Relief washed across Gary’s face; his father was seeing sense finally. ‘Okay, Dad, that sounds like a great plan. Are you sure you want to spend all that money on the crazy giant Yorkshire pudding?’
Albert started walking back toward the marquee, shrugging his shoulders as he went. ‘I can’t take it with me. You lot don’t need it all; there’ll be plenty from the sale of the house. Besides, we don’t know how much it will be yet.’
As it turned out, it was more than he thought, but not so much that it made him want to change his mind. Beefy had been looking for him and didn’t hide his relief when Albert reappeared; they had thought him to have changed his mind and made a swift exit.
The order to the caterer had been placed, it simply required payment so they could collect it. ‘Charlie and Rosco will have to take their van,’ Beefy explained. ‘It’s after delivery hours now and I didn’t want to spend more of your money paying the out of hours delivery fee.’
‘That was good of you,’ replied Albert, wondering what Petunia, his wonderful wife would have made of his latest eccentric idea. He still missed her dearly but a year after losing her, he was able to form her into his thoughts without feeling a stab of pain each time he did. ‘How many of you will be working through the night?’ Albert asked.
Beefy started pointing people out. ‘I’m staying on now with Rosco, Charlie, and Mavis. Then at midnight, Dave, Dave, Dave, and Rosie will be back to take over.’
‘Rosie?’ questioned Albert, ignoring that they had three men with the same first name all on the same shift. ‘What about her baby?’
Beefy shrugged. ‘She volunteered. Most of us work for Uncle Bert’s but she’s a local hire and still to prove herself.’
Albert’s forehead concertinaed onto itself. He knew who Uncle Bert’s were: a giant firm who held the top position in the pre-cooked and frozen market for Yorkshire puddings and other foods. ‘If this is being run by Uncle Bert’s, how come you’re not wearing their logo? Better yet, why am I paying for replacement ingredients?’
‘Ah,’ said Beefy. ‘Uncle Bert’s isn’t behind this. They wouldn’t even give us the time off. We had to take our own time. Uncle Bert’s hold the world record. That’s why they won’t support our attempt. The mayor’s office approached them directly; it would have been that Alan Crystal, the event organiser behind it, but Uncle Bert’s turned them down. I heard about it because Suzalls works in Uncle Bert’s head office. Anyway, they wanted experienced Yorkshire pudding makers and were offering okay money so a bunch of us signed up. There are a few, like Rosie, who were drafted in to bolster the numbers. The event covered the cost of the ingredients, and the giant pan we are making it in, and everything else, but that … unpleasant person,’ Beefy managed, just about, to curb his language, ‘Brian Pumphrey … well, you heard him. He’s not going to put up the money for the fresh ingredients we need. However,’ Beefy raised his hand, placing one around Albert’s shoulders as he roared, ‘with our new benefactor, Albert Smith, backing us, I can guarantee the man from Guinness will be blown away by the size and rise of our giant Yorkie!’
His cheer got a cheer in response, and a round of applause too. Albert looked around for Rosie but couldn’t see her anywhere. The sun was setting fast outside, and she was back here at midnight, so it made sense that she would have departed already to get some sleep. There would be a babysitter involved somewhere, he couldn’t imagine she was bringing Teddy back here later.
When the applause died down, Gary was waiting patiently. His stomach had begun to rumble, and a cold pint of beer sounded good; this was his weekend off after all – a proper weekend off where he wouldn’t get nagged to mow the lawn or fix the tumble dryer. At least, that was what he fantasised about on the train ride up from London. He was beginning to suspect, though, that his father might yet make the weekend a little busier and more complicated than it needed to be.
Dinner
Opposite the venue, they stopped in a tavern boasting the finest steak and kidney pies in the world. It was unnecessary hyperbole, but the tactic worked, nonetheless. That they also had cask ales from local breweries helped to seal their decision.
Albert’s feet, ankles, knees, hips, and shoulders were beginning to ache from all the walking and standing and trying to move faster than his body truly wanted him to go. Much like Rex, he thought it had been a strange kind of day, but not one where anything terrible had happened. He had much to think about but at least no one had died. No sooner had the thought of death popped into his head, than the question of Alan’s health and what might have befallen him surfaced again.
Taking a long, slow sip of his dark, amber ale, Albert set the glass back on the table. ‘What do you think might have happened to the bakers’ ingredients?’ he asked Gary, taking a winding route to get to the questions he wanted to discuss. ‘How could the flour be filled with salt?’
Gary wanted to avoid discussing his father’s conspiracy theories if at all possible, yet he could not see a way of doing that now without being rude. To appease his dad, he played
