food – Page 4 – three good words

October 18, 2014May 16, 2020

in the field

It was typical rain-season weather where all the back roads were swamps of mud and you were lucky to reach the lodge without being marooned half way. Getting stuck in turn usually ended in pushing the jeep and landing face-down in the mud. The sky was a heavy grey, clouds hanging so low Alexis felt she could touch them. There was that metallic taste of a storm brewing in the air, thickly humid as it was, making any type of material stick annoyingly to her skin. And for some reason all the mosquitoes of the islands had decided to congregate around every living, breathing mammal and probably the dead one’s as well, God she hated them. Mosquitoes really were one unnecessary genetic mutation.

Alexis parked her jeep with a sigh of relief, jumped out, gathered her gear and made her way back to the lodge. The first gust of pre-storm wind swept around her, ruffling her frizzled hair, damp and haphazard, half eating the clip she tried to tame it with. She felt sticky from head to toe and could only think of the shower waiting for her upstairs. All she needed was her key and then, hallelujah, she would scrub down, wrap herself up in the hotel’s heavenly bathrobe and then spread out on her bed with the thunderstorm crashing on outside.

The first thing Alexis noticed when entering the lobby was the musty, wet-clothes smell that hung like heavy draperies in the air. It would be ok after the storm, but right then it just irritated her more. Shouldering her backpack and waterproofed gadgets she trudged to the counter where someone tall and broad was arguing loudly with one of the concierges. She noticed the accent first, it spoke of rich green hills and real music in real pubs with real beer, the kind you never got on this side of the planet unless you went looking. Alexis clattered next to him, she couldn’t help it, her gear was heavy this late in the day. Claire, the young clerk, greeted Alexis with a ‘Hello, Dr Jordan!’ that was way too happy. Alexis still said,

‘Hi, Claire, Any mail?’
‘No, Dr Jordan, but with the weather like this, the plane’s bound to be late,’ the young woman smiled cheerily.

Just as well. She needed a few hours of rest anyway.

‘Could you send up something to eat, you know, not too heavy, and some very, very cold water?’
‘Of course, Dr. Jordan. Is there anything else we can do for you?’
‘Find me some decent sleep,’ Alexis sighed, but Claire frowned prettily. ‘No, I’m fine. I’d just take my keys then, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, Dr. Jordan – ’ Claire started, but was interrupted by her colleague Ray who was still being harangued by the new arrival.

Alexis checked the vitals. Hiking boots, combat pants with all the pockets – good for outdoor work – dark blue t-shirt, a huge backpack, well-used, and a laptop safely packed in a waterproof case which meant serious field work. Alexis wasn’t really aware how blatantly she was staring until she saw he was looking straight back at her. Alexis blushed and looked away, really, she kept on forgetting how to act when around people. And what about her keys? Claire was still talking with her colleague, and both were looking at Alexis every now and then, until it started to get a little worrying. Finally the young woman turned back to Alexis, looking apprehensive.

‘Ahm… Dr. Jordan?’
‘Yes?’
‘May I talk to you for a second? In private?’

Claire didn’t look like she was about to kick her out of the lodge so Alexis walked to where Claire pointed, the wide French windows leading out to the patio. The first few drops splattered against the panes. Soon the storm would hit and the humidity and mosquitoes would be swept away, yeah.

‘Is something wrong?’ Alexis asked when Claire joined her.
‘No, no, nothing’s wrong. That is, nothing with you Dr. Jordan, of course not, but we are in a kind of a – predicament.’
‘What kind?’
‘It seems we’re overbooked.’
‘Oh, ok – ’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ Claire said, looking pained. ‘Mr. Russell’s room is already taken, but he did book it, so he in fact has every right to complain.’
‘Yeah, but, what’s that got to do with –’

Wait a minute. Oh, no, please no –

‘I just found out that you and Mr. Russell are in fact working in the same field – ?’ Claire asked brightly.
‘Do we now?’ Alexis asked dryly.

Why, why, why did this always happen to her? She just wanted a shower, some food, maybe a drink and then sleep, sleep, sleep. Why were the gods so against that, it was such a simple wish?

‘Well, Mr Russel is also working on a project, just like you, and we thought it might not be too awkward if you would be together, since you’d at least have something to talk about,’ Claire explained quickly. ‘It would only be for a night, the Martinez’ will be leaving tomorrow morning – ’
‘But – ’
‘Please?’ Claire asked, her wide eyes imploring. ‘You are one of our most trusted guests, and we – well, we know you, Dr. Jordan. It would only be for one night, and we would of course set up an extra bed in the second room, so… please?’
‘Yes, but Claire – ’
‘If Mr. Kelly finds out, Ray and I’ll be in a bit of a fix,’ Claire added, and Alexis sighed.

How was she to say no now? Mr. Kelly was known to be a bit… strict. Alexis knew Claire and Ray for the five years she’d been coming here to do her research, and it was true that she was known to the lodge as any other seasonal guest, maybe even more so because she always stayed for at least a month each year. And there was enough space in her suite, that was true too, she always booked one just to be able to set up the equipment she needed. During her four weeks on the islands, her suite was the base of the operation, the messy, cable-infested HQ. If they set up the bed where the couch was, they’d be out of each other’s hair. Still, there was a difference between admiring someone from a safe distance and having him around you for a night and day, seeing all your quirks and bad habits. Still, spending a night in the same room with tall, dark and handsome was a small price from keeping Jay and Claire from Mr. Kelly’s wrath.

‘If he promises not to snore, I’m fine,’ Alexis finally said and Claire beamed.
‘Thank you so much!’ she exclaimed, even hugging Alexis’ tightly.
‘Yes, yes, ok, just make sure you don’t forget my dinner,’ Alexis said grumpily.

Claire let her go again, nodding enthusiastically, piped another ‘Thank you!’ and rushed back to the reception. She could see the relief on Ray’s face when Claire gave him a thumbs up. Alexis watched how both communicated everything to Mr. Russell, who turned to Alexis and nodded as if saying Thank you. Alexis just pointed to the elevators, showing she had the key and started walking. She was really in need for a shower and felt even stickier and more frizzled than ever. She didn’t bother to look if he joined, but since the elevators took an century to arrive, Mr. Russell did manage to join her in time, backpack and laptop included.

August 18, 2014May 17, 2020

the list

Caden looked at the number. If he took the call he would not say no. If he didn’t take the call the noise would never end. The song wouldn’t stop, the screen blinking madly. He really didn’t want to. But if he didn’t, Joan would call and he didn’t need to hear, ‘What’s wrong, darling, why’s Steff so cross?’ He took the call.

He was shaving when he heard it, ‘Oh come on! Are you serious?’ Next, three knocks, quick, loud. Caden said, ‘Yeah?’ and Sunny opened the door, waving a piece of paper in her hand. It looked like the list. Well, no wonder.

‘What’s this?’
‘What’s what?’
‘I thought you said you wouldn’t do it again.’

He cut a long swath through the shaving foam, flicked the razor in the water and started again. Three more to go.

‘Caden. You said you wouldn’t do it again.’

Another clear broadway through the white. Fred had shown him first. Matt wasn’t too happy, but Matt had nothing to shave off. It’s not like he pressed a button and started earlier just to spite him. Caden stopped a second. He hated how that still could annoy him, even now.

‘It’s good money,’ he said, after finishing the last stroke.
‘Yeah and they’re complete arseholes.’

Caden unplugged the sink, and watched the soapy water drain out. He remembered, clearly, the first time he forgot to rinse out the sink. Joan saying, really loud, ‘Who did this?’ as if he’d firebombed the house.

‘They talk down to you, Caden,’ Sunny said. ‘Like you’re some kind of… some kind of… I don’t know! Something they can just order and stare at. I hate that.’
‘It’s just an evening, Sunny,’ he said, bent down and rinsed the last of the foam off.
‘That’s a whole day, Caden. A whole day. Catering.’

She said it like it was something way below his dignity. Caden kept down a smile. Sunny had this thing that, if it wasn’t helping bands build a fanbase, or seeing the pub didn’t run dry, it was nothing.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Mike’ll be there and Becca and Siobhan’ll –’
‘Oh, I’ll do it. I just don’t see why you have to give in all the time – and don’t say it’s good money. I don’t care about the money. We don’t need it anyway.’
‘Yeah and I don’t need the noise.’

Sunny just stood there pouting. Sometimes she was sixteen all over again, Caden wondered if that would ever stop.

‘Look, you know how it’ll be if I say no. I don’t need that right now, so – it’s just an evening. There’ll be a band and an open bar, she said you can have what you want.’
‘Oh, how generous! M’lady deigns to let us drink her precious wines which are ours anyway for fuck’s sake. How can you put up with that?’

Caden smiled. It was nice, seeing her annoyance. It was genuine too.

‘I know it’s a pain, kid, but I don’t have the time for arguments. We’ll set up everything by five and you can leave by nine, so that’s just four hours, five max if it takes longer.’
‘Yeah, but what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Caden, that’s a whole evening with those twats, why’re you doing that to yourself?’
‘I’m not doing anything to myself,’ Caden said, flicked a towel off the heating rack and dried down.
‘It’s still –’
‘I’m just delivering some drinks, Sunny. You really don’t have to join up if you don’t want to, but it’s done anyway.’

Sunny just made a face and shook her head, strutting off like he was an idiot to give in again.

He’d have preferred not to do it, but if he said no he wouldn’t just have Steff all up in a miff, it’d be all of them breathing down his neck again. They’d been quiet for some time now, he didn’t need to change that for no reason. It’d be ok, he’d drive over, drop off the drinks and glasses and pick everything up the next day. He’d probably have to stop for a tumbler and palaver about something, anything. It was dull, but bearable. Steff had some chef on for the food, she just wanted the right wines, so it wasn’t a big deal really. It was strange though, how none of them ever got the hang of wines.

Adam had taken him to the South of France back then, Sunny in tow, fourteen and pissed off all the way until she saw the beaches, then they hardly saw her for the three weeks they were down there. It was business really, Adam was visiting some people he knew, a few microbreweries were staging an event, trying to break into new markets and Adam wanted to know what they had. There was that pavilion with smaller distilleries showing their latest single malts and single casks, they ended up buying a crate full of several different bottles. After that there were the wine cellars and the vineyards they went to, Adam speaking his seriously awful French, everybody winced when he started talking, telling Caden, ‘Try it son, try it,’ so he tried what was offered. He got the hang of it after the third cellar, and with Maurice adding the meals, it made sense.

Maurice lived in Nice and was a dictionary on food, wines and several obscure schnapps. They spent a week at his house, Sunny at the pool day and night, Adam and Maurice talking about their days working for Citroën which was how Adam could save up for the pub, he’d had enough of desk jobs and office life. Adam’s former office was one of Citroën’s suppliers, and Maurice was usually the one on the other end of the line. Over the years they started talking about more than car parts, velocity, pressure valves and tires, and finally became friends. They’d been visiting each other for years by the time they went over that summer, and it was nice seeing Adam laugh so much. That was about a year before the heart attack.

Now Caden had a pretty good list of whiskeys and wines, though he only used it for ‘The von Arseholes’ as Sunny called them. Sunny at sixteen was a full-out Goth. It was a phase, but the wrong phase to meet the Corrigans in. Steff was derisive, Joan horrified, and Fred just stared at her, asking, ‘Is something wrong with her? Why’s she so pale?’ Matt cackling out loud. Sunny heard it all and hated them ever since.

Sunny was convinced he was selling out, to Caden it was just business. The Corrigans had acres of friends and acquaintances who needed good drinks for their dinners and parties, they seemed to have one at least once a week. They knew to get the food right, but they were hopeless with liquids. So Caden got that sorted, and from the calls he was getting, he was doing a good job about it. The best part of it was that the more ridiculous the price, the more willing they were to give him the job. Nowadays, one evening catering to Steff and Joan’s friends was enough to stock up O’Connor’s for a month. Matt’s people were no different, and Fred’s could buy out all his whiskeys if Caden didn’t watch out. With all that, Sunny could huff all she wanted, business was business, and they weren’t all bad either. Well. Some were ok. So there was really nothing to worry about.

Caden was just done with his coffee when the front door opened and Marla walked in. Now there was a real problem. He still didn’t know why he agreed to it. She’d looked harmless. Pretty, yeah, but nothing to worry about, at least not like that. Turns out he was as wrong as he could be. She smiled, ‘Hi’ and said, ‘Going down?’ Caden nodded, and left it at that. He knew he didn’t say much to her, but it was a conscious avoidance. It was her breasts. There were a bit too there. And those clothes. They showed off everything. And in general the fact that she was everywhere. The house was tidier since she moved in. He kept on finding things quicker. Sunny didn’t leave all her stuff lying around anymore. And she was always cooking, it wasn’t bad either. And she smelled good, which was something Caden did not want to notice.

It was annoying actually. He didn’t want the changes. He’d start getting used to them, and then what? This was temporary for her, he knew it. Women like her only stayed a few months in a place like upstairs. And he knew Sunny had no clue. He’d have his work cut out for him once Marla moved out again, Sunny grew so attached to people. Moped for three months when Ella stopped coming over, like he purposely fucked up her life. Granted she was seventeen, barely out of school, still undecided. With Adam gone and Ella out of the house… he got that, but still. Caden wished he’d thought about that before he agreed to have Marla move in, but now it was too late.

Sunny loved having her around though, he hadn’t seen her this happy in months. She kept on giving him updates of whatever Marla was doing, ‘Marla’s on the hill right now, but she’ll be back by seven.’ ‘Marla lived in India for five years, crazy isn’t it?’ ‘Marla’s out with her girls, they’re really nice.’ ‘Marla used to work in New York, I wonder why she moved back here.’ ‘Marla’s going shopping, she asked if you needed anything.’ ‘Marla’s really quiet, don’t you think? I thought she’d be the louder sort.’ ‘Did you see Marla’s sari? It’s gorgeous isn’t it?’ It was constant and there was no way to make her stop. Caden didn’t want to know anything about Marla. The less he knew the better. She’d be moving out soon anyway, so why bother, but Sunny didn’t care.

It really was annoying. Coming up to the flat used to be a way to wind down. Now closing up the pub just meant having to face her afterwards. If she was awake that is. Caden was actually relieved when she wasn’t. She was still up there though, and it didn’t help knowing that. She had this really bad habit of running around in her bathrobe in the mornings. It was quick, yeah, she only did it to grab some toast and tea before she ran back up again, but he still had her right there, in front of him, and it was… fucking irritating. She’d looked harmless. Pretty yeah, but nothing to worry about. At least not like that. Pleasant, that was it. He remembered thinking, ‘Yeah, she’s fine.’ Sane, put together, someone who’d mind her own business. And she was sane, she was put together. She really did mind her own business. She still ran around in that tacky bathrobe where you saw everything. Not on Sundays though, thank God. It was weird, sitting with her at the kitchen table, having her flip through a newspaper or some magazines left over from the week, telling him something completely random she found in the pages. Sometimes he was sure she just wanted to start a conversation, but he wasn’t starting that. He didn’t want any habits to grow, any traditions to spread. It’d be hard enough dealing with Sunny once she moved out again, he didn’t have to get used to things as well.

August 4, 2014October 6, 2016

Ellen

It was almost ridiculous where they met again. Ellen was shopping at the deli for a dinner she’d promised her friends. She already had everything at home and now was looking for two or three fine cheeses to round off the dinner. She heard a woman’s voice right then, the kind of self-assured voice wealthy women had, and Ellen looked up to observe this particular specimen. The woman was a tall blonde, with perfectly done hair. She was beyond forty by a few years, maybe more, but she’d kept herself wonderfully well. She was stunning even now. Her makeup was perfect, her clothes of the best quality. The jewellery flashing at her ears, around her neck and on her fingers was beautiful, and her handbag was that particular kind where you did not ask for the price. She was beautiful, rich and powerful, it came off her like expensive perfume, and Ellen saw how others glanced at her admiringly and the shop assistants behind the counter stood to attention, smiling brightly.

‘Honey, what do you say? A little Beluga or would Salmon be enough?’ The woman asked this with a confident turn of her head and Ellen at first didn’t see who she was talking to. He was tall and had the kind of dark hair you knew was expertly taken care of. He was in a suit and there was something in the way he moved that made Ellen look again. She expected the man to be older, his hair dyed but his face betraying his real age – she saw a young, strong neck that had to be at least fifteen years younger than the blonde’s, if not more. Then again, you could never tell with these people. She could have been fifty already, but she did look marvellous, her breasts round (possibly with the help of some surgery, Ellen thought a little viciously) and her figure slender and firm. Ellen was sure she went jogging daily or had a personal trainer or something like that. And what was so bad about that, really? She had the means to keep herself very well, so why not use them? And she really did look good. Was it all that surprising then that she was with someone far younger than herself? Men did it all the time, and now women were catching up too, so why not? Ellen decided it was all rather nice in fact.

There was a short discussion between the blonde and her companion, too low for Ellen to hear and she anyway had to choose, the shop assistant was asking if she could help her. Ellen picked out the cheeses she wanted, hearing how the rich woman chose Beluga after all, enough to pay a fortune for it, but then, what was a fortune to Ellen was probably just peanuts for that beautiful woman. The young assistant packed up the cheeses in perfect wraps of brown paper and string, and Ellen couldn’t help think that the rich blonde would have been able to buy a piece of everything, but Ellen wasn’t her. She had a good life too, though. It just wasn’t as richly expensive, as glitteringly affluent as the blonde’s. Then again, wasn’t it nice to see that a woman at her age had such money and power? Everything about her told Ellen that she had worked hard to get where she was now, that she owed nothing to others and all to herself. It was in a way reassuring. The possibility, at least, was there.

Ellen smiled a thank you at the shop assistant and took the parcel of cheeses. Due to the sudden crowding at the counter, Ellen had to walk the other way, past the rich blonde and whoever-it-was with her. She said ‘Excuse me’ and ‘Pardon’ and moved past the people as best as she could, avoiding the stacked wheels of Gouda, the slim glasses of black olives and the exotic olive oils. She passed close by the rich blonde and her partner, and maybe it was curiosity, but Ellen did take a closer look. It was only a glance, a glimpse of his face, just as they too turned to leave. Ellen could not say if he saw her, but she saw him as he turned. By then she was beyond the shelves and walking without thinking. Her heart was racing so fast, she could feel it in her throat. She finally stopped at a shelf full of chutneys and breathed in deeply. Maybe she had seen wrong. Yes, maybe she had seen wrong. It was a reassuring thought. Yes, she had probably seen wrong. It would be ridiculous to meet in a place like this, especially if he was with that blonde. And who would she be anyway? But she had called him Honey. Maybe she was his mother, but Ellen knew that was wrong. The blonde wasn’t that old yet. Fifteen years at best, maybe twenty if she’d kept herself really well.

Ellen shook her head. No, she must have seen wrong. It was probably a trick of the light and it was really only a glimpse. Anyone could look like anything in a second. Yes, exactly. Ellen exhaled once more and went to pay her cheeses and the baguettes, feeling a bit like a mademoiselle. She had to wait in line and couldn’t help it, she looked along the other two queues. They were there. She was in her expensive skirt and jacket combination and he was in that perfect suit. She was talking to him and he was nodding. Ellen recognized the gesture immediately. It was in the shoulders and the turn of his head. It was in the way his hair fell and the angle of his face, showing a profile she could never forget. Just as the blonde turned to pay with her card he turned and their eyes met. Ellen felt everything inside clutch sharply, snatching at her breath. It was him. It was him. It was him. And he knew it was her, she could see it. ‘Miss?’ the young man at the cashier asked. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Ellen said, flustered, blushing. She paid her cheeses and the baguettes. They walked past her just as she was done. He did not look at her. They stepped through the sliding doors and were gone. Ellen saw that her hands were not steady when she took her card. She thanked the young man at the cashier and walked out into the rest of her evening.

It was him, there was no denying it. She had seen. He was not a figment of her imagination as she had come to believe over the past year, ok, seven months. Six and half. Those days had been too perfect, those weeks had been too wonderful to be real. She must have read it or seen it somewhere. It could not have happened. It could not have happened if she woke up alone that Monday and it was as if nothing had ever happened. Ellen had come to believe that, since it made it easier. She could think about it without wanting to cry if she believed it was a dream, a hallucination, a figment of her imagination, a vision in a dream. Where did she read that? Probably a blurb or magazine somewhere. Anyway, that was how she could bear it, by believing that it really never happened, it actually never took place. Now, that was impossible. It was him. She would have recognized that face anywhere.

Ellen arrived home quicker than she expected. She climbed the stairs to her front door and dreaded opening it, but she was in for a surprise. Her friend Tara was waiting with bags of shopping, grinning, ‘I got bored waiting and decided you need some help.’ Ellen smiled gratefully, and pushed back the sudden tears. She would not cry, definitely not now. No, she would not. And anyway, she had seen wrong. If she wanted to enjoy the evening, if she wanted to keep her smile, if she simply wanted to live in peace, she had to believe that. It wasn’t him. It was someone cruelly like him, but it wasn’t him. There was no one like him. He did not exist. And with that, Ellen opened the door to her apartment, stepped back into her life and started preparing the dinner, laughing with Tara who had new outrageous stories to tell, she really was a great friend, she somehow always knew when to turn up in time and make Ellen smile again.

A week later, Ellen came home from work feeling exhausted. The whole week had been draining. She had managed her dinner quite well, what with Tara making her laugh the whole time, and once Anne, Leon and the others joined, everything was great again anyway. But even after they left the memory was there, waiting like a bear-trap under dried leaves, snapping closed the moment Ellen walked into her bedroom. The tears were back, but she refused. She would not. No. She would not cry. She absolutely would not. She refused to. It would not happen. No tear would pearl and slide, she would not reach for any Kleenex, she would simply brush her teeth, change for bed and sleep. And Ellen managed very well until she was in bed, and turned on the TV and found a rom-com on one of the channels, one of those sticky-sweet movies with that young woman who had that face like a sweet young puppy and just got kicked like one by the bastard friend she had, shouting gleefully ‘He’s just not that into you!’ or something like that, really relishing it. Ellen saw the tears slide down the pretty face on-screen and clenched her teeth. She would not. She would not. But she did. Awfully. She cleaned out her whole box of Kleenex, she just couldn’t stop.

Somehow Ellen fell asleep. When she woke up she saw the massacre of Kleenex on her bed and floor. That was the beginning of the end. Saturday was… not good. It was so bad, she called Tara, but Tara was busy with her own life and never took her calls. Sunday turned up, and it got marginally better. Tara came over with coffee, cake and bottles of wine, and watched all kinds of nonsense with Ellen, one rom-com after the other, the worse the better, until they ended up watching Audrey Hepburn movies and singing drunkenly while draining their glasses and pouring out more wine. Tara really was the best friend Ellen had ever had, she always turned up with her emergency kit of sugar, caffeine and alcohol, coffee, cakes and wine, and didn’t care how long it took or what time it was, she stayed until Ellen stopped crying.

Monday showed up without asking and Ellen had a headache, a bad one, but she felt more like herself again. Tara had already gone home by the time her alarm went off. She had taped a post-it to Ellen’s forehead, Tara liked to do things like that. It was hugs and kisses and Need to talk? Call me!, which made Ellen smile a real smile. Tara was the best, she really was. Ellen crawled out of bed, showered, dressed and went to work, lying that she felt a bit chill when someone asked her what was wrong. It was snowing outside so they believed her.

Even so, every day was a trial. By Thursday, Ellen was exhausted all over again. She didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to remember anymore. She was starting to feel that anger she loved, that anger that she had met him, that she had been so foolish to ask, and listen and answer and actually believe it meant something, that she had been stupid enough to talk to him, to give herself away like that as if she had no brain in her head.

Ellen loved that anger, it brought her back into the life she knew, that life that was hers again. By Friday evening Ellen detected the beginnings of normalcy. That anger was growing and soon, very soon, she would spend her hours and days furiously living her own life, with her own thoughts, her own feelings, her own peace of mind. Maybe she would call David and agree to meet him again, her evenings and nights with him were always very nice and he really was a good man. Yes, she would do that. She would go home and ask David if he would like to come over for some pasta, Ellen was very good with pasta, everyone liked her pasta, people even asked her to make it again. Yes, she would call David and ask him if he would like some pasta and wine, she was sure he wouldn’t mind a few hours to relax and unwind.

July 26, 2014May 16, 2020

Toni’s

rain-249872 ‘People are like raindrops.’
‘Really.’
‘Yeah. If they fall too hard, they desintegrate.’
‘Simon.’
‘What? It’s true isn’t it? Imagine someone falling from -‘
‘Simon.’
‘Yeah?’

Amanda looked at Simon and decided she didn’t like him. She loved him, but she didn’t like him. He went against her grain. But she loved him. And that was just about it.

They lived in something other people called ‘flat’. It was on the first floor. It had three rooms, if you didn’t count the kitchen: living room, bedroom, bathroom. There were times Amanda found Simon sleeping in the tub. He said it was good for his back. Amanda just shook her head and asked if he wanted some coffee. He would yawn then, stretch, and ask for tea instead.

When asked about their relationship, Amanda’s general answer was, ‘I really don’t know.’ Simon on the other hand leaned back, sighed satisfied and said: ‘Amanda and I, we’re two of a kind.’ Amanda looked at him then, wondering if they really lived on the same planet.

The apartment had small windows with deep sills. Neither had much for a view, except the one in the living room. It faced the street and a small patch of green with a gnarled old appletree. Amanda called it the Sad Old Man. Simon called it ‘visceral’.

Simon used words like that. When he said ‘pneumonia’ there was just the faintest hint of a p. He didn’t grow his hair long. He was afraid Amanda would one day creep up behind him and cut it off. He smiled when a woman cried in the movies. If asked why, he said: ‘Now she’s beautiful. It’s easy if all you have to do is smile.’ Amanda sighed then as if saying: ‘You see, that’s why I don’t like him.’ But she loved him. And that was just about it.

Amanda, who was still sitting at the kitchen table, facing Simon, Amanda choked her cigarette in a pile of ash-tray stubs, let out a puff of smoke, and decided that the whole raindrop business was entirely besides the point.

‘Are you hungry?’

Simon shrugged. Oh no. Amanda knew what was about to happen. But as usual, she held a horrible fascination for the needlessness of the following… discussion.

‘Are you?’ she asked.
‘Hungry? A little.’
‘Pasta?’
‘Again?’
‘What do you want then?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I don’t think we have the recipe for that.’
‘How about eating out?’

Amanda looked up surprised. After living with Simon for so long, simple things surprised her a lot more than they used to. Only two days ago she realized that the sky really was true blue.

‘Today?’ Amanda asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s Monday.’
‘So?’
‘You hate going out on Mondays.’
‘I do not. You wanna go?’
‘Where to?’
‘Toni’s?’
‘But Toni’s is pasta.’
‘No. Toni’s is Toni’s.’

Of course. Simon only ever ate pasta at Toni‘s, but Toni’s wasn’t pasta, it was Toni’s. Ok.

‘You know what?’ she asked then.
‘What?’
‘How about some Chinese?’
‘I thought you wanted pasta.’
‘It was only a suggestion.’
‘So, no pasta.’
‘Not if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘But I thought you said you didn’t want to?’

Simon gave her an incredulous look, as if she had said, ‘I want to become a dentist’. When Simon answered, he spoke carefully.

‘I said: Again?’
‘Yeah, meaning you don’t want pasta again, so you want something else.’
‘I never said that.’
‘Then what did you say?’
‘I already told you: Again?’
‘Are you hungry at all, Simon?’
‘As I said: A little.’
‘So, what do you want?’
‘Pasta sounds fine.’

Amanda counted to five, then to ten. She remembered to breathe out again.

‘Why didn’t you say so?’ she asked.
‘But you know I like pasta.’
‘You like pasta.’
‘Always have. You know that.’

Ok. Enough. Amanda reached for the phone on the table. Simon asked who she was calling.

‘The Take Away.’
‘But I thought you wanted to go out.’
‘You wanted to go out. I just said ok.’
‘No, you said it’s Monday.’
‘Simon.’
‘What?’
‘Quit it.’
‘Quit what?’
‘I’m calling the Take Away.’
‘So no pasta.’
‘No. No pasta.’
‘All right.’

Amanda stopped dialling.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Go ahead, call up the Take Away.’
‘You really want to go to Toni’s?’
‘We can if you want to.’
‘Just give me a straight answer, Simon. Toni’s, yes or no.’
‘But I thought you didn’t want pasta.’
‘Simon!’
‘Ok, ok. Toni’s? No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s raining outside.’

Amanda got up and walked out of the kitchen. She didn’t call the Take Away. She put down the phone instead, put on her raincoat and trainers and walked the five minutes to Toni’s, sat down and ordered a pepperoni Pizza with extra cheese. She’d already drank half her coke before her phone rang. She didn’t answer it.

She got a text message: Whr r u?
She answered: Toni’s.

Fifteen Minutes later, Simon entered Toni’s with a wet umbrella and a plastic bag full of four boxes from the Chinese Take Away. He sat down opposite Amanda and greeted the waiter. The waiter smiled and brought him the usual, a tall glass of coke, a slice of lemon, no ice. The pizza came, Simon asked for an extra plate. They shared the pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, Chop Suey, Wan Tan and Chicken, Sweet&Sour. Nobody complained. It was, after all, Monday.