Having decided that she definitely mustn't cook chicken – he wouldn't want to eat his pets' relations – she couldn't think of anything else that wouldn't take hours and hours.
She wandered aimlessly up and down the High Street, searching for inspiration, wishing she hadn't decided to leave her cookery books behind. She'd ask Pat to collect them for her. She didn't want to go back there if she didn't have to. At least there'd be no doubt about them all belonging to her.
Then, somehow, before she knew how it had happened, she found herself outside the salon, staring in the window. She suddenly thought that there was a computer there, she could look up a recipe on the Internet – a tried and tested one that she knew would work.
She was trying to look through the window without being seen when one of her clients spotted her and waved. Before Bron could indicate that she didn't want to be seen, Sasha, obviously more on the ball than she was, spotted her, and shot out of the door, grasping her wrist like the Ancient Mariner, only in fishnet tights.
‘Have you decided to come back?' Sasha was wary, testing the water in case Bron planned to rush into the salon and declare Sasha a total slapper, or some such. 'Your job's here if you want it.' Maybe she'd finally realised what a good hairdresser she'd lost.
She didn't add 'provided you don't make trouble' but she didn't need to. Sasha had always been well able to make her requirements known without having to express them out loud.
Bron looked down at her arm, which had the effect of making Sasha loosen her grip. 'Er, no, it's all right. I mean, I don't want my job back.’
Just being next to Sasha on the pavement was horrid enough. Bron would rather do anything than go back into the salon with its bitchiness, long, boring hours and all the little arguments about tips.
‘So why are you here?' Sasha's smile was definitely false but a little more relaxed. Bron smiled back, equally falsely.
‘I left some things here and I also wondered if I could borrow the computer? I need to look something up on the Internet.' She might as well use it now she was here.
Sasha considered. Would Bron make trouble if she refused? She obviously couldn't decide. 'OK then. If you're not too long.'
‘Thanks.' Bron smiled and walked past Sasha into the shop.
A couple of her ladies were sitting under driers. Spotting Bron they called out to her, 'Hello dear! How nice to see you.'
‘I was told you'd left when I rang yesterday. Now here you are,' said one.
‘Come for your cards, have you? Now, Sasha, don't you make any trouble for her, she's a lovely girl. Always did my hair just as I like it.’
The other one had been looking at Bron thoughtfully. 'Not in the family way, are you? You wouldn't want to be working with all these chemicals if you are.’
Bron, who was wearing a loose summer top over her jeans, decided not to be offended. Sasha gave Bron a they think-you're-fat look, which Bron ignored.
‘Not that you're showing yet!' said the woman, anxious lest she'd put her foot in it.
Bron laughed and revealed her normal flat stomach under her top.
‘Well, if you will go round in a nightie that doesn't show off your nice figure, what can you expect?' said the woman, still embarrassed.
Bron laughed again. 'No, I'm not expecting, but I have left. Sasha is very kindly allowing me to use the Internet. I've left my boyfriend too.' It was Bron's turn to look meaningfully at Sasha.
Sasha said, 'If you want to use the computer, go on through. You know where it is. And don't be too long. I'll need to order some stuff soon.’
Bron smiled at her ex-clients. 'You can always contact me privately if you want to.' She rummaged in her bag for the business cards she had for weddings. 'Here's my mobile number.’
Sasha's hatred was almost audible. It's because she's in the wrong, thought Bron. She can't forgive me.
Bron found a recipe quite quickly as she knew which books she had, and could look up most of them. She had just printed out one for pork tenderloin that was easy, didn't take hours and didn't involve chicken. She would need to go back into the main part of the town though. She was just waiting for the printer to wake up and start performing when Sasha came in.
‘You're not doing anything you shouldn't, are you? Such as stealing my client records?’
Bron knew perfectly well that Sasha didn't have her client records on the computer because she had never got round to putting them there. 'I'm just printing out a recipe,' said Bron calmly.
‘It was wrong of you to give my clients your card,' Sasha went on crossly.
‘It was wrong of you to give my boyfriend-'
‘Oh, all right!' Sasha snapped, before Bron could go on. 'I'm sorry about that!’
Bron shrugged. Sasha sounded about as sorry as she used to be when slipping in an extra appointment meant that Bron missed her lunch break yet again. In other words: not very. Tactfully, the printer creaked into action and produced Bron's recipe.
‘Now, if you've finished with the computer, please go. I'll see you get your cookery books soon.' It did seem as if Sasha was genuinely trying to be pleasant, but she just couldn't do it.
‘Thank you, that would be kind,' said Bron graciously and moved swiftly out of the door. When she'd said a long goodbye to her ex-clients, she set off once more for the shops.
It was only when she'd planned her menu, washed her hands and tied a large tea towel round her waist that Bron realised the kitchen in the little cottage was not geared to haute cuisine, or even ordinary family cooking. She'd managed fine up to now, when she mostly lived on boiled eggs, the odd chicken breast or bit of fish, but for anything more than that, its size was prohibitive. She'd been so busy recently, she just hadn't taken it in.
For a start, the only surface big enough to work pastry on was the floor. She'd been planning to make apple pie. She'd never met a man who didn't like it.
She chewed her lip and wondered how she could get round this problem. Supposing she sterilised the floor and covered it with foil? No, she'd need a mile of foil, which she didn't have, and it would all crinkle up. Still prepared to roll pastry on her knees, she considered putting a towel down and using that as a surface. It would give the pastry an interesting texture and she was on the way to fetching a towel when she realised she'd have to roll the pastry out with a wine bottle.
So it would have to be apple crumble and not pie. Roger would have complained horribly but James would probably be perfectly happy.
As she rubbed butter, flour and sugar between her fingers, she realised that problem-solving was one of her favourite things. It was why she'd been so keen to make Carrie's cake. She just hoped that Pat's friend's kitchen was suitable and she would be allowed to use it. Anyway, Sarah would have some ideas.
She lit a fire, not because it was really cold but it had started to rain, making the cottage seem a bit dark. Having a fire and lighting some candles she'd brought with her cheered it up a lot.
Once her living area was more gemutlich she put a couple of plates in front of the fire to warm, aware she was probably the last woman on earth under thirty who cared about hot plates, then went back to her cooking. She hoped James wouldn't be late. She didn't want her pork fillets to dry up.
He wasn't late. He arrived with a bunch of flowers that obviously came from a garden and were a wonderfully eclectic mix.
‘Oh, they're wonderful!' said Bron. 'What are they all?'
‘Well, they're mostly just common things. Those salmony-pink roses are Albertine, the double-double purple ones are really called aquilegia, but are always known as grannies' bonnets. The stripy grass is called gardeners' garters. I'm sure you recognise the moon daisies.’
Bron laughed. 'I'll put them in water and then give you a glass of wine.'
‘I've brought wine too. Shall I deal with it?’
As Bron produced the two tumblers she had washed and polished for the occasion, he pulled the cork from the bottle. He was a very calming presence, she decided. And not bad-looking; she wondered once again if he were single. She handed him the glasses before retrieving her potato dish from the oven and carrying it to the table. The table wobbled.
‘A bit of fag-packet should sort that out,' he said knowingly, and then added, 'Pity I smoke roll-ups.' Bron tore the top off a box of cornflakes. 'Here, try this. How's the giving-up going?'
‘I've cut down a lot. It's only about five a day now, but I would like to quit completely.’
Bron bent down to wedge the cardboard under the offending table leg. Suddenly she felt terribly shy. She was getting to know James and they were neighbours, but she was aware that they were sharing a very small space and he was a relative stranger. The cottage seemed to have shrunk to half its already tiny size. She stood up awkwardly.
James, perhaps sensing her sudden discomfort, said, 'I've got some dry logs next door. Shall I go and get them?' When she had lit the tea lights on the table that went with the ones dotted round the place she suddenly realised that it could have all looked too romantic. She wasn't coming on to him, she was just thanking him for helping her settle into her new home. He might be quite attractive in a rustic way but she couldn't even think about another relationship until she'd had quite a bit of freedom first. When he came back with the logs she handed him a full glass.
‘Come and sit down. You must be starving. Cheers!' she went on cheerfully, clinking her glass against his. 'Dig in! Oh – I didn't meant that as a ghastly pun, you being a gardener and all.'
‘It's all right, I'm not remotely sensitive about it. I used to be in IT until I couldn't stand it any more and decided to retrain.’
Bron took a sustaining draught of wine. 'Perhaps I should retrain. You've no idea how embarrassing it is telling groups of people you don't know what you do for a living.'
‘What, that you're a hairdresser?'
‘Mm. It's very satisfying and I really enjoy it, but people just assume you're stupid.'
‘Are you sure? Why should they think that?’
Bron shrugged. 'Traditionally it's what girls who aren't likely to pass many exams get pushed into doing. But I did it because I wanted to. I passed plenty of exams.'
‘As I didn't know that hairdressers were supposed to be stupid you don't need to show me your certificates to convince me you're not.’
Bron giggled and took another sip of wine, feeling much more relaxed. James was very easy to talk to, now her initial awkwardness had worn off – and he listened as if he was genuinely interested, unlike Roger. 'I am branching out a bit, actually.'
‘Yes?'
‘I'm supposed to be making a wedding cake, but I'm not quite sure how to do it.' Bron smiled. 'Anyway, what about you?' she asked. 'Did you have to study, too? Although isn't gardening sort of instinctive?'
‘Instinct helps but it's not enough. Especially if you want to work in one of the great gardens.'
‘Which you do?’
He nodded. 'The garden here is lovely and I was terribly lucky to meet Vanessa. Working for her has been brilliant, but I don't want to do it for ever. I want to go into garden design more and to do that you really have to know about plants.’
Bron smiled a little quizzically. 'Traditionally, the boys who weren't expected to pass exams were taught gardening.’
James laughed now. 'Here's to people who aren't expected to pass exams but do.’
As their tumblers collided, Bron said, 'Much more toasting and we'll both be tipsy,' then blushed, hoping she hadn't implied anything. 'Do start. I don't want all this getting cold.’
They ate in silence for a while and then James said, 'So, how are you finding it, living alone?’
Bron considered for a moment. 'It's fine, really. Much better than I thought it would be. I've never lived on my own before and I've always assumed I'd hate it, but I really like the freedom.' She paused and took another sip of wine. As James didn't comment she went on. 'I've got friends and my work, I don't need anything else.'
‘Not even a man to do the heavy stuff?’
Bron laughed, aware he was teasing her. 'I've got a very strong back, thank you, so I can do my own lifting. I might need your help if I come across a spider though,' she added, not wanting to appear too strident. Besides, it was true.
It was James's turn to laugh. 'I'll have a glass and a bit of card ready.' He was silent for a moment. 'And I know what you mean about living alone. It's peaceful even if it is a bit lonely at times.'
‘I'm certainly going to do it for a while. It means I can have the radio on in the middle of the night if I can't sleep.' She raised her glass again. 'To the single life!’
When they clinked again, she went to get the crumble. It was shortly before twelve when James, who had suddenly looked at his watch, got up. 'I had no idea it was so late-’
They had been chatting about this and that, books, films, music and the time had whistled by.
‘Nor had I.' Bron was a bit surprised; the conversation had flowed easily.
‘I've got an early start. But thank you so much for dinner. It was wonderful. One of the drawbacks to the single life is food. Somehow it never seems worth putting too much effort into cooking.'
‘Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was just a thank you for being such a good neighbour. In fact' – emboldened by the wine Bron said what she'd been thinking for a while – 'I could cut your hair for you if you wanted.’
The corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. 'I'll bring the hedge trimmers.’
Bron twinkled back at him. 'It's all right. I've got my own.’
As he walked down the path she decided he was really quite cute when he smiled.