Opening night came rushing towards Caroline like the ghosts of the trains along the Strawberry Line. With the Carters keen to get the doors open on the place so quickly, the time flew by and before she knew it, The Cider Kitchen was ready. They had a full house of bookings for opening night, including a food critic, so Caroline was both excited and absolutely terrified. What if she messed up? What if Gino did? What if her new waiting staff couldn’t handle the rush? It was a high risk strategy to invite a critic on the first night but he was from one of the more minor local papers, so Caroline thought it was a risk worth taking. The reviewers from the larger papers would be invited later.
The night before, Caroline was prowling the restaurant, almost marking a path on the oak floor. Everything was in place; the tables were laid, the glasses (three different sizes per place setting) were sparkling in the warm, subdued side lighting, the white napkins were lying pristine under the glittering, simple stainless steel cutlery. The light wood table tops had been polished to perfection. As she looked across to the bar area she saw the rows of optics, each one fully tested to make sure they worked (that had been fun a couple of evenings ago – as a bonding exercise she and her team had made absolutely sure every last one was in full working order), and yet more glasses stacked neatly on shelves on the wall behind the bar, either side of an A2 sized wooden carving bearing ‘The Cider Kitchen’ and its logo, a black and white stylised line drawing of an apple on a tree branch.
Good luck cards lined the shelf above the bar from everyone from Anna and Matthew to the local wine merchant, and a fair few people she’d never met. There had even been several with Bristol postmarks, suggesting that word was already spreading about the restaurant even before it had officially opened. Everything was perfect; so why couldn’t she shake off the feeling that it was all going to go wrong? Perhaps it was the one unsigned good luck card that had arrived this afternoon; the one with the carelessly scrawled message but no name. The handwriting looked disturbingly familiar but there was no way the card could have been from him.
‘I know just the thing to take the edge off your nerves,’ Gino said as Caroline, yet again, wandered into the kitchen.
‘A bottle of scotch?’ Caroline grimaced. ‘Although I suppose it’d have to be frigging calvados as everything’s made out of apples round here.’ She tended to swear when she was stressed and she was trying to rein it in in case she slipped up in front of the customers.
Gino went to his forage cabinet, which was a small, suitcase shaped box that he kept tucked away at the back of the pantry. It contained the dried herbs and plants he’d foraged over the past year and had been a revelation to Caroline in terms of new flavours. Without explaining anything he flipped the switch on the kettle and took one of the white china mugs from the shelf above the serving area. He sprinkled the contents of a small polythene bag into the mug and as soon as the kettle had boiled he poured the hot water over it.
‘What is it?’ Caroline regarded the concoction suspiciously. ‘It’s not weed, is it? I can’t afford to get stoned the night before we do this.’
Gino laughed. ‘As if I would!’ No, and it’s not Psilocybe Cubensis, either.’
‘Er, what?’
‘Magic Mushrooms,’ Gino kept smiling. ‘Although I do know where there’s a regular crop that grows not a million miles from here.’ They’d seen him through a student night or two when he’d been too skint to buy booze, although the hangover had been far worse so he hadn’t had any in a while.
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Caroline said. She still hadn’t tasted what he’d handed her.
Gino shook his head. ‘It’s Valeriana officinalis,’ he said gently. ‘Valerian. It’s been used for thousands of years to relax and aid sleep. My grandma swears by it when she’s being kept awake by my grandfather’s snoring. Totally harmless, but will knock you straight out.’
Caroline took a sip and grimaced. ‘Probably tastes better with a slug of calvados in it.’
‘Trust me,’ Gino said. ‘You want a good night’s sleep, this’ll do it.’
Unguardedly, Caroline thought back to the last good night’s sleep she’d had; it had been a short one, certainly, but blissfully relaxing. It had been the night she’d taken Jonathan to bed; the night of Matthew and Anna’s wedding. She wished she could just ring him up and demand a repeat performance (she didn’t doubt he’d be willing, if the first time had been anything to go by and he had been hanging around the restaurant rather more than was strictly necessary, despite his initial assertions about being able to separate business and pleasure). But that way lay chaos and uncertainty. And she wasn’t prepared to risk that. Moving to Somerset had been an attempt to simplify things, to get away from some of the complications of her past. Adding more to the mix now would be defeating the object.
‘Thank you,’ she said before she took another sip. ‘It’s kind of you to try to help.’ She sighed. ‘I think I’m so caught up with trying to prove myself that I’m losing sight of why I chose to do it in the first place.’
Gino regarded her levelly. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me, Caroline,’ he said. ‘You’ve hit the ground running with this place. That takes nerve.’
‘Or stupidity,’ Caroline countered. ‘Don’t let me down, Gino.’
Gino smiled. ‘I won’t. I promise.’ Gino’s phone buzzed. ‘Sorry, boss,’ he said, a second later, ‘got to dash.’
‘Anywhere special?’ Caroline asked.
‘You could say that,’ Gino replied, instantly cagey. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ Caroline replied. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you.’
‘Thanks,’ Gino said, slipping his phone into his back pocket.
‘Have a good evening,’ Caroline said as Gino left the restaurant with a spring in his step, ‘not that there’s much left of it!’ It was coming up to ten o’clock and Caroline was definitely ready for her bed.
‘Oh, when you’re a chef the party doesn’t start until the restaurants close,’ Gino said airily as he went to close the door. ‘I learned that pretty quickly doing my internships.’ He raised his eyebrows at her playfully. ‘You should come out with us sometime; we’d show you how to have fun.’
Caroline laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said. ‘But I think I’m going to have my work cut out just keeping up with running this place.’ She was absurdly flattered to be asked, though. Oh, to be that age and on the cusp of so many things! Her twenties had been a time of exploration and excitement as well as drama, and, much as she still liked a night out, she was pleased to be older and wiser these days. Sighing, she turned out the lights and headed upstairs to try to unwind. The kittens skittered across the floor to greet her as she opened the door to her quarters, and, feeling in need of the company, she scooped them up and carried them into her bedroom, where they settled quickly near the top of the bed. Yet again, her thoughts turned to Jonathan. She wondered if he was feeling as nervous about the opening night as she was. Not that he’d tell her if he was, she supposed. Tomorrow was going to be one of the most important days of her life and before she fell asleep, she practiced her greetings to the customers who were booked to come through the door. ‘Good evening, and welcome,’ she murmured. ‘Hello, and welcome… good evening and welcome to The Cider Kitchen…’