I put his favourite smoked fish pie, à la my version in the oven. Fresh smoked schnapper, sliced boiled eggs, steamed broccoli florets all blended in a smooth dill flavoured white sauce, topped with creamy mashed potato and grated cheese. A fresh rocket salad, complete with halved baby tomatoes and a lightly herbed vinaigrette maturing in a small crystal jug sat on the bench – its crisp, tantalising, freshness making my mouth water. I realised I was hungry. My erratic behaviour over the last few months had destroyed any sensible eating patterns. The return of the desire to eat seemed like a small nugget of hope.
“Hey weasels.” I headed upstairs to greet the expected wall of water in the bathroom. The boys had already eaten, their favourite meal too, chicken drumsticks, chips and salad. I wanted them clean and sweet smelling, ready for a goodnight hug and story from Cam when he got home – not the scenes of chaos and stress he had been coming home to lately.