It was a beautiful spring evening; the light thickened, and the first stars showed, a pale shaving of moon. As Maud O’Connor and Stuart Nemsky walked along the road together, their fingers occasionally touched. They didn’t talk. Maud looked straight ahead, but she could feel his eyes on her.
‘My bus stop is just ahead,’ she said at last. ‘We should say goodbye here.’
‘I miss you already,’ he said. ‘I’ll be on the other side of the world from you. When I’m awake, you’ll be asleep and dreaming.’
He was taking his son to New Zealand, where one of his aunts lived, for three weeks.
‘You’ll have the best time,’ she said. ‘Especially with Alfie.’
‘I’ll be home soon.’
She kissed him on his lovely mouth, and he put his hands in the wild tangle of her hair and pulled her closer.
‘Don’t forget me,’ he said.
‘How could I?’
She turned and left, walking briskly away, not looking back. As she rounded the corner, she put one hand in the air in a gesture of farewell.
And suddenly she knew it really was farewell. It had been nice. It had been more than nice. She had desired and she had been an object of desire. There had been the closeness, exploring each other’s bodies, the letting go, and then the intimacy of talk, teasing, sweetness. Someone to be excited by, comfortable with, have fun with. Wasn’t that enough? Wasn’t that what everyone wanted?
No, it wasn’t enough. Silas really had been the one for her, but it had all gone wrong somehow. Stuart was funny and attractive; he’d been good for her, and she hoped she’d been good for him, but she knew that there was something missing and she wasn’t going to settle for that. Better to be alone, better to be free.
She wasn’t going to ghost him. She would have to tell him, and soon. She was already composing the message in her head: Dearest Stuart. This is a painfully difficult message to write…Her chest ached.
Maud walked from the bus stop to a small building on the untrendy edges of Stoke Newington, its window frames freshly painted and a tub of flowers at the entrance. The shutters were ajar and the room inside looked empty, but the door opened before she could knock.
‘Please come in.’
Nancy was formal, slightly shy. There were burn marks on her cheek that would never go away, though they would fade, and while the cast on her leg had come off, she still limped. But she wasn’t thin any longer. Her face was rounder and softer. She looked healthy. There were freckles on the bridge of her nose.
Maud entered, sliding off her canvas jacket and looking around appreciatively. It was a small space, with only room for a few tables, but it was clean and bright and open to the kitchen, where stainless steel fridges glowed and pots and pans hung from a rail along the wall. To one side of the kitchen, a door opened onto a yard where someone had evidently been levering up the cracked tiles.
‘Are you all right?’
Nancy was looking at her attentively.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Maud. ‘Just someone I was thinking about.’ She made herself smile. ‘This looks nice.’
‘If all goes well, we can have the yard as an overflow space in the summer.’
‘You must have worked flat out.’
‘Not just me. I’ve gone into partnership with Sam and Delia, who were with me at the old place. And my parents put down the deposit. Guilt money,’ she added. ‘It’s been very useful.’
‘And how are you?’
‘Me? I’m well.’ She threw a half-humorous glance at Maud. ‘Felix didn’t get bail.’
‘I heard,’ said Maud. ‘I think he’s going to discover that arson is a really big deal.’
‘I feel I drove him mad,’ said Nancy. ‘I feel responsible, in a way.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ Maud gestured around her. ‘You’ve got enough to feel responsible for.’
Nancy took a white apron from one of the drawers and tied it round her waist.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
‘Ready.’
‘We’re going to offer almost no choice at the restaurant – and it’s all going to be fresh, local and seasonal. Tonight. I’m going to cook what I will cook for the opening on Friday.’
‘What’s on the menu?’
‘We’ll start with a few little nettle, sheep’s cheese and butter gnocchi. And after that, some poached sea bream served with steamed spring vegetables.’ She looked suddenly anxious. ‘Does that sound all right?’
‘It sounds amazing. I usually live off pasta and takeaways.’
‘You don’t mind nettles?’
‘I’ve never eaten nettles. I’m not sure I’ve eaten gnocchi either, for that matter.’
‘Take a seat. I’ve got some white wine in the fridge.’
Maud sat at the table nearest the kitchen. Nancy lit a candle and poured her a glass of wine. Maud sipped at it and watched as Nancy cooked.
With Nancy, Maud had always had the sense of mobility, restlessness, a flickering but incessant energy. But now, although her hands were deftly moving between tasks, the young woman seemed composed. She rubbed the cooked flesh of potato through a sieve, separated egg yolks from their whites using the cup of her hand and dropped them into the potato flour, grated cheese into the mixture. At the same time, it seemed, she chopped vegetables so quickly that Maud could barely track the movement of the long blade, roasted seeds, scattered spices into a large pan of boiling water. All the while, she was tasting, adding salt and black pepper, frowning, nodding judiciously, and even finding time to offer Maud more wine.
It was quiet in the room, just the click of the knife against the surface, the gentle bubble of the stock. All the different tiny tasks seemed to flow together, and Maud, watching intently, found it oddly comforting.
It was like a form of meditation and as she sat there, things seemed to fall away. The rape and death at 99 Fielding Road, the fire that Nancy had barely escaped from, the intoxicating affair with Stuart and the knowledge that it was coming to an end and she would soon be alone again, all of these things seemed like fading dreams. What was real was here, was now: the glow of the candle on the wooden table, the smell of garlic and ginger in the air, the young woman a few feet away wrapped in an apron and bent over her task, utterly focused, at home with herself after all the horror she had endured.
The first course was plated up. Nancy turned to Maud.
‘The fish will only take a few minutes,’ she said. ‘Let’s have this first.’
She put two steaming little dishes on the table, took off her apron, poured them both more wine. Then she took a seat opposite Maud. They both picked up their forks, smiling at each other.
‘Thank you,’ said Nancy.
Tears were running down her cheeks.
Maud smiled, though she too was full of intense emotion.
‘I was only doing my job. Now then: let’s eat.’