The Good Plain Cook (3 page)

There was a clicking sound as the man rolled whatever was in his mouth from one side to the other, making his neatly trimmed
moustache twitch. His cheeks looked weathered but his eyes were bright, the skin around them unlined. ‘I do the garden and
that.’

Kitty nodded, still holding on to the door handle.

‘And look after the beast in the garage.’

‘The beast?’

‘Mrs S. asked me to fetch you these.’

He brought a bunch of carrots, already cleaned so they were gleaming yellow, from behind his back. His hands were large and
tanned. Then he swallowed, and Kitty smelled aniseed.

‘She said something about soup.’

Kitty looked at the trailing ends of the vegetables. ‘But I haven’t any stock.’

‘And these.’ He produced a bundle of onions. ‘I keep all the veg in the shed.’

Kitty let go of the door handle. She walked past him, sat at the table and pressed a hand to her mouth. Crying was not what
a new cook should do on her first day, not in front of this man with his big hands and his low voice.

The man placed the vegetables on the table. Then he produced a penknife from his pocket, divided the carrots into three piles,
and deftly sliced the tops from them.

After a minute she heard the rustling of a paper bag. ‘Want a sweet?’

She hated aniseed but she took one and held it. The man had left his boots at the door, and his thick sock had a hole in it,
Kitty noticed. A long nail was pointing in her direction.

‘Sorry,’ she said, rolling the sweet between her finger and thumb. ‘I’m not quite…’ she took a breath. ‘I’m Kitty.’

‘Arthur.’

Kitty rose from her chair. ‘I ought to get on – the stock pot…’

‘Sit down, don’t bother yourself.’

She sat, and Arthur stood over her, stroking his moustache. How old was he? Probably not yet in his thirties, but that moustache
made him look older.

‘All right?’

She nodded.

‘I’m making myself a cup of tea. I daresay you’d like one.’

Once he’d turned his back to her and was filling the kettle, Kitty slipped the aniseed twist into the pocket of her apron.

He wasn’t tall and his shoulders were bulky, as if he had a lot of clothing bundled under his jacket. His wavy hair looked
a bit like the woollen fur on a toy bear she’d had once.

She watched him as he fetched the pot and cups in silence. The pot was light green and strangely angular. There was no cosy.
He measured out the tea carefully, tapping the spoon on the side of the caddy to even it out before he tipped the contents
into the pot. Then he went into the larder and Kitty rubbed at her cheeks and straightened her apron.

Arthur set the pot on the table. He’d poured the milk into a jug and found the sugar basin. ‘Always have tea at eleven,’ he
said, pouring two cups.

Kitty looked at his face as he spoke. His teeth seemed set deep inside his mouth, a long way back from his lips.

‘Where were you before?’ he asked.

‘At the school,’ she said. ‘And I was a – cook, a plain cook, for a lady in Petersfield.’ She wasn’t sure why she’d lied to
him. He looked like you could tell him the truth and he wouldn’t mind.

‘You’ll soon settle.’

Some tea had slopped over the edge of his cup and he scraped its bottom along the edge of his saucer before pouring the spill
back. Then he took a slurp, swallowed, and sighed. He held his cup with both hands and stared into space for a long time before
speaking again. ‘The girl before you didn’t stay long.’

‘Dora?’

‘That’s her.’

‘Why did she leave?’

‘The usual.’

Kitty waited for more, but he was staring into space again.

‘What are they like?’ she asked, being careful not to look at him too closely.

‘Mr Crane and Mrs S.?’ He swilled his tea around the cup. ‘He’s all right. Bit wet, but not afraid to get his hands dirty.’
He took another slurp.

‘And her?’

He drained his tea. ‘She’s – all right.’

There was a silence. Arthur began to clean his fingernails with the end of his penknife.

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Since before they came, end of last summer. I worked for Mr Jacks, whose house it was. So I stayed with the house. Part of
the furniture, you could say.’ He frowned and studied his own hands, which he’d spread before her on the table. They were,
Kitty noticed, completely hairless. The muscles at the base of his thumbs bulged as he formed, then released, fists. ‘They
wanted it all different, of course.’

Kitty tried a smile.

Arthur looked at the clock. ‘Best get on.’ He flicked the penknife closed and tucked it in his top pocket. ‘The beast will
need stroking.’

He stood up and flexed his fingers. ‘Like I said, veg is in the shed. Help yourself.’

She watched him as he pulled on his boots, noticing the way he stooped over the laces and tightened them with some effort.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but where did you say the shed was?’

Without a word, he opened the back door, stepped outside, and motioned for her to follow him.

They walked along the gravel path at the back of the cottage, Kitty watching Arthur’s broad back. He walked swiftly, swinging
his hands by his sides. He pointed to the garage. ‘Beast’s in there. Useless thing, electricity, if you ask me. Lights go
off all the time. Don’t know why they don’t have gas,’ he said. ‘And my shed’s there.’ He stopped and nodded at a one-windowed
wooden hut, covered in ivy and almost hidden behind the garage.

Kitty looked from one to the other and swallowed. ‘Right.’

‘Leave you to it, then,’ he said, disappearing into the garage.

When he was gone, Kitty stood for a moment, staring at the shed door, before hurrying back to the kitchen. It would have to
be omelettes. They would have to be flat.

· · ·  Four  · · ·

Geenie’s toes were cold, even now. It was Sunday afternoon, and it had begun to warm up outside, but she was still wearing
her orange cardigan with the flower buttons, knitted by Nanny Dora. Now Dora was married and living with her husband in London.
Ellen said it was for the best, because Dora had her life and they had theirs. But Kitty was not the same at all. She was
not nearly so pretty. Everyone said that Dora was more like a Gaiety girl than a nurse, with her plump little figure and her
budding lips. Kitty was short and wiry-haired, never took her apron off and hadn’t shown any sign of knitting.

‘What if someone sees?’

‘Who’s to see, apart from George? Kitty and Arthur are both off this afternoon. And who’s to care, anyway?’

Ellen had already removed her own short-sleeved turquoise blouse. She rubbed the military-style shoulders together as if trying
to get rid of a stain. ‘Rather manly, isn’t it? Better to take it off,’ she said, opening her fingers and letting the blouse
fall to the ground. The buttons clattered and, beneath the table, Blotto stirred. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got much to show,
anyway. Nothing to make a fuss about. If I can do it, you can.’

Geenie looked down. It was true: nothing interrupted the view to her sandals. There was no bosom, stomach or thigh to upset
the straight plane of space between her nose and her toes. But she knew that, underneath the orange cardigan and sundress,
her body held secrets. The faint lines of a few pubic hairs, for instance, disturbing the smoothness of her own skin. When
she was in bed at night she sometimes put a hand there and stroked them.

Her mother crouched down and looked into her face. ‘When you’ve got something, I’ll be the first to notice.’ She paused and
licked her lips. ‘And then we can take action. It’s no good being shy about these things.’ She touched Geenie’s cheek and
lowered her voice. ‘God knows, I thought of sex as the most awful ogre until I met your father. Can you imagine? I was twenty-three!
A scandalous age to be a virgin. But he enlightened me. It was really nothing to worry about, nothing at all. In fact, he
was more worried than I was, when I’d finished with him.’

Ellen straightened up and undid the buttons on her skirt, which shot to the floor, turquoise stripes concertinaing before
Geenie’s eyes.

‘Is George going to sunbathe?’

‘George is writing, darling. I’m sure he won’t be interested in sunshine. Or, for that matter, in naked females.’ As she spoke,
her mother pulled her ivory petticoat over her head and her thick hair crackled. Geenie could see the brown strands standing
up on the crown, like skinny twigs.

‘Are you still in that damned dress? The sun will be gone by the time you get out there. This is England, Geenie. You have
to make the most of these days of grace. Unhook this for me.’

She knelt down to allow her daughter to reach the hook of her bra. Geenie hesitated before facing the bunched-up skin around
the straps of the device. She particularly hated the way it bulged over the hooks, and wondered how her mother could stand
this cage of rubber, ribbons and gauzy cotton. It was something like the tents Dora used to use for spotted dick and other
steamed puddings.

After a small struggle, she unhooked the bra, and felt the relief of her mother’s flesh as it was released.

Ellen bent over and stepped out of her knickers. Geenie decided to stare at the sink.

‘Still not ready?’

She shook her head.

‘All right. But you’ll regret it. It’ll be wonderful out there. The sun on every part of you. There’s nothing more natural
than that, darling. Nothing more natural than the sun on your own skin.’

As Ellen opened the back door, Geenie caught the smell of her mother: something sharp but spicy, like dandelions.

When she’d gone, Geenie took off her cardigan and put her chin on the edge of the sink, letting the enamel cool her jaw. She
could hear her mother humming and flapping out a towel. With one hand, she gathered up the hem of her sundress and hooked
it beneath her chin. Then, staring at the taps, she circled a finger around the slight swelling of her nipples, first one,
then the other. The skin there was like the lamb’s ears Arthur grew in the garden, all velvet springiness. She raised her
chin from the sink and pulled the dress over her head. Cupping a hand beneath each nipple, she hunched her shoulders and thrust
the flesh on her chest upwards in an effort to make a cleavage. But Ellen was right: there was nothing to make a fuss about.

Clutching her sundress, Geenie tiptoed to the back door, which was still slightly ajar, and peeped out of the crack. Her mother
was reclined on a white towel in the centre of the lawn. Apart from her sunglasses, she was totally naked, and she was tapping
her nails on one thigh, bouncing them off the flesh.

The door to George’s writing studio, Geenie noticed, remained closed. A few weeks ago, Geenie had peeked through the studio
window and seen a piece of paper scrolled into George’s typewriter with the words LOVE ON THE DOWNS typed at the top. When
she’d peeped again yesterday, that piece of paper was still there, with nothing else added. But, as Ellen often pointed out,
George was very busy. He was making the cottage into a modern home so they could be a real family. Which was why Geenie shouldn’t
go around knocking holes in walls, even if they were already broken and rubble was all over the rug, and why her mother had
told her to stay in her room and miss supper last week. It hadn’t been too bad, though, as she’d remembered the three Garibaldis
stored in her sock drawer.

Blotto stretched and waddled from beneath the table. She patted him on the head and he began to lick her hand, pushing his
long tongue between each of her fingers.

After a while, her mother shouted, ‘You should come out here, Flossy. It’s divine.’

Geenie wiped the dog’s saliva down the back door and continued to watch through the crack.

George emerged from the studio. He stood on the step, shielding his eyes from the sun. He was wearing his writing cardigan,
which Ellen said he should never wear out of the house. It was pale blue with a cream collar and big cream buttons, and was
so long it almost reached his knees.

He didn’t say anything for a long time.

‘There you are. How’s Karl, darling? Getting to the good bits yet?’ Ellen hitched herself up on one elbow and smiled in George’s
direction. ‘Surely it’s too hot to be indoors, even for Marx?’

George stepped onto the lawn and frowned. He stared at Ellen for a long time, his eyes going up and down her body but never
resting on her face.

‘Ellen. What on earth are you doing?’

‘I should’ve thought that was obvious.’

He ran a hand over his mouth. ‘Where’s your bathing suit?’

‘I don’t know, darling. I’m not going bathing.’

George’s frown deepened. ‘It’s still only April…’

‘Almost May. You should get some sun on those marvellous legs of yours,’ said Ellen. ‘It does the skin tone no end of good.’

He looked about. ‘Won’t the neighbours—’

‘There are no neighbours. We’re miles from anyone. We’re practically in the wilderness. And you’re still wearing that infernal
cardigan.’

‘I’d hardly call Harting a wilderness.’

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Ellen sat up and thrust her arms out towards him. ‘Nudity,’ she said in a loud
voice, ‘is the magician of the genders.’

George let out a laugh.

‘It’s not funny, darling. It’s poetic. James told me.’

‘What does it mean, I wonder?’ asked George, walking towards her.

‘It means,’ said Ellen, settling back down on her towel, ‘that you should get undressed immediately.’

George looked about again.

‘It is rather hot, isn’t it?’

‘Blistering.’

He started to remove his cardigan. ‘And no one’s about.’

‘Not a soul.’

From behind the back door, Geenie watched as George slipped his braces from his shoulders and began to unbutton his shirt.

‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.’

‘How could your magnificent body possibly inflict pain on anyone or anything?’

George’s chest was speckled with patches of black curly hair. He folded his shirt carefully and placed it on the grass. Then
he removed his shoes and socks, unbuttoned his trousers and bent over to step out of them.

Geenie made her decision. With Blotto trotting behind, she strolled into the garden and stood before them with her hands on
her naked hips. ‘Is there room for me?’

‘Good grief—’

Ellen sat up. ‘Flossy! How wonderful! Now we can all be magicians together.’

George hopped about on one leg, trying to get his braces in place and his socks on at the same time.

‘Don’t be shy, darling. Lie down next to me. George is sunbathing, too.’ Ellen held out a hand and her daughter took it. The
sun was fierce on Geenie’s shoulders, and her neck was hot beneath her pile of heavy hair. But Ellen was right: it was wonderful,
the sun on every part of you: back, bottom, legs, belly.

‘I’ve got rather a mound of work to get through, actually,’ said George, still hopping. His sock seemed to have jammed on
his toes. ‘I think I’d better get back to it.’

‘What’s the hurry, darling?’

He gave up on the socks and finally snapped his braces into place. ‘I’ve got to finish something. Lots to do before Diana
arrives.’

‘But you said—’

‘Second thoughts. You girls carry on.’

‘Please stay,’ said Geenie.

But he wouldn’t look at her. He’d fixed his gaze over their heads, on the door of his studio. Plucking his shirt from the
grass, he walked back inside and closed the door firmly behind him.

Geenie looked at her mother. Ellen’s cheeks had swelled with laughter, which she managed to hold for half a minute before
letting it out in a long, loud rush. Geenie flung herself down on the towel and laughed too. Their bodies shook together,
Geenie curling her legs to her chest and rolling from side to side, Ellen clutching her own elbows and rocking back and forth.
They laughed and laughed until they ran out of air and had to calm down. Then they laughed again. When they were exhausted,
Geenie slotted into Ellen’s side, her small hipbone curving into her mother’s waist, and Ellen put an arm around her shoulders.
Geenie closed her eyes and stayed still for as long as she could, savouring the warmth of her mother’s flesh.

Eventually, Ellen sat up. ‘Poor Crane,’ she said, laughing again.

‘Who’s Diana?’ asked Geenie.

‘She’s George’s daughter, darling. She’s coming to live here for a bit. Didn’t I mention it?’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

Geenie tried to nudge herself back into her mother’s side, but Ellen gave a shiver and stood up, looking at the sky. The clouds
were thickening.

‘What’s she like?’

‘I don’t know, darling. A bit like George, probably. But a girl, and eleven years old.’

‘Will she like me?’ asked Geenie.

‘What a ridiculous question.’ Ellen frowned, still gazing upwards. ‘Maybe I was a bit optimistic. We’d better go in.’

Geenie watched her mother’s naked bottom wobble towards the house and wondered if Diana knocked holes in walls, too.