by Gilmour, SJB
He’d love a beer after that, she thought. And a nice lunch… Sausages? No. Hamburgers!
So while Mitch cut up the great chunk of tree, Sally began cooking. She set the iPod to play some Ministry Of Sound compilations and took a kilo of mince out of my freezer to defrost on the sink. Typical Sally. She wasn’t going to do anything by halves. She sliced a red onion, a tomato, some tasty cheese and opened up a tin of beetroot. She rinsed and dried a few lettuce leaves and also set out squeezy bottles of tomato sauce and Dijon mustard. Lastly, she took out six frozen hamburger rolls and left them near the window to thaw.
Silence from the front yard drew her attention away from the ingredients she’d laid out on the chopping board. Mitch was now carting the smaller logs to the shed in a wheelbarrow. Sally watched him work away. She particularly liked the way his triceps danced and the cords in his neck stood out as he heaved the barrow. He took four barrow loads of smaller logs as Sally and I watched him, transfixed.
After the last load, he came out carrying an axe over one shoulder. Show off! He knew Sally was watching him! Sally knew what he was up to and grinned to herself.
Get that burger mince ready girlie, she told herself. Then get yourself ready.
She nuked the mince until it was soft enough to mix by hand. She added some more olive oil, an egg and a spoonful of a Cajun spice mix she’d made up. It consisted mostly of salt, garlic powder and black pepper — more than I usually added to my mince — as well as ground fennel, coriander, paprika, a touch of dried ginger, along with dried rosemary and thyme. That and a small handful of chopped parsley and she had six delicious-looking hamburger patties ready to go.
While she was in the shower, I watched Mitch. If Sally wasn’t going to admire him chopping the thicker logs, I sure as heck was. I enjoyed every flex of those arms of his. Actually, I’m not sure what I enjoyed more: his muscles, or his thoroughness. Once he’d chopped and then stowed those logs, he then brought out the wood chipper. He didn’t just mulch the leaves from that branch. He scoured the rest of the front yard, dragging every fallen, mulch-able branch he could find to the chipper. Sally re-entered me just in time to watch him begin to feed all those branches into the ravenous jaws of the machine.
By the time he’d finished, he had about two cubic metres of fresh mulch. I envied him. The smell must have been amazing. He finished and stood back, wondering what to do with the pile of mulch now. After a few moments’ thought, he shrugged and took the chipper and axe back to the shed in the barrow, leaving the pile for later.
‘What do you think about some more fruit trees?’ he called out as he walked past the kitchen to the laundry. His clothes were covered in sawdust and leaf mulch.
Sally left me then, following him to the laundry. I heard a few muffled snippets of conversation and then she squealed. Then I heard the sounds of bare feet running from the laundry and up the stairs.
When they came back down, they’d both showered again and now wore clean clothes and happy smiles. Mitch was starving, and could barely think of anything but food and the way his balls had that funny, vacuum-like ache they got when they’d been emptied a couple of times in quick succession. Sally was sated, though feeling a little chafed, which she thought was unusual for her. She couldn’t be getting her period. Her IUD saw to that.
Shrugging it off, she focused on the hamburgers. ‘Do you want your bun toasted?’
Mitch grinned. ‘I like hot buns.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Child.’ She began frying the patties in one pan, then sliced two buns and set them to grill on another. None of the three of us heard any footsteps coming up the porch so we were all quite surprised when the doorbell rang. I berated myself for yet again being so fixed on the goings on inside me that I’d failed to notice anyone approach.
‘You get it,’ Sally ordered Mitch with a wave of her spatula. She turned back to the sizzling patties, but kept her head cocked so she could hear who was at the door.
Mitch came back in with Kelly. It was only then, when I could see her up close, that I really noticed her face. The poor girl was… Different. Her nose was short, and its bridge flattish. Her blue eyes were pretty, but small and her philtrum (I’d never known what the two lines under one’s nose were meant be called until Sally put a name to them) was barely there at all. This dear, sweet girl had foetal alcohol syndrome.
I hope I don’t cry, Kelly thought. Know it’s been ages since Mrs Owen died, but she and Mr Owen were always so nice… Then she smelled the hamburgers and onions. Oh man, that smells good!
What? I could hear her thoughts just as I could Sally and Mitch’s, only her thoughts were nowhere near as sharp. Kelly’s mind was more easily distracted and less attuned to those around her. Was this because she was a teenager, or because she was less intelligent? I couldn’t tell.
Sally seemed delighted to see the young girl. ‘Hey there neighbour. No school today?’
Kelly shook her head. ‘It’s holidays.’ Huh? How come she doesn’t even know that? Maybe she is a dumb blonde after all.
Sally laughed. ‘Oh, duh! I’m thinking like a real dink now aren’t I?’
‘Dink?’
‘Dual income, no kids.’
Oh, duh! Maybe she’s the smart one and I’m the dumb one. Then Kelly’s thoughts took on a definite bitter tone. I’m always the dumb one.
Sally caught her embarrassed look and knew instinctively that food would cure any teen angst.
‘You’re just in time for hamburgers!’ She winked. ‘My speciality. None of those piddly little burgers that only take up half the bun. Big, tasty and sloppy, just the way a good burger should be.’
‘Dual?’ Mitch asked Sally with a cheeky grin.
‘That will do, Mr Taylor,’ Sally replied crisply, though her big blue eyes were gleaming. She turned and grinned at Kelly, who obviously hadn’t followed the playful banter at all. Her eyes were focused on the food.
Hamburgers? Cool! Mum never makes hamburgers.
Neither Mitch nor Sally gave the briefest acknowledgement to the probable high-calorie count of what they were about to eat.
Sally cut up another bun and set it to grill next to the others. Then she went to the fridge. She glanced at the beer she’d set to chill for Mitch but decided on the jug of water instead. Kid probably sees too much booze at home. Always one to dress up even the simplest of dishes, she threw in a few scoops of ice and half a lemon.
Kelly had forgotten all about being nervous in me. She pulled up a stool and sat at the end of my bench, several feet from Mitch who was planted at the seat closest to the sink.
I touched Mitch’s mind briefly and regretted it. Poor kid sure has a hard time keeping up. Hope she doesn’t get too much crap at school for being retarded, though I guess there’s probably a few kids like her in this neighbourhood.
Retarded? Now Mitch, that’s not a very nice thing to say at all.
Sally began serving up burgers for Mitch and Kelly then made one for herself.
‘We did a bit of extra work out there.’ She nodded out my window. ‘One of the branches came down, so we’ve mulched it. Hope you don’t mind, but I don’t want to risk you with a chainsaw until you’re no longer a minor.’
Kelly blinked. Huh? Dad doesn’t care at all if use a chainsaw. Then her thoughts became bitter. Only one thing he cares about— She looked at the hamburger. Oh wow, that burger looks amazing.
The thoughts of food reminded her of the purpose of her visit. Her mother’s voice came back to her.
‘It’s my turn to have some fun cooking something special. Go see if they want to come over on Saturday. It’ll be the Ninth.’ The woman stressed the date with the air of someone talking to a very forgetful child. ‘Remember, if they ask if they can bring anything, just tell them we’re going for an alcohol-free month.’
‘We? You mean Dad’s trying. You’re not. It’s not even lunch time and you’re already drinking.’
Trish Forbes had given her daughter a withering look.<
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‘I’m not the one with the problem. Look, they’re not stupid. They saw how much he drank at their place. They’ll put it together. Just ask them.’
‘What about you?’
‘I told you. I’m not the one with the problem. Now go.’
Alcoholic bitch, Kelly thought bitterly about her mother. Yeah, right she doesn’t have a problem. No wonder I look like I do. It’s all her fault.
Ah. So I was right. Trish had drunk during her pregnancy and hadn’t seen fit to change that behaviour. Judging by Kelly’s thoughts and what I’d witnessed at the dinner party, my earlier assessment of them was also correct. Not uncommon out in the bush unfortunately. It’s no wonder so many city folk view us as having little else to do but drink ourselves into stupidity.
During the meal, Kelly loosened up a little. Sally asked her about school and what she hoped to study.
Kelly shook her head, thoughts of shame filling her mind, but still she didn’t know how not to answer the question. There was no obfuscation, just resignation. Tell the truth. If I tell tell the truth then everything will be alright. The mantra from one of her teachers echoed back to her from years before. The teacher had been kind, she remembered. She’d understood she wasn’t as smart as other kids.
‘I’ll probably just get a job out here on one of the farms. I’m not good enough at school to go to no uni.’ Animals are so much better than people. They don’t drink. They don’t tease. The bitterness returned to her mind. Thoughts of cruel taunts at school flashed through her mind. They don’t try to get down my pants. With some revulsion, she remembered some of the older boys at school.
Then she remembered something that horrified me. It was just the briefest flash of a memory she pushed down as much as she could. It was of her father shutting her bedroom door behind his back and looking at her. His eyes… Dear Lord, his eyes were monstrous.
I felt revolted. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hurt the man. More than hurt him; I wanted to rend him limb from limb. I couldn’t believe that man could do that to his own daughter. He was one of my neighbours for goodness’ sake!
Sally was quick. She kept her face smiling and happy, even though she instantly felt a pang for the girl. Poor thing! Wino mother left her with brain damage. Just look at her. How could those assholes do that to their own child? I mean forty years ago, people didn’t know. Now, everyone knows. You don’t drink during pregnancy. Her thoughts drifted to the amount she and Mitch had been drinking lately. Thank God I’ve got an IUD.
If Mitch or Sally were surprised when Kelly told them not to bring booze, I didn’t notice. I really wanted to talk to Mason. He could do some digging for me. Problem was, I hadn’t seen him for weeks and I had no idea when he’d drift my way again.
After Kelly had gone and Mitch had helped Sally clean up, the two went outside. I caught glimpses of Sally pointing at spots in the yard and reasoned she was giving Mitch her usual “suggestions” as to what kind of fruit trees to plant and where. Once she was satisfied he had the idea of what she wanted, Sally came inside, waving to Mitch as he drove out in their new Toyota Hilux four-wheel drive pick-up utility.
An hour later, Mitch returned. He drove the ute off the driveway and onto a patch of grass near the pile of wood-chips then came inside to change into his grubby garden clothes. That boy worked like slave until the light was nearly all gone. Eventually, Sally stuck her head out of the front door to yell that she was making risotto. By then he’d planted twelve of the twenty-four fruit trees he’d bought at Gembrook Hardware and Stockfeed.
Most were deciduous; just bare stalks, so I had no idea what they were. I could tell three were some kind of fig. Stalks like that I could pick a mile away. Others were clearly citrus of some kind. Lemons probably. No way oranges or limes would tolerate the frosts up in these hills.
After Mitch had showered again, he rested wearily at his spot near the sink, holding the chilled bottle of beer against his forehead. With his eyes shut, he simply rested. The only thing going through his mind was how stiff his shoulders felt and how well the beer was going down.
‘Don’t get too comfortable, my lovely gardening man,’ Sally told him. She handed him a huge chunk of Parmesan cheese and a grater. ‘Do your duty.’
Mitch smiled and complied. ‘How come I always get to do the grating?’
‘Do you want your risotto with or without blood?’
Mitch remembered something. ‘Guess what I found in the shed?’
‘Do tell, mister investigator?’ Sally didn’t look up from the garlic she was chopping. For this meal, she’d chosen to play more Joanne Taylor Shaw, as well as a few other blues guitarists like Jeff Healey and an Australian called Dave Hole. She’d set a large pot of stock on a low heat. Into it, she chucked all the vegetable trimmings.
Mitch grinned and nodded behind him towards the staircase.
‘There’s a spare staircase step in there.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I found it while I was stacking the firewood.’
‘Oh?’
Mitch nodded. ‘I knocked some of the pile over. Bloody thing went over like dominoes, so I had to stack it again. It was under some of the wood.’ He waved in the direction of the hall and staircase. ‘Guess it didn’t fit. Pity they had to throw it out.’
‘Okay. You’re telling me about this because…?’
‘Oh you just mentioned blood and that made me remember. It’s got bigass bloodstain on it.’
Blood? You know, I hardly remember much about those days of mindlessly working on the house. But I do remember cleaning up my husband’s blood. There was blood on the stairs that were in the staircase. There was a mess of it on one step particularly — the one the police reasoned he’d struck his head on. The one that killed him. There was blood on the floor and some spray on the banister. There was some on the floor in the hall on the other side of the staircase. There was even a spray of it across one wall and the floor at the top of the stairs. There might have been some on the spare step, but I don’t remember. I remember the broken rails and splinters. I’d thought the step was included. Obviously not. It must have just been stowed with the firewood for later. I wonder who did that?
‘Blood? Gross. How do you know it’s blood.’
Mitch nodded, taking a swig of beer. ‘C’mon. I’ll show you.’
When they came back into me, Sally’s face was troubled. That was more than blood. There was hair in it. Yuck. Gore. It looked like it’d been used to bash someone’s head in.
‘I still think we should call the cops,’ she told Mitch as she began to fry up the onions and garlic in a mix of olive oil and butter in her heavy blue-enamelled pot, and some diced chicken thighs in a non-stick fry-pan.
Mitch seemed very surprised at his little wife’s insistence. Gee, she’s really steamed about this.
‘Alright,’ he replied. ‘We’re putting those fruit trees in a few months early, so I want to get some extra fertiliser, just to give ‘em an extra kick. The station’s right across the street from the hardware store.’
‘Thanks.’ Sally then tried her best to put the troubling image of the bloody step from her mind by turning up the volume on the iPod. Lucky cow. I had no such distractions. I sank into her mind, searching for more images of the stain. One snapshot was very clear. It was blood alright. And hair. Even some of my husband’s brain tissue, I think. It didn’t even occur to me that my focusing on it kept the image at he very forefront of her mind.
Sally began to choke up. She sniffed and wiped her nose and face with her sleeve as she alternated between stirring the onions and garlic, and the chicken.
‘Hey? What’s wrong?’ Mitch set his beer down on the bench and came over to give her a hug. ‘Onions getting to you?’
Sally shrugged him away, refusing to say anything about her real fear. Those poor people. What if they weren’t accidents? What if they were murdered and that step was one of the weapons? Are there more horrible things like that hidden about this place?
I could
n’t bear to listen to any more of her thoughts. It was impossible. Wasn’t it? Moody and shaken to my very foundations, I settled back to watch her cook the risotto.
Tonight, she wasn’t feeling horny at all, nor was she particularly interested in embracing the cooking vibe as she usually did. She went to my fridge with the intention of getting a bottle of Chablis, but thought better of it when she saw the cask of el-cheapo dry white. Hurrying now because she wanted to add the rice to the onions and garlic before they burned, she dashed back to a cupboard for a large wine goblet.
Mitch watched her fill the goblet to the top, a good third of a litre at least, and take a hearty swig before she set it down to tackle the rice. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The subject was closed for the night, and so too probably, were Sally’s legs.
