Crave

by Margaret McHeyzer

  I look at Emma who’s watching Pierre expertly wind the pasta around his fork then pop it in his mouth. Emma tries to do the same thing, but instead she ends up with pasta sauce all over her t-shirt.

  “Here, I will show you,” Pierre says, noticing her attempt to mimic him and that it isn’t working. He stands and rounds her chair, grips her hand in his and twirls it.

  “Oh yeah, I get it now,” she says happily as he goes back to his chair.

  “What?” Pierre says looking at me.

  “Nothing.”

  “Why are you smiling?”

  Because you’re perfect. But of course I don’t say that. “Because you’re incredibly patient.” I take a breath, and broach the subject again. “Tonight after dinner, I’ll go home and get school clothes, and tomorrow morning you’re going to school,” I say to Emma.

  “Muuuuuuum,” she drags my name out.

  “You need to learn, ma petite. I cannot have an apprentice who does not know how to read and write properly.”

  “But you can teach me, Pierre.”

  “I am a teacher of the culinary arts, not one of words.”

  “What’s cluminary?” Emma asks with wide eyes.

  “Culinary,” Pierre corrects, “means anything pertaining to cooking and food.”

  “Oh.” She slumps down in her chair, brings her elbow up on the table and collapses her head into her hand. “So I better go to school then.”

  “It is a very good idea. It is the only way for you to learn,” Pierre says and rubs his hand on her back in an encouraging way.

  “Alright, but do I have to come home with you tonight, Mummy? Can I stay here and watch a movie please?”

  “If it’s alright with Pierre.” I look to Pierre and he nods.

  “That is fine with me.”

  We eat our dinner and Emma tells us all about a movie Pierre bought for her. Something about a queen who has the power to freeze things. Truthfully, I’m not really listening. I’m thinking about Bronwyn’s funeral, about what will happen after the funeral and about what Emma and I are going to do.

  “C’mon, Emma we have to go.”

  “I am ready,” Pierre says coming out dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. He’s looking sexy with his hair tied back in a ponytail and dark sunglasses on.

  “Where are you going?” I ask as I hand him a coffee.

  “I am coming with you.”

  “Oh, are you?” He hadn’t said anything earlier or last night.

  “Oui, of course I am.”

  “Well, I suppose now that you’re officially unemployed, you have all the time in the world.”

  “Pffft.” He flicks his hand dismissively at me. “That has nothing to do with it. I am coming because I will support you. Besides, I want to talk to you about something.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He moves his sunglasses to rest at the top of his head, and comes to stand in front of me. Pierre puts his coffee cup down and leans his hand on my hip, then swoops down and kisses me. The kiss is scorching, consuming, promising a world of wicked and lustful sex. Thankfully, my cup is already out of my hands or I would’ve dropped it with the way he’s overtaking me.

  Pierre moves away and leaves me short of breath with my head light and dazed. “What was that for?” I ask as I swipe my hand across my hot and sweaty forehead.

  “It is my way of telling you I love you,” he says, pronouncing every word with clarity and strength. God, he makes me hot.

  “Thank you,” I say, though can’t return his ‘I love you’, yet. It’s not that I can’t physically say it, because I do feel the love I have for him in my core, right through to my soul. It’s just the time isn’t right yet, and when I do tell him, I want him to understand just how much I do love him.

  “Emma,” Pierre calls as he makes her lunch for school.

  “I’m here.” She trudges out in her school uniform and sits on a stool at the island counter.

  “What would you like for breakfast? Would you like toast or cereal?” Pierre asks as he leans against the counter and drinks his coffee. “I am having toast, would you like me to make you some?”

  “Oui,” she happily cheers. I catch Pierre smiling, and I can’t help but smile too.

  “I’ll pick you up after school.”

  “Will Pierre be here too?” Emma asks and looks at Pierre.

  “Would you like me to be here?” he asks.

  “Of course,” she says, emphasising the words by rolling her eyes and putting a hand on her hip.

  “Then I must oblige and be here with your mother to pick you up.”

  “Okay. ‘Bye then.” She gives me a quick cuddle and kiss then does the same thing to Pierre. Emma walks in the school gates, and when she’s up near the classrooms, she turns and waves before continuing onto her class.

  Pierre links our fingers together and starts us toward my car. “How far away are we going?” he asks as he opens my car door and waits for me to be in before closing it.

  “Just around the corner,” I answer once he’s inside the car.

  When we get home I park in the driveway, turn off the car and just sit.

  “Are you alright?” he asks as he places his hand on my thigh.

  “It’s really hard. This has been my home since Stephen passed away, and now that Bronwyn’s gone, it feels so surreal.” I bring my hand up to my mouth to chew on my fingers.

  “You were here last night, and I noticed when you came home you were very quiet.”

  “I suppose, it’s just…” I pause, not really knowing how to verbalise the thoughts running wild inside my head. “It’s hard, you know?” I look at Pierre, and his intense grey eyes are locked on me.

  “Yes, I do know. But you no longer have to be on your own. We have each other, we can do it all together.”

  “Yeah.” I huff as I stare at my home. “I think I may need to sell Bronwyn’s home. Her lawyer called me yesterday and told me he wanted to see me.”

  “You did not tell me that. When are you going to see the lawyer?”

  “We made an appointment for Wednesday.”

  “I will come with you.”

  “You don’t have to.” I turn to face Pierre again.

  “We have already established what I ‘have to’ and ‘do not have to’ do. I choose to, because I want to support you and Emma.”

  “Thank you.” I squeeze his hand. “Let’s get this done. It’s only going to get harder the longer I leave it.”

  Pierre nods, then leans over and kisses me on the cheek. He gets out of the car and comes to open my door for me.

  We walk to the front door and I unlock it.

  “I have to clean out the fridge and get the suitcases out of the garage to pack a few things.”

  “I will clean the fridge, just show me where everything is.”

  “This way.” I lead him through the family room to the kitchen. “The garbage bags are under the sink.” I turn to show Pierre, but he isn’t behind me. “Pierre?” I call and back track the way I came.

  Pierre is in the family room, looking at a photo of Stephen, Emma, and me on the wall. “Who is he?” Pierre asks, pointing to the photo.

  “My husband, Stephen,” I answer coming to stand beside him.

  “He is your husband?” Pierre turns to look at me. His face is white and his mouth is open. But his eyes…they’re beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. So much resentment is radiating from them, almost as if he’s about to rip someone apart. “This was your husband?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong?” I ask as I reach out to touch his bicep. Pierre looks at my hand and steps away from me. “Pierre?” I ask, feeling my body being covered by goose bumps as uncertainty pumps heavily and loudly through my veins.

  “I have to go,” he says as he turns and runs out the front door.

  I give chase, but he’s way too fast for me. He’s down the road and rounding the corner just as I get to the front lawn.

  What the hell just happ
ened?

  Chef Pierre: Chapter 33

  Holly

  LATER ON THAT EVENING

  “Mummy, are we going to Pierre’s tonight?”

  “No he’s busy tonight,” I tell Emma as I make us dinner. “Can you get your home reader and start reading it to me please?”

  Emma disappears toward her bedroom, and I take my phone out of my pocket and call Pierre again. It goes through to voicemail. Again. Like every other call I’ve made to him.

  “Mummy,” Emma says startling me from my heavy mindset.

  “Yes, Peanut.”

  “Teddy is at Pierre’s house. How am I going to sleep tonight?”

  Shit, what am I going to say? Pierre’s acting like a child and not answering my calls? She won’t understand that, because quite frankly, I don’t understand that.

  “It’s only for one night. You’ll just have to sleep in with me and hug me instead,” I say as I give her a cuddle and kiss her head.

  “I’m a big girl now. I’m sure Pierre’s looking after Teddy.”

  “I’m sure he is.” I hope.

  Once we’ve eaten dinner, Emma has a shower and climbs into bed. “Mummy, can you call Pierre and ask him to put Teddy to the phone. I want to say goodnight to him.” My heart breaks in half, because I’ve been endlessly attempting to get in contact with Pierre, and the last time I called, his phone was switched off.

  “I think his battery has run out of charge because I can’t get through to him.”

  Emma yawns and rubs her tired big brown eyes. “I hope he’s okay.”

  “I’m sure Pierre is fine.” I smooth her hair down and give her a kiss.

  “I meant Teddy,” she says as she slides under the thin coverlet on her bed and extends her arms so I can lean in for a kiss.

  “Of course. Anyway, it’s late now and you need to get to sleep, and I’m tired too.”

  “I love you, Mummy.”

  “I love you too.” I lean in for one more kiss.

  “If you talk to Pierre tonight, can you tell him I love him please?”

  Tears well up, and I’m barely holding on to controlling them. “I will. Goodnight, Peanut.”

  “Night, Mummy.” She happily turns to face the wall, and closes her eyes completely oblivious to whatever Pierre’s issues are.

  9.30AM THE FOLLOWING MORNING

  After dropping Emma at school, I go directly to Pierre’s house. I’ve knocked several times, and he’s not answering although his car is in the driveway.

  I can’t hear any commotion inside, so I’m not entirely sure where he is.

  I’ve called him no less than twenty times, and still he’s not responded.

  Now, I sit in my car and open up the message icon on my phone. Staring at it blankly, I’m not sure what exactly it is I want to say to him. I’d rather see him face to face, so I can scream at him, slap him and tell him he most certainly is a monster. He promised Emma and me the world, and then he ran.

  He made my little girl fall in love with him, and he abandoned her.

  He made me fall in love with him, and he left, just when I needed him most.

  I begin typing a message to him, my last effort to understand what’s happened and why he ran.

  ‘I’ve sat and stared at my phone, called and left you messages. I’ve checked that my phone is working, and eagerly waited to hear your voice. Do you know why? In case you need to tell me something, like why you ran. I hope you figure it out and tell me, and soon, because I’m slipping through your fingers. You’ll wake up and I’ll be gone, and so will Emma. But I know now, you’re simply not strong enough to be with us, Pierre. We need a man who won’t hide the moment a truth is exposed. We need a man we can depend on and know he’ll stand by us no matter what happens. I will say this, you’re a coward and I won’t chase you anymore. You want to be a family with Emma and me? Prove you’re the man strong enough for us. If not, please mail Teddy back to Emma.’

  I read the message back to myself at least ten times as my finger hovers over the ‘send’ icon. I won’t chase him. I won’t force him to be with us if he doesn’t want to.

  I hit send and breathe out a huge sigh. I start my car and head in the direction of the funeral home to finish making the arrangements for Bronwyn’s service on Tuesday.

  7.30PM THE SAME NIGHT.

  “Mummy, did you speak with Pierre today? Did you get Teddy?” Emma asks as she eats the last of the tacos I prepared for dinner.

  “I’m sorry, Peanut, but I’ve not been able to get in contact with him.”

  “Maybe he’s at work?”

  “I’m not sure,” I add as I take the final bite of dinner.

  The doorbell rings and Emma jumps out of her seat, running to answer it. I’m right behind her. Pierre is standing at the door, looking terrible, with Teddy in his hands.

  “Teddy!” Emma shrieks as I unlock the screen door and she lunges for her stuffed toy. “Thank you so much, Pierre.” She hugs him around the waist, takes Teddy and goes to get ready for bed.

  “You are welcome, ma belle petite.”

  Pierre stands at the door step, eyes downcast, unshaven, his hair loose and in a mess. I take in a huge breath and straighten my shoulders and back. “Get it over and done with,” I say, my rough tone telling him not to screw with me.

  “This is fucked.” He rakes his hand through his messy hair.

  “Yeah, it is. But I’m done acting like your parent. I already have one child, and I don’t want another who’s forty-one. The way you’ve been acting, you’re nowhere near my equal, Pierre. You’re simply not worthy of my love nor Emma’s, so unless you have something to say, it’s goodbye.” I go to close the door on him, not really wanting to give him a chance to say anything that will break my heart further.

  “I knew your husband,” Pierre says in desperation, placing his hand against the door so I don’t slam it in his face.

  “What?” I ask, his words shocking me. “What do you mean you knew Stephen?”

  Pierre puts his hands in his pockets, looks down and shuffles his feet on the spot.

  “Can I come in?” he asks without meeting my gaze. “Please,” he whispers.

  I look around me, not really sure what the hell to do. I swallow the boulder sitting in my throat and feel my blood racing along in my veins. I simply nod and stand to the side, essentially giving Pierre one last chance.

  “We need to talk, mon chéri.”

  “You no longer have the right to call me that. But I’ll give you one hour after Emma goes to bed. After that, you’ll need to leave.” Pierre nods and looks down again.

  “You look beautiful,” he says as he moves to kiss me. I turn my cheek and let his lips find skin as opposed to my lips. “I understand.” His hand comes up to touch my elbow, then skims down my arm and finally rests on my hip. “Please, I beg of you to just hear what I have to say. After we have talked, if you are not satisfied with my explanation, I will leave and not bother you or Emma again.”

  “You left so easily. You literally ran away,” I whisper as tears spring free.

  “I am sorry I hurt you.” He kisses me on the cheek again and gently trails his nose down my jaw line.

  “What are you doing, Pierre?” I close my eyes and savour his touch.

  “Just in case you tell me you do not want me, I am soaking up your scent, letting it embed into my soul for I do not ever want to forget you.”

  And with that my heart shatters. It’s almost like it’s ripped into two pieces and both are lying tarnished and wrecked, unable to be put back together.

  I step away and wipe the tears that are clinging to my cheeks. “Would you like a coffee? Or possibly something stronger? I know I need a drink, maybe even the bottle.” I walk into the kitchen and get a glass tumbler from one of the cupboards.

  “Non, I have given up anything which can alter my state of mind. Except of course, I have not given up on us. You are my best drug, and the only stimulant I need.”

  Huh? What the h
ell is he talking about?

  “Do you want a coffee or glass of water then?”

  “If it is alright with you, I would like to go and read to Emma before she goes to sleep.” He stands at the kitchen entrance looking at me, hopeful I’ll say yes.

  “I’m not sure.” I get the bottle of aged scotch Bronwyn keeps up high and pour myself two fingers’ worth.

  “Please, I just need to say goodnight to her and to give her a kiss.”

  I swig from the tumbler and nod, just once.

  Pierre turns and calls for Emma. “May I read to you tonight, ma belle petite?” I hear him ask her. I assume once he’s reached her room.

  “Yes please,” she answers enthusiastically.

  I down my first tumbler of scotch and listen to their conversation, I’m not eavesdropping but it’s hard to miss when Emma asks, “Have you and Mummy had a fight?” The two broken pieces of my heart flap against the ground they’ve fallen upon.

  “Non, we have not had a fight,” I hear him respond. “Your Mummy did not do anything wrong. I did.”

  “She was crying last night. I thought it was because Nanna died, but I heard her ask Daddy why you don’t love her anymore. Daddy didn’t answer her. If you don’t love Mummy, does that mean you don’t love me either?”

  My eyes and nose are running, and I’m trying to hold onto the ragged breath wanting to burst through my lungs.

  “I love you so much it hurts. So much, ma belle petite.”

  “Can you just say you’re sorry to Mummy? Because I love you too, Pierre and I don’t want Mummy sad anymore.”

  It’s then I pour another two fingers’ worth of scotch in the glass and sit at the dining room table, trying not to listen to their conversation. Several minutes pass, and Pierre comes out and leans against the wall furthest away from me.

  “Would you like a drink?” I offer without standing.

  “Just some water, please.” I go to stand, but Pierre shakes his head. “Please, stay, I will get it.” He walks into the kitchen, gets a glass sitting in the kitchen strainer on the sink and fills it with tap water.

  I swish the tumbler around in my hand and watch the residual liquid swirling around the bottom of the glass. Pierre comes in, drags the chair out opposite me and waits for me to nod before he sits.