Pearse bowl.
‘Thanks,’ Matt said, raising his glass of wine to her as if she had performed some great feat. ‘It’s delish. Maybe you should cook this the next time we have Justin and Lindsey over. We haven’t had anyone to dinner for ages. I’ll set something up.’
‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘That would be fun.’
‘We’ll get a few good bottles of wine in, and some beers, too, since we’ve lots to talk about.’
Kerrie nodded. Matt’s best friend Justin was going to be his best man. He and Lindsey had got married the previous year in a big wedding in the Mount Glenn Hotel in Wicklow, a complete contrast to the small exclusive wedding she and Matt were planning in the South of France, with only thirty or so people attending.
‘Hey, is there any more of the beef left?’ asked Matt, looking hopeful.
‘Sure,’ she said, scooping the last of the beef out on to his plate. As she watched him polish off a second helping, she made a mental note to cook at least five packs of Polly’s Pantry beef if there were four of them eating.
‘I’m such a lucky guy,’ he said, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her on to his lap. ‘Meeting a girl like you, and then getting to marry her.’
Kerrie buried her face in his shoulder. She loved him. Loved him madly! Meeting Matt had been the best thing ever that had happened to her, too. He’d transformed her life … changed it totally.
‘And you are such a good cook, too!’
She blushed. Lies! Lies! Lies! How had she got herself into this? How much longer could she go on pretending to Matt to be someone she wasn’t?
Chapter Thirteen
Rob had taken great care cooking the piece of steak he’d bought in the butchers, the potatoes were almost done, and he had tilted a pack of a fancy-looking ready-made salad into a bowl. He’d have liked a few onions fried with the meat, or some of that lovely pepper sauce Kate used to make with their steaks. How hard could it be to do a few onions and make a sauce?
He was keeping a weather eye on Sky Sports in the next room for the rugby results when the smoke alarm sounded. He ran straight back into the kitchen, flinging the frying pan with the burning steak and onions off the hob. The small saucepan he’d put the peppercorns and flour and butter into now held an unappetizing porridgy dough.
‘Shit!’ he said, opening the window to get rid of the smell.
The alarm stopped. He scraped the blackened onions off the meat, and lifted the saucepan of potatoes off the hob and drained them. Overcooked! He searched to see if there was some sort of masher thing that would complete the process.
He’d been looking forward to the steak and grabbed the newspaper to read as he swallowed a few mouthfuls. It was not what he’d expected. No matter what he did, nothing heput on this confounded fancy hob and oven that Kate had chosen when they put in a new kitchen five years ago seemed to come out properly. Getting the temperature spot on was a lot harder than it looked, and Kate had made it all appear so effortless. He accurately followed recipes step by step, and yet nothing seemed to turn out the way it should. He took another bite of the dried-out toughened beef. It was disgusting and, giving up, he cut it into bite-sized pieces and went across and tipped it into Bingo’s bowl. The dog lumbered over excitedly to claim another of Rob’s culinary disasters.
Rob phoned the Bamboo Garden, his local takeaway, and ordered his usual fillet of beef with ginger and scallions and some rice.
He was watching the golf on TV when Gary from the takeaway delivered his order.
‘The usual.’ Gary grinned, passing him the brown paper bag. ‘Plus you get two small tubs of ice cream … chocolate whirl and a toffee one.’
‘I didn’t order any ice cream.’
‘No … but if you order a takeaway more than three times in the one week you get ice cream compliments of the Bamboo Garden,’ Gary explained, as Rob paid him.
He sat reading the
‘Thanks,’ Matt said, raising his glass of wine to her as if she had performed some great feat. ‘It’s delish. Maybe you should cook this the next time we have Justin and Lindsey over. We haven’t had anyone to dinner for ages. I’ll set something up.’
‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘That would be fun.’
‘We’ll get a few good bottles of wine in, and some beers, too, since we’ve lots to talk about.’
Kerrie nodded. Matt’s best friend Justin was going to be his best man. He and Lindsey had got married the previous year in a big wedding in the Mount Glenn Hotel in Wicklow, a complete contrast to the small exclusive wedding she and Matt were planning in the South of France, with only thirty or so people attending.
‘Hey, is there any more of the beef left?’ asked Matt, looking hopeful.
‘Sure,’ she said, scooping the last of the beef out on to his plate. As she watched him polish off a second helping, she made a mental note to cook at least five packs of Polly’s Pantry beef if there were four of them eating.
‘I’m such a lucky guy,’ he said, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her on to his lap. ‘Meeting a girl like you, and then getting to marry her.’
Kerrie buried her face in his shoulder. She loved him. Loved him madly! Meeting Matt had been the best thing ever that had happened to her, too. He’d transformed her life … changed it totally.
‘And you are such a good cook, too!’
She blushed. Lies! Lies! Lies! How had she got herself into this? How much longer could she go on pretending to Matt to be someone she wasn’t?
Chapter Thirteen
Rob had taken great care cooking the piece of steak he’d bought in the butchers, the potatoes were almost done, and he had tilted a pack of a fancy-looking ready-made salad into a bowl. He’d have liked a few onions fried with the meat, or some of that lovely pepper sauce Kate used to make with their steaks. How hard could it be to do a few onions and make a sauce?
He was keeping a weather eye on Sky Sports in the next room for the rugby results when the smoke alarm sounded. He ran straight back into the kitchen, flinging the frying pan with the burning steak and onions off the hob. The small saucepan he’d put the peppercorns and flour and butter into now held an unappetizing porridgy dough.
‘Shit!’ he said, opening the window to get rid of the smell.
The alarm stopped. He scraped the blackened onions off the meat, and lifted the saucepan of potatoes off the hob and drained them. Overcooked! He searched to see if there was some sort of masher thing that would complete the process.
He’d been looking forward to the steak and grabbed the newspaper to read as he swallowed a few mouthfuls. It was not what he’d expected. No matter what he did, nothing heput on this confounded fancy hob and oven that Kate had chosen when they put in a new kitchen five years ago seemed to come out properly. Getting the temperature spot on was a lot harder than it looked, and Kate had made it all appear so effortless. He accurately followed recipes step by step, and yet nothing seemed to turn out the way it should. He took another bite of the dried-out toughened beef. It was disgusting and, giving up, he cut it into bite-sized pieces and went across and tipped it into Bingo’s bowl. The dog lumbered over excitedly to claim another of Rob’s culinary disasters.
Rob phoned the Bamboo Garden, his local takeaway, and ordered his usual fillet of beef with ginger and scallions and some rice.
He was watching the golf on TV when Gary from the takeaway delivered his order.
‘The usual.’ Gary grinned, passing him the brown paper bag. ‘Plus you get two small tubs of ice cream … chocolate whirl and a toffee one.’
‘I didn’t order any ice cream.’
‘No … but if you order a takeaway more than three times in the one week you get ice cream compliments of the Bamboo Garden,’ Gary explained, as Rob paid him.
He sat reading the
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