Page 96 of How We Began

Celery? Why?

Carrot? Really?

It all looks a little complicated, but I shall resist the urge to buy a jar of sauce and will do it myself. Who knows? I could turn out to be a Bolognese whizz, and could get myself a job in an Italian restaurant to pay for my studies.

Asda or Waitrose?

Asda: More appropriate for my student budget.

Waitrose: A far nicer shopping experience.

Bugger it. I’m going to Waitrose.

(5.00 p.m.)

Okay, that was more expensive than expected. I just spent a rather large sum of money on the makings of dinner for one. I did buy a case of wine, but that’s to go in the sauce. Well, some of it is.

I may just have a small glass before I start chopping, just to make sure it is okay to go in the Bolognese.

(6.00 p.m.)

Mmm. That is good wine. I can completely see why it was ten pounds a bottle.

(6.45 p.m.)

Fuck! I thought it was half price but checked the receipt and it was twenty quid.

That’s quite funny. I just drank a twenty-pound bottle of wine by myself! Whilst singing Adele at the top of my lungs. I’m sure “Someone Like You” was never meant to sound like that.

This is great, though. Here I am feeding myself, standing on my own two feet, enjoying some quality Lilah time. Life doesn’t get much better than this!

Okay, I’m going to go and cook and try not to drink anymore wine. I’m supposed to be putting it in the sauce.

23rd February

(9.00 a.m.)

I’ve a red wine headache from hell.

I don’t think any of the wine got in the sauce, but thankfully by the time we got around to eating, everyone was so pissed on the outrageously expensive red they didn’t notice. It’s a fact: I’ll never be offered a job in an Italian restaurant unless it is working in the scullery washing up.

I sliced the top of my finger off, mistaking it for a carrot, which I was trying to julienne.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a clue what ‘julienne’ means, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do it to your finger. Then Ben walked in on my culinary crime scene.

Annoying much? Glug, glug, glug.

I downed half a glass of wine, trying to distract myself from the blood fountain when he came dashing up, grabbing my bleeding digit and shoving it under the tap in the sink, which had made me go all weird and semi-pass out. It was embarrassing and not at all what I was aiming for when I’d started cooking.

I drank another half glass of wine to try and stop my pathetic heart palpitations caused by Ben holding my hand, bandaging the wound, then smoothing my hair whilst I tried not to pass out.

For future reference, squatting on the floor with my head between my knees is not a good look.

“What on earth are you doing, Lilah? His palm smoothed my hair, every damn follicle sang under his touch.

“Cooking,” I groaned into my knees.

“Yep, I see that.” Cue deep sigh. “But what are you cooking? Maybe I could, you know, help. If you like?”