The Piano Man Project Page 0,99

safe. It’s not chilli-chef.’

Tash nicked one of the lemon and poppy seed muffins from the tray as Steve passed. ‘Christ, they’re still warm! Have you actually made these, Steve? Because if you did, you’re coming home with me, mister.’

Skinny Steve turned an unattractive shade of purple and his hands shook enough to make the plates on the tray rattle.

‘Umm, it wasn’t just me,’ he said, struck by an up-to-that-point-in-his-life-unheard-of stammer. ‘Hal did most of the work.’

‘Hal?’ Nell muttered as Steve moved away down the line.

‘Hal as in your dirty sexy neighbour who has officially been declared bad for your health?’ Tash said, breaking off a chunk of muffin with her fingers.

‘He’s a good cook,’ Honey said evenly.

Tash nodded, her mouth full. ‘Heavenly.’ She swallowed, narrowing her eyes at Honey. ‘As long as that’s all he’s doing for you. I’ve bust a gut finding you the perfect pianist.’ She grinned. ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’

With difficulty, Honey pulled Christian into focus in her mind. So much had happened in the intervening hours that it seemed days since she’d sat in the café with him.

‘He’s really nice,’ she said, noncommittally.

‘“Nice”?’ Nell said, picking up on Honey’s tone. ‘Nice doesn’t sound very impressive.’

‘No, nice is … good,’ Honey said, really wanting to change the subject, because all she could hear in her mind was Hal telling her that she was a nice girl and he wasn’t a very nice man. Actually, he hadn’t been wrong. Nice might be appropriate for Christian, but it wasn’t a word for men like Hal.

‘Looks like the cavalry are starting to arrive,’ Nell commented, and looking along the line Honey saw Titania’s middle-aged nieces had joined the end of the line, their splendid bosoms once more graffitied in honour of their aunt.

‘That plays hell with your numbers,’ Tash said. ‘How many people am I in charge of now?’

A frown creased Nell’s brow, and Honey stepped into the breach. ‘Just keep a close eye on the residents as planned, and a general eye on everybody else, okay?’ She nicked a muffin from the tray as Skinny Steve walked back down the line, drawing him aside for a second.

‘How’s it going in the kitchen?’

‘Pukka,’ Steve beamed, clearly channelling his inner Jamie Oliver. ‘Hal’s, like, all over it. These muffins? Twenty minutes from scratch. He’s, like, a genius.’ The upward inflection at the end of his sentence reminded Honey how young he was, and his words pressed home the fact that he held Hal in godlike esteem. Someone had to. She smiled encouragingly, despite the fact that her opinion of Hal was far less clear cut. She kind of agreed, and kind of violently disagreed. It wasn’t an easy position to be in, and it made being anywhere near him almost impossible. They’d barely spoken on the journey in that morning. Honey would have sat at the other end of the bus from him to avoid any more awkwardness if she could have gotten away with it without seeming childish. For a while last night she’d trusted him to take care of her, and then this morning she could only trust him to take care of other people. But he was here, and looking down the line at the residents happily eating the muffins, she knew she ought to be grateful. Skinny Steve was grateful enough for both of them.

‘Hal said he’ll help me get a job in a professional kitchen if I want,’ he said, his eyes shining.

Honey frowned, annoyed with Hal for widening Steve’s horizons beyond the home, even though she knew it was selfish of her. ‘Don’t even mention leaving right now,’ she smiled. ‘We need you here.’

‘I’ll stay while he does,’ Steve said, obviously still in hero-worship mode. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got him to myself.’

Yeah, don’t count on keeping him, Honey thought darkly. He’s only yours until he gets a better offer. She held her silence diplomatically as Steve meandered away back up the path towards the home, towards the kitchen, towards his idol.

‘Looks like you better tell Steve to up the numbers for lunch,’ Nell said, and Honey followed her gaze to the end of the line, to a group of seven teenagers in hoodies who’d been walking past and decided to join the protest.

She watched as one of them turned, lowered his hood, slid his phone into his pocket, and shook the hand of the nearest resident.

‘My granddad used to live here,’ he said. ‘He’d have hated to see it closed.’

They fell into easy conversation,