The Cook, her Friend, the Smartphone and the Mother

He liked her immediately the moment he saw her. Her open face exhibiting a thousand tales of life’s triumphs and traumas. Her very broken English spoken with care, attending every syllable, firing at you, holding you to account. In return, she offered a feasting and meeting of minds, a tête-à-tête of shared understanding and insight, which, in the olden days might have doused her feet in flames, but nowadays was considered interesting, unique and prophetic.

She, in turn, was drawn to him. Such honesty, humour and empathy in a lad so young. Not without his flaws – his swearing was guttural – but he owned kindness, wit and a smile that together had the whole restaurant eating out of his hands. She could work with him, he made work more bearable and she enjoyed his banter which made the kitchen buzz with life. She would smile at his style and provide tasty treats for him during breaks.

Each night after work he would breeze home into the house, see his mother working late in the kitchen where he left her, still on the computer. She would always look up as he entered; he sensed her eagerness for a chat and it irked him slightly.
'How did it go tonight son?'
'Cool, busy but.'
'Did you get something to eat?'
'Yeah, Grace cooked me up some steak. It’s fine mum. I’m off out to meet the lads.'

And just as she was ready to close the laptop, he would be off upstairs to his room, changed, Lynx-spritzed and out the door before the kettle had reached the boil.
Tea and tiredness were her main companions then.

That summer evening, just as she was drifting off to sleep, a resonating ting on her WhatsApp snapped her awake. It was Kieran.
'I’m coming off the Island for a glorious break! Shall we meet up this weekend before I head to Glasgow? Let’s go to Calton Hill for a picnic? I could bake a Quiche. Let’s drink to celebrate our finished dissertations.'
Her eyes switched to the calendar on the wall.

Saturday:
Yoga
Pick up Compost
A&D Tyres
Research

She picked up her phone
'Yes come! I’m around.'

She had met Kieran on the same university course when they were doing their Masters. She loved his chatter, spontaneity, fierce feminism and love of language. He was an anachronism of youth – so out of his time but ahead of it too. She loved his rebuke of the political left and wokeness, but his steadfast socialism in action was more awoke and committed than many of her artisan 'lefty’ mates . Their banter defied all boundaries, including the 35 year age difference between them.

The Saturday train to Edinburgh was a laugh. By the time they reached Waverley Station they were already 2 vodkas down, heat from the summer sun fuelling their celebratory spirits and joie de vivre. Kieran decided he needed to go for a pee, and she, spotting the piano at the station, in a state of crazy exuberance walked over, sat down and began to play. She hadn’t played for years and God knows she was no Liberace then, but now as her fingers began to fumble around the piano keys, bits of broken Bartok awkwardly reverberated up and sidled self-consciously out through the cracks in the old station walls. She was glad when she spotted Kieran returning – it had been a bad idea.
'I didn’t know you could play.'
'I can’t – not well anyway. C’mon let’s go picnic!'

Heading out into the summer sun they wandered up Calton Hill, chatting freely all the way. The city was buzzing with festival bees and Kieran was happy to be drifting the city, energised and brimming with his Orkney stories and gossip. Reaching Calton, they wandered around for a bit, photo shooting, then finding a place to sit and got torn into the picnic. It was delicious – both could cook and their food collaboration felt special, heightened by the spectacular view over the city. Time passed quickly and soon the setting sun over the city saw little house lights switching up the cobalt skyline, like little Christmas calendar windows opening up new visual treats.

‘We better head,’ she said, searching for her bag. ‘Let’s check the train times back.’
She reached for her phone. It wasn’t there. She started to check under the blanket where they were sitting – no phone!
'Ring me Kieran, see if we can find it.'
He picked up his phone and called her number but no connection. She began to panic now as they hurriedly packed up.
'Let’s trace all our footsteps, we were up at the monument taking photos – you went to the toilet, go and look there – we’ll find it, it can’t be far away.'

Searching the toilet building she felt stressed. There was no sign of it – it felt a lot to lose.
Back out on the hill she spotted Kieran on his phone.
'It’s Isaac, he wants to speak to you.'
'Hi Mum, guess what I have sitting next to me?'
'Where are you Isaac?'
'In the house. Mum, have you lost something?'
'I’ve lost my phone, I didn’t leave it in the house though – I used it on the train for my ticket to Edinburgh. What are you saying? You have it there? How can you… ?'
'Grace knocked on our door. She found a phone left on a piano at Waverley station this afternoon. She had no idea it was yours. She didn’t know what to do with it but thought when she was walking home, 'I might be able to help her'. I thought it looked like yours. Your passcode is my birthday. I tried it and got in – mental eh!'
'That’s incredible Isaac – I can’t believe this! Thank God for Grace – please, please thank her, she really is amazing!'
'Yeah, she is – I think she’s a witch'
'She just might be… a good one.'