The other thing was recipe serving sizes: she always had to take the quantities and divide the ‘serves 4’ into ‘serves 1’。 She could, of course, cook the full amount and freeze portions, but then what would she do with her evenings? Some people liked to come home and put the television on for company; Eleanor liked the sizzle of butter in a pan, the smell of garlic and shallots warming in oil, the steam lifting from a joint of beef – that was her company.
Next week, she and Sam should have been celebrating a year of being married. Paper, that was the totem for the first anniversary. She would have done something special, like bought him tickets to a comedy show he liked, or maybe found a vintage comic from his childhood. But she couldn’t think about all the would-haves and should-haves. In fact, she didn’t want to feel anything, because all of the feelings were too hard. Happiness was an absurdly unreachable notion – but distracted, busy, those she could do.
Right. What next? She would slice the bread at the last minute, so it was fresh and moist. The butter was already softening at room temperature, the jam warming, too. She’d lay it all out on the table, with a few sprigs of lavender in a glass jar. The coffee was on. A jug of iced cucumber-water waited in the fridge.
She lifted a watermelon from the fruit bowl. Steadying it between her hands, she felt the perfect curve, the dense weight as heavy as a human head. Finding a knife, she pressed its cool tip into the skin, pushing deeper, feeling the moment of give when the knife slid easily into the flesh, splitting it open like a red wound, juices leaking. She made a second incision, removing the wedge, which looked like a grinning, bloody smile.
‘Morning,’ Bella said, emerging from her room in a tiny sundress.
Eleanor’s skin tightened; Bella Rossi was the last person she felt like talking to.
Bella glanced beyond her, looking through the open doors onto the terrace. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Lexi’s doing yoga. Fen is swimming. Robyn’s in her room. Ana’s walking.’
Bella sank down onto a stool, clearly disappointed that she’d have to make do with Eleanor’s company. She yawned, showing the deep opening of her throat, not bothering to cover it with a hand.
‘Tired?’ Eleanor noted curtly.
‘I was up late.’ There was a pointedness to the reply, which made Eleanor hesitate. ‘You were, too,’ Bella added.
Eleanor could feel the press of the watermelon as she held it steady, juice leaking between her fingers. She kept her face blank.
‘You had a nightcap with Ana,’ Bella said.
Eleanor’s spine stiffened as she remembered the trail of wet footprints. ‘Thought you’d gone to bed.’
‘I’m a light sleeper,’ Bella said, eyeing her.
Eleanor stared back.
There was silence.
A warm wind drifted in from the terrace, carrying a briny, almost sulphuric scent of the sea. It smelled odorous, like something was turning in the heat.
Finally, Eleanor shrugged. She wouldn’t allow Bella the satisfaction of getting beneath her skin. If she had something to say, let her say it.
She resumed slicing. Funny thing with knives was that one minute they could be a benign kitchen implement, and the next a weapon. The knife itself didn’t change, only the intent of the person holding it.
She glanced sideways at Bella, who was picking at a split end. I could reach out and put this knife in your chest. In one flash. It doesn’t even have to be you. It could be anyone. Whoever walks into this kitchen next. That’s what I could do. She wouldn’t, of course. That would be crazy. She knew she wouldn’t. But the thought alone gave her a little thrilling jolt.
Bella plucked a segment of orange from the waiting platter. She held it between her glossy nails, like a taloned bird carries its prey, then dropped it into her mouth. Eleanor gritted her teeth. Bella sucked her fingers clean, without making a single sound of appreciation. When Eleanor ate, the pleasure of the flavours travelled through her body – a shiver of delight, a squeezing of her shoulders, a murmur in her throat.
As Bella went to take another piece, fingers glistening with saliva, Eleanor couldn’t help herself. With a sharp, swift movement, she reached out and slapped the back of Bella’s hand.
‘Ow!’ Bella clutched her hand to her chest.
‘Don’t you have any manners?’
‘You slapped me!’
‘I’m preparing breakfast for us all. You should wait.’
Bella glared at her, shocked.
‘I just want it to be nice for Lexi,’ Eleanor said. ‘For everyone.’