Strings Attached (2 page)

The back door swung open and crashed against the worktop as Marisa’s mother Helen Thomas entered, two carrier bags swinging from each arm. She huffed and puffed and groaned loudly and George hurried to relieve her of some of the load.

‘Thank God I’m back. It
’
s murder out there. It
’
s market day isn’t it and you know what that means,’ Helen began unfastening her coat.

‘OAPs and job dodgers,’ Marisa remarked not looking up from her sandwiches.

‘Yes, exactly and both move as slow as each other ‘cause they’ve got nothing better to do. Anyway, I’ve got more prawns, more chillies and Simon’s bringing extra bread later on,’ she said with another sigh.

‘Great, let’s stick the kettle on and then we can wrap this job up,’ George suggested.

She carefully carved the white bread to show Marisa how a princess was constructed out of Hovis’ finest.

Helen had worked with George since the beginning, some ten years ago. They had met at the local pub where Helen had worked in the kitchen providing the town with a combination of hearty pub grub (steak and mushroom pie) and fine dining (breast of ostrich, fine green beans and potato shavings in an oyster vi
naigrette). George had treated
The Bell as a second home back then. She had always gone in after college, always managed to find someone to buy her beer and had always won enough from hustling on the pool table to afford a meal. She knew Helen felt sorry for her back then and she had played on that. She could think what she liked as far as George was concerned, there were always others who thought worse, like her own mother. She was worse than The Boston Strangler in her mother’s eyes.

She’d qualified from college with a distinction and after helping Helen improve her own pastry making, Finger Food was born.

The business was George’s pride and joy. It hadn’t been easy building a company from scratch when you had no idea where to start. George had struggled at school much to the horror of her parents, because apparently Frasers don’t struggle at anything. But, despite their insistence
that
she retook her GCSEs, she enrolled on the catering course at college. Two years and a lot of hard work later she achieved a hospitality and catering qualification. Cooking was something she had always enjoyed and, before things got complicated, she and her mother had cooked together all the time. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Baking for buffets wasn’t the usual job of choice for a jeans wearing, rock music listening, pool playing chick. But, for whatever reason, it worked. When she was creating something new she immersed herself in the recipe, focussed on making the ingredients gel together in new and unseen ways. She was concentrating on that moment with the food and nothing else. She could only manage to do that stood next to a hot oven with her hands in a mixing bowl.

But apart from the therapeutic reasons
as to why
she cooked, it was fun, she was good at it and she could see the money making potential. She had a heart full of woe but a head full of ambition.

At first she started making sandwiches and selling them at offices, on building sites and business parks, anywhere she could. She researched areas that already had a regular service and she undercut them where she was able. Then when she had the money to take on staff she started catering parties. Gradually the functions became more frequent and her customer base grew. It was then things really started to take off. She got a loan from the bank and used it to build a state of the art kitchen as an annexe to her two bedroom terrace. It had meant losing most of the garden but she didn’t really do gardens anyway and it was also an excuse to lose the hideous love seat her parents had bought her one Christmas. She didn’t know what was behind their thinking on that one; most of her boyfriends never made it to a second date, let alone got invited to sit in the garden.

In fact she had only introduced one boyfriend to her parents and that was nineteen years ago. Her mother had hated him, but
George
had expect
ed that. She hated everyone. George
could have brought home Jesus himself and she would’ve commented on the state of his sandals. She forbade a fifteen year old George to see him and when that didn’t work she tried to get his parents to forbid him from seeing George. Any male acquaintances she had had since didn’t last. She found meeting someone new was just full of empty expectation. You knew immediately if there was a connection or not and if there wasn’t, the best you could hope for was that he paid for dinner and he didn’t have a tongue like sandpaper.

But right now she was happy on her own. She was in a good place. She loved her work, she adored Helen and Marisa and she quite enjoyed flirting with Simon who worked at the bakery.

Simon was tall, dark haired and smelt of Hugo Boss aftershave. He had been trying to ask her out for as long as she could remember. The trouble was he was just too obvious. It reeked of desperation, even over the rather fresh cologne. He was nice enough, he was fun to banter with but that was it, there wasn’t
anything
. There was no spark, no charge in the air. And rightly or wrongly she got bored rapidly, their conversations never ended with her desperate for more. Accepting a date would only raise his hopes. More importantly, as far as the business was concerned, she didn’t want to lose the twenty percent discount she had worked so hard to get out of him. She could imagine things might turn nasty if she went out with him and then decided one date was enough. Which she would.

‘You’ll never guess what happened while you were out,’ Marisa spoke.

‘Don’t tell me Archie Reeves cancelled the birthday party! Please don’t tell me that, I’m liable to go round there and make sure he doesn’t make sixty six! Five hours it took me to ice the cake. He hasn’t has he?’ Helen asked, taking off her coat and shaking out her b
ubble-
permed hair.

‘No, but you might want to sit down. George has taken on a catering job for tonight, an after-show party at
the Hexagon
. But there is an upside, wait for it Mum
–
it
’
s two thousand quid!’ Marisa exclaimed.

‘Tonight! But we’re so busy,’ Helen remarked as she washed her hands and prepared to get back to bread buttering.

‘I know, but catering a party there could be really big. We do this well and we could get recommended for more of the same. And Marisa just said, it
’
s two grand,’ George reminded.

‘We’ve only got an hour or so to finish the food for Katie Murray’s party and then it’s
...
’ Helen began.

‘I know Helen! I know what we have on. Look if you don’t want the overtime I’ll do it all myself. I want this job,’ George said with steely determination.

‘I don’t think Mum was saying that, were you Mum?’ Marisa spoke hurriedly, worrying her extra cash was evaporating.

‘No of course not, I just...
’ Helen started.

‘Good, right, well Marisa I’ll get these sandwiches done and you get on the phone to your friends, rustle up some waitresses,’ George ordered, taking a deep breath.

‘I could ask my friend Shirley if you like, she enjoyed it last time and she was ever so good,’ Helen offered.

‘Oh God, not Curly Shirley! You two look like a couple of prize poodles entering Crufts when you’re together you do. She’s the only person I’ve met with curlier hair than you!’ Marisa remarked.

‘I was complimented about my hair at the shop just now,’ Helen told her.

‘What shop was it? RNIB?’

‘Marisa!’ George exclaimed.

‘Don’t worry George, the next time she wants to borrow money, I know what to say.’

‘Oh Mum, I didn’t like really mean it, I mean your hair’s individual isn’t it? Unique,’ Marisa said realising she had gone too far.

‘If you could ask Curly Shirley that would be great,’ George replied.

A loud knock on the back door interrupted them.

‘That’s early if it’s Simon, he could have given me a lift back from town in the van. Half a mile I struggled with those bags. My hands are red raw. They look like overcooked saveloys they do,’ Helen moaned.

‘You need to pass your driving test Helen; at this rate Marisa will be driving our van before you,’ George remarked as she went to the door.

‘Overtime will pay for more lessons Mum,’ Marisa remarked carefully cutting around the princess template with a sharp knife.

George opened the door and revealed a tall, slim, dark haired man, wearing a beanie hat and a big smile.

‘Hello Sis. Need some help wrapping and stacking?’ he greeted.

‘Adam!’ George exclaimed excitedly and she threw her arms around the eighteen year old, enveloping him in a tight hug.

‘God, can’t breathe, let go, you’re squashing the street cred right out of me.’

George let him go and smiled up at him.

‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at uni?’ she enquired.

‘God, you’re sounding more like Mum every day, that’s exactly what she said. Don’t know whether it was because she thought I was skiving, or whether it was because she didn’t like the big black bag of washing I gave her,’ Adam spoke as he stepped into the kitchen.

‘So, why aren’t you at uni?’ George repeated.

‘Hello Helen, hi Marisa. I love what you’ve done to your hair,’ Adam said, giving both the women the benefit of his charming smile.

‘It’s supposed to be magpie,’ Marisa replied, looking at her
blue/
green streaks, her cheeks flushing.

‘Well it really suits you. So, what jobs have we got on today?’ Adam asked, looking around at the organised chaos.

‘All sorts. A princess party, a sixty fifth birthday tomorrow and an after-show party at
the Hexagon
tonight. It’s like totally full on,’ Marisa answered.

‘After-show party at
the Hexagon
? Wow, you know who’s playing there tonight don’t you?’ Adam said, his eyes lighting up.

‘No idea. Someone from Rock It Music just called me,’ George replied.

‘George likes Radio Two these days; I think it’s like an age thing,’ Marisa spoke cheekily.

‘Hey that’s unfair, you know the radio’s broken at the moment,’ George responded.

‘Well it’s Quinn Blake. That’s why I’m home. Me and Tom are going tonight. Quinn Blake’s awesome on the guitar and the piano; you got me the DVD remember?’ Adam said excitedly.

‘Er, yeah,’ George answered not remembering.

She knew who Quinn Blake was, everyone did. He was always on television and in glossy magazines about celebrity lives, but she didn’t really pay attention to any of it. Perhaps it was time she paid more attention to the things Adam was interested in.

‘Marisa, please tell me you’ve heard of Quinn Blake,’ Adam continued, picking up a sausage from a tray and eating it.

‘Of course, he’s like totally cool and really hot,’ Marisa answered.

‘You can be cool and hot at the same time can you?’ Helen enquired.

‘He can,’ Marisa answered.

‘Has he had a number one record?’ Helen asked.

‘Mother! You are like
sooo
embarrassing. He’s had about a million number ones. And I keep telling you they aren’t called records anymore!’ Marisa exclaimed, raising her eyes to Heaven.

‘Are you missing any lectures?’ George asked Adam, moving the tray of food out of his reach.

‘No,’ Adam answered.

‘And now the truth please?’

‘It’s just one, it isn’t important. I mean, I
am
studying music. I think watching a Quinn Blake concert will be more beneficial than listening to Professor Moreton bang on about scores for two hours,’ Adam said.

‘You like
sooo
rehearsed that excuse,’ Marisa remarked.

‘But you love all that stuff,’ George reminded him.

‘It’s only one lecture George. I’m sure you’ll catch up won’t you Adam? He’ll catch up. Won’t you?’ Helen said, encouraging the teenager to agree with her.

‘Of course and I’ve brought all my books with me,’ Adam added.

‘Hello Alison. Listen, can you waitress tonight? At
the Hexagon
. Oh, you’re going to the concert. You lucky cow! I couldn’t get tickets. Well it’s after the concert if you’re int
e
res
ted. We won’t need you until eleven...
’ Marisa spoke on the phone.

‘You better not be lying to me,’ George warned him.

‘I’m not, I swear.’

‘...
and don’t forget it
’
s double time after midnight,’ Marisa added, as George pulled a horrified face and began shaking her head.

‘I can be a waiter for you,’ Adam said, trying to distract his sister and find some more food.

‘You don’t have to do that. It’ll be late and you’ve driven three hours to get here.’

‘Who else have you got?’ Adam asked.

‘Well there’s me and Helen and Marisa and probably Alison now Marisa’s offered her double time and Curly Shirley
..
.’