The cookery class

A short story by Faith Hogan

- Faith Hogan

Yvonne never really learned to cook.

And she didn’t particularly want to learn now, but her friend Rollo convinced her it would be fun. There were night classes at the local tech - baby steps. It was a year since her husband Liam had died — she couldn't hide from life forever.

Yvonne agreed to go reluctantly, regretting it immediately on arrival. The place was freezing and smelled of powdery damp. She assumed half-washed baking boards were to blame. Worse, the teacher, Aimee, insisted on pairing them up with strangers. Yvonne suspected that was because there was a surplus of men; widowers — probably; newly retired — certainly.

Yvonne was stuck with a man called Richard. The first night was going to be a demonstration. Aimee was going to make a soufflé.

Richard was neither widowed nor retired, but he was divorced and since September, when his daughter had left for college, he'd found himself ordering too much take-out and bingeing in front of the TV.

“Oh, that won't do,” some of the other ladies tutted. That’s when Yvonne realised that he was the partner most of the others would have preferred. It must be the Robert Redford eyes, Yvonne mused.

The soufflé was superb. They ate as they discussed what each of them hoped to get from the class.

“We'll try to make it so everyone makes progress from where they currently are,”

Aimee said as she popped the last crumbs into her mouth with a satisfied smile.

“Don’t you think maybe we should change around partners? You know, put novices together,” a woman called Pauline said as she glanced towards Yvonne. She had squeezed her way in next to Richard, obviously with an eye on more than just soufflé.

“Oh no, we can all learn something from each other. We'll keep the pairings for now,” Aimee said. “Unless someone specifically wants to change?”