Help in the Kitchen

Elena had invited a handful of friends for a big Sunday lunch, but by ten o’clock it was clear that she had been overambitious. The kitchen was a battlefield, the oven was behaving strangely, and the guests were due at one. In desperation she phoned her brother Marcus. “Please help me,” she said.

Marcus turned up at eleven, still half asleep. Elena steered him into the kitchen, where vegetables covered every surface. “Please help me with the salad,” she said, handing him a knife. He worked quietly for an hour until the bowl was full, and she hugged him. “Thank you, Marcus. I could not have done it without you!”

At one o’clock sharp, Sofia and Dan arrived. Elena showed them to the table, which she had decorated with flowers from the market. “This seat is for you, Sofia,” she said, and then, nodding towards the other, “and that seat is for him.” Dan bowed as if he had been offered a throne.

The guests were famished after the long walk. “Where is the bread, Elena?” Dan asked. She hunted through every cupboard in vain. It was Marcus who finally noticed it behind the oven, where she had left it to keep warm and promptly forgotten. “Here it is!” he said, presenting it to them with a flourish.

When the plates were empty and the others were still chatting, Marcus quietly began to wash the dishes. “Thank you,” Elena said, drying a glass beside him. “You helped me today, and I will help you next week, I promise.” They laughed together, tired and content.