forward to finding out.
She opened the door to a snowstorm.
White flecks sifted through the air. A fine white dust covered the work surfaces. There were drifts up to two inches deep on the floor. And Danny and Angus were both white-haired, ghost-faced, their open, laughing mouths red against their powdered skin.
As she watched Angus scooped up a handful of white stuff and flung it at Danny. It dissolved into a shower over Danny’s head and shoulders.
‘You’re having a flour fight?’ she gasped.
The two males froze. Covered in flour, they looked like ragged snowmen. Their faces were both pictures of powdered guilt.
‘Danny, you know better than this,’ she said. ‘Miss Graham was just telling me you haven’t been in trouble for over three weeks, and I was coming in here to congratulate you, and this is what I find?’
Danny shuffled his feet, kicking up small clouds. ‘Angus started it.’
Elisabeth turned to Angus. ‘And you. Is this the sort of thing you do in a professional kitchen? What are you teaching these kids?’
As she talked Angus’s head sank lower and lower, she assumed in shame. Then she noticed that his shoulders were shaking.
‘Are you laughing at me?’ she asked.
He let out a great peal of laughter, doubling over and holding onto the counter for support. Danny giggled.
‘It’s not funny. It’s going to take ages to clean this up.’
Angus collapsed backwards onto the floor, laughing, and lay there among the flour drifts.
She heard Jennifer, the traitor, stifle a giggle.
Elisabeth struggled to keep her lips from curling into a smile. Angus looked like a kid himself, a cheeky boy who’d been caught doing something wrong and knew he could charm himself out of trouble.
‘You—should see—your face,’ he gasped.
She put her hand in front of her mouth to hide the smile. ‘At least I don’t look like Casper the Friendly Ghost,’ she said, and rushed out of the room.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall of the corridor and laughed until tears streamed out of her eyes, trying to keep quiet so Angus and the kids wouldn’t hear her through the frosted-glass door.
When she’d wiped her eyes and caught her breath and felt in control of herself again, she went back inside. Danny and Angus were on their knees on the floor sweeping up the flour into dustpans.
‘See, we’re being good, miss,’ Angus called, smiling his beautiful wide smile. He’d cleaned the flour off his face, but it still clung to his dark hair.
‘Well done,’ she said, and went to stand next to Jennifer, who was lightly forking some pastry together. ‘Those boys are ridiculous, aren’t they?’ she commented quietly to the girl, who nodded.
Elisabeth wasn’t sure why Angus had started a flour fight, but she could guess. Jennifer had a small smile on her face, and Angus and Danny were chatting comfortably on the floor behind her.
Not the method she would’ve chosen to bond with students, but it was working.
‘I can’t wait till I’m a proper chef with a kitchen of my own,’ Danny said. ‘I’m going to have as many food fights as I want.’
‘Too right, mate. Miss Read has a point, though. Once it’s your kitchen you’ll probably be too proud of it to want to chuck flour bombs around it. And I guess school has rules against it, too.’
‘I hate school,’ Danny declared.
‘Don’t blame you. I hated it too.’
Elisabeth, measuring out flour to Jennifer’s quiet instructions, pricked up her ears. Another bonding strategy, or the truth?
‘Yeah? Did you go to this school?’ Danny’s voice was sympathetic.
‘Nah. Worse. My parents sent me to boarding-school when I was six. I went to three different prep schools and then to Emington until I was sixteen.’
‘You had to live at school for ten years? That bites.’
Elisabeth glanced over at Angus. He was scrubbing flour off a worktop with a rag. He’d gone to one of the most prestigious schools in the country;
She opened the door to a snowstorm.
White flecks sifted through the air. A fine white dust covered the work surfaces. There were drifts up to two inches deep on the floor. And Danny and Angus were both white-haired, ghost-faced, their open, laughing mouths red against their powdered skin.
As she watched Angus scooped up a handful of white stuff and flung it at Danny. It dissolved into a shower over Danny’s head and shoulders.
‘You’re having a flour fight?’ she gasped.
The two males froze. Covered in flour, they looked like ragged snowmen. Their faces were both pictures of powdered guilt.
‘Danny, you know better than this,’ she said. ‘Miss Graham was just telling me you haven’t been in trouble for over three weeks, and I was coming in here to congratulate you, and this is what I find?’
Danny shuffled his feet, kicking up small clouds. ‘Angus started it.’
Elisabeth turned to Angus. ‘And you. Is this the sort of thing you do in a professional kitchen? What are you teaching these kids?’
As she talked Angus’s head sank lower and lower, she assumed in shame. Then she noticed that his shoulders were shaking.
‘Are you laughing at me?’ she asked.
He let out a great peal of laughter, doubling over and holding onto the counter for support. Danny giggled.
‘It’s not funny. It’s going to take ages to clean this up.’
Angus collapsed backwards onto the floor, laughing, and lay there among the flour drifts.
She heard Jennifer, the traitor, stifle a giggle.
Elisabeth struggled to keep her lips from curling into a smile. Angus looked like a kid himself, a cheeky boy who’d been caught doing something wrong and knew he could charm himself out of trouble.
‘You—should see—your face,’ he gasped.
She put her hand in front of her mouth to hide the smile. ‘At least I don’t look like Casper the Friendly Ghost,’ she said, and rushed out of the room.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall of the corridor and laughed until tears streamed out of her eyes, trying to keep quiet so Angus and the kids wouldn’t hear her through the frosted-glass door.
When she’d wiped her eyes and caught her breath and felt in control of herself again, she went back inside. Danny and Angus were on their knees on the floor sweeping up the flour into dustpans.
‘See, we’re being good, miss,’ Angus called, smiling his beautiful wide smile. He’d cleaned the flour off his face, but it still clung to his dark hair.
‘Well done,’ she said, and went to stand next to Jennifer, who was lightly forking some pastry together. ‘Those boys are ridiculous, aren’t they?’ she commented quietly to the girl, who nodded.
Elisabeth wasn’t sure why Angus had started a flour fight, but she could guess. Jennifer had a small smile on her face, and Angus and Danny were chatting comfortably on the floor behind her.
Not the method she would’ve chosen to bond with students, but it was working.
‘I can’t wait till I’m a proper chef with a kitchen of my own,’ Danny said. ‘I’m going to have as many food fights as I want.’
‘Too right, mate. Miss Read has a point, though. Once it’s your kitchen you’ll probably be too proud of it to want to chuck flour bombs around it. And I guess school has rules against it, too.’
‘I hate school,’ Danny declared.
‘Don’t blame you. I hated it too.’
Elisabeth, measuring out flour to Jennifer’s quiet instructions, pricked up her ears. Another bonding strategy, or the truth?
‘Yeah? Did you go to this school?’ Danny’s voice was sympathetic.
‘Nah. Worse. My parents sent me to boarding-school when I was six. I went to three different prep schools and then to Emington until I was sixteen.’
‘You had to live at school for ten years? That bites.’
Elisabeth glanced over at Angus. He was scrubbing flour off a worktop with a rag. He’d gone to one of the most prestigious schools in the country;
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