by Gilmour, SJB
‘Here okay?’
‘Fine. Now what did you do?’
‘I got Kelly to find my bike. She dug it up after she came back from here.’ He shook his head. ‘Got all scratched up from the blackberry thorns to do it, but she got it out. Then she got all upset and shut herself up in her room. Then her dad comes home, already drunk from being at the pub, and goes through a six-pack over dinner.’ Now the boy became angry. ‘Then that mongrel goes up to her room to—’
‘I understand. Go on.’
‘I got real mad. Madder than I’ve ever been before. Anyway, she got up and pushed him away but he got mad and slapped her. She hit him back. As he went back, I slammed the door into him. It hit him on the head and bam! He goes down like a sack of spuds.’
‘Was he hurt?’
Alec nodded, grinning. ‘Yep. Didn’t kill him, but he was bleeding a lot. Then her mum comes in and starts screaming. Then she’s all crying and hugging Kelly and her dad goes off into the kitchen and slashes his wrists with a fu— I mean freaking carving knife. Couple of minutes later, the cops arrive. They just managed to stop the bleeding.’
He paused and looked thoughtful. ‘I always thought it was supposed to spurt out like some big spray. His arms just, well, bled. Anyway, some more cops came in and got everything calmed down, they took Kelly off onto one room. Man, they didn’t even ask her many questions. She just starts talking. I’ve never seen her so brave!’
His eyes glowed with pride. There was also another emotion I saw in that spectral face. This young ghost was in love with the girl. His unearthly form was still that of an eleven year-old boy, but his mind and emotions had developed along in a more normal manner.
‘She told ‘em about my bike. She told ‘em about my body and where she thinks it is. She told ‘em about how her dad’s been doing this stuff to her for years and she only just now got mad enough to do something about it.’
‘So what happened then?’
Alec shrugged. ‘They started asking her mum if she knew what Kelly was talking about and she just spilled her guts too. Told ‘em everything about me and what she did. They were putting her into the cop car as I came here.’
‘What’s going to happed to Kelly?’ I asked him. ‘Her dad’s going to hospital, and her mum’s being arrested.’
‘I dunno. Guess she’ll just stay home. She can look after herself, can’t she?’
‘Alec! She can’t be left alone!’ I then told him all about the letter and everything that had happened that day. He was just about to fly away, when the police car drove down the driveway. In it, I could see a very subdued Trish, sitting in the back seat next to Nayani, while Kelly sat in the front next to James. James and Kelly got out and walked to the front porch. Kelly was clutching a small backpack.
Mitch shambled to the door, rubbing his eyes and blinking. Sally wasn’t far behind him. Both were in their pyjamas.
‘I’ll make you up a bed in one of the spare rooms,’ Sally told her, gently guiding her away while James explained to Mitch what had happened.
‘This is more than any kid should have to cope with,’ Mitch muttered sourly. ‘Least of all Kelly. What’s going to happen to her?’
‘Look, if things go the way I think they’re going to, with the charges being laid against her parents for both crimes, Social Services will get involved.’
‘But she can stay with us till then, yeah?’
James nodded. ‘We’ll be around some time tomorrow to take another statement. The District Psychologist from Social Services will also probably be around too. They’ll want to check her out.’
Sunday came and went quickly for Kelly. True to James’ prediction, a doctor from Social Services, a harried-looking woman in her forties, arrived with Nayani. They sat Kelly down in the lounge for nearly two hours. In all that time, Mitch never left her side. I didn’t listen to the conversation much at all. I didn’t need to. It was clear that while it was okay for Kelly to stay with Mitch and Sally in the interim, eventually, she’d be put into foster care. I knew what I had to do.
When Sally came in to me for a glass of water, I plunged into her mind. She had to get the doctor into me somehow. Naturally, her immediate thought was to use food. She brought out the remaining cold roast chicken and made a similar salad as she’d done the day before.
The offer of free, nice looking food proved too hard to resist and the group moved into me. I didn’t even bother trying to be gentle. I could see the woman was torn. Her job said she had to follow the rules, even though she knew Mitch and Sally would be ideal for Kelly and that Kelly really would be happy here. It was enough. I could connect.
‘Look. If we could get Mrs Forbes to allow it, Kelly can stay with you as long as she likes. The problem is, her mother’s facing serious charges. It’s likely she’ll be incarcerated. She won’t have any rights at all. As for Mr Forbes… Well, I gather his injuries are severe.’
‘So how do I get to stay here?’ Kelly demanded. The possibility of her father dying from his injuries didn’t seem to bother her one bit. Of course, I might have helped a little there. Guilt is a tricky flow of emotion to control, but it’s easy to cover with others like love and pride and fear, all of which were present in the young girl’s mind.
As for the doctor, well she was harder to read. I’d not known her for long at all. The mind is much like a kitchen in many ways. You expect to find certain things in certain places. Pots in the cupboard near the sink, but not under it. Spices up high somewhere. Cutlery in the top drawer…
So, I knew basically where to look in her mind for idea and thoughts, but knowing they should be there, and actually finding them where you expect them to be are two different things. This doctor’s mind, I discovered, was compartmentalised differently. There were some thoughts she knew she shouldn’t let herself think lest they make it that much more difficult for her to do her job objectively. One of them was the thought I was looking for. She’d stashed it away, deep down in a dark corner with old memories she didn’t like.
‘You could adopt.’ Oh dear, I can’t believe I just said that. How unprofessional. The Department really should be involved in this.
Mitch and Sally looked at each other and then at Kelly.
‘Can you help us do that?’ Mitch asked her.
She nodded. ‘Part of what I’m doing today is assessing Kelly. I can just as easily assess you while I’m here. On Monday, you’ll be assigned a caseworker. If we can do it fast enough, we might be able to get it all sorted and finalised before—’ and she broke off and looked at Kelly a little sadly. ‘Before your parents are taken away for good.’
Kelly chewed her lip. She was sad at this terrible and sudden collapse of her family, but inside her, a warm current of peace and hope was flowing. She could be happy. Mitch and Sally were nice. The food was fantastic. They treated her well. She would be safe.
Word must have spread fast. All that day, cars drove to and from Kelly’s house. Some slowed down outside ours. To my disgust, I noticed several of them were from news channels. Two of them even decided to try their luck with the Forbes’ neighbours. Sally determined it was her job to not only protect Kelly, but keep them away from Mitch as well. When the poor fools came to the door, Sally met them with her widest smile and most vapid expression. They left almost immediately, disappointed that apparently the neighbours hadn’t heard a thing and didn’t know the Forbes’ at all.
Things settled down almost as quickly. In the days that followed, Kelly brought some of her clothes, school things and some items from her room to our house. Every time she made the trip, Mitch or Sally came with her, armed with their mobile phones. There were no more letters, but after the third or fourth trip, Mitch returned quite concerned. When he was sure Kelly was out of earshot in the back yard, he brought Sally into me.
‘That’s three times now I’ve seen that car,’ he told her one afternoon. ‘I mean, like the cops said, we should have expected some of the curious locals to swing by, but she’s
been driving past a lot, and I’ve never noticed her before.’
‘She?’ Sally raised an eyebrow and looked out my window to the road.
Mitch nodded. ‘I asked Kells who she was. That kid might be a bit slow, but she knows everyone. Small town, I guess. Said her name’s Marcy Greenstone, or Greenwood or something.’
Sally’s eyes widened, just as my mind began screaming at me.
‘Never heard of her. Should we tell the cops?’
‘No, but if we see her again, maybe ask her what she wants? Sus her out?’ Mitch’s smile was shrewd. ‘You better go with her if she needs to go back again. Maybe you could wave her down? See if you can get her to touch something smooth. You could compare the prints to the ones you’ve already got.’
Sally wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tip-toes to kiss him.
‘You’re not just a pretty face. That’s why I love you.’
They smooched for some minutes. There was no real groping or fondling, just genuine, loving making-out. The back door opening alerted them and they pulled apart. Both thought the same thing for an instant. Guess we’re done having sex anywhere but the bedroom…
Kelly came in, looking and feeling hungry.
Sally saw her expression and smiled. Now, I know that look.
‘What would you like for dinner, Kells?’
Kelly felt nervous. Mum never asks me that. I just eat what I’m given. Guess I’m too stupid to think of anything.
‘Umm… I dunno.’
‘Well, what do you like?’
Think of something good for you so she doesn’t think you just want junk.
‘Umm…’
Mitch smiled at her. ‘Pasta? Sausages and spuds? Chops?’
Pasta! ‘I like pasta!’
Sally nodded approvingly and went to my freezer. ‘I’ve got a lot of spag-bol sauce. How do you want it? Spaghetti? Lasagne? Ravioli—’
Kelly’s eyes lit up. ‘Lasagne please! I love lasagne…’ Then she felt puzzled. ‘But don’t you just heat it up from the packet?’
Sally looked genuinely shocked. ‘That settles it, missy. You and I are making lasagne from scratch. Packet lasagne indeed. Time you had the real thing.’
Kelly looked surprised. ‘Okay,’ she drawled with nervous excitement. ‘Does this mean you’re going to teach me how to cook?’
Sally set down four one-litre tubs of frozen sauce on my bench-top and put her hands on her hips.
‘Kelly Forbes. You’re under my roof and my responsibility. I’d be a pretty piss-poor excuse for a guardian if I didn’t teach you how to cook.’
Kelly looked a little frightened at her vehemence and took a step back.
Sally immediately regretted being so forceful.
‘Kells, I know you may not think so, but you do have a brain, and it’s got more potential than you realise. You don’t have to be a genius to be a good cook. All you really need is passion and persistence.’ Then in the more stern tone of a teacher, ‘Now, we’re going to need some ingredients. We’ll need plain flour, not self-raising. Eggs and semolina. The flour and semolina are in the larder. Eggs are in the fridge.’
‘I’ll get out of your hair then,’ Mitch told them with a grin. ‘Lasagne for dinner! Mmm!’
‘Go write something, Shakespeare,’ Sally replied as she stuck the four tubs in the microwave to heat them up. She glanced up at the clock on my wall. It was nearly five. ‘Dinner will be around seven. If you need anything before then, tough.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Kelly asked when she’d fetched the ingredients.
Sally grinned. ‘Wash you hands first while I set this up.’ She was unpacking a shiny pasta-maker from its battered box. She screwed the clamp onto my bench and adjusted the little rollers to their widest setting. Then she brought out her wooden pasta-airers.
With clean hands and almost shaking with nervous enthusiasm, Kelly came back to my bench.
‘Now, scoop out three cups of flour and three cups of semolina,’ Sally instructed. ‘Into a sort of mound shape, then turn it into a crater.’
Kelly did as she was told without question, though her mind was full of doubts. Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m making so much mess.
Sally could have read her mind. ‘It’s supposed to be messy. This is exactly the kind of thing this bench was made for. Now spread it around. That hole’s gotta be big enough for you to crack twelve eggs into.’
‘Twelve?’ That’s a lot of eggs!
‘The whole dozen. And about a teaspoon of salt.’ Sally grinned at her.
Kelly nodded back and followed Sally’s instructions. Once she’d made the well out of the flour and semolina, she ground a generous amount of salt into it then began adding the eggs.
Sally watched, adding instructions and suggestions now and then as Kelly mixed and then kneaded the dough. That’s it girl. Get it so it feels like a young, firm boob. Shit. Can’t tell her that. What’s another analogy?
‘You want it to feel nice and elastic. If it’s too hard, add a bit of water.’ She reached in and poked the dough. ‘Yep, just a bit of water. That’ll soften it up. Keep kneading. Recipes say you should knead it for about ten minutes. I don’t count it by time, I just keep doing it till my arms are getting sore. It’s usually elastic enough by then.’
When the microwave had done its job and warmed the sauce enough for it to slop out of the containers in half-frozen globs, Sally transferred it into a large pot and added some water. She also sliced in a handful of left-over sliced sandwich ham. A few minutes later on high heat, the sauce was runny enough to stir without there being any frozen lumps.
‘Okay. Wrap it up in cling wrap and let it sit for a bit. Wash your hands again. You’ve now gotta grate the cheeses.’
‘Cheeses?’
‘Yup. Mama doesn’t do it this way, but Mitch and I like our cheese so I add extra in-between the layers. We want enough Parmesan to sprinkle on each layer, and a mix of Mozzarella, tasty and Parmesan on the top. So, that’s about this much,’ she gestured with her hands the size of the piles of grated cheese she wanted Kelly to produce, ‘Parmesan, this much tasty and this much Mozzarella.’ She went to my fridge and brought out a large block of tasty, a round, gourd-shaped Mozzarella and a shockingly expensive-looking chunk of Parmesan.
Kelly grated away a little nervously. Mum always said this stuff was too expensive.
Sally looked up at the pile of Parmesan the girl had produced.
‘More than that. We’re not monks here. There are stingy cooks and there are resourceful cooks. If you’ve got the ingredients, use em. Use as much as you need for the dish.’
Kelly nodded and grated some more.
‘Great. Now take a break. That dough needs to sit for another fifteen or so.’
Kelly smiled and washed her hands again then pottered about me and my larder while she and Sally waited for the dough to be ready. After perhaps twenty minutes, Sally beckoned her over.
‘Now, you watch me make the first sheet, then you can take over. Got it?’
‘Okay.’
Sally tore off a chuck of the dough and pounded it a few more times until she had it in the shape she wanted it. Then she sprinkled lots of flour about the smooth granite and over the machine and began feeding the dough through, winding the handle with one hand, catching the flattened dough with the other.
‘You’re gonna make a mess the first time you do it, but the great thing about this stuff is, if you bugger it up, just knead it again and give it another go. Don’t worry if any of this extra flour dries it out a bit. That’s what water’s for.’
She repeated working the dough through the rollers, adjusting the setting to a narrower notch each time. In a few minutes, she had a long sheet of thin pasta. She laid it flat, sliced it into more easily-handled sheets and hung them on an airer.
‘Right. Your turn. I’ll just check the sauce.’
Here goes… Kelly tried to imitate what she’d seen Sally do. It took her several at
tempts, but soon she was able to produce some fairly decent replicas of Sally’s pasta sheets. Many were ripply and nearly all had slight tears along the edges, but Sally didn’t seem to mind.
‘It ripples when you cook it over the sauce any way. As for tears, it’s layered. Doesn’t matter.’ She pulled out one of her roasting trays and set it next to a wire rack. ‘Now, time to put it all together. Get a ladle from that drawer and bring the pot over here and put it on this rack.’
Kelly obeyed again.
‘Now, get some soapy water in the sink. You’ll need it in a minute.’
Man, I sure do wash my hands a lot doing this. Kelly squeezed a spurt of detergent into the sink and turned on the tap.
‘Leave the tap running a little. Trust me. It’s easier this way than trying to turn on a tap with oily hands.’
‘Oily?’
‘Yep.’ Sally handed her a green glass bottle of rich extra-virgin olive oil. ‘Oil up the tray. Don’t be shy with it. We’re cooking Italian food. This stuff’s in my veins.’
Kelly splashed a little oil in the tray.
‘More. Go on.’
More oil went into the tray, then Kelly rubbed it all over the bottom and sides. Now I get why the tap’s still running. She is so smart. Her tone was almost reverent.
When she’d washed and dried her hands for what felt like the nineteenth time, she picked up the ladle as Sally instructed and slopped a few ladle-fulls into the tray.
‘Spread it out with the ass-end of the ladle. That’s it. Now spread out the first layers of pasta. Don’t worry if they overlap a bit, but don’t leave any gaps. When you’ve done that, add more sauce and then a sprinkling of Parmesan.’
Under Sally’s watchful eye, Kelly repeated the process until she’d piled five layers of lasagne sheets in the tray. When the last remaining sauce went on top, there was perhaps one and a half centimetres left to the top edge of the tray. Sally’s seemingly off-hand calculations of how much dough to make had been spot on. There wasn’t a single sheet of pasta left over.
‘Now mix up all that cheese and spread it out all over the top.’
