They paid and walked home. The walk and their success at the supermarket made them feel more awake rather than sleepier. On the way home they talked and talked. Greta held the flan tin above her head. Every now and then they’d get a bit of a run on.

‘We’ll never need to buy salt again,’ Peggy said, holding up the huge container they’d bought. ‘We’ll be splitting it up between us at our fiftieth birthdays when we finally have enough money to move into our own places.’ They laughed and then fell silent. The future wasn’t any of their business, and where was Heidi and why wasn’t she here, with Dell?

At home they started getting everything together. They only had breakfast bowls so they made the mixture in three parts. Dell was good at converting everything into thirds. They often had thirty per cent off sales at her work. They turned on the oven. They hadn’t used the oven except for making toasted cheese, but it smelt okay. The people before them must have cleaned it pretty well. They didn’t have a cheese grater so Greta used a butter knife to cut up the cheese very small and then not so small as she lost interest in the task. Finally, it was time to put the mixture into the flan dish. It looked good. Then they put it in the oven and turned the light on and took turns looking at it through the oven door. It bubbled and shifted, and a few times they thought they’d fucked it up. They talked excitedly about what else they could make. They took turns looking through the cookbook. There were recipes for bread – could they make bread? It seemed impossible. They’d buy a grater. Maybe they could catch a taxi to the big supermarket across town and buy other stuff. Maybe they could meal-plan? Peggy had seen a magazine article about it.

The time was up. Dell wodged a couple of tea towels into her hands so she wouldn’t burn herself and she lifted the quiche out and it looked amazing.

‘Is it cooked in the centre?’

It was cooked in the centre.

They looked at it for a moment. It was late.

‘It’d be nice for breakfast.’

But they decided to eat it now. While it was warm. At least some of it, and then they would all take it for lunch tomorrow and see what it was like cold, and if it was okay then they’d make it on Friday night and wrap it in something and catch a bus and go to the picnic at the beach park. They wouldn’t ask anyone to take them. That seemed like something they wouldn’t do. Maybe they’d change their minds. You always needed a back door.