The Daisy Picker by Roisin Meaney Page B

Lizzie decides that she’s settled in enough to move on with her plan. She knocks on the kitchen door; the restaurant is closed on
Sundays, so hopefully Angela won’t be busy. She needs someone to run her ideas by.
    ‘Come in.’ Angela is sitting at the table, a cookbook propped open in front of her. She’s wearing glasses that Lizzie hasn’t seen before. ‘Hi there; plug in the
kettle, would you? I’m just planning the dinners for next week.’
    Angela is a comfort-food fanatic. She’s told Lizzie that she tries to create meals that make people happy. ‘I don’t mean eating as a substitute for love, or any nonsense like
that; but when you have a meal that you really enjoy, it should leave a sort of glow behind. That’s always my aim when I cook, especially with this winter menu – all creamy and
slobbery.’
    Now Lizzie looks over her shoulder, and Angela points at a recipe for a mushroom stroganoff. ‘This’ll be my veggie one, I think. It’s so creamy and yummy, and it’s served
with rice, which means that one of my other dishes will probably be a curry.’
    ‘Mmm.’ Lizzie’s mouth waters at the thought of a spicy beef curry; Mammy was deeply suspicious of anything foreign. ‘I’ll have to come up and sample those.’
She goes over to the singing kettle and scalds the teapot. ‘Angela, I want your advice.’
    ‘Hmmm?’ Angela is thumbing through another book, flicking the pages rapidly. ‘Curry, curry . . . What’s on your mind?’
    Lizzie fills the pot and brings it over to the table, then gets two cups and the milk. She sits opposite Angela and puts her hands in front of her on the table. ‘I’m going to start
looking for a job.’
    Angela looks up from her book and peers over her glasses at Lizzie. ‘Good. What kind of a job?’
    ‘Well, remember I said I’d love to be a baker? I thought I’d start with – Furlong’s, is it? the bakery here in Merway – and ask them if they need any help;
and if they don’t, which they probably won’t, I could go into Seapoint. What do you think?’
    Angela takes off her glasses and closes the book. ‘Hold on a minute. You’re serious about baking for a living?’
    Lizzie looks at her in surprise; she thought she made that clear the other day. ‘Yes, dead serious. It’s what I’ve always wanted.’
    ‘And you’re going to look for a job here in Merway.’
    ‘Well, I thought I’d start here, yeah.’ Is Angela giving her a funny look?
    ‘In Furlong’s.’
    ‘Yes . . .’ Something is definitely up. Angela is staring across the table at her so intently that Lizzie feels uncomfortable.
    Then Angela picks up the teapot and pours. ‘Tell me this. Are you any good at baking? Honestly now.’
    It’s so unexpected that Lizzie nearly laughs. She turns her palms up and makes an embarrassed face. ‘Well, I think I’m quite good . . . Everyone seems to like what I bake, and
I’ve been at it for years, since I was eight or nine. I’ve made Christmas cakes forever, and I’ve tried loads of different breads, and umpteen kinds of pastry –’
    Angela picks up the milk and adds a drop to her tea. ‘Well, you can forget about going to Furlong’s.’
    Lizzie nods; at least Angela is starting to make sense. ‘Right; I didn’t really think they’d have work, in such a small place –’
    ‘No; I mean, forget about trying to get a baking job anywhere around here, Lizzie.’ Angela looks calmly across the table at her.
    Lizzie feels her heart plummet to her boots. ‘What are you saying? You don’t think there’s anywhere around here that could take me on?’ She doesn’t think she can
bear to see her dream disappear for the second time. ‘Not even in Seapoint? The woman in Furlong’s told me –’
    ‘Oh, no, I’m not saying that at all.’ A tiny smile is starting at the corner of Angela’s mouth. ‘In fact, I know exactly where you can get a job – starting
tomorrow, if you like.’
    ‘What?’ Lizzie’s jaw drops a