Page 43 of Taste

“Fuck, don’t remind me.” He coughed. “Couldn’t get the stench out of my nostrils for days after.”

“Rotten crab meat, remember it well. Fucking vile.” Someone handed me an opened pack of Steri Strips. This was why I was adamant that every single person had first-aid training in my kitchen. I also drilled them in wound care for food handlers and the meticulous cleaning procedures around sharp equipment, something everyone took note of…apart from Ben.

“Is it bad?” He squinted at me with one eye.

“Nah. You’ll still be able to rub one out, even if you are missing half a finger.”

“Won’t need to pleasure myself now I’ve finally got you on your knees.”

I rolled my eyes, but he was laughing at his own jokes, which was a good sign, I supposed, although I was also getting that being-watched vibe, and turned to look behind me.

And then there he was, leaning against the wall, staring down at me with an amused little smile. Finn. My Finn. Whatever Finn. He still made me swallow my breath, and my cheeks flamed as I tried to concentrate on plastering skin to skin and keeping pressure on the wound.

“The things I have to do to get Mark’s attention,” Ben said dramatically, and Finn laughed. He actually laughed. I paused to get a proper look. He was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.

“Oh, I know all of Mark’s tricks. But I think a trip to A&E might be in order, mate, don’t you?”

“Fuck no.” Ben was as stubborn as always.

“I agree,” I said, admiring my handiwork. Not too shabby. But then I did have a lot of practice, having worked with Ben for the last couple of years. “One of my better patch-ups, I think. Most of these scars were sorted out by my fair hands at some point in time. Apart from the stitches here. And that burn mark on the back of your wrist.”

“I’ve seen shoddier work from celebrated surgeons,” Mrs Hussein chipped in. “You’ve done a decent enough job. Bandage it up, keep the pressure on it for a while. I’ll keep an eye on the young man. I may not be much use in a kitchen, but I was a theatre nurse for almost thirty years. I still have my eyes and ears, and you, young man, need to be careful with those blades.”

“Can we keep you, Mrs Hussein?” I asked. “A theatre nurse, eh? I bet you have some stories to tell. And I still need to know about marinating those lamb legs you talked about.”

“I’ve not even told my daughter-in-law my secrets, but I may make an exception for you, dear. Now, young man on the floor, don’t sit up just yet, you’re still very pale. When did you last eat?”

I left Mrs Hussein to tend to Ben and got up off my knees, looking down to see what kind of state I was in. I was covered in blood and saline, I had dirt on my knees, and that was definitely soup spillage on my left arm. “Terrific,” I muttered.

“Can I help?” Finn asked.

He probably could, but I needed to get cleaned up, so I opened my mouth to say ‘thanks, but no thanks’, and “It’s good to see you,” spilled out of it instead.

“You too,” he said. “I was hoping…you know… It sounds stupid, perhaps, but when you’re done, can I walk you home?”

“Gosh, that’s very gentlemanly of you,” I said. I was joking, but God. Yes. Perhaps.

He smiled awkwardly at my non-answer. “I have some paperwork to do, but I can help out if you need me to do anything. I can see it’s a bit chaotic here. What’s with the TV?”

“EastEnders. Mrs Hussein’s a big fan. Actually, could you walk her to her room when she’s ready—if that’s all right?” I glanced over at Mrs Hussein, who gave me a little smile and a nod.

“Mrs Hussein, I presume?” Finn was wringing his hands. He was flustered, and I…I loved it.

“No need. That pretty boy with the lipstick said he would take me up.” Mrs Hussein chuckled. There wasdefinitelynothing wrong with her eyes or ears.

“They…” I started, but then I fell quiet because Finn was unabashedly watching me, and it rattled me, yet it made me…happy, I guess. I was all warm inside, and that was a feeling I was starting to love. I loved how he looked at me. I loved how he made me feel. I even loved the smile he shot at me before his gaze fell to his shoes. I guess I still rattled him as well, which was crazy. We were both far too old to be in the throes of this infatuation. But then. He…

“Mrs H!” Adam marched over and with a flourish presented our guest with a glossy brochure of some kind. “The bus driver brought us your programme from the musical. The others in your group just came back. Shall I escort you out to the lobby?” He held out his arm to her, and she took it, and the two of them slowly moved off. “Mabel is ready to take you up, and have you made arrangements for breakfast? Tabitha is the head waitress tomorrow morning. She will be delighted to look after you. Now, do you watch breakfast TV?This Morning, orBBC Breakfast, or perhaps that dreadful talk show—I once went on theJeremy Kyle Show.”

“Oh, really!” Mrs Hussein exclaimed. “Do tell! I used to watch Jeremy every morning.”

“Mrs Hussein,” I called after her. She wasn’t escaping that easily. “Please come see us before you leave in the morning. I’m here from eleven, so I hope I’ll catch you? I need to persuade you to reveal that recipe!”

She smiled at me over her shoulder. “I want to hear the young man’s story, but I will write you a letter. There are a few recipes I don’t mind sharing with you. You are a dear boy. And I will remember this evening for as long as I live.”

“You, Mrs Hussein, are a treasure. Thank you for your custom and your company this evening.”

With that, Adam walked her out of the kitchen in a flurry of words. I missed her already.

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