Page 106 of Every Silent Lie

“Yes.”

“Then it’s yours, sweetheart.” He starts unpacking and leaving it on the table, stacking his crates to the side. “Sorry about the boots.”

I glance down his high-vis clad body to his snow-covered boots. “No worries,” I murmur, at a loss.

“I’m surprised they’ve got you working in this weather,” Mr. Percival says, helping him unpack the crates, keen to chatter with anyone and everyone.

“Ah, some of them are snowflakes.” A loud eruption of laughter bursts out of him, making me jump. “Get it? Snowflakes?”

“I get it.” Mr. Percival laughs. “Because it’s snowing.”

“Indeed it is, my friend, and it’s only getting worse so I’ll be going before Mother Nature buggers up my schedule. Merry Christmas to you both.” He nods to me. “Your granddaughter okay? She looks a bit vacant.”

“She’s fine,” Mr. Percival says. “Not a lot going on up here.” He taps the side of his head, and the delivery man nods his understanding.

“Excuse me?” I splutter.

Mr. Percival titters to himself. “Merry Christmas to you too, sir.” He dips into his pocket and pulls something out, handing it over on a wink.

I smile at the pound coin that’s been placed in the delivery driver’s hand. “Very kind, of you, mister.” If he had a hat, he’d be tipping it right now. My heart warms, watching the interaction. I don’t have the heart to tell Mr. Percival that a pound won’t even get the driver a sniff of a pint at his local boozer. “Hope to see you again soon.” Off he goes, his boots leaving lumps of snow on the wooden floor behind him, joining the other melting lumps he’s left on his way in.

“Be careful, Mr. Percival,” I say, grabbing a towel off the counter. “It’ll be slippery.”

“Fine, me, dear.” He goes to the piles of groceries while I crouch and wipe up the endless puddles. “Got me snow boots on. What have we here then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Mr. Ellis,” he says.

“What?” I jump up and go to Mr. Percival, who’s flapping the paperwork left on top of the pile of food I haven’t bought. “Dec ordered this?” The billing address confirms it, as does my recollection from yesterday when he stood in front of my empty fridge appearing alarmed. I drop the paperwork and gaze at the groceries—all healthy, it should be noted.

“Shame it didn’t arrive yesterday. Would have saved you borrowing my milk and sugar.”

“Well, I can give it back to you now. Thank you for tucking me up last night.”

“Welcome, dear. Now, I’ve got to go prepare my pastry for the mince pies. The Royal British Legion are picking me up later to take them to the club. Just call if you need me, dear.”

If I need him. Funny. I think we both need each other.

I gaze at the groceries on the table and sigh. Is this Dec’s way of telling me to look after myself? I honestly don’t know what to make of it. Grabbing my phone off the side, I tap out a message.

Thank you x

I don’t add, I miss you. When can I see you again? Instead, I start packing away the food, most of which goes in the fridge, bar the essentials—tea, coffee, sugar, bread. There are no ready meals, just fresh produce. Ingredients. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found a cookbook at the bottom of this pile.

My heart leaps when my phone dings, and I race across the kitchen to retrieve it.

You’re welcome. It’s not completely selfless—you’re cooking for me tomorrow night x

My grin is so wide, it could break my face.

You’re chaining me to the stove?

Then the bed.

I lower to the chair, absolutely giddy, my tummy fluttering, my head whirling. December was the end of one life. Now, it feels like it could be the beginning of another. I send a simple heart emoji and inhale, exhaling my contentment, and a wave of purpose crashes through me.

I get up and finish packing away the food, while having a quick mental assessment of what I could cook for Dec tomorrow night. Maybe coq au vin, if I can remember how. It’s been a while.