“Do you always change your mind so quickly?”
“When it makes sense.” Lessa finds the kettle and fills it.
This is promising. If I can show her that she makes better sense without him... Not now; breakfast isn’t the time to get into relationship advice.
Instead, I just watch from the corner of my eye while she makes tea. One thing we’ve agreed to disagree on is that she likes tea, and I can’t live without coffee in the morning. After trying and failing to convert each other, we’ve learnt how to make the right hot drinks for each other.
She brings the cup to her nose and inhales with her eyes closed. Seeing her blissful expression is worth all the trouble with frozen berries.
I make four large pancakes and we sit at the table – the one she painted deep red during our Christmas-that-wasn’t. “You know this berry sauce matches the colour of the table.”
“Thanks to my artistic streak.” She smirks, spooning a little sauce over her pancake and taking a tiny taste. I’ve clearly got it right because she takes a bigger bite almost immediately. I want to ask if she thinks I’ve improved as a cook, but it feels like flirting. Instead, I start planning the impossible. What matters to her?
“How about I ask George if they have a job for you, something to use your newly discovered artistic streak?”
“Not sure it’s worth it, I might be leaving soon.”
My hand stops halfway to my mouth.
“Careful.” She points at the red sauce dripping from the fork and on my clothes.
I quickly drop the fork back on the plate while she hands me a napkin.
I wipe my hand.
“It’s on your shirt.” She nods at the stain down my front.
“When are you leaving?”
“It all depends on what happens next week.”
“What is it that is supposed to happen? Apart for the general elections.” I try not to let my dread show.
“Well…” She takes another bite of pancake and sauce. “If the current government wins, and Clive keeps his seat and his majority, then he will be secure for another five years. That means they can bring me back slowly and hope the electorate will forget by next election. If they lose, then no one will care what he does in his personal life, and we can be together almost immediately.”
I just watch her pouring herself another cup of tea and slicing into her second pancake.
Her gaze lands on me a little later; she puts her fork and knife down. “Go on. You want to say something, I can almost see it pressing against your firmly closed lips.” She flashes me one of her smiles and her eyes sparkle in the morning light coming in through the kitchen window. “Say it, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“I was going to ask, which outcome do you prefer? Because it sounds as if losing the election might be better for your relationship.”
“No-o-o-o!” She is horrified. “He’s worked for years to get to this point, and he…” She shakes her head vigorously. “He’s a good man, a great idealist. He was born to be in government. He will do so much to help make us a better country. I know you think it might be easier for me, in the short term, but what’s another couple of months of waiting against the good he can do.”
“Okay.” I stuff too much pancake in my mouth to stop me talking.
I hate that our days are numbered. This might be the last time I cook her pancakes. If you ask me, she’s a bit too self-sacrificing for the sake of his political career, but it’s none of my business. She has the right to her own decisions and choices. Besides, my motives aren’t exactly selfless. My brother was right, I’m too self-serving. Isn’t that why he’s making me change?
“You look ever so serious.” She watches me.
“I once played accompaniment to a soprano singing a Rimbaud poem and some of the words stayed with me.”
“What is it?”
“Something about letting go of frivolous selfish desires.” I close my eyes, let the tune come, and then speak the words aloud. “Les goûts frivoles m’ont quitté. Plus besoin de dévouement ni d’amour divin. Je ne regrette pas le siècle des cœurs sensibles.”
“Your French accent is very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
