“Oh, who’s this?” gasped Lucy as she stepped into her friend’s kitchen.
Beneath the warm glow of the lamp, tucked into the corner by the smallest cupboard, sat a balding man of about forty, looking rather forlorn. He was neatlythough deftlychopping parsley with Ellas wide kitchen knife.
“Lucy, this is Tom. Tom, this is Lucy,” murmured Ella, blushing furiously. “Heres your sugarcome on.” She shoved a tin marked with sugar crystals into her neighbours hands and hurriedly steered her into the hallway.
“Pleasure to meet you!” Lucy called loudly over her shoulder, casting a practised eye over Ellas “newcomer.”
Yet, even upon closer inspection, he made no impression. There were no details to justify his sudden appearance in Ellas apron, patterned with colourful doughnuts.
“Tom, Ill be back in a tick,” Ella called into the kitchen before shutting the door.
Thenin the dim hallwayLucy seized her with a grip like iron.
“Out with it!”
“Whats to tell?” Ella hedged, then sighed. “Oh, all right, come on.”
The two friends left the flat, crossed the cramped vestibule, and slipped into the neighbouring maisonette.
Lucys home smelled of cinnamon and Chanel, and every detail, from the snowy-white pouffe by the door, spoke of her fastidious care for her space.
“Not like mine,” Ella always thought sadly when visiting, reminded of the peeling wallpaper in her own hall.
“Out with it!” Lucy insisted again, adding sugar to a bowl of cream before fixing her with a stare, whisk in hand.
“What about your Reginald?” Ella dodged.
“At his meeting. Wont be back for ages. Well?”
“Well what? Saw him at the market. Picked him up, didnt I?”
“How dyou mean?” Lucy frowned sceptically.
“Well, there he was, this bloke with herbs. Decent-looking coat, but a bit lost. So I asked, How much for the parsley? And he says, How about I give it to you? I said, Whats this about, then? And he goes, I made a ruleif a woman with sad eyes comes by, Id give her everything. Take it, he says, grew it myself.”
“And you just?”
“Well, I took it. Turned to leave, then said, What makes you think my eyes are sad? Theyre not sad at all. And he just looked at me, quiet-like. Then he picked up my bags and walked beside me.”
“And you?” Lucy forgot the whisk in her hand and absently scratched her tousled fringe with it.
“And I walked, thinking what to do. Then decidedwell, hes clearly at loose ends. Might as well. Met him in the street.”
“Honestly! You brought a stranger home just like that? Did you even hide the silver?”
“Lucy!” Ella snapped. “What nonsense! Hes a doctor, by the way. Radiologist.”
“Oh? Seen his credentials, have you?”
“Listen, youre the one who told me” Ella faltered, “about the avocado.”
“What avocado?” Lucy was thoroughly lost.
But Ella was already remembering that evening at this very table
The avocado lay before her in delicate slices, its colour shifting from deep green near the skin to milky-olive by the stone.
Ella had never been any good at picking avocados. At the grocers, shed hover over the glossy dark fruits, running her fingers over their dimpled skins, pressing lightly to guess the flesh beneath. Shed set one aside, pick anotherminutes slipping away as she sought the secret of the perfect fruit.
Sometimes she thought shed cracked it. Then shed rush home with her prize (only to learn once it wasnt a vegetable or fruit at all, but a berry). Straight to the kitchen, knife in hand, shed pierce the fleshonly to find it stubborn as a potato. Not ripe. Those shed leave on the table to soften into something passable.
But that night, the avocado on her plate was just right. Bought by Lucy, ever the better judge. Ella lifted a forkful, let the soft flesh melt on her tongue. No chewing neededjust the fresh, nutty taste filling her mouth.
“You said its not about looks,” Ella murmured, returning to the present. “Or even touch. A good one, you just know.”
“And whats that got to do with men?”
“Well, youve always had a knack. Like with avocados Not like me.” Ella lowered her head.
“So whatd you sense about this Tom?” Lucy struggled to recall the name, still unimpressed.
“It went quiet around him. Even with the market noise. And I thoughtmaybe its all right if hes just ordinary?”
“Right. Well, off you go. He might miss you.”
Lucy bustled her out, sugar tin and all, then pressed her ear to the door. A soft clicksilence.
“Suppose its fine. What if?” She returned to her whisk, sinking it into the cake cream at last.
Back in her own hall, Ella found Tom still in her doughnut apron, now perched on a stool, pressing a strip of wallpaper to the wall.
“Sorryfound this in the kitchen while looking for a jar. Glue was there too. Thought Id mind?” He wobbled on the unsteady stool.
Ella leapt like a cat, gripping his unfamiliar legs beneath dark trousers. Knees beneath the fabricshe pressed lightly, testing, like an avocados ripeness, then marvelled: “Mine.”
Tom stood frozenperhaps afraid to let the wallpaper slip, or fearing he might startle something fragile yet vital.
At last, he lifted his hands from the wall and gently touched Ellas fine hair.
“Dyou like avocados?” she asked suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Love them,” he admitted, though hed never had one.
And just then, they both felt itthe gentle rustle of wallpaper, still damp with paste, settling over them. Or perhaps it was happiness.
