“We’re on metered power,” I say as one of the delivery men plugs it in then frowns as it doesn’t respond. “I don’t have any credit left.”
“Where?” the original guy asks, back with a stack of four chairs that he leaves next to the sofa.
I take him into the hallway where the meter boxes for the units on our side are positioned, tapping ours.
“Leave it with me, love. You go sit inside.”
I retreat to the sofa, hugging my knees to my chest, caught between excitement and trepidation, curling closer to Ant as the men continue to bring stuff into the flat. They set up a dining table with four chairs, get the electricity running and the fridge set up, then box after box of food comes upstairs.
“What the fuck’s going on?” my brother asks, finally rousing all the way into comprehension. He tucks me slightly behind him, squaring his shoulders like he’s readying for an attack.
“Dunno,” I reply, though I have a fair idea. Somebody is applying pressure to my ‘let me think about it,’ request.
But if this is Maddox pressurising me, I’m here for it. Maybe next time I should hint how susceptible I am for expensive jewellery.
More boxes come upstairs. Fruit. Vegetables. Lean cuts of meat and chicken. Sauces. Herbs and spices. Flour and sugar and box after box of cereal. Milk and cheese for the fridge. Eggs. Ready meals I can throw in the microwave—another new appliance that gets carried upstairs.
So much food, so much equipment, I can barely believe it.
Even boxes of cutlery to fill up our drawers. A stack of recipe cards with five-minute meals detailed on each.
Last, a man brings over a smartphone in a box with a prepaid SIM card resting on top. He taps it, glances at my brother, then back to me. “Keep this with you. There’s a cover with a chain attachment you can hook to your belt, so it won’t get lost.”
I’m oddly touched. Not just at the phone, which is ten times more expensive than anything I could afford, but that Maddox apparently changed his mind and now accepts that it wasn’t an excuse. That Ididlose it. “Thank you.”
“You need help with anything? I can show you how the appliances work.”
“I’m good, thank you.” My arms fold across my midriff as I wonder if I should tip them or something.
“Right you are. We’ll be on our way, then.”
Once the men have left, Ant and I jump up, eager to examine the haul.
I should feel guilty for such generosity, but I’m consumed with glee. My stomach rumbles as I pick through the choices on offer, sorting out readymade meals for each of us, reading the instructions three times over before I trust them to the microwave.
While they’re cooking, I go out to the electricity box and stare at the numbers. Enough power to last out the month, maybe two if we’re careful.
I run back when I hear the microwave ping, serving the food while it’s piping hot.
Ant’s still sick enough he only manages a few mouthfuls, but I’m not too worried. I’ll make him eat a few helpings of cereal later and that should see him through the day.
With my stomach full, I relax on the sofa, fiddling with the phone as it charges, playing with the different settings.
It buzzes in my hand and a notification pops onto the screen.
Thought this would make it easier to contact each other.
I chew my lip as I read the message, wondering what to say in reply, then waiting as three dots bob into life.
It’s Maddox.
And I snort out another laugh, clapping my hand across my face to stifle the noise.
I guessed. Thank you for all the stuff.
I wince at my word choice but can’t think of an alternative and press send before I escalate my thoughts into a worry spiral.
I have completely nefarious motives so you don’t need to thank me.
