Page 51 of The Chef

She’s won.

I get it.

She’s proved herself. Good for her.

I’m man enough to admit it when I’ve lost. Bay can cook.

“So,” she says. “What do I do? When do I start?”

“Come round to my apartment tomorrow at noon,” I reply. “We can work through a new menu.”

Bay nods, and I know that I’m going to have to eat the rest of the steak before I leave. It’s just that good.

17

BAY

I’m helping Pearl play with her dolls in the living room when my brother walks in with a panicked look on his face. Davy’s on the sofa, playing his Nintendo Switch but he puts it down, worried, when his stressed-out dad flies in.

I glance up from the doll set Pearl and I are playing with when Fisher enters. “What’s wrong, Fisher?” I ask.

“Work’s just called,” he replies, looking at Pearl sitting on the living room floor with her dolls. “They need me to come in today, right now. There’s been a gas leak and I’m the only one who can fix it.”

Work?

Fisher had today off. This was meant to be his day with the kids.

“You’ve been called in?”

“Yeah,” Fisher replies. “Can you do me a massive favor and take care of Pearl and Davy for me today.”

“It’s meant to be your day off, isn’t there anyone else that can sort this out?”

“I know, and I can’t,” my brother says, his face downtrodden. “But work sounded pretty urgent. I need to go in. I’m really the only one who can fix this.”

“Daddy?” Pearl asks, her big round eyes pleading with him. She doesn’t fully understand what’s happening yet, but she knows her dad’s got bad news. “Where are you going?”

Fisher leans down to her level. “I need to visit work, honey. They really need me right now.”

“You said you were going to play dolls with us.”

He takes her tiny hand in his and strokes it. “I know, sweetie, but daddy has to go into work.”

“Okay,” Pearl lowers her face, unable to conceal the sadness in her voice.

She really loves her daddy.

She needs to spend time with him.

“I’m sorry, Bay,” my brother says, turning to me. “Are you able to do me this massive favor?”

“Okay,” I reply. I know why he has to go in but it’s disappointing he has to leave his kids behind. Another day of them without their dad on top of all the other days of the week he works.

It’s not good for them.

“You’re a superstar,” Fisher replies to me, hastily ushering himself out the front door. I don’t expect him to leave so quickly. By the time I stand up, I can already hear his car zooming off down the street.

And then I remember.