by P. F. Ford
I closed the curtains and turned on a couple of lamps. I was beginning to feel hungry, but I didn’t fancy trying to cook. In the fridge was a vegetable casserole. Maybe I could eat that. Then I had a great idea – why not heat the casserole and put it through the blender? Homemade soup – awesome idea!
At last I had creaked and groaned my stiff-as-a-board body around the kitchen and got everything together. It had taken so long, I was feeling exhausted, but I was also really hungry now. It was just a case of pouring the warmed-up casserole into the blender and then zapping the whole thing. The problem was, I couldn’t lift the damned casserole with one hand...
Carefully, I ladled the final scoop of casserole into the blender. I was so looking forward to this. It was just at this point, because I had only the one hand to use, I made a stupid mistake. I carefully placed the lid on the blender and switched it on.
Did you spot the mistake? No? Well here’s a little tip – always keep one hand on the blender lid...
I watched in fascination as the contents of the blender seemed to double in size before my very eyes when I switched it on. Sadly, the container didn’t double in size as well. Just like in a cartoon, the lid seemed to swell slightly then shoot into the air. Propelled in a clockwise spiral, the now uncontained contents painted a foot-wide stripe around the kitchen at head height.
Fortunately, it had taken so long to get the contents into the blender they had cooled down quite a bit, so the faceful I got didn’t scald me, and my glasses stopped the stuff from going in my eyes, but for a moment I couldn’t see a thing...
I stood, dripping vegetable soup onto the kitchen floor. Carefully, I ran my glasses under the tap, dried them, and slipped them back on. But that didn’t really help much, and now I could see how much mess I had actually made.
You won’t believe just how far one blender jug, half-filled with soup, can go; it might look like half a pint when it’s inside the blender, but trust me, that’s an optical illusion. By the time it’s dripping down the walls, that half pint has become a gallon.
And as a form of decor – well, I’m no designer, but I don’t think it’s a look that will ever catch on. I wondered how the hell I was going to clean this lot up. I mean, I could hardly move. It would take all night...
Then the doorbell rang.
My first thought was that Gloria must have found me. Who else could it be?
It rang again. Bugger. Maybe if I ignored it she would go away.
But no, it wasn’t going to happen. It rang again – much longer, and more insistent this time.
Gingerly, I made my way to the front door and peered through the spy-hole but it appeared there was no one there.
The bell rang again. This time I crouched down and carefully opened the letterbox and peered through. I was sure I recognised that padded jacket from somewhere. But from where? Hang on a minute. Could it be? I took another peep. Now this was a surprise, and the really good news (definitely worth a big sigh of relief) was that it wasn’t Gloria.
I opened the door. ‘Jelena! What are you doing here?’
She looked up at me. ‘I sorry if disturb. I can go if busy.’
‘Not at all. Come in.’ I stepped back and opened the door wider. She came in then turned to face me as I closed the door.
‘Sure not bad time?’ she asked, with a smirk.
I looked in the mirror. What a state I was! I had vegetable soup in my hair and my face, all over the bandage around my head, and dripping down the front of me.
‘Ah! Yes. I’ve had a bit of an accident.’
‘You seem have lot accident.’
‘I can understand it probably looks that way.’ I made to wipe my face with my right hand but a sharp pain stopped me.
‘Your arm – is not good, yes?’
‘Yes. I mean no. It’s not good. Cracked, just below the elbow. It’s ok if I keep it still.’
‘Kitchen as mess as you?’
‘Err, well, no. It’s fine.’
‘I think you say “porky pie”, yes? I plenty time, you look need help’.
For a moment I was lost for words.
‘Is ok,’ she said. ‘Lead to mess. I clean.’
‘But I couldn’t possibly let you do that. For a start, I hardly know you.’
‘You know even less last night, but still help me. Now I help you. Is right.’ She smiled defiantly at me. Decision made then. But she wasn’t finished. ‘But first need clean you.’ She pointed to my bandage. ‘Need change. Where bathroom?’
I hadn’t seen her smile before. She had the most gorgeous dimples. And there was something about that accent. And the way her English wasn’t quite right; it really was very attractive to listen to. So while we cleaned up (well, okay, she did most of the work) I happily listened as she told me her story...
It turned out that she was here to find her aunt. She had been born in the early eighties when there had been a lot of trouble between the Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo. She had been just a few months old when her Serbian mother had been killed.
For her own protection she had been taken to Serbia, where she had been raised in an orphanage. She knew little about her family, most of whom had been murdered, but rumour had it she had a surviving aunt who was living in England. She had got this far but, for the moment at least, the trail had gone cold.
‘But what about the big guy? Gregov? Where does he fit into all this?’
‘I not much money, need get here. Gregov people smuggler, yes? I pay him bring me. I supposed work prostitute, but escape make way here. He must follow me.’
‘So what happens now? If the trail’s gone cold on your aunt what are you going to do?’
‘Not know.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Cannot give up. No money get home...’
Jelena had finished cleaning now, and we sat drinking coffee. She looked pale and tired, as though a good night’s sleep was something she hadn’t had in a while.
‘Where are you staying?’
She looked away, embarrassed. ‘I find somewhere.’
‘Where are your things? Your luggage? You must have brought some stuff with you.’
‘Bag in railway station locker. Is ok.’
‘But you don’t actually have anywhere to stay do you?’
‘Is ok.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but is most definitely not ok! You can stay here tonight.’
She looked at me suspiciously. I went to raise my hands in surrender, winced at the pain and settled for raising just the left hand.
‘No catch,’ I said. ‘You can have the spare room.’
She continued to study my face.
‘Of course, if you’d prefer to try and find somewhere else at this time on a Saturday night...’
‘Why you do this?’
‘How about: a) because you look as though you haven’t slept in days, b) you could probably do with a hot bath, and c) because I like you.’
‘But how you know trust me? And how I know trust you?’
‘I know enough about you to want to help you, and I’m prepared to take the risk that I can trust you. As for trusting me – well, only you can decide that. But I would point out that not all men are like your friend Gregov. Some of us actually believe in truth, and honour, and old fashioned stuff like that.’
Finally, she made her mind up. ‘I stay one night only.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ I grinned. ‘Hungry?’
She nodded.
‘Okay. While you have a soak in the bath, I’m going to order a takeaway...’
Chapter Six
Have you ever tried to get undressed with your right arm in a sling? It was a nightmare. My arm might not have been broken, but moving it even the slightest amount was bloody agony.
Getting dressed next morning was as bad. It took me an age to get a shirt on, and as for doing the buttons up left handed... Well, it was frustrating to say the least, but I finally felt I was presentable enough not to put Jelena off her breakfast.
Not tha
t I needed to worry. When I emerged from my bedroom, she was nowhere to be seen. I figured she was probably still sleeping so I tried to keep as quiet as possible to keep it that way, closing the kitchen door behind me.
I carefully made myself some coffee and sat at the table. The last couple of days had been pretty eventful and I wondered what today would bring. There was a click as the door opened and my guest wandered in behind a huge yawn.
The sight of this tiny girl, all five feet of her, wrapped up in my dressing gown made me smile. It was on the big side for me, so it was way too big for her. Even with the sleeves rolled up, you could only just see the tips of her fingers, and it dragged along the floor as she walked.
‘Morning. Sleep ok?’
‘Mmmyessssffffffannkkyou,’ she yawned. ‘Sleep very well.’
‘Here. Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.’
She slumped in her chair, but after a few sips of coffee she began to wake up. Finally, she looked me up and down and started to laugh.
‘What?’ I said. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You have trouble dress?’ She giggled.
I looked down at my front. With the sling around my neck, I hadn’t realised my shirt wasn’t hanging right. I had all the buttons in the wrong holes.
‘Ah. Right. Yes, well, I’m not left handed you see.’
‘Stand up,’ she said. ‘I help.’
She started to re-arrange my buttons. Then my sling. Then she sat me down and set about changing the bandage around my head. This close to her I could smell clean, and warm...
I’ll say this – I’ve had worse starts to a Sunday.
As I sat there, enjoying being pampered, the doorbell rang. Who was out and about this early on a Sunday? I was still in anti-Gloria mode, so I checked carefully before I dared risk opening the door. No worries. It was a gaunt-looking sixty-year-old in jogging gear. It was Positive Pete.
He was a bit like an older brother, and I suppose, technically, Pete and I were actually related by marriage. He had been married to Gloria’s older sister, Marie. Marie was ten years older than Gloria and if she had been Gloria’s role model, it certainly explained her propensity for extra-marital affairs. Marie had been at it throughout her marriage to Pete and in the end, she had broken the poor guy’s spirit.
It wasn’t so much the affairs that broke him as the realisation that everyone had known except him. Deeply embarrassed by what he saw as his own stupidity, convinced everyone must have been laughing at him, and angered by the fact that no one thought he should be told, he had withdrawn from his old life and friends and become a virtual recluse.
But then he had discovered positive thinking and his whole life had changed. He now saw it as his responsibility to help me get over the break-up of my own marriage without falling apart. It was a bit like having my own personal life coach except, in reality, I think I was keeping him together as much as he was keeping me together.
I swung the door open. ‘Hi, Pete. What you doing here at this time on a Sunday?’
His mouth dropped open when he saw me. ‘What happened to you? You go away for a few days and look at you!’
‘It’s a long story, mate. You’d better come in.’
I led the way through to the kitchen. If Pete’s face had been a picture when I opened the door you should have seen it when he saw my guest. It was pure disbelief. He had obviously jumped to the same conclusion as Gloria. You could almost hear his mouth drop open and he turned to me with a big question in his eyes.
‘No, it’s not what you think,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Jelena, this is my good friend Pete. Pete, meet Jelena.’
‘Hello, Pete. Very please meet.’
She gave Pete the benefit of her beautiful smile, dimples and all. Embarrassed and awkward with women, Pete clearly wasn’t sure if he should shake hands, kiss her or what. So he just stood there with his mouth open.
‘Very nice.’ He said it as if he was passing judgement, then added hastily, ‘To meet you.’
‘Sit down.’ She pointed to the seat she had just vacated. ‘I get coffee.’
‘That would be good,’ he said, his mouth still agape. I gave him a nudge and signed to close his mouth.
Jelena bustled around for a minute and then placed a cup of coffee on the table. ‘You talk. I take shower, get dressed.’ Because the dressing gown reached the floor, hiding her legs and feet, she seemed to glide across the floor, almost as if she was on wheels.
Pete’s eyes followed her all the way to the door. As it closed, he turned to stare at me.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Don’t give me that innocent expression. I find you looking as if you’ve done ten rounds in a boxing ring. Then there’s a beautiful young woman in your kitchen, wearing your dressing gown, and you say “what”? You’ll have to do better than that.’
And so I told him everything that had happened since I returned on Friday evening.
‘So this big ugly guy isn’t the one who beat you up then?’ asked Pete.
‘Jelena says he definitely wasn’t there, and they weren’t his friends. And she seems to know who his friends are.’
‘What about the police? When are they coming back? Did you tell them what the attacker said to you?’ Pete was on a roll with the questions.
‘No, I didn’t tell them because I didn’t remember it when I spoke to them. As for when they’re coming back – who knows? I expect they’ve got plenty of better things to worry about.’
‘What? In Tinton? You really think so?’
Pete had a point. This wasn’t exactly the crime capital of Europe.
‘Well, there are some positives from all this.’ He wasn’t called Positive Pete for nothing.
‘Like what?’ I couldn’t wait to hear his positive spin on this.
‘You’ve met some new people-’
‘-who beat the crap out of me,’ I finished.
‘Now, you’re just being negative. What about the nurse?’
‘The one who treated me, or the one who called Gloria?’
‘Ah. Yes. Now I’ll admit it’s difficult to put a positive spin on that. But, what about your guest? What’s her name? Jelena? Now that has to be a positive.’
I had to admit, he had me there. Even if I had got battered after meeting her, she had certainly brightened up today.
‘Oh crap,’ said Pete. ‘Look at the time. I’ve got to go.’
I followed him to the front door.
‘I’ll put my thinking head on. Someone must have had a reason for doing this. You never know I might even come up with something. Speak soon.’ With that he was gone.
I closed the door and turned towards the kitchen. Jelena had just come from her bedroom. Squeaky clean as she now was, her clothes were definitely letting her down.
‘Your clothes need washing.’
‘No more clothes wear.’
‘Let’s get your bag from the station then you can use my washing machine.’
She started to protest. ‘But-’
‘No arguing. You said you had nowhere to rush off to, and I’m in no hurry, so let’s get you sorted out.’
She looked crestfallen. ‘But how repay?’
‘We have a saying in England: never look a gift horse in the mouth. Right now, I’m your gift horse.’ Then I had a thought. ‘Can you cook?’
‘Of course,’ she said, proudly. ‘I good cook.’
‘Ok. You want to pay me back? How about while we’re out we get some shopping and you cook dinner?’
There was that smile again. ‘Only if I get choose food.’
The smell of cooking permeated the flat. I had been banished to the living room while she prepared dinner. All she would tell me was that it was some sort of Serbian stew, similar to ratatouille. If it was half as good as it smelled...
Meanwhile I pondered what to do about her clothes. I mean, when I travel I take a suitcase. And I just sort of assumed that’s what everyone did. That’s what we all do, isn’t it? But t
hen most of us don’t travel by people smuggler, do we?
This girl was proving to be a real eye-opener for me. Jelena had, as she had said, just one bag. It turned out to be a very small bag. To put it bluntly, the bag she had would have been too small for most people to even consider as a carry-on. The clothes she had on were just about all she had.
We were just going to have to go shopping for clothes for her. But I knew this was going to hurt her pride. She was already struggling to deal with my hospitality; buying her clothes may be a step too far...
Dinner was everything the aroma had promised. I hadn’t realised just how hungry I was, and I burped quietly and happily. From the kitchen, I could hear the sounds of washing up. Jelena had insisted and I didn’t want to argue. We had already had a long and uncomfortable discussion about buying new clothes that I had just about won, but I didn’t want to push my luck.
Evening had arrived outside and I went through my ritual of closing out the night with curtains and replacing the gloom with my own lighting. We still had half a bottle of red wine to finish and I was already feeling a little mellow. I hadn’t shared my living space with another person since my split with Gloria, and I have to say I was enjoying the experience.
I eased myself onto the sofa. I found that propping myself in the corner was the most comfortable position. Jelena came in and sat at the other end. We had found her a pair of slippers in the supermarket and now she slipped them off, swivelled in her seat, and curled up facing me. She leaned forward and looked over the top of her wine glass at me. She obviously wanted to tell me something.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘You obviously have something on your mind, so come on, out with it.’
She sighed, undecided. ‘I not know.’
‘What don’t you know?’
‘I not know what you want.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I not know what you want. Always men want something, it usually same thing every time.’
I felt a bit vacant for a moment, then I realised what she meant. ‘Oh, I see. You’re wondering when I’m going to try it on.’