Chapter 15

(Speak in anger ... repent at leisure)

"Go on just put your hands in and rub the butter and the flour together ... it's that simple really."

They were both stood at the kitchen table Sam was stood behind her, with his arms looping around her waist so that his hands could join hers in the mixing bowl. Sarah knew that he didn't need to do that ... that he just did it so that he could ... rub up against her.

Every so often, he would move his hips and she could feel his body hardening at the contact which he was enforcing.

"I told you before, that this is hopeless!" she told him grumpily as she let the flour run through her fingers.

"No it's not." He leaned over her again – brushing hard against her. "See ... you just rub it together until it looks like breadcrumbs..."

She did as she was told – if only to shut him up for a bit.

"Now add the fruit and the castor sugar ... that's it ... now we need to add a little milk ... that's right ... perfect!"

Sarah pulled a little face as she kneaded the gluey, doughy mixture ... and tried to ignore Sam and what he was doing at that moment!

Half an hour later she had an oven tray loaded with motley looking doughy mixtures on it, and on Sam's instructions she put them in the oven and set the timer for twelve minutes.

"See ... I knew that you could do it!" He sat down smugly at the kitchen table, and Sarah just threw him a dirty look – before stalking out of the kitchen. She returned a little later to hear Sam grumbling to himself...

"I just don't understand it," he was muttering. "I saw her mix it myself!"

"What's wrong with them?" she asked dejectedly as she entered the kitchen – to see some very strange looking scones cooling on a tray.

He looked across at her, clearly mystified.

"I helped you make these," he told her.

"I know ... I was there too," she reminded him.

He frowned at her. "But you did everything right?" he told her still puzzled by what he was seeing. "I even set the oven myself!"

"Again ... I was there too!" Sarah said sarcastically.

"There was absolutely no reason, for those there scones; not to come out of that oven perfect!" He jabbed a finger accusingly at the offensive little cakes just lying there.

"You're forgetting the key ingredient," she told him sadly.

"What key ingredient?"

"The Sarah ingredient ... or the Sarah rule if you like ... If it can go wrong – it will go wrong!" She gave a defeated sigh and looked up at him. "I did tell you!"

Sam squared his shoulders and looked defiantly at the scones.

"That was just the first attempt," he dismissed. "Later we'll have another go."

"Later ... why not now?" Sarah asked, puzzled.

Sam moved towards her his eyes gleaming.

"Now ... I have something else in mind."

"Oh?"

"Yes oh!" his hand reached out to touch her.

"Oh!!"

There week followed a pattern. Every morning Sam would take her out for a long walk. Every afternoon he would attempt to teach her how to make fruity scones, and then he would take her to bed to try to forget the hideous little things which came out of the oven on a depressingly regular basis.

It got so bad, that Sarah started to dream about big burnt scones, chasing after her, shouting at her to get them right. It was on the Thursday that she woke to a cold sweat and a racing heart.

She peered at the alarm clock to see that it wasn't even four o'clock in the morning yet.

She glanced across at Sam to see him soundly asleep, and tried to do the same ... but it was no good, every time she closed her eyes those big ugly looking scones leaped up accusingly at her.

In the end she conceded defeat, and giving a little groan – she quietly slipped from the bed, and made her way down the stairs.

She stalked into the kitchen and started to pull the ingredients together.

"I will not let you beat me!" she ground out savagely.

Sam woke hours later to the smell of baking. He lay enjoying the aroma for a while before it dawned on him that he shouldn't be able to smell anything like that.

He climbed from the bed, and went silently down to the kitchen ... to see Sarah – her face aglow in triumph.

"Look!" she squealed, pointing to the plates ... and plates of perfectly rounded golden brown scones; piled on the kitchen table. "I did it!" she laughed excitedly, "and not just once ... every single time that they go in ... they come out like that!"

Sam felt he chest swell with pride at her achievement. She had not given up, she had kept on trying until she has gotten it right; and then she had made sure that it was right, by keep on doing it.

"That just brilliant!" he told her softly.

Sam spent the rest of that day munching on scones.

By the end of that Thursday, he thought he would never want to see a fruit scone ... not ever again!

"I've got a dish!" Sarah kept muttering excitedly to herself. "I can cook ... I can bake scones!" and she would giggle elatedly, before turning to him with devastating eyes; and shoving another plate of scones under his nose. "Here have one!" she would say. "I promise ... they're really good!"

And Sam would give her a sickly smile, and bite into yet another scone.

They were actually quite tasty; but Sam quickly realised that Sarah never ate anything that she had made herself; and so it fell to him, not to waste any of her little triumphs!

He puffed out his chest in a manly fashion, and bit on another tasty, crumbly scone – praying silently that he would be able to swallow the thing!

Friday dawned bright and clear, and together they cleaned up his cottage; and Sam drove her back to London.

"When's Maggie due back?" Sam asked as they neared the flat.

"Some time tomorrow?" Sarah replied as he turned onto their driveway.