Rita heated the beans in a microwave and placed bread into the toaster. She’d already placed cutlery and torn pieces of kitchen towel onto the table. Henry pulled out a stool and perched on it.
‘Sorry I don’t have proper chairs,’ she said, her face reddening. ‘There just wasn’t enough room.’
‘It is rather a small bedsit,’ said Henry thoughtlessly.
Rita sipped some wine.
‘The rent’s very reasonable,’ she said, her mind reluctantly conjuring up images of her and Billy on his musty green couch.
‘I should think so,’ said Henry.
‘Is your house big?’ she asked, placing a plate of steaming beans on toast in front of him.
Henry tasted the beans. Not bad, he thought. A cheaper make to the ones he and Imogen bought but they tasted good enough.
‘Quite large,’ he said, dabbing at his chin with a piece of kitchen towel.
Rita liked watching Henry eat. He’s so methodical, she thought. He doesn’t shovel food onto a fork like Billy. Henry carefully manoeuvred some beans onto the toast before lifting it to his lips. As Rita watched intently, Henry then tidied the remaining food on his plate, keeping everything neat. Not like me, thought Rita, who had already spilt tomato ketchup onto the table.
‘Is it detached?’ she asked.
‘End of terrace,’ replied Henry. ‘It’s in a nice location. We never hear the neighbours, so it feels like detached. Don’t you miss having a garden?’ he asked, laying his fork on to a piece of kitchen towel.
‘No not really.’
Henry removed his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief.
‘I like my garden. I’ve done a lot to it. I should go home actually,’ he said, as though talking of it had reminded him that he had one. ‘I’m worried that Imogen has cooked our sausages.’
‘Oh,’ said Rita.
‘I wouldn’t want them ruined.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Rita, the food seeming to get stuck in her throat.
‘Yes. I’ve no doubt this business has been sorted by now,’ said Henry optimistically.
‘Yes, hopefully,’ agreed Rita who didn’t agree in the slightest. She rather hoped it hadn’t been sorted at all.
‘I’ll just finish this,’ said Henry, nodding to his plate.
‘Oh yes,’ said Rita. ‘We don’t want to waste it.’
Rita thought how pleasant the wine tasted. It didn’t have the sharp vinegary taste that Billy’s wine had. It was making her fuzzy headed just the same though, and she wondered if she and Henry might end up on her sofa. She wouldn’t mind that at all. Henry wiped his mouth again, let out a suppressed burp and said ‘I should go. I’ll need my indigestion pills after that food.’
‘Oh, I think I have some of those,’ said Rita, jumping up.
She felt sure there were some Rennies in the bathroom.
‘They won’t be strong enough,’ Henry assured her.
Rita sat back down and looked slightly dejected, but Henry didn’t seem to notice.
‘What will you do if things haven’t been sorted out?’ asked Rita, following him to the door.
Henry donned his coat and frowned.
‘I don’t know but I think it will have been sorted.’
