The Piano Man Project Page 0,59

… is there a weekly plan or something we can follow?’

Steve nodded. ‘Yes. It’s …’ He glanced at the huge aluminium fridge door and the smile slipped from his face. ‘It’s here, but this is last week’s. Patrick usually changes it today.’

‘Okay. Let’s have a look. We can always follow it for this week too if needs be.’

Skinny Steve shook his head. ‘They’ll know,’ he whispered, nodding towards the door to the residents’ dining room as if they were a bunch of zombies from Night of the Living Dead.

‘Skinny Steve,’ Honey said, using his full title in the stern way a mother uses a child’s full name when they’re reprimanding them. ‘At this point it’ll be a miracle if there’s any lunch on the tables at all. Work with me here.’

He swallowed hard and squared his bony shoulders. ‘Okay.’

Honey reached for an apron off the pegs on the wall and slid it over her head. A search through the cupboards revealed several catering-sized tins of chicken soup, and there was a mountain of cheese. Chicken soup and cheese and tomato sandwiches. That wasn’t so bad, surely?

‘Come on. Let’s get this bread defrosted in the microwave. We’ve got sandwiches to make.’

Honey helped Steve clear the plates from the dining room after lunch, a small glow of pride warming her belly at the fact that between them they’d managed to supply food for the hordes without incident. It may not have been gourmet, but the plates and bowls were mostly empty and the residents were mostly full, so that had to be considered a good result.

She placed the last plates down in the kitchen and dropped her backside onto a stool.

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

Steve looked up from loading the dishwasher and said something that horrified her.

‘What will we give them for dinner?’

The small glow of success popped like a pin-pricked bubble. ‘I have no idea. What does the plan say?’

‘Roast pork.’

Honey huffed. ‘Not a chance. What else can we do?’

She opened the huge fridge and stood contemplating its contents. Ham. Lots of ham. Vegetables. Cheese. Boxes of mince beef. Steve came and stood beside her.

‘I bet chef was planning cottage pie. He’s defrosted mince beef.’

‘Do you know how to make it?’ Honey turned to him with hopeful eyes.

Skinny Steve pulled a look of intense concentration that really wasn’t very attractive at all. ‘There’s definitely mash in it,’ he said eventually. Honey sighed. She knew that much already. Opening the vegetable drawers, she saw onions. And garlic.

Onions, garlic, and minced beef. Maybe … just maybe …

‘Have you ever made bolognese, Steve?’ she asked.

He paused, then nodded. ‘There’s definitely minced beef in it.’

Honey wiped her clammy palms on her apron and reached for the beef, hoping like hell that she could remember what she was doing. She’d spotted tins of tomatoes and bags of pasta earlier in the store cupboards. With the right wind behind her, there was an outside chance that she might just be able to pull this off.

It was after eight in the evening by the time Honey pushed open the door at home and let herself into the lamplit lobby. She was exhausted, but still buzzing with elation that the residents had, on the whole, declared her spaghetti bolognese a roaring success. It might not have included pancetta and other fancy ingredients, but the basic taste had been there and this time she’d skipped the red wine and made sure to season it properly. The results had made for a more than passable dinner, enjoyable even, if the fact that Billy had eaten two and a half platefuls was anything to go by. Dessert had been even less designer; strawberry magic whip from the corner shop, but even that had seemed to charm the residents with its nod towards wartime austerity treats.

She glanced longingly towards Hal’s door. He’d as good as fed those residents today.

‘Hal?’ she said, her voice small in the cool lobby. ‘Hal?’

He didn’t reply, as ever, but she told him none the less. She told him of the fracas on the pavement yesterday, and of Patrick’s shock resignation from the kitchen. She told him of Skinny Steve’s burnt toast breakfast, and how she’d felt obliged to step into the breach. Even in the silence, Honey could practically hear Hal thinking that it was yet further evidence that her girl guide complex was alive and kicking. She told him of her forage through the cupboards for lunch, and then she told of her bolognese success, almost