‘We should try and make something,’ said Rachel mischievously.
‘What, now?’ asked Dot, bug-eyed.
‘We’re not doing anything for the rest of the afternoon, are we, Di?’
‘You know, Ron’s courgette cake was legendary.’
‘Is it in the recipe book?’
Dot nodded. ‘And now that you clever clogs have cracked the code, we know how to make it.’
She beckoned them to follow her into the kitchen, which was surprisingly clean and modern. She started opening cupboards, checking best-before dates on packets, and eventually declared that they had every ingredient they needed except courgettes.
‘There’s the village stores,’ offered Diana.
Dot snorted. ‘You’ll have as much luck finding courgettes there as you would a designer handbag.’
‘Where’s the nearest supermarket?’ asked Rachel.
‘In Henley. About a twenty-minute drive away.’
‘Maybe we’ll have to try something else, then.’
‘There is one place we could get courgettes . . .’ said Dot.
‘Go on. Over you go.’
Diana looked at the wall dubiously. It was only about four feet high, but there were spiky-looking bushes on the other side and her pretty Moschino dress wasn’t exactly designed for mountaineering.
‘Are you sure she’s not in?’
‘Dot says she’s in Bournemouth with her grandchildren.’
‘This is trespassing.’
‘I’m the family law-breaker. I’ll take all responsibility.’ Rachel pushed the toe of her Converse into a gap in the wall, hoisting herself up. She pulled Diana up behind her, then dropped into the garden, taking a moment to savour the smells: flowers, leaves, even the grass smelled wonderfully damp from last night’s rain.
Diana looked like a demure terrified doll on the top of the wall.
‘Come on,’ hissed Rachel.
‘I don’t even know what a courgette plant looks like,’ Diana moaned.
‘I thought you lived in the organic greengrocer’s.’ She pointed to the vegetable patch – easy to spot from the cane wigwams with runner beans twisting around them. ‘Spiky leaves, yellow flowers, over there, go, go, go.’
Diana’s eyes opened wide, as if she’d had an adrenalin shot. She scuttled across the garden and scooped up the contraband vegetables. When she returned to Rachel, her face was pink and radiant.
By the time they got back to the café, Dot had already assembled pots, pan and scales around her. It was Ron’s old equipment, she told them as she followed his code, mixing flour, eggs, sugar and butter together. Diana got stuck in too, and Rachel took a moment to watch them. It was as if the two women were coming back to life, like watching a photo develop in front of her.
Within an hour, it was ready, a perfect slab of loaf, flecked with courgette and ginger.
‘You do the honours,’ said Dot. ‘My hands are shaking.’
Diana divided the loaf into generous slices and they took one each on a plate.
‘Go on, try it,’ urged Dot.
Tentatively, Diana took a mouthful. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said. ‘I mean, really, really good. What do you think? Is it as good as Ron’s?’