“Perhaps these nights in Edinburgh will become more frequent, and I'll be spending evenings alone more often than not. It's an unsettling thought. The Manse is different with Carrie in it. It keeps time better, it hides its other faces, the bathroom door stays closed and the boiler flame doesn't snuff out. It behaves like the mere pile of bricks it ought to be. God, I will have to cook. I head to the fridge and eye up the contents despairingly. It's by no means bare, but everything in it requires effort: chopping or prepping or frying or grilling or possibly all of those; Carrie would know. But the fridge door has been open too long; it begins a low accusatory beeping. I close it and consider my options. Fuck it. I can buy a microwave meal at the village shop.” FoodCookingChoresMeal Preparation Book:The Missing Years Source: The Missing Years