Page 127 of Endgame

‘Twenty, and look what happened there.’

‘That was different. He fancied the pants off you. There you were a COO, all over heavily curated social media, swanning around in designer gear, being all not pregnant and evasive. Here you’re a single unemployed mother whose partner is AWOL. No one is checking for you like that.’

‘Your unwavering commitment to making me feel good is astonishing, Lara.’

‘You’re welcome. So, are you going to do it?’

‘No. Lara, meeting personal standards is a massive challenge.’

‘It’s for our gobby neighbour three doors down. I’ve seen her husband. She doesn’t have standards. She was hostile at first until she found out I was a lesbian. Sweet as pie now. She may think you’re a lesbian too, by the way. If it’s amazing she’ll tell everyone. She likes being the one in the know while diving into everyone’s business. Plus, it’s a freebie.’

‘How is this thing meant to make money anyway?’

‘Subscription. Two pounds a month. But then we can sneak in staff for hire later and ramp up to celebrity chefs, designers, declutter experts and charge a mint when we have everything in place. Right now it’s a start – and, good news, I can work from anywhere in the world, so Honey and I can be anywhere.’

‘Thank you, Lara, for coming and staying with me when I know you really want to be with Honey,’ I slip in. She has been my rock.

‘You’ve thanked me loads already and I’m liking this big house, rent-free situation; but if you feel like thanking me again, let’s do this together and make the bloody veggie pasta bake.’

There is no way she is going to let me say no.

‘Only to the gobby neighbour with no standards as a freebie?’

‘Yes. For now. Let’s just feel our way through.’

Lara is right. After she carefully delivered that first bake, orders came pouring in for the same dish and, by the end of the week, I’d made twenty-two creamy three-mushroom and truffle rigatoni bakes that Lara delivered all over the borough, charging thirty pounds a pop plus delivery for each eight-person serving.

‘Babe, we made over five hundred pounds after costs, in four days! I’m thinking we should scrap the site and just do food orders!’

‘I never want to see another pasta bake again! You closed us down for orders, right?’

‘Yes, but I opened a waiting list. There are four people.’

‘I don’t want to make pasta bakes any more, Lara. If we get caught we are going to be in big trouble. There is so much training I need to do. We need to register, I need certification – this is so risky!’

‘No one is going to say anything. They’re pretending they cooked it themselves. Besides, we’ll get all that. For now, let’s operate under the radar and only to the THS members and swear them to secrecy. Shall we find something else to do if you’re sick of pasta bakes? We can push a new angle and announce a new dish every week. It has to be vegetarian though, because we can reach more people.’

‘Can I have a few days to think about it? I still need to cook for the shelter this week and Mommy has asked me to come home for Sunday lunch. You’re invited.’

I’ve been speaking to Daddy all week, but our conversations have been careful. I think this is Mommy’s attempt to mend things, and, if she is inviting Lara, it means things have been sorted.

‘Sure, I’ll come – but don’t keep our customers waiting!’ she sings as she dances up the stairs to her room.

This week may have been exhausting, but I feel proud. I look at the time. It’s too late to call Caleb, so I send him a voice note.

‘Hello, sleepy. I think I might give the food thing a shot after all. Lara is at the helm, she has been delivering prohibition-style pasta bakes. There’s every chance I might get arrested while we are operating under the radar but I’m going to get my paperwork together as soon as possible and, once I’ve done that, I think I might like to give it a shot. We love you and we miss you. Talk in the morning.’

I sit back and rub my belly.

‘Think we can do it?’ I ask my baby. ‘Yeah, I think we can,’ I tell her as I kiss the fingertip of my index finger and transfer it to my belly, before making my way up the stairs and into the shower.

When we get home on Sunday, Lara gently pushes ahead of me.

‘I’ve missed Dahlia. I want to be her when I grow up, but not just yet,’ she admits before pressing the doorbell.

Mommy opens the door with a blinding smile and lets Lara in, before wrapping me in her arms in a way that makes me tear up. It feels so good to be home. As I step into the warmth, I walk into Daddy’s arms for a hug.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ he says quietly.

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