going to be treating everyone and everything in the pub with a fair amount of suspicion.

Pete drove them back to The Queen Anne. The sun was out, which added insult to injury, as far as

Sammy was concerned. The sky should have been as miserable as he felt. When Pete pulled the car

into the front courtyard and cut the engine, he asked Sammy what he wanted to do next.

Sammy huffed again. He could see people sitting in the beer garden, mostly regulars. They were all

gazing his way. “I just want to go upstairs and chill out.”

“Sure.” Pete unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car. He came around to Sammy’s side, to

assist him in getting out of the car, much to Sammy’s annoyance. He felt a little woozy, and a lot

tired. Maybe those painkillers were pretty strong after all. Ushering him through the pub’s side door,

Pete escorted Sammy up the stairs.

Sammy ignored the sounds filtering in from the bar; music, chatter, laughter. It sounded like a busy

afternoon, relatively normal. Irritation flowed through Sammy. This wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t. First

the dumb waiter’d had it in for him, now he’d been the victim of some random...accident.

Sammy looked at Pete. “I don’t suppose Matt was anywhere near me when I fell over, or whatever

it was I’m supposed to have done?”

Pete shrugged, his face blank. “Wish I knew. Apparently, I was in the room, along with two

paramedics, who were also out cold. Ryan was there too, but Matt was out in the hall. No one seems to

know more than that.”

“Ugh.” Sammy glared down at the stairs as he trudged up them. “That’s just...stupid.”

“Hmm...”

Sammy wasn’t sure if Pete agreed or not, but he didn’t seem to have much more to say on the

matter.

Arriving on the first floor, Sammy glared once in the direction of Matt’s kitchen. It wasn’t as noisy

as it usually was, but he could still hear music playing. He rolled his eyes again, and let Pete lead him

through the staff door, and up to the second floor.

“There’s plenty of hot water – for once – if you want a shower?” Pete asked.

The thought of wrapping up his cast and faffing around to have a shower seemed like far too much

effort. Sammy shook his head. “Think I’m gonna watch TV for a bit.”

“Okay. Want me to do anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Cheers.”

“Okay,” Pete said, about to leave. “Oh, almost forgot.” He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket.

“One of the policemen found this. I think it’s yours.”

His mobile phone. Sammy accepted it with his good hand. “Awesome. Where was it?”

“No idea. Somewhere in the bar, they said. One of them handed it in.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

Pete smiled at him. “Call me if you need anything. Rachel’s come in to see us, so I’ll be downstairs

with the others.”

“Thanks, Pete.”

As Pete left the kitchen, Sammy switched on his phone. The screen flashed to life. He had only two

bars of reception, the norm for up here in the kitchen. Sammy waited, watching the messages appear

on his screen. He flicked through them, a cursory glance. The messages dated from Friday or Saturday

night, when his phone had gone missing. They were from various mates, asking if he was coming out

clubbing. None of them were close friends, more clubbing buddies. No other messages. Sammy felt

more than a little peeved at that.

Didn’t anyone know he was injured?

He left his phone on the kitchen table, and went to inspect the fridge. He was starving. He needed to

eat something now, but he wasn’t holding out much hope for there to be any food worth eating.

But when Sammy wrenched open the fridge door, he was greeted with a surprise. On the middle

self, right in his eye line, was a plate of food covered tight with cling-film. A yellow post-it note was

stuck on top, with the scrawl Sammy.

Intrigued, Sammy picked up the plate with his good hand, nudging the fridge closed with his hip.

Through the film, he could see that it was a massive slice of homity pie – his favourite! – along with

coleslaw, slices of ham, shredded beetroot, and a small, dainty pork pie.

Wow.

Sammy wasn’t sure if this had been Matt’s idea, or he’d been coerced into it by Pete, but he wasn’t

about to turn it down. Grabbing a fork, he sat down at the kitchen table and unwrapped his lunch. The

TV was on, tuned into some boring day-time programme. Sammy didn’t pay it much attention to it as

he hungrily devoured his food. After being fed hospital crap for two days, he certainly appreciated the

freshness of home cooked food. This was heaven.

It didn’t take him long to eat. When he was done, Sammy left his plate on the counter, and swiped

the bottle of lemonade from the fridge. He shuffled along the hall to the living room. He was so tired,

and just wanted to veg. He couldn’t even be bothered to choose something to watch. Maybe he’d have

a doze. He’d only just switched the TV on and sat down, when a figure appeared in the doorway.

Sammy jumped slightly, surprised, but it was only Matt.

“Christ, Matt, don’t creep about like that. You trying to give me a heart attack?”

The big oaf shifted nervously on the spot. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Sammy’s eyes noticed what he was carrying. A plate, with what looked suspiciously like a slice of

cake on it. Even though he was full, Sammy’s stomach took immediate interest.

“What’s that?”

“Hm? Oh, I, um, made you banoffie pie.”

Sammy’s jaw dropped. It was a good thing he was already sitting down, or he may have fallen over

in shock. “I’m sorry, Matthew, I think I just hallucinated. What did you say?”

Matt shifted again, and a slight frown appeared on his face. Either he was concentrating really hard,

or he was getting annoyed. “I said, I made you banoffie pie. I thought...you liked it?”

Sammy was speechless, and that didn’t happen often.

Matt waited for a moment, then huffed in annoyance, and strode into the living room. He placed the

plate, with a fork, on the coffee table in front of Sammy. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t –”

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on.” Sammy sat up, eyeing Matt carefully. “Who says I don’t want it? I’m just

wondering if, y’know, you’ve laced it with arsenic, or something.”

Matt straightened in surprise, shock written over his face. “Why would I do that?”

Sammy rolled his eyes. “Oh, chill out, Matt. I’m only teasing.” He reached out with his good hand

to grab the plate, before Matt could take it away. “I do like banoffie.”

Matt watched him take the plate, and the fork. He nodded, somewhat furiously. “That’s what I

thought.”

“Yeah.” Sammy ignored Matt, focussing on the big slice of cake. It looked delicious, a work of

food art. Fluffy and creamy, with chocolate curls on top. Mmm. Sammy’s fork dived in. He raised a

forkful of cake to his mouth. Just as he was about to eat, he noticed Matt was still watching him.

“What?” Sammy demanded.

Matt looked away. “Nothing.”

Sammy pulled a face, looking at Matt in confusion. What was up with him?

“Um...” Matt fiddled with the edge of his t-shirt. Sammy noticed he wasn’t wearing his greasespattered

clothes for a change, he was actually wearing something clean.

Sammy’s eyebrow crept up higher. “What, Matt?”

“I just wondered, what did you want for dinner?” Matt asked quietly. “I’ve closed the pub kitchen

now. Having the night off. I’ll make you dinner, if you want.”

While Sammy was surprised – again – his stomach cheered at the idea. Truthfully, he hated

cooking. Loathed it. Now Matt was offering to cook him dinner? Even though his instincts screamed

that this was suspicious, Sammy wasn’t about to turn it down.