“Do you see anyone else here?”
Helen hung her handbag on the back of a chair and shrugged out of the denim jacket. She saw Andrew’s lips purse and knew he was fighting the urge to criticise the jacket. She almost slipped it back on.
She felt awkward as she watched her husband in the kitchen. There was nothing she wanted to say to him. Nothing either of them could say. Not to mention, this was the first time she’d seen him cook in thirty-five years. It was as though she’d slipped into another dimension.
“Nice dress,” Andrew muttered as he spooned out the spaghetti sauce.
Helen almost fainted on the spot. He noticed her dress? He gave her a compliment? Who was this man?
“Sit,” Andrew ordered. So she sat.
He plonked a huge plate of spaghetti bolognaise in front of her. “I don’t know what the big deal is about this cooking. Seems to me you’ve been complaining for years about nothing.”
Ah, there he was, the Andrew McInnes she knew so well. “Cooking is great if you do it now and then. Try doing it three times a day for thirty-five years and see how it feels. Then add to that the fact you’re supposed to read everyone else’s minds and know what they want to eat, so that you don’t have to listen to the whining and complaints when you dish up something they don’t want. Yeah, it’s a blast.”
Andrew glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I suppose if you put it like that, it’s not much fun.”
Helen dropped her fork with a clang. Andrew McInnes had heard something she said. Actually heard it and took it in. It was a red-letter day. Someone inform the Pope.
“So where did you go today?”
Nope, she was wrong. Now was the time to inform the Pope of a miracle. He’d asked a question about her day. She stared at him.
“Well?” he prompted, sounding his usual grumpy self.
“I drove to Fort William and had a look at Glencoe.”
There was silence. Helen forked the pasta. The sauce wasn’t bad, considering she was sure it came out of a jar. He was cooking—yeah, right. He’d boiled water, browned off some meat, added a jar of sauce and cooked some pasta. No wonder it wasn’t that big of a deal to him.
“Is that where you got the dress?”
She stared at him. “Yeah.”
“They have it in any other colours?”
She nodded.
“Maybe we should go back and get you the rest.”
That was it. Helen put her fork down and turned to him. “Okay, what’s going on?”
He tried to look innocent. “Nothing. We’re having a nice dinner.”
She folded her arms. “We never have a nice dinner. Usually we eat in silence or you watch sports while you eat and I sit beside you. What’s with the conversation?”
“Can’t a man
take an interest in his wife?”
“I’m sure he can. But you never do.”
He glared at her. “Eat your food.”
Helen stared at him for a moment, before picking up her fork. She was uneasy. She wasn’t sure whom she was having a meal with. They ate in silence for a while. Now this she was used to.
“Did you have a word with Josh about marrying that woman?” Andrew said.
“That woman’s name is Caroline.”