Green Beans and Summer Dreams

I drop the note onto the table, my heart sinking into my fluffy mules. Mechanically, I fill the kettle and reach in the fridge for milk.

None.

But what I do find is the bag containing three aubergines, bought when I had high hopes of feeding Erik moussaka with Greek salad and a bottle of Jamie’s best burgundy.

The aubergines are now streaked with brown, well past their sell-by date.

You and me both, I reflect sourly, as I drop them one by one into the bin.

My mobile springs to life upstairs. I can’t be bothered to go charging up for it so I let it ring. Then I remember Anna promising to phone at eight to check I’m OK. Glancing at the clock I see it’s dead on eight. She’ll worry if there’s no reply. I take the stairs two at a time and fling myself at the phone.

‘Hi, Anna?’ I pant. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not killing myself. Not today, anyway!’ To emphasise the point, I force a laugh but it comes out more like a deranged cackle.

There is silence at the other end. Then a deep voice says, ‘Well, that’s excellent news. I’d hate to lose a customer.’

‘Sorry?’

‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry,’ the voice assures me smoothly. ‘Oh, hang on. Could you excuse me for just one moment?’

I hate cold calls. I sometimes say, ‘Hang on a sec, I’ll just get her,’ and then go off and do my ironing or something. But his voice intrigues me so I decide to wait and find out what he’s selling. There’s a rustling sound as he covers the mouthpiece. Then he comes back on. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Fraser. Could you possibly hold for just a few seconds longer?’

This is the point at which I really would hang up. But because I’m startled he knows my name (and because he really does sound genuinely sorry), I find myself saying, ‘Er, yes. No problem.’