Page 82 of Loving Netta Wilde

He squeezed harder.

‘You’re a bit goofy with that whole hermit thing you’ve got going on, but I think I love you, Dad.’

‘Okay.’

She tutted loudly. ‘This is the point where you’re supposed to say I love you too Merrie, my incredibly stunning, amazingly witty daughter.’

He wiped his eyes which were inexplicably damp. ‘Sorry. I love you too, Merrie, my incredibly stunning, amazingly witty daughter. I really, really do.’

‘Hmm. Better. You can buy me lunch now. And we can talk about our trip to see Grandad Nevin.’ She took his arm again and pulled him along in the direction of the High Street. ‘Do you think Grace would like to come with us?’

‘Not sure. Grace is upset with me. I don’t know if I can fix it.’

She frowned. ‘Do you know what Mum says about you?’

Doogie could think of a lot of things Claire might say about him. None of them good. ‘What?’

‘You’re a compartmentaliser. You like to put people into boxes and keep them separate.’

‘She’s right. I am. A lot of the time I do it without even realising.’

‘Ever thought about opening up the boxes and setting all those people free?’

Yes, he had, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope with the fallout. He wasn’t sure if everyone else would cope either, especially with all this Colin crap going down.

46

THE POWER OF CHICKEN SOUP

‘Well, you look a bit of state, I must say.’ Geraldine was standing by the bed with a tray of something that smelled rather delicious.

Colin had no idea when the last morsel of food had passed his lips, touched his tongue, or slid satisfyingly into his belly. Although given that he’d lost several days at least, that didn’t count for much. For all he knew, someone could have force fed him a whole roasted pig during his dark period, although his stomach was suggesting such a theory was highly implausible. That particular organ was screaming out to be satiated.

Geraldine moved the tray closer. ‘Do you think you could manage a bowl of homemade chicken soup?’

‘I’m pretty sure I could eat a vat of it.’

‘Let’s start small. We can build up to a vat later.’ Did Colin detect a smile from the old girl? Well, well. Things must be bad if even Geraldine was being nice to him.

She rested the tray on his lap and the aroma of chicken hit him. And was it tarragon? Yes, he believed it was. He spooned it in too quickly and some of it dribbled down onto his chin. Oh but the creaminess of it. It was divine.

‘Steady on, you’ll make yourself sick. Take some bread with it.’ Geraldine sat on a chair that had mysteriously appeared at the side of the bed since he’d been asleep.

He wiped the stray soup from his chin. ‘Sorry. I’m very hungry and this is so good. You’re a damn fine cook, Geraldine.’

‘It has been said before. Take it slowly.’

Colin tried, he really tried to take it slowly, but it was like he’d been taken over by some gluttonous, ravenous animal. Even when he got to the bottom of the bowl, he was scraping his spoon around it and mopping up the dregs with the last chunk of gorgeously crusty bread.

Geraldine wrestled the tray off him and put it on the floor. ‘Let it settle now. I’ll bring you more later.’

Colin lay back on his pillow. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted more this very minute. But his stomach was already fighting him. A huge burp came out of nowhere.

‘That’s because you ate it too fast,’ said Geraldine.

‘Sorry.’ He closed his eyes in the hope that she might take the hint and bugger off. When he opened them again, she was still in the chair, hint not taken. ‘Are you going to just sit there and watch me?’

Geraldine crossed one leg over the other. ‘No. I’m going to sit here and talk to you.’

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