She smiled and then yawned, barely quick enough to cover her mouth.
“I’m going to leave and to get to bed. Tell me you’re not working tomorrow?”
“Tapas research. I might do some cooking in here. Make some bread.”
I knew she’d be eating it on her own and for a split second I nearly offered her to come to the centre with me and Lauren. But this house, her success – she was in a different world to the one where my family was.
“I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll take the rest of the tour another time.” I paused. Being intrigued by a woman who was three countries away from straightforward wasn’t anything new. Realising you wanted to fuck your boss and make your name the only word she was capable of saying along with ‘more’wasnew. And potentially stupid. “You’re still coming bowling on Wednesday?”
“Do you think the rest will want me there?”
“Yes. As long as you don’t critique the greasy fries and heated up burgers. It’s part of the experiences.”
“I can manage that.”
“Hold you to it. See you Monday.”
Leaving her was harder than I thought.
* * *
Lauren was backto her usual bouncy self by the time she came downstairs. She downed a smoothie and grabbed a bacon sandwich, our usual Sunday morning feast before heading off to Soup Centre. I was up for a rename.
It was situated in what used to be a church, the pews and the alter long since removed. Partition walls had been erected, creating small rooms for therapy or medical attention or classes in some cases and it was run on a shoe-string budget.
“Morning, Jack.” Casey Flint, social worker and volunteer, shifted through to the kitchen where I would be stationed for the next few hours with three big bags of food, all donations from a local supermarket.
We took the food that was past its display by dates and did what we could with them. On a Sunday I would prep and make as many stews and casseroles as I could and freeze them for the coming week, knowing that time was always a poor commodity around here and not everyone understood exactly what paprika could do to a stew.
“Morning, Case. How’s life treating you?”
“So-so. Broke up with the boyfriend on Friday so yesterday was a little – let’s say busy.”
I wasn’t sure I needed to find out any more.
“I’m sorry about that. But I’m pretty sure you’ll have someone else hanging off your every word in a matter of days.”
Casey was a known serial-monogamist. I had never known her to go longer than a few days without a bloke before falling completely in love again.
“Actually, I met someone last night. He’s good. I’m seeing him later.”
“Does he have a name yet?”
Casey turned and laughed at me. “Fucker. I did find that out. How are you, Mister Terminally Single?”
I started to unpack the bags, looking at what had been donated. It was generally mixed, which was fine. I like to be creative.
“I’m good. Busy with work. I had a late meeting with my boss last night.”
“Simone Wood? You should ask her to do something here one day. Give us a boost with publicity or as a fundraiser. We can always do with the extra funds. Or any funds. The roof needs repairing and I really want to put in an application for funding for a hostel.” Casey turned on the grill, getting stuck in as normal.
While I prepped for meals for the week as much as I could, she started on breakfast for the line of London’s rough sleepers that would start to find us for food and a shower or even somewhere safe to grab a quick sleep.
My brother was one of them.
Sunday was the day I saw him. Every week, like clockwork, he’d make his way here, take some food and a coffee and make eye contact just once, giving me a nod before taking a seat with other of the regulars and talking about whatever they wanted to.
Simone doing something here was a pipe dream. I couldn’t imagine her finding the time to peel potatoes and drain kidney beans when she was expanding her empire.
