Flapjack

I grabbed the sugar from the shelf, knocking over the flour. I was surrounded by billowing white clouds. Oh, great I thought. Hastily, I scooped up the fallen flecks of white. As if I have time for this, and the dustpan needs replacing. I should add that to the never- ending shopping list. Why were my hands still shaking?

“Melt the butter, sugar and golden syrup over a low heat”

I read the recipe aloud to myself, it helped me to concentrate. Phew. I’d remembered butter in the last supermarket trip. Grannie had always talked about how real butter made such a difference. I remembered how at lunches at her house, my teeth would sink into sweet, thick wedges of multigrain bread, swathed in creamy layers of Lurpack.

My knuckles were white as I gripped the syrup tin. How had the row even started? It had become a blur. Oh; that’s right. He’d forgotten the car keys, come back to pick them up and he’d grabbed his trainers on his way out. This had set my alarm bells ringing. “You didn’t tell you me you had badminton today” I ‘d said. He’d uttered something like an apology. I’d noted how his collar hadn’t been folded out and how unshaven he was. I’d seen the oil under his fingernails and inwardly blamed him for staining my cushion covers, even though it had probably been Zoe.

The syrup oozed in fat, glistening swirls over the pat of butter. I poured in the sugar.

“stir gently, to avoid the sugar sticking to the bottom of the…”

I supposed it should read ‘pan’ but the word had been dissolved by a drop of water, long ago. I thought how lovely handwriting looked in fountain pen and made a mental note to seek out my old one again. I’d hand write my Christmas cards this year, I resolved.

“mix the dry ingredients together in a separate bowl”

Holding tightly to the wooden spoon, I stirred the cornflakes into the flour. Too quickly. Crumbs of mixture sprayed up and out of the bowl. Bother. I thought back to the time when my younger sister and I had been playing and it had got a little out of hand. Chrissie had fallen down the stairs and knocked the table legs, causing a formidable crash as a vase had hit the floor, sending tiny pieces across the hallway. Grannie had come running in, glanced briefly at the damage and scooped a sobbing Chrissie up into her arms, hugging her tears away. No one had been scolded, the damage was swiftly swept away without so much as a; “I had too many vases anyway”, kind of a comment. How my heart had filled, how the sense of love and acceptance had flooded the hallway with the thousand pieces of broken vase. For the rest of that afternoon we’d snuggled next to her under a blanket as she’d read us stories until our mum came to pick us up. How I missed her.

Coconut flakes or desiccated coconut? I wondered. The recipe read: ‘shredded coconut.’ The fact that he’d forgotten my morning cup of tea had suddenly felt personal and something in me had snapped, like when a bulb blows suddenly in its socket, without any warning, I’d exploded. I’d left the dishes and jogged after him; rubber gloves dripping I’d shouted; “thanks for nothing! I might just be back too late this evening! I’ve got an appointment too, (I’d lied). I just wanted him to recoil and take back his badminton plan.

Today everything felt so unfair! It felt like when he wasn’t working, all his time was taken up with badminton this and that, practices, mini tournaments. It felt like I rarely got to go out, find myself, exist in my own skin, away from rubber gloves, nappies and laundry. “You’re playing Sam again aren’t you”.  I’d sneered through gritted teeth. I’d said something about Sam being an unfaithful liar of a boyfriend to Annie, although that was just how I felt about him, it wasn’t actually backed up with evidence. He’d shrugged and routinely put his things in the boot, looked me deep in the eyes. His rounded shoulders had turned and he’d slid into the car seat. I’d thought how he stank of engine grease. I’d slammed the car door on him, closing myself to further discussion or apology.

The shredded coconut formed little snow- capped mountains in my dry ingredients bowl. The mountains suddenly blurred like a motion photograph as my eyes filled with tears. I could remember so vividly the time I’d had a friend over after school and for some reason my parents had been out and Grannie and Grandpa had been home instead and got us our tea. My friend had started telling Grannie about her recent break up with her boyfriend and started to cry and Grannie had listened and drank all the little details in, as if she were a daughter of her own. My friend had wept and Grannie had folded her padded arms around her in a hug of acceptance. Nothing surprised Grannie and she handled other’s emotions as well as naturally as a Monet handled a paintbrush.

Pour the melted mixture over the dry ingredients and combine

I carved the wooden spoon through the stiff, crunchy mixture. Its sweet, toffee like aromas curled through the air. I mentally planned my evening class content, it was probably going to be quiet this evening; James was ill and Nancy was on holiday. We would just review aperture and shutter speed, I decided.

I looked at the clock. 3pm. Zoe would wake from her nap soon. But for now, the house was quiet apart from the tick tock of the kitchen clock and the rhythmic purring of the cat at the window sill. The cat twitched and sat up, his tail wafted over my favourite photograph of John and I amid a swirl of autumn leaves.

Grannie had looked after our cat when we went away. There was never a chore too inconvenient, a job too small for her. She would quietly surrender herself to any task, big or small, like when she took the stains out of my school uniform, when she sewed the missing button back on to my coat, when she’d taken piles of my mother’s ironing home without a mention and brought it back a few days later folded and crisp and smelling of airing cupboards.

Spoon the mixture into a large baking tin. Pat it down with the back of a spoon, making sure it is evenly spread.

It felt just the right texture, sticky and gooey but with interspersed bumps and crunch. The golden slice happily stretched before me like a field of rapeseed bathed in August sunshine.

Bake on the middle shelf at 180 degrees centigrade for approximately 20 minutes.

Satisfied, I placed the flap jack in the centre of the oven and closed the door. I had a few minutes before Zoe would wake so I grabbed the hoover and stuffed the plug into the wall, pressed the switch. No sound. We’d only bought it a few weeks ago. Darn. That’s another thing Grannie would have had an answer for. She always knew which make of this or that household product was the best. How I craved her advice now.  

The toddler cry drifted down from upstairs. I picked Zoe up, warm and soft and smelling of sleep and gave her a drink. I took the flapjack out of the oven and set it to cool.

The door closed behind him and John looked clean and slick, I noticed he’d had a hair cut. He’ d shaved. He looked at me and his mouth twitched a little. “smells amazing” he said as he took off his coat and boots. He usually threw himself into the shower when he got home but today he unhurriedly strolled to the kitchen table. He halted, relaxing a hand on his hip.

“Thought I’d sign off early, business is quiet and Jack is more than capable of manning the workshop.”

He said to me but gazing at Zoe. He stroked her cheek and lifted her up high, supported by his strong, capable arms. She giggled “Daddy, eat fap jack Daddy!”

 “It’s my Grannie’s recipe”

 I just about got to the end of the sentence as my voice was overcome in a tidal wave of sadness. Tears welled in my eyes. “sorry” I whispered, “sorry for getting so angry earlier” He pulled me close and my face was cradled in his warm knitted jersey. He smelt of soap.

“Eat fap jack pees” Zoe’s little voice searched the emotional atmosphere.

We chewed on warm, oaty mouthfuls of the flap jack. All the ingredients had welded evenly. It was a triumph; not too crunchy, not too chewy. I felt John’s calloused thumb flick away a stray crumb from my lips. I knew I was forgiven. Zoe clapped her hands “more fap jack pees” she sang.