The Other Side of Yes by Kerrie Noor

Author:Kerrie Noor [Noor, Kerrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kerrie Noor
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THE LEAN-TO

A lean-to has little to do with leaning

Sheryl

Helen and I were in The Taj when Neff walked past, looking particularly smart for a stroll in Lochgilphead. I was leaning against the kitchen doorway, mid hot flush, while Helen was in the kitchen with Tenzam. He had ideas for a better kitchen and seemed to think Helen and I could work miracles. She was doing her best to be optimistic.

The kitchen was smaller than a two man tent; how The Chef cooked in it was a miracle of breathing in. No wonder the guy was skinny. Only two people could stand in it at a time and even then they were so close you could tell if they had cleaned their teeth.

Tenzam’s teeth sparkled straight and white, I noticed, as he talked about the need for more bench space for packing and plating up. In this egg box of a place—no chance, I thought.

The kitchen consisted of a sink the depth of a grave, a tandoori oven also the depth of a grave, an ancient, scrubbed within an-inch-of-its life gas hob with six hob burners and a shelf above groaning with black seasoned-to-fuck woks and pans. Beside the sink was a bench the size of a chopping board with a pile of unruly receipts and above was a microwave, precariously perched on a shelf that had been erected by someone with no idea what a spirit level was.

I’d always thought Neff was exaggerating about the place but if anything she’d toned down her descriptions. I peered out the window after her, but there was no sign. Where was she going, done up like that?

Helen, however, was seeing hope under the sink.

Tenzam bent to look, wafting aftershave and garlic my way.

“Packing under here?” he said. “This is not possible.”

“No, I meant you could store stuff under the sink, perhaps clear that bench and…Hmm.” She stopped, catching sight of the lopsided shelf.

The Chef shouted something at Tenzam. He, now on his second fag had spent the last hour parading the backyard while talking on his phone with a voice louder than a lawn mower. Tenzam looked up, hit his head and rubbed it. When he stood up, receipts fluttered to the ground.

Helen pulled a tape measure from her pocket and looked at me. “What about a small extension?”

Tenzam lifted a box from the top of the microwave and with a broad sweep of his arm filled it with the receipts. He dumped the box under the sink and then glanced from Helen to me. “What is this extension?”

I was just about to answer when I heard a woman’s voice behind me, speaking in Bangla. I turned to see a tiny Asian woman, who I assumed was Tenzam’s wife. She peered past me into the kitchen and handed Tenzam a mug.

“This is Hia,” he said while jiggling the microwave open.

Hia was nothing like I expected. I’d thought she’d be more…well, “sari-like”, at least wearing a headscarf. Hia wore nothing on her head.

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