AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He stares into his coffee. He takes it the same colour as his eyes. “Honestly,” he says finally, “I’m not sure either.”
For a moment, we just hang around being faintly melancholy at each other.
“All we need to do,” I say, “is head down a supermarket, fill up our trolley with meat, and stick it all in your enormous fridge you never use. And while we’re there, we can get some other food because you’ve run out again.”
“You see”—Jonathan takes his empty coffee cup over to the sink—“this is why I live on takeaways. You start buying food, you never stop.”
I give him a look. “Is that a joke? You making a joke?”
He gives me a look back. “Just an observation.”
“Seriously, though, we should go shopping.”
Jonathan comes back to the table and sits down. He looks thoughtful, like. “How about a compromise?”
Until now, I’d have assumed that word wasn’t in his vocabulary. “What kind of compromise?”
“We’ll keep food in the house as long as you’re staying here, and I’ll roast my own damned turkey come Christmas even though I’m sure it will be a complete disaster,butwe take advantage of the fact that it’s the twenty-first century and at least get things delivered.”
I’m disappointed, and it takes me a second to realisewhyI’m disappointed. “I’d been sort of looking forward to getting out the house.”
“You were out the house yesterday and…” He stops short of sayingand you fell asleep on the sofa and I fell asleep on top of yez. “And you were very tired.”
“What, so you’re never going to let me leave again?”
His lips go thin in that way he’s got that saysI’m trying here, but you’re making things difficult and I’m not appreciating it. “I just think it would be more practical to have things delivered. I’ll set us something up with Waitrose.”
I resist the temptation to call him out for how la-di-da gettingyour deliveries from Waitrose instead of a proper supermarket is because I don’t want to push my luck. And in the end, he’s efficient with it—I’ve barely finished washing up my cereal bowl and he’s got himself set up, entered his details, and is filling a basket.
He turns the laptop towards me. “Anything you think we should get—just for general supplies? You need to do Christmas deliveries separately.”
I feel a bit awkward scrolling through buying groceries on Jonathan’s account, but since he’s living in a house without eggs, bread, or milk in the fridge I fix that for him at least. Then I throw in a couple of packs of very expensive crisps, and a meal or two’s worth of everyday ingredients. “That all right?”
He runs his eyes over the cart, asks no questions, and clicks to pay. “It’ll be here tomorrow. Now, what do you want to do about”—he gives a needlessly dramatic pause—“the family?”
“You mean Christmas stuff? Shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?”
He clicks through a few more tabs and shows me the options. There’s rather more of them than I’ve been expecting. “Why,” I ask, “would anybody want a turkey crown stuffed with gingerbread?”
“It’s a Christmassy flavour?” Jonathan doesn’t look especially convinced.
“Yeah, but not with meat.”
“Is it any stranger than cranberry?”
I’m not letting him get away with that. “Yes. Much. Now let’s not make it complicated. You’ll want a turkey, stuffing, some gammon, maybe a side of beef—” I keep scrolling. “Fucking hell it’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“You see why I didn’t want you carting it all around a supermarket in a trolley with a wonky wheel.”
He’s come around to look over my shoulder, so I turn my face up to him. “That’s a very specific concern.”
“Trolleys always have wonky wheels. And I had a feeling this would escalate. Now should I get venison?”
I blink. “Should you what?”
“Venison.” He points at the screen. “It says a rack feeds six to eight, so I should probably get two.”
“It’s your family,” I remind him, “not Henry the fucking eighth. They’ll be fine without the venison.”
