Free Second Thyme Around by Katie Fforde

happy? Besides, the lighting in her kitchen was so bad you couldn’t see to do anything after sunset, which was horribly early at this time of year.
    She put on the radio and the mellow tones of an actor told her that the classic serial was something Russian and depressing. Par for the course, she thought, and attached a length of hose pipe to her hot tap. This she led into a black plastic bucket on the floor and added a squirt of washing-up liquid. While she filled a second bucket, she loaded the first with dirty plates. When she heard a loud bang on the front door she muttered an expletive and turned off the tap. She knew that by the time she got back to her washing-up, the light would be gone, the water would be cold, and the serial would have got to its tragic denouement. If people wanted to buy salad, they should buy it before lunch, not after.
    Her annoyance was rapidly replaced by anxiety when
she saw it was Lucas. ‘Oh my God! Is Kitty all right?’
    ‘Yes, of course! She’s indestructible. She got me to clean out the gutter before I left. No, I came back to help with the washing-up,’ he said.
    ‘Well, you can’t.’ Relief gave Perdita confidence. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m better off doing it on my own.’ She took hold of her door. ‘Now if you wouldn’t mind – my water’s getting cold.’
    This would have disposed of the most dogged doorstep salesman, but Lucas pushed his way into the house with a combination of force and determination. ‘I need to talk to you about the kitchen,’ he said.
    Perdita, having failed to keep him out of the house, was determined to keep him out of that devil’s brew of grease and dirty crockery. ‘You can’t!’ she repeated. ‘At least, not in it, and not now. Say what you want to say out here, and be very quick.’
    Lucas stalked purposefully towards the kitchen door. Perdita flew to it, barring his way like a Cavalier maiden protecting her hidden lover. ‘Really, you can’t go in!’
    ‘You’re forgetting that I carved the lamb.’ Lucas was every bit as ruthless as a Roundhead soldier intent on rape and pillage. ‘I know exactly what state the kitchen is in.’ Perdita found herself swept aside and watched helplessly as he opened the kitchen door. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ he demanded, seeing the buckets.
    ‘The washing-up,’ snapped Perdita. ‘What’s it look like?’
    ‘Good God! You’re not camping. Why don’t you use a bowl, like everybody else?’
    ‘Because I hate washing-up bowls! A bucket is far more efficient. You can actually submerge the stuff, for one thing. I have one bucket for washing and another for rinsing. Then they can drain in the sink. When I’ve taken everything out of it, of course.’
    Lucas shook his head. ‘You’re mad. Why can’t you do
anything the same way as anyone else?’
    ‘Why can’t you tell when you’re not wanted? I’m quite happy with my washing-up. It’s nothing to do with you how I choose to do it. I didn’t ask you to come back and help me!’
    Lucas looked about him. ‘No, I know. But you must admit it’ll take you hours on your own. And why don’t you put the light on? It’s black as pitch in here.’
    ‘The light is on,’ sighed Perdita. ‘Can’t you see it?’
    Lucas saw the single, naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. ‘For Christ’s sake! No wonder you don’t like cooking, if you try to do it in this black hole!’
    ‘I don’t try to do it in this black hole! I don’t try to do it, full stop! Today was a one-off, never-to-be-repeated experience.’
    ‘Well, I can see why.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad you can see something, because after the sun goes down, I can’t! But I can just about manage the washing-up by feel, so if you wouldn’t mind buggering off, I can get on with it.’
    ‘Why the hell don’t you get some lighting in there?’ called Lucas from the sitting room. He came back with a table lamp. ‘Where can I plug this in?’
    Perdita sighed.