Oh, and whos this, then? exclaimed Maisie, stopping short as she entered her friends kitchen.
There, beneath the warm yellow glow of the lamp, tucked away by the smallest sideboard, sat a balding man of about forty. He looked a little lost, but there he was, quietly but deftly chopping dill with Eleanors broad-bladed knife.
Maisie, this is Arthur. Arthur, Maisie. Here, Ive got your sugarcome along, murmured Eleanor, embarrassed, and pressed a tin, sparkling with sugar dust, into her friends hands before hurriedly ushering her into the corridor.
Lovely to meet you! Maisie bellowed cheerfully over her shoulder, trying to size up this newcomer of Eleanors with a practised eye.
But a closer look revealed nothing remarkable. Nothing at all to justify his sudden move into Eleanors kitchenlet alone into her apron adorned with colourful doughnuts.
Ill be right there, Arthur! Eleanor called, shutting her kitchen door behind her.
Maisie immediately seized her arm in a vice grip in the hallway. Right, out with it!
Theres nothing to tell Eleanor started to wriggle free, but relented. Oh, finelets talk inside.
The two friends slipped out of the flat, through the tiny foyer, and into Maisies nearby two-bedroom maisonette.
Maisies home always smelled of cinnamon and rich perfume. Every detail, from the snowy white pouffe by the entrance, showed how dearly she cherished her little haven.
Not like mine! Eleanor thought with her usual twinge of regret, picturing her own hall, with the wallpaper still peeling at the seams.
Talk, Maisie demanded again, tipping sugar into the mixing bowl and planting herself, whisk in hand, expectantly before her friend.
What about your Meredith? Eleanor tried to deflect.
Hes at chambers. Wont be back for ages. Well?
Oh, you knowI met him at the market. Just like that.
Maisie raised her eyebrows. What do you mean?
I saw him standing by the herbs. Decent-looking chap, bit forlorn. So I asked him, How much for the dill? And he goes, Would you let me give it to you instead? I asked, Whys that? He says, Well, I made a promiseif a lady with sad eyes talks to me, Ill give all my herbs away. Pleasetake it, I grew it myself.
And you?
So I did. Turned to leave, then asked why he thought I looked sad. No, Im not, I said. He just gazed at me then picked up my shopping bags and walked along beside me.
Maisie, forgetting the whisk, absentmindedly scratched her hair. And you just walked along? Didnt say anything?
I was thinking what to do. Then I figuredwell, he looked truly adrift. Why not? We got to know each other on the walk home.
My goodness, Maisie huffed. You just brought a stranger back from the street? Did you at least stow your valuables?
Maisie! Eleanor was irritated. What on earth is that supposed to mean? Hes a doctor, for your information. A radiologist.
Oh? Did you check his certificates?
Exasperated, Eleanor frowned. Werent you just telling meabout the avocado?
What avocado?
Eleanor remembered that evening, in this very kitchen The avocado had been sliced into delicate green ribbons, gradients shifting from deep grassy skin to milky olive by the stone. Eleanor, never confident choosing avocados, would linger at the grocery, weighing every bumpy fruit, pressing them gently and pondering their ripeness.
Sometimes, she felt shed finally mastered it, and joyfully brought home her prize (she found out, to her surprise, that avocados are technically berries). At home, shed sink a knife with anticipation into the flesh. More often than not, however, it went in with stubborn resistance, like a potato; she knew then the taste wouldnt be quite right. Shed leave the unripe fruit to ripen on the counter for a few daysthen it became just passable.
But that time, Maisie herself had found the perfect one. Eleanor took up a fork, teased a slice from the creamy flesh, and tasted it. No need to chewjust let its nutty, green freshness fill your mouth, and for a moment, nothing else existed
You said then, Eleanor recalled aloud, that you cant always judge by how an avocado looks, or even how it feels. A good one, you have to sense.
Maisie squinted. And whats that got to do with men?
Well, you always seemed to have an instinct for bothunlike me, Eleanor confessed, head bowed.
So did you, er sense something about this Arthur? Maisie struggled to remember the newcomers name, still unimpressed.
It just felt quiet next to him. Despite all the busyness of the market, everything softened. I thought, does it matter that hes so plain?
Hm All right. Best not keep him waiting, anywayhe might start missing you.
Maisie bundled her friend back out the door, sugar tin in hand, and pressed her ear to the crack. She heard Eleanors door softly click shut. All was peaceful.
Well, who knows? she mused, returning to the kitchen, finally dipping her whisk into the cake filling.
Meanwhile, Eleanor stepped into her hallway and there was Arthur, still donning her apron decorated with doughnuts, now standing on a battered stool, pressing a sheet of wallpaper smooth against the wall.
SorryI found it in the kitchen while I was looking for a jar for the dill. The paste was right there too. I just thought is it all right? he asked, wobbling a bit.
Eleanor leapt over and caught his unfamiliar legs, steadying him. She gently felt his knees under rough jeans, the way she would an avocado, searching for ripeness, and realised with surprise, Hes mine.
Arthur stood utterly still, perhaps worried the wallpaper would fall before it stuck. Or perhaps, not wanting to frighten off something tender and new.
Finally, he let go and hesitantly smoothed Eleanors light hair.
Do you like avocados? she blurted, eyes squeezed shut.
Adores them! Arthur replied, quite honestly, though hed never tried one.
Just then, as if on cue, a warm sheet of wallpaper settled over them, damp with paste. Or perhapsit was something like happiness.
