Page 27 of Love in Tune

Skinny Steve wasn’t on top of lunch. He was in a complete flap, his usually pale face pink and sweaty.

‘I can’t do this,’ he’d said, staring at her wild eyed as soon as she’d walked into the kitchen. ‘There’s hardly any butter, and the bread’s still frozen!’ He looked up at the clock. ‘Lunch is due out in two hours. What am I going to do?’

He really was asking the wrong person, but Honey could see he was on the edge of a panic attack so held up her palms in a calming way.

‘Steve. Calm down. Take some nice, deep breaths. I’m here to help.’

His skinny shoulders sagged with relief as Honey almost felt him hand over the baton of responsibility to her.

His face brightened considerably as he slipped gratefully back into his apprentice role and awaited instruction.

Which would have been absolutely fine, if Honey had any clue how to run the kitchen.

‘So, err … is there a weekly plan or something we can follow?’

Steve nodded. ‘Yes. It’s …’ He glanced at the huge aluminium fridge door and the smile slipped from his face. ‘It’s here, but this is last week’s. Patrick usually changes it today.’

‘Okay. Let’s have a look. We can always follow it for this week too if needs be.’

Skinny Steve shook his head. ‘They’ll know,’ he whispered, nodding towards the door to the residents’ dining room as if they were a bunch of zombies from Night of the Living Dead .

‘Skinny Steve,’ Honey said, using his full title in the stern way a mother uses a child’s full name when they’re reprimanding them. ‘At this point it’ll be a miracle if there’s any lunch on the tables at all. Work with me here.’

He swallowed hard and squared his bony shoulders. ‘Okay.’

Honey reached for an apron off the pegs on the wall and slid it over her head. A search through the cupboards revealed several catering-sized tins of chicken soup, and there was a mountain of cheese. Chicken soup and cheese and tomato sandwiches. That wasn’t so bad, surely?

‘Come on. Let’s get this bread defrosted in the microwave. We’ve got sandwiches to make.’

Honey helped Steve clear the plates from the dining room after lunch, a small glow of pride warming her belly at the fact that between them they’d managed to supply food for the hordes without incident.

It may not have been gourmet, but the plates and bowls were mostly empty and the residents were mostly full, so that had to be considered a good result.

She placed the last plates down in the kitchen and dropped her backside onto a stool.

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

Steve looked up from loading the dishwasher and said something that horrified her.

‘What will we give them for dinner?’

The small glow of success popped like a pin-pricked bubble. ‘I have no idea. What does the plan say?’

‘Roast pork.’

Honey huffed. ‘Not a chance. What else can we do?’

She opened the huge fridge and stood contemplating its contents. Ham. Lots of ham. Vegetables. Cheese. Boxes of mince beef. Steve came and stood beside her.

‘I bet chef was planning cottage pie. He’s defrosted mince beef.’

‘Do you know how to make it?’ Honey turned to him with hopeful eyes.

Skinny Steve pulled a look of intense concentration that really wasn’t very attractive at all. ‘There’s definitely mash in it,’ he said eventually. Honey sighed. She knew that much already. Opening the vegetable drawers, she saw onions. And garlic.

Onions, garlic, and minced beef. Maybe … just maybe …

‘Have you ever made bolognese, Steve?’ she asked.

He paused, then nodded. ‘There’s definitely minced beef in it.’

Honey wiped her clammy palms on her apron and reached for the beef, hoping like hell that she could remember what she was doing.

She’d spotted tins of tomatoes and bags of pasta earlier in the store cupboards.

With the right wind behind her, there was an outside chance that she might just be able to pull this off.

It was after eight in the evening by the time Honey pushed open the door at home and let herself into the lamplit lobby.

She was exhausted, but still buzzing with elation that the residents had, on the whole, declared her spaghetti bolognese a roaring success.

It might not have included pancetta and other fancy ingredients, but the basic taste had been there and this time she’d skipped the red wine and made sure to season it properly.

The results had made for a more than passable dinner, enjoyable even, if the fact that Billy had eaten two and a half platefuls was anything to go by.

Dessert had been even less designer; strawberry magic whip from the corner shop, but even that had seemed to charm the residents with its nod towards wartime austerity treats.

She glanced longingly towards Hal’s door. He’d as good as fed those residents today.

‘Hal?’ she said, her voice small in the cool lobby. ‘Hal?’

He didn’t reply, as ever, but she told him none the less.

She told him of the fracas on the pavement yesterday, and of Patrick’s shock resignation from the kitchen.

She told him of Skinny Steve’s burnt toast breakfast, and how she’d felt obliged to step into the breach.

Even in the silence, Honey could practically hear Hal thinking that it was yet further evidence that her girl guide complex was alive and kicking.

She told him of her forage through the cupboards for lunch, and then she told of her bolognese success, almost laughing with relief when she added on the bit about the magic whip.

‘God knows what I’ll do tomorrow though.

Skinny Steve is taking care of breakfast while I open up, but he’s relying on me going over there again by ten o’clock.

I don’t think they’ll be as pleased with bolognese two days on the run, will they?

I definitely saw chicken breasts. What the hell can I make with a huge bag of chicken breasts, Hal? ’

He didn’t answer. Honey had known he wouldn’t. She wasn’t even sure whether she’d told him about her day to impress him or annoy him. After a few minutes she trudged across the hallway to her own flat and microwaved herself a ready meal for one before she fell into bed, all in.

‘Bake them.’

Honey stopped dead in the lobby the next morning, halted by the sound of Hal’s voice through his door.

‘Hal?’

‘The chicken breasts. Lay them on trays over some tinned tomatoes and garlic, add herbs if you have any. Remember to season them. Cover with foil and cook low and slow during the afternoon. Did you get all that?’

Honey could feel her heart beating too fast.

‘Lay the chicken over tinned tomatoes. Add garlic and seasoning. Cover and cook,’ she repeated slowly.

‘Serve with boiled rice and vegetables,’ he said.

Honey walked towards his door and laid a hand on the cool wood. She turned her ear and concentrated; could just about hear him breathing.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

‘Just don’t kill any of them,’ he said. ‘It’ll badly fuck with your Mother Teresa complex if one of them chokes on a chicken bone.’