18 18 The school kitchen was a hive of activity. Two boys, smart in white aprons, were helping a large woman with floury hands take their culinary efforts out of the oven. One boy had such a dusting of flour on his face that he looked like Marley’s ghost.
‘Do you like tarts?’ he asked as I approached.
‘Pardon?’
‘Tarts. Do you like tarts?’
‘Jam tarts,’ added the teacher with the floury hands, winking at me.
‘Oh, I’m very partial to tarts.’
‘Do you want one of mine?’
‘I think our visitor might enjoy one of your tarts at afternoon break, Richard, with his cup of tea.’ There was a look on the teacher’s face which recommended me not to eat one of the tarts on offer.
‘But I want to know what he thinks,’ the boy told her.
‘You have to wait until they are cool, Richard.’
‘Tarts are better when they’re hot, miss,’ persisted the boy. He then looked at me with a shining, innocent face. ‘Don’t you think hot tarts are much better than cold ones?’
‘I do,’ I agreed, ‘and I will have one of your tarts now.’ The teacher’s face took on an expression which told me that I had been warned.
The boy selected the biggest on the baking tray – a large, crusty-looking, misshapen lump of pastry. In the centre was a blob of dark red which I supposed was jam. It looked the most unappetizing piece of pastry I had ever seen, but I could not go back now. The boy watched keenly as I took a massive bite.
‘What do you think?’ asked the boy eagerly.
It was extremely difficult to speak as the dried-up confection coated the inside of my mouth. I coughed and sprayed the air with bits of pastry and dried jam. ‘I have never tasted a tart like this in my life,’ I assured him honestly, between splutters.
A great smile spread across the boy’s face. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Would you like another?’
‘No, thank you,’ I replied quickly. ‘Delicious though it was, one is quite enough.’
At the end of the afternoon, as I was heading for the door, the little chef appeared with a brown paper bag in his hand.
‘I’ve put another of my tarts in here for you,’ he said, ‘to have with your tea tonight.’
‘That’s very kind,’ I said. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Funny thing is baking, isn’t it?’ the boy pondered, holding out his hands in front of him the better to examine them. ‘You know, my hands were dead mucky before I started making my tarts and just look how clean they are now.’
