The Piano Man Project (10 page)

‘And where exactly is that attitude going to get you, Honeysuckle?’ She arched her eyebrows. ‘I’ll tell you where it’ll get you. Nowhere, apart from lonely. So Deano wasn’t the one. We were never likely to get it right straight away, were we?’

‘Weren’t we?’ Honey said. ‘Because I kind of thought we’d have one go at this and bam, I’d be marrying Michael Bublé. That’s how you guys sold it to me.’

‘So sue us,’ Tash laughed and shrugged her shoulders. ‘What’s this Robin like then, Nell?’

Nell placed her coffee cup down in its saucer. ‘Well, he’s quite good looking actually,’ she said, nodding slowly in a way that made Honey instantly suspicious.

‘You don’t sound very sure,’ she said.

‘No, he is … in a kind of old-fashioned way,’ Nell seemed to choose her words with care. ‘I mean, granted, he’s no Bublé, but he has, umm … good hair, and he laughs a lot. You need a man who can make you laugh, Honey.’ Nell nodded a little too vigorously for Honey’s liking.

‘So, when am I supposed to be meeting him?’

Nell studied her fingernails. ‘The thing is, Hon, he’s not much of a pub person, so I kind of said you’d cook for him.’ The end of Nell’s sentence came out twice as quickly as the beginning, as if Nell hoped it might go unnoticed if she said it really quickly.

‘Nell!’ Tash said. ‘You know that’s a bad idea.’

Relieved to have her friend’s support, Honey nodded. ‘No way. I can’t have a stranger into my house, Nell! It’s blind date rule number one, meet in a well-lit, neutral place.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about that,’ Tash said, frowning at Nell. ‘You know she can’t cook; she’ll probably poison him before he can get anywhere close to showing her his finger skills.’

‘Well, I suggested his house first, but he said his mother would be home.’

‘He still lives with his mother?’ Honey said, glancing at her watch to see if it was too early for a real drink. Nope, still eleven thirty in the morning. Every few weeks the three women met for Saturday brunch in their favourite café, but this week Honey was enjoying it a lot less than usual thanks to the current subject matter. Every aspect of her life seemed to be more stressful than usual at the moment; her job was under threat, her friends were pimping her out to strange men based on a ridiculous premise, and her home had been invaded by her abusive and reclusive neighbour. Was it any wonder she was considering asking for a double shot of rum in her coffee?

‘He’s coming over to yours on Friday night,’ Nell said, ignoring Honey’s question and refusing to look sorry. ‘Just make spaghetti or something. He’s nice, Honey. I’ve met him quite a few times now, and he’s really good with the kids so he must be a decent guy.’

Tash broke up a huge cookie and stuck a wedge on each of their saucers. ‘You’ve nothing to lose, Honey-bee.’

‘Just a whole Friday evening and potentially my life, if he turns out to be an axe murderer.’

‘Axe murderers don’t usually live with their mothers,’ Nell said.

‘Norman Bates?’ Honey said, after a moment’s thought.

Tash made stabbing motions in the air over the table. ‘Just don’t let him follow you into the bathroom.’

Honey shook her head. ‘Tell him it’s off, Nell. I mean it.’

‘I can’t,’ Nell said. ‘I’m off work on Monday so I won’t see him.’

‘Long weekend, Nellie?’ Tash said. ‘Lucky you.’

‘It was Simon’s idea, actually,’ Nell said. ‘We don’t really get much day time together; we’re both always knackered with work and then with Ava at the weekends. It’s sort of an us day. Ava’s going to Simon’s parents as usual.’

Honey and Tash nodded slowly.

‘A
you
day,’ Honey mused.

‘And did he suggest that before or after he saw your new underwear?’ Tash laughed. Nell huffed, pink cheeked, and then laughed too.

‘After.’

She sipped her drink demurely, clearly bursting to say more. ‘Oh my God! Girls, he was …’ Nell paused and searched for the right words. ‘Well, let’s just say he was impressed.’

‘Good on you, Nell,’ Honey smiled.

‘Good on Simon, more like!’ Tash said. ‘So what’s the plan for Monday?’

Nell’s eyes sparkled. ‘That’s just it. I don’t even know! He just told me to book the day off but still take Ava to his parents as normal. He was so … so masterful!’ Her voice practically quivered, making Honey wonder how the usually mild-mannered Simon had morphed himself into Heathcliff behind closed doors over recent weeks.

‘And has he presented you with any new sex toys over breakfast this week?’ Tash asked.

Nell swallowed and shook her head. ‘No. But girls, I have to tell you, that vibrator …’ She lowered her voice and glanced from side to side to make sure no one overheard the local primary teacher discussing sex aids, and then leaned in towards Honey. ‘You should have bought one when we were in that store, Honey,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t actually think you’d have any choice but to orgasm. Seriously.’ Her big round eyes glittered.

‘She’s right, Honeysuckle,’ Tash grinned. ‘All those electrical impulses concentrated on one little spot.’

Nell did the shivery, quivery thing again and glanced at her watch, probably itching to get home to sexed-up Simon.

‘Fine. I’ll buy a vibrator if we can ditch the piano man thing.’ Honey glanced from Nell to Tash, who frowned at each other. ‘Deal?’

Her friends shook their heads.

‘No deal,’ Tash said. ‘This is a job for a man, not a machine.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to call the banker and check?’ Honey joked half-heartedly, knowing that they weren’t going to let her wriggle off the piano man hook. She was just going to have to hit the ready meal aisle so as not to poison this Robin guy on Friday, and hope like hell that he wasn’t an axe murderer, because it was highly unlikely Hal would bother coming to her aid if she screamed.

Glancing at her watch again, Honey pushed herself off the couch and headed for the counter. It was three minutes after midday, and she needed a glass of wine.

A couple of hours and a couple of glasses later, Honey turned the key and let herself back into the square, cool lobby. What was Nell thinking? She didn’t know this man very well at all, yet she’d invited him into Honey’s home.

‘I need whisky,’ Hal shouted through the door without preamble, more like a testy ninety-year-old than a sexy thirty-something. ‘And cigarettes.’

‘You don’t smoke, rock star,’ she called, debating whether she was glad he was speaking to her again or not, given his tone.

‘I’m going to start,’ he yelled.

Honey flicked her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘Did my mother die and leave you in charge? Have you adopted me, Mary Poppins?’

‘You know what, Hal? Piss off. I’ve had a nice morning, I can do without you spoiling it.’

Honey stood still in the silence, waiting on his reply. Had he taken her at her word and pissed off?

‘I take it today’s date was better than the last one then,’ he said, more quietly, more honestly, more Hal.

‘It wasn’t a date,’ she said. ‘I’ve been with Tash and Nell – you know, my friends. I have got another date on Friday, though.’

‘You’re not giving our Deano another chance, are you? Because a man who doesn’t walk you home won’t get any better second time around, you know.’

‘What do you think I am, an idiot? Of course it’s not Deano. It’s someone called Robin, if you must know.’

‘Nobby name.’

Honey laughed under her breath, despite herself. ‘Maybe. He’ll probably still be fabulous though.’

‘Probably? You’ve never met him, have you?’ Hal said. ‘Don’t tell me. He’s another fucking pianist, isn’t he?’

‘He’s another fucking pianist,’ Honey said agreeably, enjoying the fact that she could wind him up. ‘And he’s coming here, so you better not disrupt things by yelling for whisky like someone’s grandad, you hear me?’

‘You’re having some random bloke you don’t know from Adam in your flat? Are you completely stupid?’

‘And I’m cooking for him too,’ Honey said. ‘Dinner.’ Hal’s answering bark of laughter annoyed her to hell. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing,’ he muttered, making no attempt to hide his clear amusement.

‘I can cook,’ she said, even though it was a blatant lie.

‘No you can’t … But I can,’ he said, and the change in his voice pulled Honey up short. He wasn’t kidding around anymore, that was for sure, although she couldn’t put her finger on where the conversation had turned serious.

‘I might make him spaghetti hoops à la toast,’ she said.

‘You could. Or I could teach you how to make bolognese properly,’ Hal said softly. ‘If you like.’

Honey swallowed. ‘I’d like …’ she said, eventually, ‘I’d like that a lot.’

‘Go get a pen and paper, Strawberry Girl. You’re going shopping.’

An hour later, Honey found herself wandering around the supermarket armed with a long list, at the bottom of which she’d grudgingly written,
whisky
. If Hal was going to teach her to make bolognese from scratch he was going to need a drink by the end of it. She was only glad he was allowing her off making the pasta by hand too, a reluctant concession to the fact that she didn’t own a pasta machine. Eyeing the box of ready-made bolognese in the fridge, she resolutely approached the butcher’s counter to buy minced beef and pancetta.

Just heading for that counter at all was a bit of a first; meat generally came pre-packed into Honey’s shopping basket, most often already prepared or cooked. And carrots? Who put carrots into bolognese? Not the man from Dolmio, surely. She’d never spotted carrots in her bolognese, but then she’d never eaten bolognese that wasn’t produced in a mass-market kitchen by people in white hairnets. Throwing carrots into her basket, she added celery and bay leaves, smiling benignly at another woman as if this was just her regular weekend shop.

Wine was next on the list. Thank God, something she understood. Hal had insisted she was to buy something decent, which frankly seemed a waste on cooking, but all the same she added a mid-price rioja, and after a moment’s hesitation she went back and added a second bottle. If she didn’t drink it beforehand, she’d need more wine to recreate the bolognese for Robin on Friday anyway, so it wasn’t an extravagance.

Queuing at the checkout, Honey basked in a small glow of pride as she eyed her items. A wedge of parmesan, a bunch of bay leaves, fresh pasta. She felt practically cosmopolitan, which made a refreshing change from the mild embarrassment she experienced with her usual ruck of ready meals and tins. Maybe she should do this cooking lark more often. She dismissed the thought as fleetingly as it had surfaced; baby steps. She needed to make this bolognese first without burning the house down or being killed by her irritable neighbour if she failed to follow instructions.

‘Do you have an apron you can wear?’ Hal perched on a stool at her breakfast bar.

‘I don’t need an apron to warm soup up,’ Honey said. ‘But I’ve washed my hands, if that’s any consolation.’

‘Is your hair tied back?’

‘What is this, a military operation?’ she huffed. ‘Yes. It’s in two plaits.’

Hal raised one eyebrow over the top of his sunnies. ‘Like a milk maid?’

The off-hand, suggestive tone of his throwaway comment warmed her cheeks.

He’d been in her flat for a few minutes, and he was turning over the ingredients she’d bought in his hands. He brought the garlic close to his face and inhaled deeply.

‘Will it do?’ she asked, made nervous by his overwhelming presence in her small sanctuary. He looked like an exotic bird who’d landed in a common-or-garden budgie’s cage, out of place and temporary.

He nodded curtly. ‘Frying pan. Olive oil. Chop the onions.’

She bit her lip and grabbed the frying pan out from the drawer beneath the oven.

‘I’m no good at chopping things,’ she murmured, halving the onion and hacking it with inexperienced fingers into thick slices. Hal reached across and felt her handiwork then shook his head and scowled.

‘I said chop them, Honeysuckle. These are the size of fucking house bricks. Smaller.’

‘Have you been taking lessons from Gordon Ramsay?’

He didn’t laugh. ‘Smaller.’ He listened to her efforts for a few seconds. ‘Relax with the knife. Find your rhythm, and keep your fingers behind the blade and out of the way.’

Honey breathed out with relief when he accepted her second attempt with a curled lip, and reached for the garlic when instructed.

‘Break off three cloves and smash them with the blade of a knife,’ Hal said, and Honey turned the bulb over in her hands and stared at it. ‘How do I get to the cloves? It’s sealed up.’

Hal’s mouth opened and then closed, and he rubbed the palms of his hands slowly on his jeans. ‘You’re kidding, right? You just …’ he said, and then shook his head. ‘Give it to me.’

Honey handed him the bulb of garlic and watched as he turned it in his fingers then broke it open easily, feeling the cloves and snapping a few off for her. He offered them to her flat on his palm as if he were feeding a donkey, and she certainly felt like one as she took them from him.

‘Do I need to peel them?’

He sighed. ‘Just smash them with the flat of a large knife. Press down on them until they split.’

Honey reached for her carving knife and tentatively did as he’d suggested, amazed when it actually worked.

‘Well, what do you know,’ she laughed, extracting the raw garlic from the skin. ‘I did it! Do I chop it like the onions now?’

Hal nodded, checking her work with his fingertips when she pushed the chopping board towards him after chopping.

‘Warm the olive oil and add the bacon, then after a minute or so add the onions and garlic too.’ He listened as she sparked the gas beneath the pan. ‘Not that high. Burnt garlic is bitter and will spoil the dish.’

Honey adjusted the flame and tossed in the pancetta.

‘Watch it carefully. We both know you can get in trouble with bacon,’ he muttered, and she rolled her eyes and shook the pan as she’d seen chefs do on the TV.

‘Once, Hal. I’ve only ever burned bacon once in my life, and it just so happened that you were there at the time. I’ll have you know I usually make a killer bacon sandwich.’