Page 61 of Love in Tune

Honey nodded and smiled the small, quivering smile of the mildly terrified.

Chef’s eyes moved from the pan to Honey, and then across to Steve, which was the point when he started to growl.

‘Ooohkay,’ Honey said, and catching Skinny Steve’s eye she flicked her head towards the back door that led to the garden. He didn’t need telling twice. Like the worst hero in the world, he made a dash for freedom and left Honey to dodge around the chef and slam the door to stop him from chasing Steve.

‘Whaddya do that for!’ he shouted, and slammed the pan down hard on the counter. Honey jumped, but stayed splayed over the door like a police cut-out.

‘You were frightening him,’ she said.

‘What is he? A man or a mouse?’ The chef’s chin wobbled. ‘He tell me all morning,don’t do this, don’t do that.Theywon’t like this, they won’t like that.’ He picked up a whole chilli from the work surface. ‘And they definitely won’ta like these!’

He bit the chilli in half and ate it without turning a hair. ‘My mama in Mexico has these for breakfast and she is one hundred and three.’ He shoved the rest of the chilli in and swallowed. ‘These people,’ he waved vaguely towards the dining room in disgust. ‘Bland. I just try to spice up their lives, and that boy …’ he looked murderously through the window for Steve. ‘He won’t let me. Who is in charge here? Him, or me? My chilli con carne won three red peppers in the Chihuahua Chilli Awards 2010. Three peppers!’ He picked up three more chillies, and quite alarmingly shoved them all in his mouth at once. Honey stared, transfixed, as he stood with his hands on his hips and chewed them all up with difficulty.

‘Would you like a glass of water?’ she whispered, as tears ran down his cheeks.

He spat out a chilli seed. ‘I not cry because of the chillies. The chillies are delicious. I cry because my soul is crushed. Crushed by these people who look as if they are made of paper and will only eat bland, bland food.’ He’d gone from angry to maudlin in a blink, impressive for someone stone cold sober. ‘I cry because I miss my mama. These people remind me I should go home and kiss her wrinkly cheeks again.’ He mopped his tears with the corner of his apron, which he then took off and slung on the stool. ‘I will go now,’ he declared. ‘This minute. I will go and see my mama.’

‘But …’

He held up both his hands to stop her speaking. ‘My mama. I will go now.’

‘In Chihuahua?’ Honey said doubtfully, and he glared at her with a curt nod.

‘But what about dinner?’

‘I made chilli.’ He waved towards the bubbling vat on the stove. ‘Skin and bones knows what to do with it.’

Honey could only presume he was referring to Skinny Steve, and furthermore she guessed that the only thing that chilli was going to be useful for was stripping paint. She watched helplessly as the diminutive chef slung a bag across his back and flounced out of the kitchen, flounced back and grabbed his bunch of chillies, and then flounced back out again, this time for good.

‘We can’t serve it like this,’ Honey said, having braved a tiny taste of the chilli on the end of a teaspoon. Prickles of sweat had broken out on her brow and she’d reached instantly for water. ‘Do you have any idea how to calm it down?’

Steve shook his head, his brows knitted together into a unibrow. After a full minute’s thought, he finally spoke.

‘No.’

Honey took a calming breath and tried to summon her inner Nigella. ‘Water, maybe?’

Steve shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. It’d turn into soup.’

He was most probably right, but he’d also given Honey another idea. ‘Soup? Do we have any tomato soup? That might work.’

Steve considered her suggestion, and then turned to rummage in the wall cupboards. Lining up four huge tins of soup on the counter, he turned back to Honey.

‘It’s worth a shot,’ he said. ‘Shall I put them all in?’

Honey nodded. Even her complete absence of cooking knowledge didn’t stop her from knowing that the chilli needed as much dilution as they could throw at it. She nodded encouragement at Skinny Steve as he tipped each can in and stirred the pot.

‘Now test it,’ she said.

‘Why me?’

‘Because you’re the chef,’ Honey exclaimed.

‘I don’t like chilli,’ Steve muttered, looking doubtful.

Honey sighed and picked up a spoon. ‘Move out the way.’

The consistency had certainly changed; it was way too gloopy and vivid red, horribly like road kill you’d avert your eyes from on a country lane. She wouldn’t want it for her own dinner, and she felt sorry for the residents come mealtime tonight. Dipping the spoon in, she gingerly put a little into her mouth.

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