When he takes the bins out, he almost walks straight into Nash.He is leaning against the van, pink-cheeked from the cold and face sheened with sweat from the shovelling.It’s probably just because of the conversation he just had with Ambrose and Laurel, but still, Christopher’s stomach flips.
‘You should probably watch where you’re going.You were about to walk into a big patch of ice,’ Nash says.Christopher’s mind whirs too much for him to think of what to say, so Nash continues, ‘No seriously, you were.Right there.’
In front of him is a bit of the drive that is often wet from drain overflow, which has frozen hard.‘Oh.Thanks.’Christopher sidesteps it and throws the trash into the bin.
‘Are you going let me in now?’
‘Christ, sorry!I forgot you don’t have a key.’
A playful smile breaks across his face.‘Nah, I just got here, but it was funny seeing you panic.’
Christopher rolls his eyes, but still holds the door open for Nash to come through.Be civil.Get the cooking done.
Christopher watches Nash shiver as the warmth of the bakery hits his skin, and then as he leans against the tiny radiator he dried his clothes on only yesterday.How was that onlyyesterday?
‘What were you up to while I was outside doing all the dirty work?’Nash asks, breaking Christopher out of his reverie.
‘Cleaning up the rest of your mess in the kitchen so we can safely cook.’
‘Oh come on, it can’t have been that bad.’
Christopher resists rolling his eyes again, just about.‘It’s a commercial kitchen, Nash.I have rules that—’
‘I take back the warning I gave you about the ice.Can you go back over there and fall on it?Bonk that big head of yours?’Nash laughs, and Christopher is pretty confident he’s going to sustain some kind of ocular strain from all the eye rolling that this man provokes in him.
In the kitchen, all the food is still laid out, though it has moved back and forth slightly with Christopher’s cleaning.
‘Come on, we need to get cooking.I’ve got some recipes drafted out so we should be good to get going.I just need to get some seasonings and bits from upstairs.’
‘I’ll get them,’ says Nash, peering at the notes on the counter.‘I could do with putting on dry socks.’He disappears out of view.
But then Christopher hears Nash go halfway up the stairs and ...stop?
Christopher wanders to the bottom of the stairs and looks up, where he sees Nash inexplicably crouching, as though about to pounce.Sensing his presence, Nash doesn’t turn but waves down the stairs to Christopher, beckoning him closer.
‘What are you doing?’Christopher whispers, because it seems like a situation that calls for whispering.‘I thought you wanted to work in a kitchen that had cat-swinging spatial capabilities.’
‘Shh.It’s funny you should say that,’ Nash whispers.
Something is ...crinkling?
Christopher slinks up behind Nash, and follows Nash’s pointed finger to the kitchen where, on the table, where Christopher had left the bag of supplies, is, rather inexplicably, a cat.A sleek but very small black cat that he’s pretty sure is a little too thin.He’s always surprised by how small cats can be, expecting them to be as chunky as his parents’ Border terriers, Stella and Luna, but this cat istiny.It can’t be much more than a kitten.
How did it even get into the kitchen?
Christopher is a little worried they might frighten it just by being there.The poor creature needs some lunch.There must be a can of tuna in one of the cupboards.
But before they can do anything, the cat spots them both, and, as it raises its little head, Christopher sees there’s a half-eaten sausage protruding from its mouth.A sausage from the only pack they found at the supermarket and were saving for dinner.
‘Christ!’says Christopher, clambering over Nash to rescue the sausages.The tiny thief slips as smoothly as an eel through a gap in a pushed-open window, sausage in tow.
The window had been closed when they left, but upon inspection, Christopher can see the latch must have loosened in the bad weather so the window doesn’t actually shut properly.The cat would have only had to get a claw at the right angle to open it.
‘I didn’t even know cats liked sausages,’ Nash murmurs, admiring the wreckage the cat had left behind.‘I guess that’s not your cat then?’
‘I don’t own a cat, and no, I’ve never seen that one before either.’Christopher turns back to the table and sees that, in the time they’d been downstairs busying themselves, the cat had snuck in and snaffled three sausages.
‘That makes tea a bit thinner, I’m afraid.Sorry.It’s my fault for forgetting to put them in the fridge before we left with Shaz.’
