Food for the Soul
By Winam
= 1 =
His first day back from suspension, and it's been a nightmare. Back-to-back meetings with the DG, Juliet, and then the Home Secretary were followed by a catch-up with Adam, where he was handed a stack of files three feet tall. He rubs his weary eyes, which began to strain after he read his sixth file, but now on his God knows how many file, they blur. He pushes on regardless, barely noticing the approach of the Grid's last occupant.
"Goodnight Harry." says Ruth.
"Night, Ruth." His look of resignation brings a sympathetic smile to her face.
"Don't work too late." she tells him, before slipping through the pods.
The office is immediately bereft. Glancing at his watch he realises the lateness of the hour – if he is to get any sleep tonight he has to make a move now.
He closes the file, takes up his coat, and makes his way to the basement car park where his pool car awaits. During his absence his driver had been seconded elsewhere, and it took Harry the best part of an hour to get him back. Even then, Richard isn't going to be available until the following Monday, leaving Harry three days in which to drive himself.
The mist swirls as he exits the car park, but through it he sees a familiar figure sitting gingerly under a nearby bus stop shelter. The sight instantly brings a smile to his face.
"Need a lift?" he asks after pulling up alongside Ruth.
"First on the bus, now at the bus stop. Are you stalking me, Harry?"
He merely grins.
She lets out a dramatic sigh. "Alright then. Better than waiting another half an hour for the next bus."
He smells rain diluted with the unmistakable scent of her as she steps into the car. All his senses are attuned to her presence in this confined, intimate space. As the silence stretches, he feels the very rare onset of nerves; the kind that only happens nowadays in her presence. When he at last finds his voice, it is raspy.
"I haven't thanked you for sending those food parcels, by the way."
Out of the corner of his eye he sees her blush.
"I… I was a little worried, that's all; you being stuck at home with nothing to eat, nothing to cook. I didn't know exactly what to get you, so I got a bit of everything – maybe too much of everything."
"Believe me, it was greatly appreciated. At least now I have a stocked pantry."
She chuckles. "A rare occurrence at your place, is it?"
"Quite. Somehow visits to the supermarket have never been a priority, particularly when I hardly eat at home anyway."
"You better watch yourself," she gently chides, "All those years of eating out will come back to haunt you one day."
"That's what my doctor's been telling me for years." he acknowledges. "I know I should cook for myself more often, only that…"
He lapses into a rather embarrassed silence.
"What?" she asks, before adding, "Oh, I see – your cooking abilities leave a lot to be desired?"
"I wouldn't say I can't cook," he contends, "As much as I'm completely mediocre; anything more complicated than a fried egg is a stretch."
His genuine embarrassment compels her to reassure him.
"Cooking isn't rocket science, you know. I bet you could learn quickly if you put your mind to it."
"And burn the kitchen down in the process? I'd rather take dinner at the club."
"But cooking is an essential skill; you never know when it shall come in handy."
"I've no patience for reading cookbooks. Can you imagine me perusing one of Delia's volumes?"
She smirks at the image. "Then what about going to a cooking class? You'd learn quicker by example."
"Ruth, can you see me fronting up to a cooking class? And with my schedule, when shall I find the time?"
"But you need someone to show you the ropes, build up your confidence a little."
"Well, who do you have in mind?" he asks impatiently, "I hope not some prat like that Jamie Oliver bloke."
Who could she enlist? She hasn't many acquaintances in hospitality, but even if she knows a hundred cooks, there would be few with the patience to deal with Harry's erratic schedule, not to mention his little bursts of temper. In her mind, there is clearly only one candidate for the job.
"No, I won't assign Jamie to you, nor Delia for that matter, even if she does know everything. No, if you don't mind, I shall teach you."
"You? Really?" he says incredulously.
"Yes, it shouldn't be too hard to teach the basics so you can make use of that well-stocked pantry of yours. I'll even teach you how to avoid burning down the kitchen."
"Truly?"
"Do you doubt my ability?"
"No, no, not at all. I might not have seen you cook, but those brownies you baked for my birthday were wonderful."
She beams; his praise giving her much encouragement. "So how about making a start this weekend?"
"Er, okay… I'm free Saturday afternoon, I guess."
"I'll drop by around two, shall I?"
"Alright." he replies gingerly, bringing the car to a halt outside her place.
His wariness greatly amuses her, but she does feel a little sympathy for him.
Squeezing his arm she says, "Don't worry, Harry. It'll be fun."
As he watches her unlock the front door and disappear inside, one thought runs through his head.
Oh God, what on earth have I gotten myself into?