The Piano Man Project Page 0,60

laughing with relief when she added on the bit about the magic whip.

‘God knows what I’ll do tomorrow though. Skinny Steve is taking care of breakfast while I open up, but he’s relying on me going over there again by ten o’clock. I don’t think they’ll be as pleased with bolognese two days on the run, will they? I definitely saw chicken breasts. What the hell can I make with a huge bag of chicken breasts, Hal?’

He didn’t answer. Honey had known he wouldn’t. She wasn’t even sure whether she’d told him about her day to impress him or annoy him. After a few minutes she trudged across the hallway to her own flat and microwaved herself a ready meal for one before she fell into bed, all in.

‘Bake them.’

Honey stopped dead in the lobby the next morning, halted by the sound of Hal’s voice through his door.

‘Hal?’

‘The chicken breasts. Lay them on trays over some tinned tomatoes and garlic, add herbs if you have any. Remember to season them. Cover with foil and cook low and slow during the afternoon. Did you get all that?’

Honey could feel her heart beating too fast.

‘Lay the chicken over tinned tomatoes. Add garlic and seasoning. Cover and cook,’ she repeated slowly.

‘Serve with boiled rice and vegetables,’ he said.

Honey walked towards his door and laid a hand on the cool wood. She turned her ear and concentrated; could just about hear him breathing.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

‘Just don’t kill any of them,’ he said. ‘It’ll badly fuck with your Mother Teresa complex if one of them chokes on a chicken bone.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hal listened to her leave and slid down to sit on the floor in his hallway. He’d been relieved to hear her key in the lock last night, even though he’d never acknowledge that he’d noticed she was late home from work. And then she’d stopped by his door and told him about her day, another sequence of unlikely events that made him hold his head in his hands and wonder how she, and those around her, made it through each day alive. One day the heroine on the front of the local paper. The next day dating random men because they happened to play the piano. And then somehow cooking dinner for thirty OAPs even though she could barely cook for herself. Honey seemed to get up each morning and approach life like a beautiful, haphazard firework; the distinct possibility of disaster balanced against the high probability of brightening someone’s day. She’d brightened his day yesterday just by being in it, and he’d returned the favour by providing an idiot-proof way to cook the chicken. It seemed like a deal weighted heavily his way.

‘Skinny Steve forgot to re-cover the chicken again after he’d checked it so it all went a bit dry, but on the whole, it wasn’t too bad.’

‘I’d have fired Skinny Steve on the spot,’ Hal said that evening, listening once more to Honey regale him about her day. She’d come in around eight, late again, and this time when she’d come to his door he hadn’t ignored her. She sounded tired, and his curiosity had got the better of him. She was cooking, and he was a chef, after all.

‘You’re joking. Steve’s all that stands between me and starvation for the residents. He knows more than he thinks he does when he just relaxes and trusts his instincts,’ Honey said. ‘He needs a proper teacher, that’s all. He could probably become a good chef in the right kitchen.’

Hal suspected it was encouragement and support from Honey that had given Skinny Steve a boost; he’d seen it time after time in professional kitchens. Chefs made by praise and chefs broken by criticism.

‘You should trust your own instincts too, Honey,’ he said. ‘They’re good.’

She didn’t reply, no smart comeback. In fact, he couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if she might be trying to hide the fact that she was crying. He couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and closed his fingers around the latch of his door, on the very edge of opening it.

‘Are you crying?’ he said, for want of something more tactful.

She definitely was. ‘It’s your fault. You said something nice to me and I’m bloody knackered and Skinny Steve almost ruined dinner.’

Hal processed the three bits of information, and then sighed and swung the door open. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

He heard her snivel. ‘Yes.’

She followed him down the hall into his kitchen.

‘Should I