His hand briefly touches my shoulder, making me almost jump out of my skin. ‘It’s best to keep on the right side of him,’ he says, as he opens the door to let him in, and I have no idea if he’s being deadly serious or not.
‘Why?’ I murmur.
‘’Cos he bakes us the most amazing cinnamon buns.’
3
I turn the key in my front door, tired from being on my feet all day, and mentally drained from trying to retain so much information: where everything was in the kitchen, how the oven worked, all the volunteers’ names and what they did, attempting not to get in the way of head chef, Scottie, and then of course thinking up what to cook with my ton of ingredients. It was like a first day in the office. I didn’t drink nearly enough water either and feel dehydrated.
The chaos and buzz of the café contrasts strongly with being back at home, yet for the first time I feel grateful for the peace. I drop my bag in the hallway, longing to tell Jamie all about my day. He’d be proud. As I walk into the kitchen, I notice that even if I’m tired, I’m still smiling.
‘I hope we haven’t scared you off?’ Angus had asked as I was about to leave. Nina was standing by his side.
‘Scared me off?’ I repeated.
‘Well, it’s not exactly your average crowd.’
‘Who wantsaverage?’ Nina challenged him. ‘So, see you next week Holly?’
‘Yes,’ I said without hesitation this time. ‘If I’ve passed my trial?’
‘With flying colours,’ Nina replied. ‘Keep the apron, it’s officially yours.’
And on that note, I’d smiled all the way home, like a child who had been given a gold star. And I still feel like that child. My mobile rings.
‘How was it?’ Milla asks immediately.
‘I got it! I worked there today.’
‘Today? Already? Wow! Hurry up and get here, I want to hearallabout it. The wine’s in the fridge and I’m making bolognese.’
I tell her I’ll jump in the shower and be with her as soon as.
I rush upstairs to get ready, for the first time in months the solitude of home contrasting to the party going on inside my head. I realise already that I feel more grateful tonight than I did this morning. ‘The guy near the back, he went to Harvard,’ I replay Angus telling me, giving me a running commentary on a few of the locals standing in the lunch queue. He was referring to a red-haired man, in his fifties. ‘Bad breakup and made redundant at the same time, plus no family support. Intelligent man. Loves art and woodwork. Ended up on the streets. The skinny bloke coming up, that’s Craig. He volunteers here, helps clear up for a free meal. He lives outside Sainsbury’s. Good Wi-Fi apparently.’
‘And who’s that?’ I’d asked, gesturing to a slim elegant woman in her sixties, wearing a long summer skirt with a silk scarf draped over her shoulders.
‘Sarah. We call herLadySarah. She’s famous round here, opens her home and heart to these guys. She makes sure the likes of Sander and Craig have gloves and socks in the winter. She’s a gem.’
As I step into the shower, I reason that life without Jamie is hard, but I have parents who love me. I am lucky to have a mother who fusses and frets over me. I have a roof over my head, a job that still gives me a buzz when I place an article for a client. I have Milla. Even better, her husband, Dave, is out tonight, so we can gossip and put the world to rights. And we have wine and bolognese. Sometimes it’s important to remind myself how lucky I am.
Milla opens the door, wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans. Milla’s style is casual and natural. She barely wears any makeup because she doesn’t need to; she has an enviable complexion in that she only has to be in the sun for five minutes before she gets an even tan. She also has a bone structure that allows her to experiment with her dark hair, and this summer she’s decided to go for a pixie cut, which frames her almond-shaped brown eyes. I, on the other hand, am fair-skinned and blue eyed, with chestnut-brown hair which I’ve always kept long. Only once have I cut my hair short. I was thirteen, and immediately I prayed for it to grow long again. I felt naked without my locks. I imagine every single one of Milla’s patients (she’s a doctor) falls head over heels in love with her and thinks up various ailments as an excuse to see her. She gives me an extra-long hug and a firm kiss on both cheeks. Milla does nothing by halves.
The kitchen smells of comfort. Milla always has flowers on the island, scented candles on the go, and music in the background. Tonight, it’s London Grammar, one of our favourite English indie pop bands. Basically, she’s annoyingly perfect. I found myself telling my old therapist, Susan, that an ashamed part of me was insanely jealous that she had both a husband and beautiful children, and that it wasn’t the first time I’d felt this way. Susan told me it was human to be jealous, and that I was allowed to express my feelings. Yet I still felt guilty begrudging Milla, someone I love like a sister, of everything I didn’t have. ‘The girls are longing to see you, I promised you’d say goodnight,’ she says, opening the fridge to retrieve the white wine. By girls, she means her four-year-old twins, Kate and Emily.
‘I’ll go up now,’ I tell her. ‘Then we can get stuck in.’
I walk into a dimly lit bedroom, two giggly girls under the covers of the bottom bunkbed, pretending to be asleep, one fake snoring.
‘Oh, if you’re asleep, I’ll go away,’ I say loudly.
Emily sits up. ‘Are you sleeping over, Auntie Holly?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, joining them in bed. Since Jamie died, I often stay the night. The girls wanted to give me my own, special bedroom.
‘Budge over,’ I say, snuggling close.
‘Can you read us a story?’ Kate asks.
