This Time Next Year(18)

‘What?’ Minnie spun around to look at her. ‘What disaster?’

‘Beverley burnt the pies.’ Fleur gave a slow, swan-like shrug.

‘She didn’t!’

Minnie rushed past the reception desk into the kitchen beyond. Beverley was standing red-faced in her white chef’s coat, leaning over a countertop full of pies. They were lined up in a colour spectrum ranging from lightly charcoaled through to deeply incinerated. Minnie’s jaw fell as she plonked the cardboard tray of coffees down on the countertop and took in the scene of devastation before her.

‘What happened?’ she asked softly.

‘I think these ones are salvageable,’ said Beverley, pointing at the left-hand side of the counter. Beverley was fifty-nine but looked older, with her ruddy skin and soft, jowly face.

‘How … how did you burn so many?’ Minnie asked, shaking her head in disbelief. At least thirty of the forty pies in front of her were too burnt to sell.

‘I came in early to get a bump on things,’ said Beverley, eyes wide with remorse. Her wiry black hair was escaping in tufts from beneath her hairnet, lending her a mad-professor vibe. ‘Me and the oven have not been getting along.’

‘Are these the pies Leila spent the whole of New Year’s Eve making?’ Minnie asked, pulling the iron bar stool up to the large steel countertop. She picked at one of the burnt crusts and the black pastry crumbled beneath her touch. ‘What happened to the timer we bought you? The pies always take exactly forty-two minutes.’

‘Me and the timer have not been getting along,’ Beverley sighed, brushing some of the errant hair away from her eyes.

Minnie sat with her head in her hands. This was not how the second of January was supposed to go.

‘I’m sorry, Minnie,’ said Beverley, her face forlorn. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with me lately. One minute I’m here working, and the next my mind’s gone somewhere else and twenty minutes have flashed by as though they were seconds.’

‘She’s having an existential crisis,’ said Alan, hopping from foot to foot in agitation. ‘What’s it all about? Why am I here? Is pastry the meaning of life? Oh whoops, the kitchen’s on fire.’

Beverley whacked Alan with a tea towel.

‘Someone called for you, Minnie,’ Fleur said, craning her long neck around the corner from the reception desk. ‘Something about a drop-off?’

‘Was it a change to today’s orders?’ Minnie asked.

‘I don’t remember the exact details.’

‘Fleur, we’ve talked about this, you have to write down messages – otherwise there really is no point in you being here.’

Fleur rolled her eyes and went back to scrolling through her phone and sipping her inadequate bovine cappuccino.

‘I’ll start again,’ said Beverley with a sniff. ‘You can take the ingredients out of my pay. I’m so sorry, Minnie.’

Minnie checked her watch. They had to get forty-five pies baked, packaged and delivered all across London before the end of the afternoon. It would be tight.

‘No, don’t be silly, Bev. Come on, no point crying about it now,’ Minnie said, patting a distraught Beverley on the back. ‘Let’s get to it.’

Minnie rolled up her sleeves, put on her apron and hairnet and set to work. She loved to bake; it was when she felt most calm. People talked about ‘being in flow’ and, for her, baking a pie was the perfect kind of flow. It took just enough concentration to focus her mind, but gave her brain a break from the usual clamour of concerns and anxieties vying for her attention. Clearly Beverley was not finding her flow through baking at the moment. Minnie wondered if she should encourage Beverley to see someone about this absent-mindedness. It had started a few weeks ago and they’d all noticed. It wasn’t so much that Beverley was forgetful, more that her mind zoned out for a while and her attention wasn’t in the room.

Leila arrived just as Minnie and Beverley were pulling ingredients together into a giant ball of pastry on the central steel countertop.

‘What’s happening? Why are you baking?’ Leila said, turning her head sharply between Alan, Beverley and Minnie.

‘Beverley burnt the pies,’ said Alan, hopping up and down on one foot.

‘For fuck’s sake, Beverley!’ Leila said, slamming her palm down onto the countertop. Alan jumped in alarm. Beverley let out a quivering sob and closed her eyes.

‘Hey, hey, it’s OK, she’s having a bad day,’ said Minnie, rubbing Beverley on the back with a floury hand. ‘We’re making more, it’s fine,’ Minnie said, giving Leila a wide-eyed stare.

‘It’s not fine,’ Leila sighed, ‘I spent all New Year’s Eve prepping those pies. And you,’ Leila jabbed a finger at Minnie, ‘what happened to you yesterday? I was ringing on your doorbell for ages, Little Miss Migraine bullshit.’

‘I don’t like Leila when she’s angry,’ said Alan, hunching his shoulders and settling his features into a childlike scowl.

‘Rainbow Bright’s got attitude today,’ said Fleur, appearing at the kitchen door.

‘What happened yesterday?’ asked Alan.

‘Happy Birthday by the way, Minnie,’ said Beverley, sniffing back tears. ‘Did you get to do anything nice?’