Alfred trudged into his flat in Bristol, famished after a day cooped up in a taxi. The place felt emptier than usual—Elizabeth wasn’t there. He flicked on the kitchen light, hoping for something steaming in a pan. Instead, a note fluttered on the hob:
*“Darling, at Trudy’s. Gossiping. Call if needed.”*
He peered into the hollow pots, then ransacked the fridge, piling cold cuts and cheddar onto a plate. Tea stained the teacup as he devoured his meal, the fluorescent strip lights warping into shimmering halos. He collapsed into their bed, the duvet heavy as a fog, and drifted into a murk of sleep.
Elizabeth returned at nine, her heels clicking like castanets. Alfred jolted awake, stomach gnawing at itself. “Darling, d’you think we could eat?”
“I can’t, it’s too late,” she said, sharp as a snapped elastic band. “I’m trying to lose pounds.”
“And I’m trying not to starve,” he grumbled, miming a dagger to his throat. “I’ve been stuck in traffic all day. Can’t I have a proper bite?”
She sighed, the kind of sigh that rattles like a disused pendulum. “If you *must*… I suppose I could whip up something. Though I already had supper at Trudy’s. For you…”
“Ah. And what delicacies did you enjoy?”
“She got a country goose from her nephew. Cooked it with Bramley apples.”
“Roast goose?” Alfred’s eyes went round as farthings. “In apple sauce?”
“Of course.”
“And that’s why you’re always popping over?” He licked his lips, a snake charmer foraging for prey. “She’s been feeding you treats while I’ve been sustaining myself on Tesco value sausages?”
“Oh, stop it,” she huffed, but her cheeks bloomed like peonies. “I go because she’s lonely, that’s all. Want me to ask if she’ll cook for you too?”
“Madness!” Alfred barked, almost toppling the teapot. “You expect me to traipse over there *now*? It’s past nine!”
“Perfect timing,” Elizabeth cooed, already tapping on her iPhone. “She dotes on strangers. You’ll adore her.”
“No, no, no!” He flailed, but she was already murmuring into the receiver: “Ally’s starving, Trudy. Would you mind…? Yes, he’s free. Oh, you angel! He hasn’t tasted goose since…” Her laugh tinkled like shattered glass. “He’ll be right over, won’t you, darling?” she said, snapping the phone shut.
Alfred groaned. “You’re driving me mad. I’d sooner eat cardboard.”
“Go on,” she said, her pupils swirling like storm clouds. “She’s expecting you. The goose will cool.”
He trudged through the damp streets, the gas lamps pooling gold in the fog. Trudy’s house sat at the end of a cobbled lane, its windows glinting like old coins. The door creaked before he could knock. “Come in, come in!” A voice like honey and smoke.
The dining room hummed with twilight, candles sputtering in jars. Trudy’s goose sat on a bed of apples, its skin glistening as though dipped in molten amber. Alfred ate until his ribs ached, the meat dissolving into something otherworldly. “It’s like…” he mumbled, “like the food of giants.”
Half an hour later, he stumbled into the mist, his trousers too tight, his head a fog of saffron and cinnamon. Elizabeth’s flat was gone. A stranger’s key clattered in his hand. A child’s drawing taped to the door depicted a house that didn’t exist. He tried her number—the line buzzed with static, then a voice: *“You’ve reached a number that no longer exists. Please try again later.”*
Alfred never found his way home.
