Page 3 of Club Royal: Calendar Collection

Freddie

Freddie strode down the corridor as if nothing were amiss, but when he reached the kitchen, instead of turning right towards the offices, he glanced around and pushed through to the kitchen itself.

It had been a long time since he’d been in there.

Mainly because their chef was very protective of their domain and didn’t want just anyone in there messing things up.

He hoped, with it being the middle of the night, that no one would be there, and he could put his plan into motion without observers.

His shoulders lowered when the kitchen was quiet and empty, and he wandered to the fridge. There would be everything he needed; there always was. He grabbed the ingredients he needed, collected more from the pantry, and headed for the centre island.

As he chose a bowl, he smiled, remembering when his mother used to bring him and his brothers to the kitchen to make this specific recipe.

They also crept around in the middle of the night, and although Freddie guessed the staff knew about it, they said nothing and nobody ever stopped them.

Though it had been a while since he’d done this, maybe they’d leave him alone to cook tonight, too.

He was about to weigh the flour when the kitchen door swung open. His gaze darted to it, his movements frozen as he waited to be busted in a place no one thought he should be. His shoulders lowered, his breath rushing from his lungs when Douglas strolled in, pausing at the threshold.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” his brother said.

Freddie grinned. “Guess we both had the same idea.”

“Even if you idiots are a day late,” George said, entering behind Douglas.

“A day late for what?” Freddie asked, beginning to measure again.

“Pancake day,” George replied, hands on hips. “I did this yesterday. I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d turn up as we don’t do them every year now.”

Freddie put the flour on the side once he had what he needed. “Maybe we should start doing it again now we have others to make them for.” He glanced at George. “Why are you here tonight if you’ve already done them?”

George shrugged and sat on a chair at the island. “You are making pancakes, aren’t you?”

Freddie nodded. “Valentine pancakes.”

“Valentine pancakes?” Douglas said, stepping closer. “What’s the difference between usual pancakes and Valentine pancakes?”

It was Freddie’s turn to shrug. “I was going to cut them into hearts when they were cooked. Bite-size hearts.” His cheeks heated, not used to feeling embarrassed around his family. “Sounds stupid but…”

Douglas stopped beside him as he measured the butter. “I was just going to make normal pancakes.” He sounded put out. “Do you have a cutter to make them?”

“I’m going to do them by hand.”

“Ooh, look at you being all crafty,” George said.

Freddie gave him the middle finger and continued with his baking, adding milk and whisking it. Douglas nudged him to the side and grabbed a fresh bowl, measuring out his own ingredients.

Glancing at his youngest brother, Freddie said, “Are you just here to watch?”

“Pretty much,” George said. “I should’ve thought about doing this instead of doing them for pancake day.”

“Make some more,” Douglas said, nudging another bowl towards him. “It’s not like we don’t have the ingredients.”

“Isn’t it stupid doing pancakes two days in a row?”

“If they’re from you, I don’t think it matters. Timothy and Eddie will love them.” Douglas passed the flour over to him.

“When did you get so wise?” George stood and rounded the island.

Douglas grinned. “I’ve always been wise.”

“Your social media manager might have something to say about that,” Freddie muttered.

“Mav knows me. And anyway, I’ve stopped that now.” Douglas grabbed another whisk, the scraping against the bowl doubling with them both doing it.

Freddie raised his eyebrows. “Really? So the news was wrong about your visit to Perth?”

Douglas winced and rolled his shoulders. “Not exactly…”

George snorted, and Freddie shook his head. His brother had learnt many things since his relationship with Mav had started, but keeping below the radar wasn’t one of them.

He moved over to the stove and put his batter beside it before heating the pan.

When it was ready and with his mother’s voice in his head, he spooned the batter into small circles.

There would be some waste when he cut the shapes, but he could have a bowl with those bits and let Damon have the hearts.

Half-listening to his brothers’ conversation, he concentrated on making a small stack and then carried them over to the island again.

Choosing a plate to display them on and a board for cutting them to shape, he focused on his task until a splattering of flour landed far too close for his liking.

He glanced up, seeing his brothers standing innocently on the other side.

Unfortunately for them, their hands showed their crime.

“Don’t get it on my pancakes.” He continued cutting the heart shapes and stepped back, smiling at them.

They weren’t perfect, but they looked good enough.

He needed to be quick, though, or they’d be cold before he got them to Damon.

Seconds later, he had a mouth and nose full of flour and his eyes were stinging. “What the hell!” He coughed, trying to clear his throat while he wiped his eyes. His eyelashes were covered, but he could hear well enough, and Douglas’s and George’s laughter echoed around the room.

“We didn’t get it on your pancakes.” A pause. “I don’t think,” Douglas said.

“His pancakes are fine. His wardrobe, however…” George snorted.

Freddie rounded the table, and his brothers countered his move, but what they didn’t initially realise is that he wasn’t aiming for them—he was aiming for the flour bag. He grabbed a handful and threw it at them, hitting George on the shoulder.

It was on.

Douglas ducked into the pantry and returned with two more bags of flour, handing one to George, and Freddie grabbed the one from the table, knowing he was beginning with a disadvantage because his bag didn’t have as much in as theirs did.

He ducked another handful and returned fire, flour streaming across the air and leaving clouds of it floating around. When he ran out of flour, he crunched up the bag and threw it at them, and then a bellow sounded from across the island.

“He’s out!” Douglas shouted.

“Your turn,” George said, and Freddie took a breather as he watched George and Douglas battle it out.

As the war wound down, he saw movement from the corner of his eye and glanced at the door, straightening when he saw his father standing there with his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame.

Douglas and George carried on until George was victorious, tipping the last dregs of the bag over Douglas’s head.

Laughter rang around the large space, and Freddie couldn’t help grinning at the lighthearted sound.

“Well, that was entertaining,” their father said.

George’s and Douglas’s heads snapped around, and their laughter calmed.

“Sorry, Father,” Freddie said, rubbing his hands together to remove some of the flour.

Andrew smiled and shook his head. “I wanted to check you were okay. I know this was something you did with your mother. But I think you’re fine.”

Freddie’s heart ached. He missed her so much. “We’re good.” He glanced at Douglas and George, who nodded, flour falling from their hair with the motion. He took in the mess. “I think we might need to start again with the pancakes, though.”

Silence, and then roars of laughter from all four of them.

“I would tell you to tidy up first, but if there’s even a slight chance that this will happen again, there’s no point,” Andrew said. He pointed a finger at them. “When you’re completely done, clean this mess. I expect it to be spick and span before Esme comes in tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” the three of them chorused.

“Goodnight, boys.” Andrew turned to the door.

Freddie took a step forward. “Would you like to join us?”

His father raised his eyebrows as his arms dropped to his sides. “It’s okay. This was something you shared with your mother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We share it with family,” Douglas said.

“All family,” George added. “We promise we won’t cover you in flour.”

Andrew’s throat bobbed, but he nodded and moved further into the room. “I’m not exactly sure where to start. I’ve never made pancakes.”

Freddie pulled a small, worn, brown paper-covered book from a shelf above a counter and held it out to him. “This was Mother’s recipe book. She made it for us when we kept getting the ingredients wrong.”

Andrew took it and studied the cover, smiling. “Who was the artist?” he asked, pointing at the stick-figure family on the cover, and George raised his hand.

“I was four when she made this. I wanted to decorate it.”

“It has the five of us on here.” Andrew glanced up at them. “I never did this with you, though.”

“But it was for you,” Douglas said. “That made you part of it.”

“I’m sorry we never invited you to join us,” Freddie said.

Andrew chuckled. “Your mother did. Every year. But I wanted this to be her thing with you.”

“Like the library was with you,” Freddie said, finally understanding the dynamic.

Andrew nodded. “I was never great at showing my feelings in the beginning, so the library seemed like a good place to spend time together, even if we rarely talked.” He met each of their gazes. “I hope you understand how much that time meant to me.”

“It meant a lot to us, too,” George said.

They fell into a brief silence as Andrew looked at the recipe book, but then Douglas clapped his hands, making them jump. “Let’s get to it. Pancakes won’t make themselves.”

“Do we even have enough flour left?” Freddie asked, heading for the pantry.

“With the amount of goodies Esme makes, I doubt we’d ever run out,” Andrew said. “Oh, and by the way, including me in this does not make me culpable to help you tidy up.”