Fliss turned from her place at the sink as Jenna made her way along the short hallway into the kitchen, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the little one Jenna plopped on the floor to be stepped on by Domino.
‘I take it no one has claimed her?’
‘Not yet.’ Jenna huffed out a breath.
‘Well,’ Fliss’s voice took on a sweet gentleness Jenna knew the children at school would respond to as her sister bent down to greet Fleur with a scratch to her head. ‘You’re most welcome to stay until Aunty Jenna finds your mummy.’
With doubts they ever would, Jenna held her tongue. The day had been long enough without regurgitating all of the facts to her sister. She needed a little break herself.
Fliss straightened and turned her back. When she turned around again, she had a glass of red wine in her hand and a grin on her face as she offered it to Jenna. ‘I've made pudding.’
So pleased with herself, Jenna plastered on a stiff smile for the benefit of her younger sister, but her stomach cramped in protest.
Pudding! She hoped to God there was more than pudding.
Quite honestly, she could eat a scabby horse, never mind a damned pudding. She could have sworn the aroma that had assailed her nostrils when she came through the front door had been a meaty, savoury scent. She had reason to doubt her sense of smell. Perhaps she needed to get it checked out.
She kept her grin as she accepted the glass of wine from Fliss whose eyes danced with pleasure, before turning away to open the oven. The blast of heat that rolled out reminded Jenna of the conversation with Charlie Cartwright on how hot a thousand degrees would feel. Five times hotter than the heat of that oven.
From the safety of a few paces away, Jenna squinted into the oven to try and imagine the ferocity of anything hotter. She’d had a small taste of it the other evening. From a safe distance, it had been ferocious.
The loud growl of her stomach drew Fliss’s attention and she turned from where she peered into the oven.
‘I made a rice pudding.’ The pride in her voice reverberated around Jenna’s poor, empty stomach. ‘Just like Mum used to when we were little.’ She slipped on a pair of oven gloves, reached into the oven and pulled out a stoneware casserole dish. The dark sugar-bronzed skin promised a delicious offering, but Jenna’s stomach still howled its protest. Fliss placed the dish on a cast-iron trivet by the side of the oven. ‘Comfort food.’ She dragged the gloves from her hands, placed them on the counter and smoothed them down before she grabbed a dishcloth from the sink, held it under the water until steam rose and then washed the counters clean.
With a jolt, Jenna shoved aside her own weak thoughts of savoury food and paid her younger sister instant attention as she scanned her soft features and clear sea-green eyes, finding nothing of concern there. ‘Comfort? Do you need comfort food?’ Perhaps something had happened at work. Or worse, between Mason and Fliss.
Fliss’s laughter bounced around the small kitchen. ‘No. Not at all.’ Relief flooded through and Jenna found herself relaxing against the kitchen counter. ‘It turned cooler this afternoon.’
Jenna hadn’t noticed. She’d been too embroiled in a first-stage interview with Lena, who had already lawyered up before Jenna had got there. The woman then proceeded to cry in a long drawn-out, dramatic waste of everyone’s time for the following two and a half hours.
Mentally and emotionally drained, Jenna made the decision to have Lena seen by the duty doctor and then settled down in the cell overnight until either the effects of the cocaine that she’d so liberally taken had worn off, or she made a decision to put the performance to one side and answer Jenna’s queries so they could all get on with their lives.
Eight in the morning was time enough for Jenna to reconvene. Although Lena’s solicitor appeared less than enthusiastic at the early start and suggested 10 a.m. As it didn’t suit Jenna, she rejected it. Her day would be well underway by then, and with so many incidents to deal with, she simply didn’t have the time to waste on a solicitor’s personal preference for breakfast time.
Jenna raised the glass of red wine to her lips and took a sip, determined not to criticise the divine rice pudding. She gazed around the kitchen in awe. Immaculate, wiped down, gleaming. So her sister had spare time enough on her hands to clean but not a sign of any other food on the hob.
Jenna glanced down at her work clothes. She could get changed, but if she went upstairs and so much as caught sight of her bed, she’d be asleep in no time.
Her stomach grumbled out its vocal protest.
She could always fling on a pan of pasta.
Fliss slipped the oven gloves on her hands again and turned her back on Jenna, as she slid a small roasting tin out of the oven and put it on the side, followed by a casserole dish. She lifted the lid from the casserole dish. The steam billowed out carrying the savoury scent of something divine enough to hit Jenna's taste buds and almost brought her to her knees.
‘Oh my gosh. What have you cooked?’
With a bright smile, Fliss hooked up a serving spoon and popped it in the casserole dish.
‘Are we expecting someone else?’ Jenna asked. She hoped not. Space and quiet was what she needed. And comfort food.
‘No, no, I think it's just the two of us tonight. Mason sent me a message to say he was off to the gym with Ryan. Some sort of boy bonding thing going on.’
Jenna had a vague recollection that it had been mentioned earlier in the day, but it had passed by in the fanaticism of their work. They’d wanted to return to the gym, check it out. Mason’s main reason was to ascertain just how fit young Ryan had become. Jenna suspected he was in for a bit of a surprise. And she couldn’t be arsed with the slide of testosterone kicking in.
‘Right. There's a lot for two.’ She’d manage at a push.
Fliss sent her a bashful smile. ‘He said he might drop by later. Just slip in. So, I'll leave enough for him and pop it in the oven to keep warm.’
‘So, this…’ Amusement laced her words as Jenna circled her hand above her head. ‘…All this food isn't just for my benefit?’
‘No.’ Fliss did a self-conscious jiggle of her shoulders as she picked up her glass of wine and took a sip as her face pinkened. ‘It's for my benefit. I wanted to do it. It makes me feel good.’
The warmth in Jenna's chest spread. Fliss was doing things for herself these days. Food was often hit and miss as she was a junk-food addict to the extreme, but when she decided to cook or bake it was because she was in a good place. A place of days gone by when their mum was alive and being in the kitchen was a social event. It brought with it a sense of relief and delight that she'd become so independent.
Things could have gone quite the other way. After her kidnap, Fliss could quite easily have become a recluse. Almost did, but to Jenna’s surprise and relief, Fliss had turned herself around. More energetic, more vibrant, more determined to live her life than ever before. The advent of Mason in her life had also driven that determination forward. She’d never admit it to him, she’d rather threaten to bury him if he disappointed her sister, but she loved him. Bastard that he was.
Fliss reached into the drawer in front of her, pulled out two sets of cutlery and handed them over to Jenna. Like clockwork, they interacted so free and easy together with unspoken communication. Jenna reached into the cupboard for three plates, assuming Fliss would prepare one for Mason.