Amuse bouche... Home alone

The only person Ed could think to ask was his brother, Cillian.

Cillian lived in Perth, which was far enough away that he might not judge Ed harshly.

Orla had been in hospital for three days with her appendix, and Ed was struggling.

“One of the mothers was at the school this morning with lunches for the kids,” he said. “It was a bit mortifying, but handy all the same. I was cringing in case anyone noticed, but I kept the head down and just let her shove them into the boys’ bags.”

“Had you made them lunches?” asked Cillian.

“Of course I’d made them lunches,” Ed said, indignantly. “I’m not an idiot. But these women keep forcing food on me like I’m going to forget, or I don’t know how to cook.”

“Obviously, Orla’s told them all sorts,” said Cillian.

“Not helping,” said Ed.

“OK, well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” said Ed. “Like, do I bother making lunches tomorrow, or will your one have food for them again? There was lovely looking pasta and everything. I’d only given them ham sandwiches, a yogurt and an apple. Do they still get milk at school?”

“I’m in Perth, Ed, how would I know?” said Cillian.

Why had he called Cillian, thought Ed. He was useless in a crisis. But he couldn’t ring anyone else, because they’d tell their wives and their wives were the same ones who’d brought four shepherd’s pies so far and, to be honest, even though Ed could make a fair shepherd’s pie himself, it was nice not to have to.

“Why don’t you ask Orla?” Cillian said.

“Because she’d burst her stitches,” said Ed, “livid that everyone’s helping out the man, when no one would be rushing in with cold pasta-pesto and casseroles if it was her home alone.”

“Make the lunches, just to be sure,” said Cillian. “Your one might have been a once-off and if the kids have no lunch, Orla will go spare when she hears.”

“True,” said Ed. “And do I need to tell them to stop bringing dinners?”

“Are they nice dinners?” asked Cillian.

“Yeah, mostly,” said Ed. “And a couple of the mothers have come in for a glass of wine, and sure it’s been nice to have a bit of adult company.”

“You’ll be cooking for your book club with the girls next,” Cillian said with a laugh.

“Shut up,” said Ed, “and not a word to Orla.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cillian, sounding like he meant the opposite.

Why did I ask a bloke for advice? Ed thought. The women were the ones who had it sussed.