A Girl's Guide to Fairy Tales

Chapter Four (part 1)

Chapter Four - Sophie

‘Eggs, check. Bacon, check. Beans, check. Tomatoes and mushrooms, check check,’ I whispered looking at the items I had laid out on the kitchen work surface.

Now just what the hell do I do to turn them into breakfast?

It was Saturday morning and Tom was having a much needed break from his restaurant. He’d worked solidly for the last year to get it fitted and decorated and then finally, three months ago he had opened for business. And it was doing extremely well.

So now it was time to decorate the flat at last. ‘Our flat,’ I sighed.

Just saying the words gave me butterflies. I was no longer a housemate, but the co-owner of a flat with a beautiful, generous and caring boyfriend who I was treating to breakfast. And I couldn’t back out of it either as I had tweeted my intentions to the world five minutes ago and also made it my Facebook status . Yes, I was a committed girlfriend.

‘Right Sophie Elizabeth Dawson, you can do this. If you can cope with a class of twenty-three six-year-olds, you can cook bacon and eggs.’

I did some weird breathing technique I’d learned from watching Clare do pilates in her living room. Cooking was not impossible. All I needed to do was take it step-by-step. It was like phonics actually, the way I taught the children to read by getting them to sound out each letter to form the word as a whole. All I had to do was cook each component separately to form an edible meal.  

‘Sh-i-t,’ I thought. 

I took another deep breath. ‘No Sophie, you can do this. First step is to get a frying pan.’

Actually the first step was to clear the three cold, used tea bags Tom insisted on leaving on the draining board – the one and only fault he had. Once that was done, it was back to the task in hand.

I bent down to open the first of five cupboards in which the frying pan could be hiding in and winced as my hamstrings and gluteus maximus seared instantly.

‘Ouch ouch ouch!’ I spat through clenched teeth. Clare had warned me that after Thursday’s gym expedition I would feel the pain about now. Those squats and lunges were certainly making themselves known – in fact I believe the exact words used by the fitness instructor were ‘if you can put your knickers on, I’ve not done my job.’

Well she had certainly done her job but it wasn’t so much the ‘knickers on’ that concerned me. It was more the off I was thinking about now – but then again I’m sure Tom would only be all too obliging.

Tentatively I set off again on my culinary quest. Tom had arranged the kitchen to his specification and so far I had only learned where the cutlery was kept. But eventually I found the industrial sized pan, which dwarfed the five rashers of honey cured bacon I laid inside. Step one complete.

Now heat. I needed heat.

I twisted the nearest knob on the cooker but it did nothing but hiss at me. I crouched to look underneath to find the dancing flames absent. That was odd, I had watched both Tom and Clare do this countless times and it always worked for them.

I lifted the pan and leant in for a closer inspection but as I did the back of my throat constricted. Coughing and spluttering, I whipped the knob into the off position and cracked open the kitchen window, fanning my arms through the air frantically for fear the whole room would explode at any moment.

I sprinted back to the stove and flicked half a dozen switches until I found the extractor fan. I needed to know where that switch was for the future, as I was no stranger to burning things. It was my gift.