him to look
down at her. 'Focus, Jake. Whatever has just happened will
have to wait until after this bloody programme is over. Shall
I get Kate?'

This galvanised him. 'Oh God, no. I need time to think.
Let me go – I've got to get out of here.'

'You can't,' she hissed. 'The only thing you can think
about now is food. Think bamboo shoots, noodles, woks.
You are going to have to cook, Jake, and I can't do this
without you.' She was shaking him so hard now she thought
she could hear his teeth rattling. If she could just get him
over to the kitchen and put a knife in his hand he might
come to. Oh fuck, it was like he had turned into a zombie.
When this was over, if they got through it, she would . . .
well, whatever it was, Harry wouldn't like it.

The next hour was hell. It knocked giving birth into a
miserable second place and so far that particular event had
been top of Tess's absolutely shitty, never-to-be-repeated
events. Jake had gone into automatic pilot when she
handed him the knife, but there was a white, set look about
his face that didn't make for good television.

The camera crew were puzzled. The dynamics of these
two seemed to have changed. Now it was the girl who was
doing all the talking – the guy had lost it completely. He was
moving round the kitchen like a man in a trance.

Tess was desperate. This was torture by television. Every
second she was getting more keyed up for the moment
when Jake just turned round and walked off the set, and if
he did that she would be on her own in front of the cameras
and she would just die. Quite deliberately, hoping it would
be edited out, because if it wasn't she would probably be
arrested for assault, she dripped some boiling hot oil on his
hand.

'Christ, woman! How many more scars do you want me
to have?'

'Sorry, Chef,' said Tess meekly and listened in relief to
Jake's diatribe on the incompetence and clumsiness of
kitchen staff. It seemed to have broken the spell and, thank
God, they were nearly done.

She glanced up and saw Kate's face, white and scared and
sort of guilty. When this is over, thought Tess, chopping
chives with manic energy, I'm going to give them both hell,
and the camera crew and anyone else that gets in my way.
Well, maybe not Griff, she thought, as he smiled at her and
gave her a thumbs-up sign.

When Jake put his knife down for the last time, a huge
weariness came over him. The numbness that comes with
shock was beginning to wear off and pain was setting in. He
was the victim of some monstrous scam. The happiness of
the last few weeks tasted like ashes in his mouth.

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Kate came over,
but he just brushed past her.

Oh, no – he's found out! she thought, and could feel
herself breaking out in a sweat of cold terror. Not only had
he learned the truth, but it was in the worst possible time
and place, and of course, not from her. Now she could
recall with hideous clarity all the opportunities she had
missed; all the times when she could have told him the
truth. Sure, he would have been angry, but she could have
explained the whole thing properly, how it had started off
as just a story, but then he had become part of her life. Now,
when it was far too late, she knew exactly what she should
have said – that she was a fake waitress but not a fake lover.
But one look at his blank, closed-off face told her that he
was no longer prepared to listen.

'Just what the hell is going on?' demanded Tess.

Kate looked at her tiredly. 'You may as well know – I'm
a reporter. I work for the
Easedale Gazette
. I got a job as a
waitress to cover a story about what it's really like in a
restaurant kitchen.' She thought back. It was hard to
remember the crap she had spouted so glibly all those
weeks ago when she had known nothing.

'Oh. My. God.'

'Yeah. But everything changed, Tess. I still want to do
the story but it's going to be the real one, about the passion
and sweat and dedication . . .'

'Well, your timing sucks, doesn't it? If you'd told Jake,
instead of waiting until that creep let the cat out of the
bag . . .'

'I've blown it, haven't I?'

'Well, you see, Jake has this little thing about being let
down and lied to –'

'I know, I know. And he would be right, but that was only
at the beginning. Everything changed, even before I fell in
love with him. Ninety-five per cent of what I said and did
has been honest and truthful . . .'

'Ah, but it's that other five per cent that's screwed you.'

'Oh God, what am I going to do?'

'I think you've done more than enough, haven't you?'
Then she relented, because she really liked Kate. 'Look, if I
were you, I'd lie low for a bit, let the storm settle. You know
what Jake is like. Eventually he is bound to calm down a bit
and maybe even see the funny side of it.'

'There's a funny side?'

'No, not really. I was just trying to cheer you up.'

Everyone was being called back on to the set to hear the
results. Jake walked in and saw Kate. 'Judas,' he said and
stalked off.

The next few minutes were designed purely to torture
the poor contestants, as if their cooking ordeals hadn't been
enough. They were forced to stand sweating in the spotlight
while the announcer jabbered on about how brilliant and
entertaining they had been and then milked the breathless
hush between her announcements until everyone's toes
were curling with tension and suspense. Everyone apart
from Jake. He found it quite calming to be in this limbo
where he couldn't do a thing about any of his problems, his
struggling business or his relationship with Kate, which
seemed to have nose-dived into disaster, like all the others
had. He didn't really care whether he had won or lost; he
just wanted to stand there quietly, insulated from life. He
knew he hadn't won, anyway. His first dish had been superb
but while cooking the second, his hands had lost their
customary grace and skill. His sorrow had seeped out and
given an acrid flavour to the dish. It was shit and everyone
knew it.

But the audience had taken to Jake in the first programme
and his air of vulnerability in the second had only
added to his appeal. The competition was as much about
personality as about food, and the voters had decided Jake
was a star and that was that.

Harry came third, and in other circumstances Jake
would have enjoyed listening to him grinding his teeth
before pasting on a hugely false smile.

Ali's astonishingly good noisettes of lamb came second.
Idiots, thought Jake to himself, who had tasted them and
thought that Ali could be serious competition if he ever
wanted to open a French restaurant.

'And the winner is . . .' Another excruciating pause,
which he wanted to go on for ever so he didn't have to think
about trying to pick up the pieces of his life.

It was such a shock when they called his name out he just
stood there blinking in disbelief. His brief spell in limbo was
broken and everything came rushing back, painfully. The
presenter stepped forward with his award, which was a
ridiculous, silver-plated chef's hat on a little stand. She
leaned forward to give him a congratulatory kiss and
whispered: 'Smile – you've won!'

'Bollocks!' said Jake, and realising by the shocked look on
her face that he had actually said this aloud instead of just
thinking it, decided he might as well carry on. He gestured
towards the congealing remains of his squid and steamed
prawn dumplings. 'This is probably the worst meal I have
ever cooked in my life. The sauce tastes like wallpaper paste
and the squid is so tough you could probably make tyres out
of it. It belongs here . . .' And with a single gesture, he swept
the lot into the bin, while they all gaped at him, openmouthed
and rooted to the spot.

'I am humbled by the contrast that this meal provided,'
he continued, gesturing towards Ali's dish. 'The lamb is
gloriously tender and flavoursome and the potatoes are so
light and fluffy even an anorexic supermodel –' he gestured
at Georgia '– even she scoffed two of them! You're wrong;
you're all complete idiots for not seeing that Ali is the chef
who deserves this award! Well, in my own way, I am an idiot
too,' he glared at Kate, 'but I am not dishonest and I refuse
to accept this award.' He grabbed the hat out of the
presenter's shaking hands and gave it to a gobsmacked Ali,
who nearly dropped it in surprise.

'There,' said Jake thoughtfully. 'That is justice, I think.
Enjoy your prize – you have earned it.' He grinned briefly
at everyone and stalked out.

This sort of thing had never happened before on
television. Members of the public were supposed to be in
awe of the whole process and jolly grateful to be on it at all.
Plenty of people simpered that they didn't deserve to win a
prize, but no one had ever gone so far as to hand one back.
It was, though, thought the producer, rubbing his hands in
glee, bloody amazing telly. It would be in all the papers
tomorrow and everyone would clamour to see it repeated.

Behind him, Jake left Harry explaining to anyone who
would listen that Jake just didn't know how to play by the
rules. Kate rushed over to Tess. 'Go after him!'

'You go!'

But Kate had seen the look in his eyes when he had called
her a Judas. 'He never wants to see me again,' she said
miserably.

Jake had brushed past people like they were flies.
Outside, he leaned against a wall. His hands were shaking
so much they weren't fit to hold a butter knife, he thought
ruefully. Speaking his mind back there had seemed so
satisfying, but now he became dimly aware that all he had
probably achieved was a scene where he had made a
complete fool of himself. He should have just kept his big
mouth shut and taken the prize and the cash, which he
desperately needed. But, oh no, he had to play the hero.
When would he learn that speaking the truth was not
actually a wise move if you needed to make your way in the
world he thought, bitterly. As if on cue, he looked up and
saw Kate, a person who told lies with impunity and got
along very nicely, thank you. He turned round and leaned
his head against the wall because it was too hard to look into
the face of someone you loved when you knew they were
treacherous.