by Tina Clough
“I know! That’s what is driving me crazy. Sarah and James get to London on Tuesday next week, so it’s not long now. But wouldn’t you think he’d respond one way or the other?”
She mooched around the apartment most of Saturday, unable to settle down to anything constructive. Miles rang and offered to pick her up on his way to John’s place for dinner. He was picking Paul up first and Mia was pleased to accept the offer. It wasn’t until she had put the phone down that it occurred to her to wonder where Lorraine was. Maybe she’s working and going straight to John’s from work? Never mind, at least I don’t have to decide whether I should go by bus and come home by taxi, or only have one glass of wine!
She diverted her impatience by making a real production of getting dressed. Not that she had to dress up, but with new and interesting clothes it was fun to experiment, and she managed to kill at least an hour, doing her face and trying on different things.
John’s place was hard to find though it was in a little street just off Parnell Road. They drove past it once without realising and had to make a second circuit round the block. He lived in a two-storey townhouse with its front and garage doors right on the footpath.
To Mia’s surprise Lorraine opened the door. “I got here early, so I’m helping with the preparations.” She sounded very casual and led the way up the stairs with no signs of having anything to hide. John was at the stove in the open kitchen - he turned round to say hello, but stayed where he was. Lorraine had been setting the table. “I’m not allowed near the cooking end, so I am being the maid,” she explained. “Nonsense – it’s just that I like cooking without anyone giving me advice. Why don’t you all have a drink and give me one too?” said John. “I put some bubbly in the fridge, so we could start with that.”
Mia watched fascinated as Lorraine went straight to the right cupboard and got out champagne flutes. She must have been here drinking bubbly before! And if she has, it can only have been in the last week – wonder what it means? Are they getting involved? He’s so much older, but very nice. I wouldn’t call him sexy, but tastes differ. Thoughts and speculations continued to flit through her head during the evening. Now that she was alert to it she saw little signals of mutual attraction and wondered if Miles or Paul had noticed, but maybe men paid less attention to these things.
There was a small courtyard garden at the back and a first-floor balcony overlooking it. Mia joined Paul and Miles on the balcony but contributed little to the conversation. I envy John this little garden; it’s like an extra room. And so private and sheltered – perfect. Then she noticed that the other townhouses in the row all had balconies and little courtyard gardens and she could see straight into those on either side – not so private, more like being on a stage!
She went inside and joined Lorraine and John in the kitchen and helped carry plates to the table. There was smoked salmon baked in a crust of breadcrumbs, herbs and orange zest and tiny steamed baby leeks. “Very impressive talent, John,” said Miles, as he accepted another helping of salmon. “Where did you learn to cook like this? It’s as good as a five-star restaurant!”
John looked pleased. “It’s not so special. I was married for nine years and my wife taught at a restaurant school, so it was inevitable that I picked up a lot from her. Whenever we ate out she’d figure out what the ingredients were and how it was put together and sort of rate the meal, so I learnt both theory and practice.”
Unasked question hung in the air over the table and John added. “We divorced a few years ago – she left me to marry an Australian vegetarian of all things. We sold the house and I bought this townhouse. And here I live my quiet and orderly life and amuse myself by cooking nice food.”
He raised his glass and they toasted the idea of a quiet and orderly life. Lorraine changed the subject. “Well we managed to avoid fretting about the Irwin thing for an hour and a half! Which is a great relief, because I know Mia’s twitching to find out what’s going on.”
Mia agreed with a sigh. “This week’s been torture. I just can’t stop thinking of it. I alternate between hoping I’m completely wrong and wanting it to happen. I must be mad. At least we know that if it’s going to happen it will be before Tuesday, because that’s the day Sarah and James get to London and I know they’d heard about it before they got there.”
It was nearly midnight when the evening broke up, and somehow they had not really discussed their time strand theories at all. It was as if their minds were in suspended animation until the next stage was reached, but for Mia their company was supportive and comforting. Paul was on duty early in the morning and Miles drove him and Mia home, despite his several glasses of wine. “If we get stopped I’ll have to lie down on the floor so they don’t see me,” said Paul. “I would be in real trouble for being in a car with a DIC driver.”
“Think of me!” said Miles, but he was smiling and didn’t seem to care. “I’d look a great sight in court, first defending clients and then being the accused myself.”
Mia was only half listening; she was thinking of Lorraine saying that she would help John tidy up and then drive herself home. Perhaps she was going to stay the night? Mia’s mind continued wondering about Lorraine and John. She realised she was envious – she could recreate in her mind that intense feeling of wanting to be together with someone all the time, of hardly being able to resist reaching out to touch the other person, of being held and making love and going to sleep with someone. When they stopped outside her building, she said a quick goodnight and got out of the car, intent on her thoughts and in no mood for talking.
While she got ready for bed her mind was still on love and sex. After Greg died I sort of shut myself in and I can’t remember thinking of sex even once until just recently. Apart from the day I stopped taking the contraceptive pills, but I don’t think even that involved any reasoned thought of sex or no sex – it was just something I realised I didn’t need to do any more. Maybe that’s the same thing as deciding not to have sex again. Is it because I’ve taken charge and got some confidence back that I’m thinking of it now? I looked at Paul and noticed how attractive he is and I was tempted to reach out and touch his arm, but I think that’s more to do with that wonderful colour and silky look of his skin than anything else. I feel the same way about Lorraine’s skin – I often want to reach over and stroke her arm. Perhaps I am coming to life again generally, not just in action, but inside. They say power is an aphrodisiac, but most of the time the power to foretell things just gives me the creeps.
She turned the light out and biffed her pillow into shape and as she closed her eyes she suddenly thought of Thomas telling her how he had practiced the trick of opening a snuff-box with the fingers of the hand he held it in. She could picture his hand as he demonstrated. And then she slept.
The morning was wet and windy; the big windows in the living room were streaming with rain carried on the northerly wind. Despite the temperature inside being the same as always, Mia felt chilled. She put on a thicker sweatshirt and socks and sat down to plan her day over breakfast. She had invited Carl and Thomas for dinner, so she must decide what to cook and then go to the supermarket, and there was some washing and ironing to do – to think that only a few weeks ago she had been looking round for things to do and now she hardly had time to keep up with it all. She thought of Sarah and James, who were due to arrive in London soon and the knot of anxiety reappeared in her stomach. If anything were going to happen to Irwin it would happen before Tuesday.
She shook herself to dispel the mixture of guilt and anticipation that gripped her, got up from the table and went to put the washing in the machine and fetch her folder of recipes. She wanted to cook something special, not just a simple dish that could be thrown together in a few minutes, however delicious it might be. She leafed through the folder and scanned the mix of cuttings and the occasional recipe in someone’s handwriting. It was like going through an album of memories; here was the Floating Island pudding Brett’s mother always made in winte
r, and on the next page a cutting from a magazine with pictures showing how to stuff chicken legs with feta, pine nuts and grated zucchini, which she mentally marked as a possibility. Her mother’s recipe for Beef Stroganoff was tempting on a rainy day and so was the Cuisine recipe for fillet steak sautéed with picked walnuts. This was the first time she had looked at her recipe folder since before Greg died. It was not until the washing machine beeped that she finally made up her mind: Beef Stroganoff, Hasselback potatoes and her favourite mixture of peas and thinly sliced leeks. By the time she had transferred the washing to the dryer she had decided on a dessert. She wrote her shopping list and went out into the uninviting rain.
It was still only nine o’clock. She had woken very early and had got on with the day without considering the time. The supermarket was unearthly quiet and empty, the aisles seemed twice as wide as usual. She read the labels on ice cream packets to find one made with real vanilla seeds. She had a serious conversation with the butcher behind the meat counter about whether it was a waste to buy top quality steak for the Stroganoff and rambled through the nearly empty shop in a dreamy way quite unlike the rush and crush of weekday shopping. The car park was still nearly empty in the grey drizzle and the city felt hushed and still.
It was the perfect Sunday to stay inside and enjoying cooking and preparing for guests. Mia put a Chris Knox CD in the player and started preparing the Stroganoff. The recipe was supposed to be authentic, or that was what her mother used to say. Mia looked at the lined-up ingredients and knew that the mix of tomato paste, sour cream, mushrooms, onion and wine would be delicious - impossible to go wrong with this one. She felt more contented and relaxed than she had for a very long time. She had always enjoyed cooking for special occasions and having the time to do it without rushing added to the pleasure. The casserole went into the oven to cook slowly for an hour and a half; after that it could sit and cool and she would simply reheat it for dinner. She peeled potatoes and searched for her very biggest wooden spoon that she only ever used for Hasselback potatoes. At home they had always had potatoes done this way with Stroganoff and she could see no reason to break with tradition.
“There are two tricks you have to know about Hasselback potatoes,” her mum used to say. “The first trick is to put the peeled potato in the wooden spoon and holding the potato and the spoon firmly together while slicing very thin slices through the potato until the knife meets the rim of the wooden spoon. That way you avoid slicing right through the potato by mistake. The second trick is to baste the potatoes several times with butter while they roast.” Mia thought of her mother while she sliced her potatoes very thinly and put them in a bowl of cold water.
Though it was early it was already hours since she had had breakfast. She sat at the table with a sandwich and a cup of coffee looking out through the rain-washed windows without really seeing the view. The last year had taken her through new and frightening mental territories and now she had been given a new start. She treasured the present and the chance to change things, but in the back of her mind a cautionary little voice whispered that things might change and what she had unexpectedly been given might be taken away. A shiver ran briefly down her spine. She shook herself to dispel the feeling of dread and went back to the kitchen.
The mess in the study had to be tackled. She was still gradually working her way back to the state the study had been in, when she was snatched from That Time and deposited back in This Time. Once again most of the clutter was gone and the shelves looked tidier and now she was tackling the drawers and a couple of document boxes. Looking at the registration papers for Greg’s Ducati she realised she had never claimed the insurance for it. She thought once again of how dys-functional she had been in That Time. Now she would claim the insurance and the money could go towards the new furniture. There was an ironical justice in the thought that Greg’s motorbike extravagance would be subsidising the revamp of the apartment. She smiled without malice and went to make the last preparations, before changing for dinner.
An hour later, on her way to open the front door, she glanced around the living area, checked her face in the hall mirror and realised that she felt happy, really and truly pleased with life.
Thomas carried a bag with two bottles of wine and Carl handed her a bouquet of very tall dark blue irises wrapped in clear cellophane. “I hope you have a really tall vase, but these were so splendid we couldn’t go past them.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you! And as luck has it that’s one of the things I bought in that furniture shop – a very tall vase! Come on in and I’ll put them in water straight away.”
Carl went to the windows to look out at the view and Thomas followed her to the kitchen. “We can put this one in the fridge to keep it cool or you can keep it for another time. And I bought a bottle of late harvest Riesling in case we’re having dessert, and that definitely needs chilling.”
The domestic activity of opening wine, handing out glasses and nibbles and putting the flowers in water made the occasion casual and homely and broke the ice. Carl admired the view and the new furniture and said he hoped the rain would stop, so they could see further. Carl was interested in everything. “I’ve never been in an apartment up high before. I never thought it would be like this!”
Mia went to the window to show him that he’d be able to see the Sky tower if he looked in the right direction. As she was pointing it out she sensed that Thomas had come over and was standing immediately behind her, she could feel the heat coming from his solid body. She turned her head slightly and saw him looking not at the view but down at her; there was a brief moment of stillness and then Thomas stepped back and looked round the room.
“You’ve done a tremendous job with the décor, Mia. Very stylish, but it still looks like a home. I went to see a client at his home recently and the place was like a display in a shop - not the slightest sign that anyone lived there, elegant and sterile – probably done by a stylist.”
Carl turned from the window to study the room. “Well I only see other people’s homes on TV, but I can see it’s very smart and lot better put together than my place. Or Thomas’s for that matter!”
He grinned at Thomas, who was obviously not in the least put out by the comparison. “Quite right - my place is a boring mess. I inherited some furniture from my mother and I’ve never got around to sorting the place out, so a lot of stuff is there by default, so to speak. And not having any creative ability I haven’t done anything about it. Maybe I could hire you as a consultant, Mia?”
Mia was quick to disclaim any merit. “It was easy, because I had sorted out the look I wanted in design magazines and all I did was decide to get rid of absolutely everything I didn’t positively like, which left very little. In fact hardly anything at all.”
Feeling that she must not make Thomas feel that his house needed the sort of look she had created here, she added: “And your house is a lovely old villa with high ceilings and needs to be furnished in a style that suits it.”
Carl’s sense of 1940’s economy got the better of him. “I hope you didn’t just give all your stuff away to some second-hand shop, Mia. You need to be careful when you’re living on your own and there’s nobody else to tide you over, if you get ill and can’t go to work.”
“Oh no, I gave the lot to an auction firm, and they have a second-hand shop as well, so they paid me up front for the stuff they’ll put into the shop. The rest will be auctioned, actually any day now. Not that there was anything worth a lot of money – just some things from family, the bed we bought when we got married, and then lots of stuff like china and ornaments, linen and so on. In fact I got completely ruthless and got rid of a couple of wedding presents I didn’t like.”
Thomas chuckled and raised his wine glass. “Here’s to Mia! Just the sort of person I need to come and be ruthless at my place. Name your fee and the job’s yours.”
His words and tone were joking, but his eyes were hard to read. Mia had a moment of confusion and was uncer
tain of how to respond; was he serious? She avoided replying directly by picking up the wine bottle and turning to Carl. “Can I top up your glass, Carl?”
The hour before they sat down to eat was punctuated by Mia’s visits to the kitchen. When she announced that dinner would be ready in a couple of minutes Carl went off the bathroom and Thomas came into the kitchen to ask if he could carry something. “You could help me decide which wine we’ll drink,” said Mia. “We are having Beef Stroganoff, so we must have a red. There are three different ones over there by the phone, so please open the one you think would be best and put it on the table for me.”
Thomas looked at each bottle carefully and said, “I think we’ll have this Te Mata cabernet-merlot – it’s a wonderful wine, lots of personality to go with the beef. Did you buy it especially for tonight?”
Mia felt herself blush. “No, I’ve had it tucked away for a couple of years. Greg wasn’t a wine drinker, so I’ve been waiting to share it with someone who’d appreciate it.”
She bent down and took the potatoes out of the oven to avoid looking at him. She could feel him looking at her, but all he said was, “I look forward to it.”
The meal was a great success. Carl had never had Stroganoff and decided it had completely changed his mind about casseroles. “Next time you ask us for dinner you’ll have to make it again, it’s just lovely.” Thomas confessed he was a terrible cook, who could only produce grilled lamb chops and mashed potatoes. “It’s a bit like the inside of my house. I don’t know how to be creative, but I know how to appreciate the creativity of other people. I know that what you’ve achieved is great and I know that this food is top class, but I couldn’t do any of it myself. And the wine is superb!”
The conversation ranged from politics to TV programmes. Mia was interested to find that Carl had a complete grasp of everything on TV and liked the most surprising things, or at least they seemed surprising to her. And he was stunned at the gaps in Mia’s TV education. “You mean you haven’t watched Outrageous Fortune?! I can’t believe it - it’s hilarious, I never miss it. I hope they do another series after this one.”