Chapter One

I hadn’t been outside at 7 o’clock in the evening on a Thursday in years. Before, it was because I had been working in other people’s restaurants. Now, it was because I had a kitchen of my own to run.

The outside world was the real world. The world I lived in most of the time was like the mythical world of Plato’s cave, lit by fires and guessable only by representations of reality that in my case were the food orders that the ticket machine delivered at periodic intervals. Orders that I then had to turn into edible reality. But outside the kitchen walls, I knew that if you parked your car carefully – not by the side of the common which, as the many signs point out, is strictly forbidden – and strolled around Hampden Green, you’d think to yourself, ‘What a peaceful place.’

It’s what I had thought when I’d moved here.

A hypothetical, disinterested observer would note the green, with its fenced-off play area, a couple of mothers supervising their children before bed in the late summer, some small boys playing football at the mini goal-posts and maybe a dog walker or two, exercising their animals with a fling-ball. It would seem like a nice place to raise a family or live a quiet life. The tasteful parish information noticeboard (made of wood, a kind of walnut stained finish and a glass case; you had to have permission to put notices inside) gives details of Zumba classes and yoga in the village hall – run by a new yoga teacher, a woman this time. Regulars can be spotted sitting outside the local Three Bells pub having a quiet pint. And then there’s my restaurant, the Old Forge Café.

In the calm, tranquil dining room that Thursday night, there were about twenty-five people, enjoying good food (at reasonable prices) efficiently and charmingly served by my young manager, Jess and her assistant waiter, Katie.

A peaceful place to eat in a peaceful Chiltern village. Until you go inside the kitchen…

Welcome to my world.

Heat from the stove, heat from the chargrill, heat from the hot plate, heat from the lights keeping the food warm on the pass, heat from the backs of the fridges, heat from the deep-fat fryers, heat and steam from the dishwasher…

‘Cheque on!’ I shouted to Francis over the kitchen fans. It was like a furnace in here. My jacket was sodden with perspiration and stuck to my skin. I wiped my forehead with the back of my sleeve.

‘Two hak