Page 16 of Suddenly Beck
‘Nat’s a good boy.’ She waggles a finger in my direction. ‘I’ve spent the last couple of days getting to know him. He’s shy and a little unsure of himself, but once you dig beneath, he’s funny, and sharp, and intelligent, but the boy’s got wounds, and I don’t want you poking at him.’
I know exactly where I’d like to poke at him, but I wisely choose to keep my mouth shut.
‘Beck,’ Mum warns. ‘I mean it, you can look but don’t touch.’
‘Yeah, I got it,’ I mutter absently as my gaze unconsciously migrates over to the kitchen, and I watch as Nat adds the scallops to a searing hot pan with a sizzle. My feet are already moving of their own volition. I can’t seem to help myself, and from the audible sigh behind me, I don’t need to look to know Mum’s rolling her eyes at me as she follows along in my wake.
Chapter Six
Nat
Pride comes before a fall, so I’m told. Only in my case, I’m pretty sure it’s lack of spatial awareness.
I give the pan a little shake and hear the sizzle, inhaling the delicious scent. It’s been four days since Melanie gave me a job, and I can honestly say I’ve never been so happy. Okay, sure, it’s a bit nerve wracking as I’ve never actually worked in a restaurant before, but it’s still pretty quiet, so I’m getting the hang of it.
Flipping over the scallops to brown the other side, I add butter, garlic, and lemon, swirling the pan as it melts. I love the open plan kitchen that allows me to look out over the restaurant. There’s a smaller second kitchen and prep area out back, along with cold storage, but according to Melanie, her husband Sully had liked to be out front in the thick of things, chatting to customers as he cooked. From what I gather, he had a larger-than-life personality. When Melanie speaks of him, although it’s always with an undercurrent of sadness, she still lights up, sharing funny stories and anecdotes about their life together, and I find myself wishing I could’ve met him.
Lifting the pan from the heat, I divide the scallops onto two plates, arranging them on a bed of greens, wilted spinach, chard, and leeks, before sprinkling a light garnish of tarragon over the top and pinging the bell.
‘Service,’ I call out happily as Rachel slides the plates off the counter and sends me a warm look.
‘You’re doing great, Nat.’ She beams. ‘Table 23 love the Crab and Avocado tacos. They’re coming back next week and bringing friends and have already booked a table.’
‘That’s great.’ I smile as I read the next order.
I check the pot boiling on the stove behind me, gauging that the lobster is ready to be removed from the heat as I bring it over to the grill. This really is my dream job and a world away from the mold my father had tried to cram me into. There’s no way he’d have allowed me to pursue it if I’d remained in London.
Halving a few lemons, I set them down on the grill to char before slicing the lobster lengthways and placing it on the grill. Tossing some salted butter and wild garlic leaves into the cast iron pan I swirl it around over the heat, watching it melt.
When I left London, I walked out on everything. I’d left a well-paid job with an investment banking firm, which might sound like a big deal until you factor in that my father is one of the partners and my appointment was unfortunately a first-class case of nepotism. I hadn’t wanted the job. I’d caved because, like everything else in my life, it was easier than fighting a losing battle.
I flip the lobsters, grilling the other side for a couple of minutes before shifting them to a plate and drenching them with garlic butter. Finally, I serve them up with French fries, my own signature lemon mayonnaise and add the burnt lemon as garnish.
I ping the bell again and watch as Lucy, one of the other waitresses, picks up the plate. ‘Can you check with table 18 how they want their steak,’ I ask her. ‘It wasn’t written on the order.’
‘You got it, Chef.’ She smiles before disappearing.
It gives me a little thrill every time someone calls me that, and I find myself smiling widely. Melanie has been great; she ran the restaurant for years with her husband Sully and has firmly taken me under her wing. I’m still not entirely sure why, but I’m grateful for it. I’m pretty much a hundred percent certain by now she knows I have no restaurant experience, but she pitches in picking up the slack and essentially training me.
My mother and father were never around much when Sophia and I were growing up, which left us to be raised more or less by the staff. I learned to cook from Carmella, she was our cook. She was Italian like my mother, which I think was why mother hired her, it was like having a little piece of her home with her in that big expensive town house. Carmella, however, was everything my mother was not. She was warm, and funny, and kind. I was always hovering around her feet, fascinated by the scents, textures and taste of everything in the kitchen. From early on, she started teaching me to cook. Not just her signature Italian dishes, which she considered my heritage, but world cooking. I learned everything from Curries to Goulash. It was something we explored together, and when I moved to Oxford to study for my degree, I loved having my own kitchen. I took a few cookery classes and would often try out new recipes on my roommates.
When I moved back to London and got my own place, I continued taking courses and classes whenever I could, but it was never much fun just cooking for myself. Food has always been part of my soul, and Carmella used to tell me that cooking good food for someone was like hugging them from the inside. I shake my head, huffing out a laugh under my breath, maybe that’s why I’m so obsessed with cooking because God knows there’d been no hugging of any kind in our house.
Glancing up, I see Melanie heading across the restaurant toward me, and I’m about to smile until my gaze drifts to the person beside her, and my heart starts pounding.
‘Nat,’ she calls out as she reaches the other side of the counter. ‘I’d like you to meet my son Beck.’
‘Your son?’ I swallow thickly as my eyes flick to his, and he seems to be studying me, a small smile playing on his lips.
‘Well, one of them anyway.’ Melanie nods. ‘Beck, Nat, Nat, Beck,’ she introduces us with a little wave of her hand.
‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Beck reaches over the counter holding out his large, tanned hand.
His voice, now I hear it in the quietness of the restaurant rather than over the shriek of the wind and rain, is low and gravelly and hits me straight in the balls, sending heat unfurling in my stomach. I reach out to shake his hand, and there’s an almost visible spark as our skin meets, a sharp static shock which tingles in my palm and shoots up my arm. I jerk my hand back and feel my cheeks heat.
‘Rubber soles,’ I blurt out randomly.
‘Sorry?’ His mouth twitches in amusement.