All she wants is fenugreek leaves. He’s phoned from Sainsburys to ask if it’s the same as fennel. Then Marks have the seeds but not the leaves. ASDA have never heard of it. He wants to get home now if that’s alright, he’s got everything else on the list. She phones the farm shop. They might have it - for the price of a quick flight to pick it.
They have closed early for New Year’s Eve.
It's only bloody fenugreek! Suddenly she’s back in Tooting, single Saturdays, rooting through the market, cassava and salt fish. On the beach in Tanga, prawn curry bubbling, moonlight swimming. Zanzibar, Marrakesh, Sandakan. Bloody Wiltshire.
Bloody domestic bliss.
She leafs through the recipes, looking for alternatives.
And finds resolution.
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