Page 65 of When Lemons Give You Life

“Please feel free to be honest,” Scotty chimes in, more confident than usual. He crouches beside her. “We want to make things better.”

She glances at Nishan, who gives a curt nod. “Well,” she says, “I hate to complain, but the bacon is a bit . . . impotent.” Patricia holds up a limp pink strip.

“And it tastes like freezer burn!” Gladys pipes up, with the zeal of a soapbox preacher.

Nishan flushes.

“You know, my mum makes brunch on weekends,” Rob adds dreamily. “Pancakes, French toast . . . even crepes sometimes. Not every mum does that. Alexander’s mum gives him soggy Weet-Bix. I know all mums love their kids, but”—his voice drops to a stage whisper—“I think mine loves me more.” He grins, but it fades as he looks at his plate again.

I glance at Nishan. Is he getting it?

An orderly walks past with a trolley. She pauses. “Poor Rob’s lost weight. A lot of them have.”

“How much food gets thrown out?” I ask, face still down.

“Heaps. The dietitian says most are malnourished. Some plates haven’t been touched at all.”

Nishan’s jaw slackens.

“Can I take one?” I ask.

She nods, handing it over.

Back in the kitchen, I pass out forks. “Come on. You expect them to eat this? You need to try it.”

They do, grimacing as though they’ve just tasted feet.

“Alright then, chef,” Nishan says, a little softer, “I get it. What’s for lunch?”

“Let’s do special brunches on the weekend, like Rob’s mum used to. We’ll start today with crepes.”

“Crepes?” Nishan frowns. “We’ve never made those before. This isn’t usually the way we do things. You have a recipe?”

“It’s all up here.” I tap my head. God, I hope it hasn’t fallen out.

I gather ingredients and equipment.

Scotty comes out of the freezer with a bag of frozen gluten-free bread, frosted white.

“What’s that for?”

“The celiacs always have this.”

I shudder. My cousin was celiac, and the supermarket gluten-free bread wasn’t worth a swallow. “No,” I say. “We can do better. There’s no reason they shouldn’t have crepes too. Get the gluten-free flour.”

“Uh . . . we don’t have any.”

“What? How do you make gluten-free cakes and scones?”

He glances at Nishan. “We don’t.”

I curse myself for assuming. “What do they get then?”

“Jam on toast.” He points to a tub of Strawberry Flavoured Spread.

“Hell no,” I say. The poor celiacs must be more depressed than me.

“There’re only two of them. The previous weekend chef said it’s too much trouble. Same goes for soft diets—we just use these.” He reveals four tubs of “Dream Dessert Powders.”