next step.
At this point an assessment is undertaken that clearly demonstrates that it is way too risky to do anything and the paperwork is correctly filed and everyone moves on to the next project safe in the knowledge that there is no way public money is ever going to be wasted on actually doing anything in case it goes wrong.
Whilst at work, in-between shuffling papers and looking busy, Jonathan had time to think. Who is this girl? Why didn't she have any ID on her or even a phone, all girls have mobiles. It's like they are grafted on at birth or something. Must have something to do with her missing shirt. It was all a bit of a mystery. A kinda good mystery but a mystery never the less. Maybe it was time to ask a few questions to try and jog her memory.
...
A surprise awaited Jonathan when he arrived home. He was starting to get used to surprises so far all of them had been pretty good, well if you ignore the gaping hole in the kitchen ceiling that is. As soon as he opened the door the smell of cooking wafted to greet him gently guiding him into the kitchen area like a well-trained usher.
She had been busy while he had been at work
On the stove various pots were gurgling away like witches' cauldrons. Columns of steam rose to the ceiling where upon they billowed out before disappearing into the void created in the incident a few days ago. No need to put the extractor fan on then.
"I hope you don't mind. I found a cookbook in your drawer and thought I would cook you dinner for being so nice to me."
"Not at all." He replied amazed at all the activity. It was never like this when he made dinner but then again his dinners were somewhat simpler i.e. a toasted sandwich, steamed veggies, contents of a packet, etc. On one occasion he decided to be adventurous and make an omelette. He ended up with scrambled eggs but at least they were nice scrambled eggs.
She had raided his mother's clothes and come up with jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Still no bra though for which he was grateful and forgetful, especially while she was furiously mixing something in a bowl. He wasn't exactly sure what as his gaze was directed slightly elsewhere. Temporarily transfixed he completely failed to do any form of interrogation what so ever. The subsequent cake was nothing short of dreamy.
Not only had she whipped up a meal but also set a mean dining table as well complete with candles and a bottle of Bin 128 Shiraz. He was saving those for something special. Oh what the hell, simply having a girl in his house was special enough. By the end of the evening there would be several other empties to accompany it.
You may wonder what one says to someone with no memory. Well, it has to be said that the evening's conversation did tend to be a bit one sided but she seemed to be genuinely interested in what he had to say, encouraging him to continue and hardly ever taking her eyes off him. Whenever the topic swung towards her all she seemed to be able to say is, "I really don't remember anything."
He didn't want to push the issue too much. The truth is that deep down he was thinking, ‘if she never regains her memory then she may never leave.’ That led to the obvious fantasy of her deciding to become a permanent guest. There were several obvious practicalities that had not been considered at this stage but it's a fantasy so who cares.
At the end of dinner she insisted that she would do the washing up the next day and they retired to the TV area where another bottle of red was sacrificed and the evening's programs removed any need to talk.
At about 9:30 she said goodnight and wandered, well staggered, unsteadily off to bed bouncing off a couple of walls on the way. He was left alone with the remnants of bottle number one, two, three ... yes three and the Movie Show.
He must have started to phase out or something because a curious thing happened half way through one of the reviews. At one moment David, the male host, was taking about the theme of this movie being one of deception and lies and Margaret turning to face the audience and saying, "Yes all is not what it seems here. There are a lot of things here that don't make sense." It was almost like she was talking directly to him ... crazy. Now David was staring at him too, "Be very careful. Don't let yourself be taken in."
That felt kinda weird but not as weird as when he got up to turn the TV off, their gaze seemed to follow him.
...
Let's summarise the story so far shall we? A totally boring public servant has his life turned upside down when a partially clad girl happens to drop through his kitchen ceiling. Not only does this beauty afford Jonathan his first breast experience but it appears she is quite the whiz in the kitchen. Up to that point, Jonathan's life was about as exciting as ... how can I say this without being cruel to the boring twat ... I can't. Imagine the most boring life possible and you’re getting close!
Tuesday
The more astute (and by that I mean still awake) amongst you would have no trouble determining what the Tuesday routine is but here it is anyway
Wake up - tick,
Make breakfast consisting of a cup of tea and two poached eggs on toast (it being a Tuesday) - tick,
Whilst listening to the morning current affairs on ABC- tick,
Shower - tick,
Brush teeth - tick,
Catch the 8:07 to Civic (Of course he could drive but it’s just no fun having to share the road with the knuckle draggers that constitute the average Canberra driver),
Work,
Take lunch in the library whilst reading the latest copy of The Economist or similar authoritative journal,
Work,
Catch the 5:15 home,
Cook dinner and finally,
Watch some evening TV whilst sipping on a nice glass of red.
Now there were obviously one or two minor changes to be made to allow for the different circumstances. As such, ‘cook dinner and finally watching some evening TV whilst sipping on a nice glass of red', should be changed to something like, ‘walk in to find dinner already cooked by a beautiful stranger not wearing a bra, partake in a fairly one way conversation and finally drink large amounts of wine in front of the TV while mind is full of thoughts regarding his mysterious still unnamed house guest.'
...
Little Emily Baker worked in the departmental library where she happily spent her working days amongst her favourite companions ... books in case you couldn't figure it out. Nothing would please her more than to rummage through the various shelves seeking out titbits of information to satisfy a request or just her own desire to learn. It didn't seem to worry her that the onwards march of technology would probably make her redundant soon enough. She figured that there would always be books and libraries and therefore the need for librarians.
The library was her domain but others were welcome to share it especially that shy little man who often called in during lunchtime to contemplate the world through the pages of The Economist or similar authoritative journal. How terribly responsible. He would be an interesting man to talk to, no useless trivia there. If only he wasn't so shy.
The problem was Emily was just as shy, possibly more so, and so the conversation ... wasn’t.
Each lunchtime would begin with the glimmer of hope only to be followed by disappointment 45 minutes later when he left to return to his desk ... number 4213 on the 4th floor. She knew where he worked ... and lived (she never let on how she got that bit of information) but it did her little good. She would return to her duties a little sadder each time.
You see Little Emily Baker had secret ambitions. They were secret mostly because she didn't really know anyone to tell them to. But, it sounds better to say that they were secret ambitions ... it adds an element of mystery, always good in a story.
Emily wanted a baby. More precisely she wanted her own baby. I don't want to give the impression that Little Emily Baker haunts the streets waiting for a pram to be left unattended for a second so she can steal the contents. No, Emily wanted the whole deal, man ... love ... marriage ... baby. (Of course, this being the modern age we should add arguments ... disappointment ... separation ... custody ... child support ... and may
be offspring having two homes and time share parents! Probably don't really need to add that but what the hell.)
Surprisingly, all the words of wisdom contained in this room had not informed her as to how she was going to achieve this. Emily was forced to admit that, for all her love of books, they could not answer her ultimate question. When would she finally snare the man of her dreams? What is also surprising is that Emily was quite an attractive lass and, had she been more out-going, would have no doubt accumulated a number of potential suitors. But she wasn't and so didn't.
Ah 12:15. There he is. Dressed smartly as always. There's the little shy greeting smile and there he goes scurrying off towards The Economist or other similar authoritative journal. She knows that, come 1pm, he will leave her and hope will fade once more.
'One day,' she promised herself, 'I'm going to do something about this.'
...
Jonathan had to admit that it was nice having someone else around. Walking in through the door at the end of the working day to a flurry of activity and exotic cooking smells. After all the thrills and spills of the last few days, Jonathan had begun to realise how ordinary his normal life was. He was starting to get the taste for something a bit more exciting. For too long he had faced the prospect that he would spend the rest of his life as a single man with his defined routine and to do lists. At the same time, he began to wonder how long his could go on. The
The girl who dropped in Page 3
