1915 19.15 LYN

19.15 LYN

Soon now. She must stop looking out of the window. She leaves it open.

Gets the streusel topping out of the freezer. Now the mulberry mixture: three and a half cups of … mulberries. They look a bit limp. Seven tablespoons of lovely sugar, she licks her fingertips. Three tablespoons of flour, she rinses her fingertips. One teaspoon of fresh grated, well OK finely finely finely chopped and a bit crushed ginger, five teaspoons of easier than ginger orange zest and fresh orange j-

Shit. She drank all the juice this morning. Checks: needs two and a half tablespoons. She looks in the fridge, milk, beer. Wine? Thinks shops, Wood Street, no, Westgate, the Polish shop, the station, cartons, looks at the time. Checks for texts, missed calls. He could bring some. Rings.

Doesn’t leave a message.

Rings again, ‘Hi, it’s me. Look, I’m looking … look … hope you had a good … day. If you’re coming past the station or that shop could you – ’

It sounds ridiculous. Like they are living together, like she’s his … wi…par … girlf …

Lyn takes a slurp of wine, walks over to the window.

The beep of his answer phone cutting off.

The top of her key lime pie neighbour’s grey head bobbing around over her window sills a floor up, busy at something.