Goldie’s more than a little shocked when I walk through the door. Her tail starts wagging furiously and she prances around on the spot in front of me. I spend a minute or two calming her down and explaining why I’m home and once she’s a little calmer, I walk into the kitchen, quickly discarding my jacket and keys. She pads after me, still all surprised and excited.
Opening my fridge and cupboards, I see I’m only short of a few of the ingredients and rather than waste more time going to a shop, I tell myself that perhaps Mina has what’s missing and I can finish it off at her place.
I chop, dice and sauté at a record speed and in no time at all my kitchen is full of the smell of simmering garlic, onions, celery and carrots. Next, I add the ginger, stock and then get a griddle pan to fry some tofu that I season with more garlic, cumin and generous amounts of salt and pepper. I throw some rice noodles into the stock and once they’re soft I take it all off the heat and combine. Although I am pleased with what I’ve made, part of me is regretting it. Impatience has me wondering if I’ve just wasted half an hour cooking when I could already be at Mina’s flat right now.
Maybe that’s why I don’t think twice about ordering a taxi to take me to Mina’s despite knowing it’s going to cost a small fortune. Cradling the saucepan between my legs, the warmth of it does little to soothe my nerves as the car navigates London’s stop-start traffic.
What if Mina doesn’t want to see me? What if Mina isn’t home? What if Mina isn’t even sick?
I silence those thoughts by telling myself that if any of them are true then at least I have more information, more insight to Mina. And maybe all these feelings I feel for her are something like an infatuation. Unfounded. A classic rebound crush. Something I’ll get over, eventually.
And on the plus side, I’ll have a whole saucepan of soup to enjoy when I get home.
As much as I endeavour to find the silver lining to any potential cloud, I really don’t want to think about going home without having seen Mina, without having helped in some way no matter how small or insignificant. I know I can’t barge my way into her home and demand she break down the boundaries she very clearly installed yesterday, but I want to try to do something for her. I want to show her I care.
And I want to say thank you.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do if she opens the door and she’s completely fine. That’s my excuse for coming all this way should I discover she’s not unwell at all but in fact just decided to stick her middle finger up at the pitch and at work today. I smile at this possibility. How I would love for Mina to do that and then go about making her dream of becoming a tattoo artist a reality.
I do my best to keep the smile on my lips after paying the driver and getting out of the taxi, carefully holding the soup.
Indeed, I’m still grinning slightly when I get to her front door and ring the doorbell, and my smile only deepens when the door twitches to open. But when it’s opened fully, my face immediately falls.
Hannah.
What is Hannah doing here?
For a split second, it’s not just my stomach plummeting through the ground but also my whole body. Did Mina not show up at work today because she’s reconciled with Hannah? The thought does more damage to me than I can quantify. Jealousy spikes in my chest, and I’m lightheaded with potential devastation.
“Oh, it’s you,” Hannah says and I can’t determine if the quirk at the corner of her mouth is smug bemusement or confused curiosity.
“Yes, hi, Charlie,” I say and I hold the saucepan a little tighter to my body so I can extend my hand. Because I am that British and that stupid that I will reintroduce myself with a winning grin and handshake to the person who has possibly reclaimed the heart of the woman I think I’m falling in love with. “Is… er, is Mina home?”
“Did she call you?” Hannah’s eyes narrow on me.
“No,” I say, now worried Hannah is going to just shoo me away without so much as confirming my deepest fears. “But when she didn’t show up at work – we had a very important meeting – I was worried and assumed she’d had a migraine attack so I… err, made soup.”
I hold the saucepan up as evidence and Hannah gives it an assessing look.
“You better come in then,” she says before turning and walking to the door of Mina’s flat which has been left slightly open.
Inside the curtains are drawn and a dull orange light fills the space. Mina is curled up on the bed wearing pyjama trousers and an oversized black T-shirt. She’s so still and her breath moves her body so slowly, I assume she’s asleep. My heart aches for her and the pain she must be experiencing and I feel suddenly very foolish for thinking soup could be the answer to all her problems.
“Maybe I should just leave this here,” I say in a low whisper to Hannah, before placing the pan on the stove in Mina’s small kitchenette. “I should let her rest, I’ll just go—”
“Charlie?” Mina’s voice comes out as a croak. She doesn’t move.
“Hi, Mina,” I say, coyly.
Slowly, so very slowly, Mina rolls over. As her head flops back down on the pillow, this time facing me, her hair falls over her face. She lifts a heavy hand to brush some of it away, and then she squints an eye open.
“Hi,” she says and even that one tiny word seems to take Herculean effort.
“So, wait,” Hannah says and she holds out her hands in front of her. “What is going on? Why are you here?”
Mina groans and I almost want to do the same, but I also feel compelled to be polite and much more selfishly, I see an opportunity.
“I was worried about Mina,” I say to Hannah before turning to Mina whose eyes have closed once more. “I was worried about you when you didn’t show up for the pitch and when you didn’t call in sick or answer any of my calls and texts,” another groan but this time not necessarily one of dismay or frustration, “and also, I made soup.”
