Page 80 of In the Same Boat

‘I’ve got a bottle of Ruinart chilling, to start the evening off, and a nice bottle of white to go with the meal,’ he says. ‘We make a pretty decent team in the kitchen.’

‘Yeah, easy to say when you’re not the one actually doing the cooking,’ I point out.

I look at the ingredients, trying to figure out what order to do things in. Well, if I were doing this at home, step one would almost definitely be ‘open the jar’.

We have pasta, tomatoes, garlic, prawns, basil, lemons, olives, bread, a block of parmesan, two courgettes and an aubergine. To make a sauce, you basically just bung it all in a pan and simmer the life out of it, right? I can do that.

‘So, spaghetti in tomato sauce with prawns,’ I say. ‘Bread on the side. Easy, right?’

Nico stares at me.

‘What?’

‘If you say it’s easy, then yeah, easy,’ he replies.

He puts the courgette down, then moves to the drawer where the knives are stored.

‘Okay, boss, tell me what to do,’ he says.

‘You crack on with the starters, I’ll set about the sauce,’ I reply. ‘Wash the tomatoes,’ I remind him.

‘Yes, chef,’ he replies. ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t wash them?’

‘I know you like to live dangerously, so you never know, maybe you’re gung-ho about stuff like that.’

‘Well, I’m not, so please cook my prawns fully,’ he replies.

‘Yes, chef,’ I say, mocking his voice.

The kitchen is not really built for two people to cook at the same time. It’s probably designed for one competent person to move neatly through a small space, not for two clowns with no idea what they’re doing. Every time I turn, Nico is there. Every time he reaches for something, I’m in the way. We move around each other in awkward half-steps, apologising and then immediately undoing the apology by bumping hips, shoulders, elbows – at one point our entire bodies collide, slapping together.

‘Sorry,’ he says.

‘Quite all right,’ I say ever so formally.

‘I need the olive oil,’ he says.

‘Be my guest.’

We separate again, Nico grabbing the bottle of oil, taking it back to his post.

‘They’re a little thick,’ I say, noticing the slices of tomato he’s prepared.

‘They’re fine.’

‘They’re like four centimetres thick,’ I reply. ‘Half that would be plenty.’

‘Focus on your sauce,’ he says.

‘It’s simmering and it’s perfect,’ I tell him. ‘Here, let me help.’

I take a tomato from the bowl, set it on the board and demonstrate.

‘Like this.’

‘Wooow,’ he says sarcastically. ‘Can you do it again? In fact, can you do it all, if you’re so much better at it…’

‘Do it for you, essentially,’ I clap back.