‘Milk is probably off,’ he called out as she waited for the kettle to boil.
‘Black tea it is then,’ she said.
‘Suits me,’ he hollered.
It suited him but not her. She pulled out the milk from the fridge, sniffed it and there was no doubt it was well past its best-before date. She’d picked up a big bottle a few days ago, forgetting he didn’t eat cereal or drink milk unless it was a splash in his coffee. She poured the remains down the sink.
‘You not having one?’ he asked when she took his drink into the lounge.
‘No milk, remember.’
‘I’m sure you could manage to take your tea black this once.’
‘I can’t stop, anyway, I need to go to the supermarket for you.’ And she was almost glad at the lack of milk; it gave her an excuse not to loiter if she didn’t have a cup of tea to finish.
He started his tea using his good arm to hold the cup and gave an almighty slurp because the tea was so hot. Oh, how she hated that sound.
‘I’ll go make a shopping list.’ The less time she spent right next to him, the better.
She’d stayed two nights when Conrad initially came out of hospital. The doctors had advised he have someone with him for the first forty-eight hours after discharge and almost to the second she’d packed up her things and returned to her own place once the stint was over. Now it was only visiting and errands, bearable compared to being here all the time.
She quickly put together a list. She’d make batches of food, things that would last him a while and could easily be put, one-handed, into the microwave.
‘What would I do without you?’ he asked when she reappeared.
She hoped that at some point he’d actually find out, get on with his life like she was trying to do with hers.
He patted the sofa next to him. ‘Sit with me for a minute.’
She sat down but only to put the list into her bag, which was on the coffee table.
‘You on shift today?’ he asked sleepily.
‘Not for another couple of days but I’ve got lots to do at home; I want to do some painting near where the cat flap was fitted.’
‘I knew it, the handyman messed it up, didn’t he?’
‘Not at all, the wall needed painting anyway and if I don’t do it now, I’m not sure when I’ll have a chance.’ She had no intention of spending her days painting for a while, she was far too busy, but he didn’t need to know that. She needed a few excuses to keep her out of this house as long as possible. ‘And I have to do some batch cooking for you.’
‘You could do that here.’
‘Better at mine, I know what equipment I have, all the herbs and spices to use.’
His hand lifted momentarily and patted her knee. ‘You’re a great cook, Maya.’
‘And you look tired.’ She stood, moving away from his touch, and hooked her bag onto her shoulder. ‘Go to bed, Conrad. Get a proper sleep.’
Once Maya had finished at the supermarket, an escape of sorts, she headed to the serenity of her own home. She made a beef stew, a chilli con carne and a chicken piccata all in the space of a few hours. She portioned all of it into small freezer bags, which was the easiest option given Conrad didn’t have many plasticcontainers and she had nowhere near enough for this much food. The more she took around today, the fewer excuses he had to have her stop by with more rations of food.
It took Conrad a while again to come to the door when she arrived back at his place, but he looked brighter than before.
She headed straight for the kitchen with the box filled with food bags, jabbering on about what she’d made as if the faster she did it, the sooner she could be out of here.
‘It all smells amazing,’ he called after her from his place in the lounge.
She wondered whether he wanted something now and went through to ask him before she put all of the food into the freezer. That was when she spotted the box of beer in the lounge on the side table, the empty brown paper bags with the takeaway joint’s logo on the front, suggesting his usual of burger and fries with a side of onion rings had likely been wolfed down prior to her return.
He followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Jerry from work stopped by.’
