Monster Chef

by Margaret McHeyzer

  The bottomless oblivion sucks me in further, an endless darkness surrounding me and keeping me inside the black hole of despair.

  Sleep is something which usually comes to me only after I’ve downed a bottle of scotch or half a packet of pills. But I’ve not touched the tablets for a while. I found they affect the way I think while I’m awake. My reactions are slower and my brain can’t think properly, whereas the alcohol just takes the sting out of living.

  However, sleep has been elusive. It’s something I once enjoyed. I recall a time when I would wake with my wife’s arm over my chest and her leg over my thigh. Or I’d be woken with warm, wet lips making a trail down my body. Stopping to tease me, twirling her raspy tongue on my skin, exciting me and sending me crazy with goose bumps.

  But now, now I sit in the dark and nurse a bottle of scotch, waiting until it’s time to get ready for work.

  It’s the only thing stopping me from ending this thing called life, from giving up on trying to keep my head above water, though my feet are nowhere near the ground.

  A job I go to day in and day out, now the only constant in my life.

  A place where I can forget what I once had, and focus on what I love to do.

  My life is now nothing more than a flickering candle. The wax is melting and the flame is a small, quivering spark. Soon it’ll simply vanish, and I’ll finally collapse into the black hole of eternal peace.

  FIVE

  Holly

  It’s the last night of training and as of tomorrow, I’m on my own.

  By that, I mean Angus will mostly stay in his office while I take the reins out in the front of the house.

  Tonight has been nothing short of hectic. We’ve had a few large parties that have already come through and we’re waiting for another to arrive in half an hour. Our reservation list is at maximum capacity, and tonight everyone’s emotions seem to be running incredibly high.

  I go to the pass-through to make sure all the orders are being collected promptly, and I see a huge smudge of sauce that’s been carelessly dripped on the plate.

  “Chef,” I try and discreetly call Pierre.

  He turns and looks at me, raises an eyebrow and chews on the inside of his cheek.

  “Oui,” he says.

  “This plate is messy.” I push the plate toward him on the pass-through.

  “Impossible, I checked them all myself,” he grumbles while he crosses his arms in front of his chest, defiantly.

  “Please check again, Chef. It appears this one has been missed.”

  “I will not check.”

  “And I won’t let my staff serve it like this, which means it will go cold and you’ll have to remake it.” I pull my shoulders back and stare him down. I’m the mother of a seven-year-old. If he wants a stubborn match, I can damned sure give him that plus more.

  “It is my job to make the food and it is your people’s job to serve the food. Now, go be a good little waitress and deliver the food,” he snaps at me.

  “After you look at the plate and clean it.”

  “You are just making trouble.”

  “Alright, chef, I’ll serve this plate of food. However your reputation is on the line, not mine. Clearly you don’t want that star back.” I pick up the plate and step away from the pass-through to bring it out to Maddie.

  “Wait!” he yells at me.

  I look back over my shoulder at him. “Yes?”

  “Put the plate down,” he says, his French accent appearing much thicker when he’s angry.

  I put it down on the pass-through, turning it so the blob of sauce will be clearly visible, and he takes a few slow steps toward the counter top.

  With his arms still crossed in front of his chest, and one eyebrow cocked, he glances down at the plate.

  His face tells me exactly what he’s thinking. A sharp intake of breath, then his mouth pops open and his eyes narrow as he examines the plate.

  “Ridiculous! I examined the plate myself. You did this,” he shouts loud enough for the diners sitting close to the kitchen to hear.

  “You will lower your tone, and you will clean that damned plate,” I say, teeth clenched as my body shudders from sheer anger.

  “My plates never look like this, you somehow did it to make me look bad.”

  “I don’t need to do anything to make you look like the arrogant arse you are. You’re doing a great job of that all on your own. The plate’s now gone cold, as has the rest of the table’s plates. Could you please remake them?” My voice is low and firm.

  “Insufferable woman,” he mutters as he takes the plates from the pass-through and bins the contents.

  What the hell is he doing? He could be packaging the discarded food and donating it to OzHarvest, a charity which takes left-over food donated by restaurants to feed the homeless. “Did you just throw that food out?”

  “Oui, now go away and I will prepare new plates.” He flicks his wrist at me, dismissing me like I’m nothing.

  “You’re a jerk,” I say, not leaving my side of the pass-through.

  “Go away, you insufferable woman.”

  That must be his favourite word, ‘insufferable’.

  “No, I’ll stand here and wait, just to make sure you’re doing it right the second time around.”

  Oops, looks like I’ve hit a nerve. He stops preparing the plates and turns his hard, grey eyes toward me.

  “I am not ‘jerk’, I am simply a perfectionist.”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  “No, I’m pretty sure you’re an arrogant jerk, because if you were a perfectionist then you wouldn’t have let the plate come to the pass-through looking like it did.”

  “Go away,” he yells at me.

  “No. Just get on with it and remake the plates.”

  “Hey, don’t push him. He really can be quite the monster when he wants to be,” Catherine whispers in my ear. “Nearly half the restaurant can hear him, and they’re turning to see what’s going on.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself down. I really don’t want this crap flying around in the restaurant while I’m in charge. If Angus finds out, he will get mad and fire us both, and although I don’t need the money, I do want to try and move forward with my life. This job is my first step toward healing, toward feeling normal again.

  It’s up to me to take the higher ground and try and make this working relationship viable and not volatile. “Pierre,” I call to him in a mild, calm voice. He nods his head once. “I’m sorry I lost my temper with you. Catherine is here now and she’ll wait for the plates.”

  “Yes, go away, go clean a table,” he says, while plating the dishes.

  Deep breath, Holly, deep breath.

  I don’t say anything; I don’t react. I simply walk away. I’m still seething, though, and ready to slap the stupid grin off his damn face.

  Angrily I walk toward the back, trying to get away for a moment to catch my breath before I do something stupid like smack him, or quit.

  “Hey, is everything alright?” Angus says, snapping me out of my fury-filled headspace. I didn’t even realise I was walking straight into him.

  “Fine, thank you,” I answer, trying to avoid him, too.

  “Pierre?” he asks with a sympathetic tone.

  “I’m fine, I’m a little overwhelmed with everything, that’s all. Could I have just a few moments?”

  “Of course. But if Pierre is causing you trouble, I need to talk to him.”

  “No no, please. I’m fine.”

  I take a step away from Angus, but he shoots his hand out and catches my lower arm, his thumb gently grazing over my skin.

  Goosebumps tickle my skin, and the hair on the back of my neck stands to attention, but not in a good way.

  “I can help you,” he says, his tone lowered.

  “What are you doing?” I pull my arm away, though trying not to make a big deal out of it.

  “Nothing. Of course.”

  Angus’s tall fra
me turns and walks away, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

  He’s someone I’m going to have to keep an eye on, and make sure he keeps those grubby hands to himself.

  I walk into the female bathrooms, and just relax for a moment. The bathroom is as luxurious as the restaurant, opening into a powder room which leads to another room where the toilets are. In the powder room, there’s a sofa and a vanity with three separate mirrors with their own comfortable chairs for a lady to re-apply her make-up if she chooses.

  Tonight’s hard. The whole situation with Pierre is beyond aggravating.

  Closing my eyes, I picture Emma as she sits on the floor in her bedroom and plays with the teddy bear her dad gave her just before he died.

  I’m doing this for her, and for me. To show her life is beautiful and continues, even after a monumental loss. It occasionally may appear like time has stilled and dulled to a hopeless gloom. But eventually, that dark overcast stops feeling normal. Before we know it, we’re craving the touch of the sun, and feeling the blush of the world warm our skin and our souls.

  I’m here, trying to move forward and heal. Desperate to rediscover the beauty I saw in life.

  “Holly, are you alright?” Catherine’s voice drags me out of my moment of sanity, or maybe insanity, depending how you look at it.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a moment to gather my thoughts.”

  She walks over and sits beside me on the small sofa in the powder room. She lifts her arm and wraps it around my shoulders in a comforting gesture.

  “He can be a real arse, though he’s incredibly talented in the kitchen.” I smile, because if he was that talented he would’ve seen the messy plate and had it repaired before it even hit the pass-through.

  “It’s fine,” I say, trying to sound positive. “It’s just been a hectic week.”

  “Well, at least you came from another restaurant so you’re used to how chefs are.”

  I don’t correct her to tell her anything about my past, because it’s not any of her business. I’ve only been here less than a week, and I’m not about to open up and tell anyone anything about me. It’s none of their concern.

  “Honestly, I just needed a moment.” I gently smile at Catherine.

  “Pierre replated and I took them out. He asked where you got to,” she says.

  Arrogant jerk probably thinks I upped and quit. Screw him. He’s not getting the better of me.

  Taking a huge breath, I close my eyes for a second more, just to refocus on the important things in my life, Emma. I open my eyes and stand, straightening my jacket and skirt.

  “Thank you for checking on me. I’ll be out in a moment,” I say to Catherine, hoping she gets the hint and leaves.

  “Sure thing, Holly.” She stands and goes to the door, though she turns and looks at me just before she steps through it. “He’s never asked about anyone before,” she says while tilting her head to the side, frowning.

  What do I care if he asks for me? Maybe he’s just trying to justify it to himself so he doesn’t feel like an idiot for not listening to me to begin with.

  SIX

  Pierre

  “She is so difficult to work with, can you believe what she did, mon amour? She stood there and told me the plate wasn’t right. I checked that plate. I know it was fine before she put her hands on it. Who does she think she is?” I ask Eva as I stare at her photo.

  I put Eva’s picture down beside my chair, and stand to go to the bar and get my bottle of scotch. But for some reason, the dark night is whispering loudly to me. The loss of light on the horizon has caught my attention and the growing darkness is beckoning for me to go and sit and simply get lost in what it’s offering.

  I slide the back door open, and step into the night. I dust off one of the chairs from the patio set, and sit on it. Looking up into the sky, I see a full moon, the biggest and brightest I’ve ever seen. A few of the brighter stars accompany the moon in making the sky shine and sparkle so beautifully.

  “Eva, are you here?” I wait for a few moments to pass, praying she’s not really gone, that she’ll appear beside me and wake me from the nightmare I’m stuck in.

  “What do I do? How can I come back to living? I have nothing left, mon amour. You left me and took my heart with you. I know you didn’t want to leave, but you’re gone and I don’t know what to do. You were the only thing that ever made sense, and now you’re no longer with me. I don’t know how to go through the next forty or fifty years without you.”

  I look up at the majestic moon. Maybe she can give me some insight as to why I’m still breathing.

  “I’m struggling, mon amour, really struggling. Every moment of the day I think of you, and I pray my time to find you is near. Please tell me, whisper a word, touch me with your warmth, anything. I just need you to guide me through this. I need my angel’s soft voice to take my pain away.”

  A gentle wind kisses my cheeks, softly drifting around me, caressing my skin with tenderness. I blink quickly and stand, leaning my arms against the railing.

  “Are you here?” I ask quietly, hoping to hear her voice just one more time. “What can I do to touch you? Even for one short moment, to see you, to hold you, to kiss your warm lips, just one more time.”

  The wind tenderly embraces me, enveloping me in a sensation so intense my heart begins to pound inside my chest.

  “Show me what I need to do,” I beg the breeze.

  It continues to dance around me, stopping for a moment only to start again with the same delicate choreography.

  She’s here, she must be. I’ve called on Eva for help, and she’s here to save me.

  “Mon amour,” I whisper as I close my eyes.

  A delicate floral scent floats past me. I catch just a small whiff of it and know my love is near.

  “Help me survive,” I sigh, hoping Eva can help me rip down the walls I’ve built so high around me.

  I stretch out my arms while tilting my head up toward the sky. “Show me,” I say in a breathless whisper.

  A tingle runs over my exposed throat, a soft, small brush awakening the life inside me. Buried deep inside this dead body, a tiny flicker tries to illuminate my dying soul. The curtain of gloom is struggling to lift. Deep inside, I can feel it trying to fight the pull of the heavy weight.

  A flashback to our wedding takes me back to the day Eva walked toward me, her hair loosely falling over her shoulders, a ring of daisies around her head, her feet bare as she walked in the sand holding one single yellow tulip. Her smile was so beautiful; her eyes alive and full of love.

  Eva shyly lowered her gaze as she glided to me, the rays of the sun sweeping over her blonde hair and making her look like she had a halo guiding her to me. The smell of the ocean intoxicated us as the salt clung to our lips.

  “I’ll never fall as long as you are near.” It was a sentence I had meant with every fibre of my being when I spoke during our exchange of wedding vows.

  I can feel the tears breaking through. I let them roll down my cheeks, allowing me to remember the good times, the loving times. The love we shared, the way my heart ached for her touch, how my blood heated whenever Eva was near me, the small smiles she’d give me when she thought I wasn’t watching, falling asleep holding hands and knowing we’d never let go.

  “I’m sorry I let you down. I’ve fallen and I don’t know how to stand again.”

  The wind swirls around me, nuzzling close to me, gently stroking me, encouraging me with love and the strength to rise and finally breathe.

  “I will try to stand without you. I’ll try and make you proud of the man you married. I am so sorry for giving up.”

  Maybe, just maybe, it’s time I loosen my hold on my wife and let her go.

  SEVEN

  Holly

  Thank God. Really that’s all I can say; thank God my week of training is done.

  Other than the plating incident, I’ve not had another run-in with Pierre, although I do believe it’s only a matter of tim
e before one erupts.

  He’s an arrogant jerk. He speaks to us all like we’re nothing and he certainly has a God complex.

  I have to say, whoever is at his beck and call at home, I feel sorry for them.

  But today is Tuesday, and it’s my day off. I’ve packed an early picnic dinner and I’m taking us to the park once I get Emma from school. The restaurant has been crazy. My training’s been anything but normal and I know I’ve been coming home stressed, thanks to the ever-loving Pierre and his arsehole tendencies.

  I pack the picnic basket along with a blanket and get into my too-warm car to get Emma from school. She won’t be expecting the picnic as a surprise, but I’m sure she’ll love it.

  This time of the day it’s pretty crazy with all the other mums and dads arriving to pick their kids up from class.

  I just sit in the air-conditioned comfort of my car, waiting for the school bell to sound so I can go get Emma from class. Usually Bronwyn collects Emma, but on the days I’m home, I do.

  Although I wait ‘til the bell goes off before I walk to her classroom, she’s always the last one to leave because she’s too busy chatting with the teacher. Her little face always beams with warm, happy smiles when she sees me, and today I’m hoping she’ll give me the same beautiful, cheeky grin.

  I hear the sound of the bell, get out of my car and walk to her class. Kids are coming out, all dressed in the same uniform, chit-chatting happily among themselves.

  When I get to Emma’s room, she’s exactly where I thought she’d be – standing by her teacher’s desk, animatedly talking to her.

  I just stand back and to the side, watching her happily describe something. The warmth of love that floods me fills my heart with an absolute certainty that Emma is by far the greatest gift I’ve been granted in life.

  Her excited little orbs turn to glance toward the hall and she sees me, standing in the doorway with tears pooling in my eyes. Her smile changes, from one she gives the world, to one reserved only for me.

  “Mummy!” she yells and runs to me. Her little arms encircle my waist and she tightens her grip. In this one moment, this precious second in time, I realise a memory has been made. It’s a snapshot of love at its purest. A significant, valuable picture which will stay with me until the day I die.