CHAPTER 49
Later that morning, they have stumbled upon a compromise between Lucy staying alone in the pink house (Simone wouldn’t allow) and Lucy coming into the shop (they both thought foolish).
Simone will go and buy food, Lucy will linger outside, and then they will get to do what everybody needs to do when stressed: eat carbohydrates.
They walk the streets together quickly, and Simone is thinking about Dishes.
A weird mix of pain and pride rises up through her.
A Michelin star. Everything she ever wanted.
Of course, the article went on to say, awarded to a fugitive, subject to revocation.
But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t, any longer, care about the increased footfall, the profits; she cares only that the food was good enough, unusual enough, interesting enough.
Her food. Her restaurant, her service, her decor.
Her inventions. Her warm green bean fucking salad.
But she won’t be there to see it. Might never. In the relentless, hot-oil sun, her eyes burn as she tells Lucy to stay close by.
She can feel it, the pull of home, of their old life, of Damien. She wonders what he’s doing, why he isn’t messaging; it’ll be so long before he shakes any surveillance off. And even if he does, then what?
In a hurry, she buys basic groceries, nothing memorable, though she can’t help but notice several things.
The smell is different. Nothing like the sanitized Sainsbury’s at home.
This is warmer, the air spicy but also stale.
The shelves are dusty. They have surprisingly good salt, and she buys it.
Will crush it over marinating meat soon.
She tries to hide her face at the checkout. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t count the dollars, just puts a clutch of them into an anonymous palm that is outstretched. She doesn’t buy some cream she sees even though it’s locally churned and she’s interested.
Instead, she leaves quickly, to find Lucy outside, all the while wondering if it will always feel this way, like walking around with an unexploded bomb, a neon sign above her head, the Sword of Damocles, swinging softly above her, just waiting to fall.