While It's Still Hot

Once the beef has browned, add 1 1/2 tbsp of flour and stir well.

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Judy stirred the pot with delicate care. The smell of searing beef permeated the air. Once the flour had been mixed with the oil and fat to form a roux, she moved on to the next step.

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Then, add 2 tbsp of tomato puree.

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She squeezed it, straight from the tube to the pot. Years of cooking had given her an innate ability to measure things by eye. She didn’t even need to get her cookbook out to follow the recipe, but she still did. The drops of stock that had dripped onto the pages, splotches of yellow from whisking eggs with too much energy, areas where the paper had dried slightly crumpled after getting too wet, scribbled notes adding to the recipes she’d spent decades collecting. All of these little things that made the book hers. Finally, once the puree had mixed in, she could continue.

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Add 4 tbsp of red wine.

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Judy opened the fridge, searching through bottles and condiments. However, to her dismay, there was no wine in there. It’s no problem; she had another bottle. She pulled over a short stepping stool to the counter, the legs scraping across the tiled floor, before climbing up to reach the higher wooden cabinets. Once opened, her prize was revealed. A lone bottle of merlot, standing proud towards the back of the cupboard.

Bingo.

She reached up, stretching till she was standing on her toes. She reached and reached, fingers stretching out till her nails scratched the bottle. It was just a little too far. She took a short breath, lowering to her heels, before stretching up once again. This time, she used her left hand to push against the counter whilst reaching with the right, hoping to gain even more height. Almost. Almost. There! Finally, her hand clasped around the bottle, and she was able to lower herself to the ground.

After moving the stool back under the table, she searched through the drawers for a corkscrew. She riffled through forks and knives, spoons and skewers—she really must sort this drawer soon—before finding the silver corkscrew hiding at the back. Judy placed the bottle down on the counter before placing the drill-like head into the cork and beginning to wind. It was easy at first, but once she got halfway down, she found the resistance made it a little harder, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Pop!

With a small pop, the cork was finally free. Now, she could continue.

She walked back to the simmering pot on the stove and began to add the wine. But something was wrong. She gasped, clutching her chest. With no warning, the air seemed to have left her lungs. She tried to breathe, to manage the sharp ache that spread throughout her. Her hands tingled. Her fingers felt numb. She tried to inhale, but to no avail. The merlot had tipped and was now spilling onto the floor. She pushed off the counter, stretching out to reach the landline. Then…

Darkness.

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The smell of tomato and beef.

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The sound of bubbling liquid.

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A faint light, calling out to her.

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Slowly, with great effort, she opened her eyes. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, behind her, the stew was still cooking, and the wine was still spilling. She hurried to pick it up, but something stopped her. By her feet was a figure. It wore the same floral dress that she did. With the same cream apron gifted to her by her late husband. She paused, looking down.

Oh.

“It’s okay, don’t be scared”

She jumped with fright, whipping round to face the voice that had entered the room. There stood a man, a man who most definitely wasn't there before. He was younger than her, maybe in his 50s, and dressed in a black-and-grey three-piece suit. On top of his head was a hat, and, oddly enough, the look reminded her of the fashions from when she was a little girl. Something about him, though she couldn’t tell what, was so strangely… familiar.

“Who are you?” she questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I mean you no harm,” he replied. “I’m here to guide you.”

“Guide me? Guide me from what?” she asked, looking from him back down to the body on the floor.

He gave her a soft, almost bittersweet smile. “Not from, but towards.” He took a step forward. “I’m sorry to say, Judy, but your time has come.”

“No, no,” Judy said. “I’m not ready. I haven’t finished.” She gestured to the cluttered kitchen behind her. The pot on the stove was still bubbling, but the wine had since stopped pouring.

“I’m sorry, Judy, it’s time.” He held out his hand. “Don’t be afraid, there are people waiting for you on the other side.”

“Please,” she begged. “Please just let me finish.”

He looked at the pot, at the spilt wine, and the old cookbook, sitting on the side. Then down at her crumpled form lying on the floor.

“Okay.” He nodded before taking a seat at the small round table.

She smiled, eyes wet, before getting back to work.

Despite the interruption, the meal hadn’t spoiled. She picked up the wine, moving it to the back of the counter, before grabbing a tea towel, placing it onto the spill. It would probably be ruined after this, but then again, she supposed that was out of her control now.

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Add the chopped potatoes, carrots, and onions.

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She grabbed the chopping board where the prepared vegetables sat, then poured them into the pot, using the knife to scrape up any stubborn pieces. She stirred the melody of ingredients whilst looking back towards the man. He sat patiently at the table, having grabbed a newspaper to occupy himself with.

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Add 3 beef stock cubes, crushed.

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She crumbled in the cubes, the smell of the dish coming together.

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Finally, add boiling water till the ingredients are covered. Then, add some more.

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The last sentence had been scribbled in after she had first made the meal, having accidentally burnt some of the ingredients when allowing it to cook. She placed the kettle on to boil and took the time to clean up the kitchen.

She finished mopping up the wine, placing the now-soaked cloth in the sink. She disposed of the foil from the stock cubes, the ends of the vegetables, and the cork into the bin before wiping down the counter. The familiar whistle echoed out into the room, calming down once she grabbed the kettle, pouring the boiling water into the pot. She gave the stew one final stir, making sure everything was combined, before tapping the wooden spoon on the side.

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Add the lid. Place into the oven and allow to cook for 3–4 hours.

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After covering, she moved the pot into the preheated oven. She closed the door, grabbing a timer off the side, one in the shape of a tomato, and setting it. She walked over to the table, where the man was still reading, and sat opposite him, placing the timer down.

“We have a few hours,” she began. “What shall we do till then?”

He looked up from the newspaper, folding and placing it to the side. Afterwards, he looked over to the window next to them and gestured to the framed photos. Tell me about them,” he said, clasping his hands.

Judy smiled before picking up one of the photos. In it was a family sitting at a long table. Her late husband sat at the far end; to his right was she. Then what followed was their daughter, their daughter’s husband, their son, and next to him his wife. On the opposite side of the table was a mix and match of grandchildren, all leaning over each other to make it into the photo. She smiled.

“To begin, there’s my dear husband…”

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For hours, all they did was talk. The smell of cooked onion and beef drifted through the air. Rays of light peeked through the windows as the sun began to set. Outside, birds chirped. A strange peace had overcome the kitchen. The man listened, with genuine interest, to her stories and tales of her life, her husband, and her children. Not only did he listen, but he contributed too. He told her about his woes, his losses, and while he may not have told her what was yet to come, she got the sense that if it was anything like the man in front of her, then maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

Ding.

After what seemed like an eternity, the timer went off. Her stew was done. She stood up and walked over to the oven. Once it was off, she grabbed the pot, careful to use oven gloves, despite knowing pain was now something of the past. She placed it down onto the stove—she didn’t want to burn the counter after all—and lifted the lid. Inside was a delicious meal, one that would warm the soul and stomach. She grabbed two bowls, scooping ladles of broth, vegetables, and meat into each. Placing them onto the table, she grabbed two spoons, handing one to the man.

“Eat,” she said. “While it’s still hot.”

He dipped straight into the meal, scooping up a chunk of meat and potato, taking the first bite. His eyes widened, looking from the bowl to her. “This is perfect,” he said. “You truly are an amazing cook.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “It was my husband’s favourite.” She stirred the stew before taking a bite. “It was the first meal I ever cooked for him, and in that moment I knew he was the one for me.”

They both continued to eat, taking their time, appreciating every bite. Piece by piece, bit by bit. They took their time, enjoying the meal, savouring the taste, the feeling. The moment.

Soon, the sun was bordering the horizon. The room glowed with gold and orange, and both their bowls sat there, empty. The man patted his mouth with a napkin before finishing his drink.

“That,” he began. “Was truly exquisite. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“It’s nothing. Rather, I should be thanking you,” she replied. “Thank you for entertaining my last few moments.” She paused. “It’s been a while since I’ve shared a meal with someone.”

The man stood from his chair, reaching out his hand. “Are you ready?”

A small smile appeared on her face as her eyelids drooped. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “But I doubt anyone ever truly is.” She took his hand, taking a moment to look back toward the kitchen, her cookbook, the photos, and herself.

“They’ll be okay.” The man comforted her.

“I know.” She looked into his kind eyes. “I know.”

Together, they walked towards the door. What had once been an entry to the lounge now glowed. It was angelic, serene, something that touched her very soul.

“Let’s go,” he said. “After all, there are people waiting for you.”