Chapter 4: A Heart-to-Heart

I walked into the kitchen doing my best to look thoroughly unbothered. To hide my embarrassment, the first thing I did was open the fridge and stare mournfully at its meagre contents.

The shelves offered up a classic still life of student solitude: a half-used pack of butter, three eggs, half a tomato going soft under clingfilm, a piece of cheese of highly questionable freshness, and, for some reason, one lone mango yoghurt I definitely hadn’t bought. The thin fabric of my knickers and dressing gown clung pleasantly to my skin, and the cold air from the fridge cooled my overheated cheeks. I could feel, without even looking, the wolf sitting by the doorway, having instantly clocked that his fashion advice had been duly followed.

“Fried eggs,” I announced loudly to Grey, doing my best not to look his way. The wolf had already settled by the fridge and was watching my culinary efforts with the air of a strict restaurant critic. “And don’t look at me like that. It’s quick, practical, and perfectly edible.”

He shot a glance at the empty shelves, then back at me — sly and thoroughly expressive.

“Yes, I know. I need to go shopping. I’ll add it to tomorrow’s list,” I muttered.

I put the pan on the hob, dropped in a knob of butter, cracked all three eggs — not exactly a feast, but it was what there was. While the eggs sizzled appetisingly, I sliced the tomato, broke off two slices of stale bread, and put the kettle on. The movements were familiar, almost automatic — I cooked like this every time my head was too full of coursework to bother thinking properly.

Grey didn’t move the whole time. He sat on the floor, leaning slightly against the kitchen units, watching me closely. His gaze kept sliding from my hands down to my bare legs and the hem of my dressing gown, under which the outline of cream silk was just visible.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, without turning round, so as not to give away my flush.

A pause. Then a quiet, affirmative snort from behind me.

“I promised you meat,” I sighed, opening the freezer. “Right, there’s chicken breast. But it’s frozen solid. I could defrost it in the microwave, but that’ll take ages ... Or — hang on.”

Right at the back, in the darkest corner of the fridge, I found a vacuum-packed bag of sliced gammon. Almost a full pack, moist, with fragrant spices along the edge — I’d bought it three days ago for a friend visiting, and had completely forgotten about it. I turned round and held it up triumphantly for Grey to see.

“There. Not a rare steak, granted, but honest, decent meat. Will that do?”

He got up unhurriedly, came right up close, his body’s heat washing over my bare knees, and gave the packet a businesslike sniff right there in my hands. His wet nose brushed my fingers. The wolf gave a satisfied nod.

“Approved, then. Excellent.”

I tipped the gammon into a deep ceramic bowl and set it on the floor. While I laid a place for myself — plate, fork, bread, salt — I watched him eat out of the corner of my eye, thoroughly engrossed. To my surprise, Grey ate with remarkable neatness. Unhurried, with none of the wild, ravenous frenzy and flying scraps I’d have expected from a forest predator. At one point he lifted his head and caught me staring.

“What? I’m just watching,” I said, flustered, shifting in my chair. “You eat ... very elegantly, for a wolf. Aesthetically, even, I’d say.”

He gave a somewhat condescending snort, as though this were simply self-evident, and went back to his bowl.

The eggs turned out reasonably well. I sat down at the table, poured myself some strong tea, and for a while we simply existed there together in silence. The strangest thing was that the silence, in the empty flat at that hour, didn’t feel awkward or heavy. If anything, I felt oddly at ease.

Grey finished with the meat first, padded unhurriedly over to my chair, and lay down at my feet, resting his heavy grey head right on my bare feet. His fur was still slightly damp from the bath, fluffy and very warm.

“Can I just ... talk?” I asked quietly, wiggling my toes gently under his chin. “Just talk. Sometimes I really need to say things out loud to get my thoughts in order.”