Soup, she thinks. That's what you give someone when they're not feeling well. She looks down at the bowl of soup in her hands, and she doesn't entirely remember preparing it, but that's how it works, isn't it? You lose track of what you're doing, and find it done. That seems typical. She sets the bowl and a spoon before him, gives his hair an absent pat, and goes to carve him a slice of bread.

Once Jack's all set for food, she starts to put away her shopping. "Have you been sleeping all right?" she asks, a little cautiously. She doesn't want to interrogate the lad, but he's never had trouble sleeping before - well, not since those first few months, when everyone had been a bit unsettled, and he'd been missing his mother so keenly.