He’d take over all the cooking if she let him. They took turns most of the time but to be honest since she’d retired and they’d come home from their travels she needed to keep busy. ‘Nonsense, you put your feet up. You know I love making it.’
And she did. She loved baking in this kitchen. It was cosy despite being a decent size with a window at the very end of the room, which looked out to the front of the cottage, and the little fence with its tiny low-down gate. They’d installed a new range cooker in here, which wasn’t so modern it looked out of place but was modern enough that it worked and cooked things well. They’d redone the walk-in larder, which was tiny but now had floor-to-ceiling shelving on three walls and held more food than they could ever collect and need between them, and the wooden-doored cupboards suited a country-style kitchen. The oak table in front of the window had been the perfect way to complete the look and sometimes Bonnie thought perhaps their kitchen looked as cosy as those you saw in a magazine.
She took ingredients from the larder and lined them all up on the benchtop before she pulled out equipment from the oak corner cupboard. She’d get started making the pudding first, then eat her sandwich while it was steaming.
But she turned suddenly at the sound of Howard cursing and saw the splash of tea on the floor and up the side of the cupboard. His hand wobbled as he successfully set the mug back down to safety.
‘Don’t get in a flap,’ he warned. She’d already mentioned the other day that he seemed unusually tired and that hadn’t gone down well at all. He’d never been one to fuss if he didn’t feel the best, and at his age she didn’t expect him to change now.
‘I’ll get a cloth,’ she said without any more debate.
Because of her job, Bonnie had seen the rapid decline of patients Howard’s age, and hers for that matter, and that had been a big driver behind them travelling. She’d wanted to do it while they both still could, before it was either impossible physically or travel insurance premiums made it too costly. They’d had eight weeks of travel that she would never ever forget, and for that she would always be grateful.
She wiped up the spillage with a damp cloth. ‘I’ll make you another.’
‘It’s fine. I had half.’
He hadn’t. But she didn’t want to upset him. So she got on with measuring and cutting out the baking paper she needed to line the pudding basin as Howard sat at the table and picked up his Kindle. He looked exhausted again, but when he glanced her way she turned to put the baking paper into the basin.
‘How’s the book?’ she asked as she worked, not wanting him to see how concerned she was.
‘I only started it last night so the jury is out.’
‘What’s this one called?’
‘The Girl on the Train. It’s a psychological thriller.’
He was happy for now and Bonnie lost herself in her baking for a bit. She spooned golden syrup into the base of the pudding basin, beat more syrup with butter, sugar and lemon zest, added in the eggs and flour. And when she was done and the pudding was set over a pan of water to steam for slightly under two hours she set the timer and made them both a mug of tea.
Howard had moved to his comfier chair in the other room and she set down his mug on the table beside him. ‘You read so fast. Does everyone in the book club keep up?’ The prep and the baking had taken her long enough that it was quite acceptable to be having more tea by now.
‘Everyone goes at a different pace, love. But we’re all pretty fast readers most of the time.’
With Howard reading and the pudding steaming, Bonnie ate her lunch and then went through to join Howard again and make a start on her new painting, or at least the preparation for it.
‘Would you like the back doors closed?’ She didn’t mind the fresh air, but she wanted Howard to be comfortable.
‘No, leave them, it’s lovely to bring the outside in.’
She opened up various drawers to find her supplies. She was going to start painting that view from the picture she’d taken on the hill near the bookshop. She’d already printed out her favourite shot from her phone and enlarged it, so with a length of masking tape she fixed it to one side of the easel.
She picked up a pencil and started to sketch some rough outlines of the road onto her canvas, then the pavements, the row of shops with Howard’s beloved bookshop nestled in the middle as the main feature. She added the telephone box on the hill, the sea in the distance, and happy with her sketch for now she found tools including a detail brush, a palette knife and a spatula, a damp rag, a beaker of water, and her palette onto which she squeezed measures of different colours. She’d start with the sky, the palest part of the painting. Acrylics dried fast but she would layer it up with texture to eventually get the right shade, the right finish she wanted.
Her wooden easel had handy inset shelves at the top where she could put her brush momentarily if she wanted to use the knife to shift the paint around, or the rag to blend or smudge. The easel was ancient but special because every painting she’d done so far had been done on this very same piece of equipment Howard bought her when they first moved in together.
After an hour or so sat in front of her easel, the sketch complete and the sky beginning to gain some colour, she felt a bit of a chill come inside and so she closed the back doors. It was time to check on the steamed sponge anyway.
When she looked at Howard, he wasn’t reading, he was dozing. Both of them got so absorbed with their different pastimes it was easy to forget the other one was there half the time. Friends of hers said they could never concentrate when their husband or partner was around, but for her it was as if Howard being there gave her extra energy. Neither of them disturbed the other; they were merely happy with each other’s presence and carried on with what they loved doing.
Howard looked up when she rested her hand gently on his shoulder. His Kindle was still nestled on a cushion on his lap.
‘I knew you were tired.’ She leaned down to kiss him. ‘How about a big slice of syrup sponge to wake you up after I sort these out?’ She held the brushes and the container of water aloft. Acrylic paint dried quickly; you never wanted to leave brushes lying about, especially not these, which were the pricier kind and part of the set Howard gave her for their last anniversary.
Howard murmured an agreement of sorts and she went off to the small utility room at the far end of the kitchen, rinsed her brushes, and lined them up to air-dry. After washing her hands she took the opportunity to put on some washing, shoving the clothes into the machine along with a capsule of detergent.
In the kitchen she closed the door to the utility room to keep the machine noise away. She caught sight of the framed photograph of her in her district nurse’s uniform. Howard had pinned this one to the pinboard that sat behind the end section of kitchen bench. It was taken with her friend and colleague, Beverly, their arms linked, resting against the bonnet of her car as they prepared to head out for the day.
Bonnie had been a district nurse for over twenty years. When she’d started as a nurse, she’d worked in a couple of different hospitals and then she’d seen an advert for a district nurse and decided that perhaps it was the change she needed. She’d never regretted it either. In her new role she began to meet all sorts of people; no two days were the same. The struggles were often hard as she was visiting housebound patients, but she revelled in the support she was able to give each and every one of them. She could natter through a catheter change and make a patient feel at ease, and ignore any messes or smells as she dealt with continence care. She could tend to wounds that were not for the faint-hearted. Her job made her feel like she had a purpose and that she was delivering the very best of care. Even when she got the curmudgeonly patients, the ones who moaned or snapped at her, it slid right off her back. Half the time they couldn’t help it; part of the time they were in such a bad way that she understood why they were so annoyed. And all she’d ever wanted to do was help.
