The Missing Ingredient Page 15

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes. No. Shit!” said Marcus, looking out across the street, trying to find the strength to temper his thoughts and emotions. After a deep breath, he brought his gaze back to Tom, his voice softening. “Maybe it’s not what I want, but it’s what I need. I—I’m in love with you, Tom, I really am. If you don’t already know that, then you’re blind and deaf. I made a dreadful mistake investigating Damian Stone. Especially after you’d told me quite clearly to drop the idea. I admit that. So if you’re doing what you’re doing now because of that, then I sort of understand. But I also respect who I am. I’ve made a name for myself in a tough world. One where I am not only accepted but also—and yes, I know this sounds clichéd—out in the open, and proud of being gay. And I won’t live my life settling for the scraps of your life that you’re prepared to toss my way. I deserve better than that. And if it means I need to walk away from this, then so be it.”

  This time Tom glared off into the distance, his eyes glazed. Marcus knew he should act on his words and leave, but he wanted to give Tom a chance to respond. After a few silent moments, he did, but not with anything Marcus wanted to hear. “I don’t think you’re being fair to Jeanette.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. And are you being fair to me?” cried Marcus. “You’ve got it all going for you now, haven’t you? But you know what? You can’t just pick the bits of me that you want and ignore the rest.”

  “Does that mean the girls won’t see you anymore?”

  “No,” said Marcus, softening his tone. “No, of course not. I said I made a mistake before, and I’m not going to do the same thing again. What I’ve committed to doing for the girls—helping with homework, taking them to school or picking them up, preparing meals, all of it, I’ll keep doing. But you and I need to go back to our previous arrangement, and most definitely stop seeing each other in private. It’ll be better that way. Give us both a chance to figure out exactly what we want.”

  Once again they fell to silence. Even now Tom could not bring himself to look directly at Marcus, his focus on a hole-in-the-wall ATM across the street. Marcus hated seeing his friend appear so lost. His instinct was to pull him into a hug, but with the previous speech still fresh, he knew they had stepped beyond intimacy.

  “Go back to the party, Tom. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”

  Finally Tom folded his arms and swung his gaze back to Marcus. “What do you want, Marcus? Tell me what you want.”

  “Wrong question, Tom. You need to ask yourself what you want. And more importantly, where my place is in that.”

  With that, Marcus turned and walked away.

  This time Tom didn’t follow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  TWO weeks later, as a late November chill hit the country, Marcus had seen nothing of Tom Bradford. Whether the man had been purposely avoiding him, he didn’t know. Marcus continued to help out and ferry the girls around, even baked a celebratory cake for them all when Katie showed him the B-plus she gained on her school numbers test. But each time, Moira was there to hand over duties. To make matters worse, work had been particularly troublesome, with a sudden wave of staff sickness and then the Birmingham refit, which had stalled because they’d found asbestos in one of the walls.

  Add to that the fact that Marcus was no longer getting any sexual release from Tom and he felt as wound tight as the lid of a pickle jar. And what made things worse was that Tom hadn’t contacted him—not once. Not even a text message. Yes, Marcus had called the time-out, but the onus was on Tom to make the next move. Unfortunately Marcus had never been good at playing a waiting game—he needed to know where he stood—so that Thursday, he drove over to Tom’s to talk, knowing that Thursday was Tom’s night in with the girls.

  His irritation level ramped up when he found nowhere to park outside the house or along the road, so Marcus finally locked up his car around the corner from the Bradford house. Strolling toward Tom’s gave him time to mull over what he wanted to say. Not a bad turn of events, actually, because the walk calmed him down and helped him think things through carefully. However, the minute he turned the corner and saw Jeanette standing at the garden gate, his composure evaporated. Until he realized something was seriously wrong by the way her gaze darted anxiously up and down the road.

  As soon as she caught sight of him, her tense expression filled with relief.

  “Oh, thank God, Marcus. It’s Katie,” she said, her face pale as she hurried back into the house. “She’s having trouble breathing. Tom had to go to an urgent site meeting, so I said I’d look after her for an hour. We tried her inhaler, but nothing seems to be working.”

  “Have you called anyone?” said Marcus, striding through the house to the sofa where little Katie lay, her face a bluish tinge. Marcus went straight to her and knelt down. Bless her little soul, she fought to breathe, wheezing horribly, her little chest fighting to gasp for air, rising ridiculously large. Through eyes wide with fright, she momentarily appeared grateful to see Marcus. When Marcus smoothed the hair away from her damp face and propped her up, her body went limp in his hands. She had passed out.

  “I called both Tom and Moira. She’s picking up Charlotte from ballet class, but neither of them are answering. I left a message,” she said.

  “Call an ambulance.”

  “Marcus, I didn’t know what to do, she just started—”

  “Now, Jeanette! Please. Call them now. Tell them it’s an emergency. Tell them Katie’s asthmatic. And that she’s stopped breathing altogether.”

  Shocked into action, Jeanette did as asked. For all her hesitation, she had the sense to react to the emergency. Marcus heard her speaking over the phone, cool and unemotional. No doubt she’d had to deal with her own fair share of difficulties with her son. Marcus leaned down and kissed Katie lightly on the forehead.

  “Hang in there, baby. Help is on its way.”

  To see his goddaughter lying there so vulnerable, so helpless, almost broke his heart. But he needed to be strong. For her.

  “They’ll be here in a couple of minutes,” called Jeanette. “St. Mary’s is just around the corner.”

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “Just before I saw you. Five or ten minutes. She’d been complaining about being unable to breathe properly since just after I arrived, but said sometimes it just went away. Eventually I got her inhaler, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. And then she started gasping for air. So that’s when I phoned Moira and Tom. Oh God, Marcus. What’s happening?”

  “Severe asthma attack. Maybe asthmaticus, I think it’s called. One of my kitchen staff in the Edgware Road restaurant has a son that suffers from the same thing. Let’s see what the ambulance medics say.”

  “Should we try mouth-to-mouth?”

  “Honestly, I think we should wait for the professionals, Jeanette. I can hear the ambulance siren now. Where’s James?”

  “With his father and stepmother. That’s why I was free to help out at the last minute. Some help, though.”

  “Nonsense. You did your best.”

  By the time the ambulance arrived, all color had drained from Katie’s face. What Jeanette had told them over the phone had clearly been of great help, because they wheeled in a machine with a hose and translucent mask that they immediately fixed in place over Katie’s nose and mouth. Marcus and Jeanette stood by helplessly as the two medics moved quickly but professionally around Katie.

  Before long, with a quick curt nod to her partner, the woman broke away and came over to them. “Good thing you called us when you did. We’ve cleared her airways, so she’s breathing normally again and more importantly getting oxygen to the brain. But she’s not out of the woods. She’s not conscious, so she’ll need to be hospitalized immediately.”

  “Of course,” said Marcus.

  “Are you the parents?”

  “No, we’re friends of the family,” said Marcus, turning to Jeanette.

  “Her father h
ad an urgent meeting to attend. But he’ll be on his way back soon.”

  At that moment Moira appeared at the doorway, flustered and instantly panicked when she saw the scene. Marcus managed to get to her first.

  “She’s okay, Moira. Well, she’s had a severe attack, but she’s breathing again. Just not conscious. Can you try calling Tom? Tell him to meet us at the hospital? I think it might be better coming from you.”

  While Moira—as family—went in the ambulance with Katie, Marcus drove himself and Jeanette to the hospital. Although it was only a few minutes away, the journey took longer because of rush-hour traffic, something the ambulance driver with the blaring siren didn’t need to worry about. When they reached the waiting room, Moira sat bolt upright on the plastic chair. Over the past half hour, the poor woman appeared to have aged a decade.

  “They’ve taken her into intensive care. Won’t let anyone in until they’re satisfied she’s stable. But those lovely ambulance people were optimistic.”

  “Where’s Charlotte, Moira?”

  “She’s at her jazz dance class. Mrs. Kelley’s daughter does the same class, so she’s going to take Charlie home with them until I call, bless her.”

  Marcus sat with his head in his hands. All thoughts of having words with Tom had evaporated. How close had they been to losing Katie? No way on earth could Tom have coped with that; even the mere thought made Marcus sick to his stomach. For the next ten minutes they all sat around unspeaking. Nobody could find any words worth uttering. Eventually Moira got up and brought back coffee for them all. As she sat down, an anxious calm descended upon the group.

  A calm that was short-lived.

  “Where the hell is she? Where’s my daughter?” boomed Tom as the doors to the waiting room flew open. All three of them stood on hearing his voice.

  “Calm down, dear,” said Moira, going to him. “She’s in the ICU.”

  Fortunately a female doctor must have overheard Tom, because she peeled away from a group of orderlies then and went over to him. “Mr. Bradford?”

  “Yes. Where’s my daughter?”

  “We’re just getting her settled, so I need to ask you to remain here while we do our work. And I also need information from you about her current doctor and her medical history. After that you can go and see her. Are you okay with that?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll get someone to bring over the forms.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” said Moira to Tom and the doctor. “I’ll come with you and fetch them. Give me something to do.”

  After watching them head into a small office, Tom swung around and glared at Marcus and Jeanette, his eyes wild with a combination of anger and fear.

  “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” he said, raising his voice, his face reddened with rage.

  “I did. Your phone was switched off.”

  “Tom,” said Marcus, placing a placating hand on his shoulder but having it instantly shrugged away. Tom was wound tight and wanted to vent. “Jeanette did her best.”

  “That’s my daughter in there. Fighting for her life.”

  Not surprisingly, Jeanette stood in shocked silence, the blood draining from her face. Eventually she shook her head and folded her arms.

  “Tom,” said Marcus, a little louder this time. People in the waiting room had begun to look over uncomfortably. Even the attendant at the desk appeared to be deciding whether to call someone to intervene. “Reel it in. Jeanette’s not to blame here. Katie had a bad asthma attack. It could have happened anywhere, at any time.”

  “Forty-five minutes I leave her alone,” said Tom, his voice still raised, not letting up. “Less than an hour.”

  Marcus had heard enough.

  “You want to blame someone, Tom?” he said assertively, placing himself right in front of Tom until the man had to look him in the eyes. “You want to talk about negligence? How about you start with the father.”

  “Get out of my face, Marcus.”

  “No, I will not. Not this time. You’re not growling your way out of this one. Everyone is doing their level best to help you out, sacrificing their time to make your life just that little bit easier. And this is the thanks Jeanette gets?”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “You left your daughter, who has a known history of breathing disorders, in the care of someone who is clearly not a medical professional, without giving that person any guidelines or procedures to follow, any numbers to call, any clue of what to do in case of an emergency. You want to blame someone, Tom Bradford? Then why don’t you start with yourself.”

  “That’s my family in there, Marcus, my remaining family. They’re all I have left in the world. What does it take for people to understand that?” he said, his eyes welling up.

  Tom’s sudden emotion stopped the words What about me? Am I not part of your family? issuing from Marcus’s mouth. While the three of them stood there dazed, Moira shuffled up, a clipboard in one hand. She appeared a little flustered and oblivious of the scene that had unfolded only moments earlier.

  “Tom, Katie’s woken up. The doctor’s with her. She’s a little shaken up and wants to see you straightaway. Marcus, do you want to—what’s happened?”

  And just like that, Moira sensed the change in atmosphere. Without a glance or another word to the others, Tom sidestepped her and rushed off toward the ICU.

  “Nothing, Moira. Go with Tom. I’ll drive Jeanette home.”

  “But Katie’ll want to see you too, Marcus.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Tomorrow. I’ll drop by tomorrow. Once she’s had a good night’s sleep. She needs her family right now. Go be with her. I’ll go pick up Charlotte.”

  But Moira had not finished and turned to Marcus. “Did Tom start something?”

  “No, Moira. Tom didn’t start anything. Quite the opposite, actually,” said Marcus, trying for a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll call you later to find out how Katie’s doing. Come on, Jeanette. Let’s go.”

  Enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  RAINBOW Voices—a radio station targeted at LGBTQ listeners across the Greater London area—had invited Marcus to join a nighttime chat show a week before Christmas with the ever popular Dr. Billie Rix. Tina had pushed him to do at least three or four of the major commercial stations in London to promote his newly published cookbook. Even though he grumbled because they were live shows and usually meant early mornings or late evenings, he actually enjoyed the anonymity of radio. Rainbow Voices felt like coming home.

  On Marcus and Tina’s arrival in the cramped studio, sitting outside the fishbowl watching Dr. Rix’s animated performance, one of the producers briefed them on the list of questions Marcus might be asked. Phone-ins were a little harder to regulate, but the woman assured Marcus that any calls would be vetted before callers were allowed airtime. Marcus had complete confidence. Being a gay radio station, they probably had their fair share of hate calls. Tina, as always, had prepared well ahead with the station and had already modified some of the content and questions to ensure Marcus had the opportunity to publicize the book and his new ventures.

  While music played between sections and then the on-the-hour news was broadcast, Marcus met Dr. Billie Rix—a beautiful black woman in her early thirties. Marcus took a shine to her straightaway. Down-to-earth and authentic, Tina had called her, and she had been spot-on. After going through a few of the protocols with him quickly and efficiently, she got straight down to business on-air.

  “You’re listening to Rainbow Voices, 92.8 FM, and this is Evening Download with Dr. Billie Rix. With me in the studio tonight I have the founder and head chef of the Old Country restaurants, Marcus Vine. Marcus received recognition from Stonewall in last year’s honors as one of the top twenty most influential gay businesspeople in the UK. His new book, Britain’s Got Taste, celebrates British cuisine across the centuries. Marcus, tell us the inspiration behind this publication.”

  “Simple really, Doctor—err—R
ix. British cooking has had a bad rap for far too long, in my humble opinion. And most of that is unjustified. Ask anyone what they consider to be classic British dishes and the list won’t be long. Fish and chips, Irish stew, Welsh rarebit, and haggis. Where’s the mention of crempog, rumbledethumps, cruibini, or good old-fashioned battalia pie, not to mention a whole encyclopedia of local seafood dishes? We are an island nation of fishermen, after all. So I decided to bring these classic dishes, and many more, up-to-date and compiled the recipes in my book. But, of course, if you’d rather not go to all the trouble of recreating them yourself, they’re available in any of my restaurants.”

  Marcus had used the opening lots of times before, one that usually grabbed the attention of listeners. Somebody was bound to ask him about one of the more obscure dishes he had mentioned.

  “And if listeners still prefer more popular British dishes?”

  “We have variations on those. One of our most popular appetizers is the mini Yorkshire pudding filled with a sliver of sirloin and homemade horseradish. We’ve simply made them less about bulk and more about taste.”

  “Some critics accuse you of bending the rules, saying your influences are not restricted to the British Isles. That ingredients used in your recipes are not strictly indigenous.”

  Aha, thought Marcus. So Dr. BR was not going to give him an easy ride. Fortunately Marcus had heard this kind of objection voiced—usually by competing chefs—many times before.

  “Fair enough. But don’t forget that Britain has been a pioneering nation since the sixteenth century. Vegetables, fruit, herbs, and spices from all over the world that could either be cultivated here or easily imported became readily available. The potato, for example, originally came over from South America, probably Peru, either brought back by the Spanish or Sir Walter Raleigh—depending on who you believe—and became a mainstay for much of the population. Same goes for the tomato, which is thought to have come to the UK from Spain in the late 1600s. During the age of the Commonwealth, incredible ranges of produce, herbs, and spices came to our shores. Does that make English recipes less authentic? I don’t believe so. If anything, it makes them all the more adventurous.”