“Especially not Amazon. I’ve cancelled my Prime subscription because it’s pointless.”
“But why?” She looks bewildered. “In London, I was too busy to go shopping. I got used to ordering things on my phone app and have them at my door the next day.”
“Island bylaws. Something about keeping La Canette safe.”
“They’re keeping it safely in the eighteenth century.” She huffs in frustration.
I drop down on one knee beside her and help transferring berries to the tub.
“I’ll go to the village tomorrow,” she says. “I’m sure they’ll have salad bowls in the shop. I’ll check what I need for a pie recipe and get all that, too.”
“You’re very efficient with your time management. I wish I were half, even a quarter as efficient.” I sigh. “And, I have a million things to remember.”
She glances at me, and a lovely smile breaks out on her face. Then she takes my hand. I freeze.
“You’re going to stain your hands with the berries. I can finish. Do we need shopping tomorrow?” She finished the last of the berry transfer then gets up, dusts her knees, and picks up the bowl.
“Give me that.” I take the bowl from her. “Not sure about shopping, I can’t remember if I need anything.”
“Why don’t you make a list?”
“A list?”
“Lists help you get your projects organised.” She points out while dusting her knees.
“It never occurred to me. I’m not very organised. To be honest I’ve never had to be.”
We start walking back inside. “In my life, my normal life,” I amend, “my time is organised by others. I know from the moment I wake up if I’m booked for rehearsals or performances. The rest just falls into place around those commitments. Now I have no commitments and a million things to remember.”
“Give me a minute,” she says when we walk into the kitchen. She places the berries by the sink then runs upstairs and comes back a minute later with a colourful writing pad.
“Okay.” She pulls a chair to the kitchen table. “One list for things you can buy here in that village alleyway that thinks it’s a high street.” She opens the pad and tears out an orange sheet. “Another list for things you need to order online.” A pink sheet. “And finally, a list for things you need to buy in Jersey.” A pale green sheet. “Why don’t you start populating the lists while I start on supper. And we also need a tea-strainer.” She quickly scribbles that on the orange sheet.
“So, what are you going to do with all these.” I point to the berries.
“First, I’ll have to get a recipe. Which isn’t easy without knowing exactly what kind of berries they are. I’ll try to taste one.”
Quickly, I lay a hand on her arm to stop her. “We don’t know if they’re poisonous. And even if they’re not, maybe find out first in case they don’t go well withpomegranate.”
Yes, I too have adopted the wordpomegranatefor everything to do with pregnancy or baby, words that seem to make Lessa uncomfortable. The first time I called herpregnantshe recoiled. So, we just call anything to do with the situation,pomegranate.
“How about a mint, cucumber, and avocado salad with toasted bread?”
Which tells me she’s feeling queasy again.
“Shall I make tea and get the box of lemon biscuits out?”
“You read my mind.” She beams at me. “And we can talk about what the house needs and make the lists.”
“Yes please, I’m deeply grateful for the administrative help. The builders need to finish in the next couple of weeks before winter hits.”
She glances towards the window. There are still gold and brown leaves on the trees, green grass, and birds hopping on the ground searching for seeds or something. “It’s mild here. We’re at the end of November, and I’ve yet to need a coat.”
“I’m told La Canette winters come short and sharp. Six weeks of cold from just before Christmas until the beginning of February. Shall I write ‘winter coat’ on the green list?”
“You’re a quick study. I think you’ll be a master list-maker.” Her laughing eyes sparkle.
“Don’t be so quick with your compliments. I’m deeply flawed in so many things.”
