Sweet Damage by Rebecca James Read Free Book Online Page B

cook.’ She looks abashed. ‘I have no idea what to make or even where to start.’ She turns back to the sliced apple. ‘I found this recipe in one of Mum’s old books, but it’s probably going to be a disaster.’
    â€˜So why don’t you let me do it? I can cook. I’ll go down to the shops and get some fish. I know this snapper recipe. It’s a cinch. Takes five minutes but tastes awesome. Looks impressive, too. I’ll show you how to make it and then you’ll have something apart from tinned soup in your cooking repertoire.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜I know how to make a good apple pie, too. I’ll get some ginger, it’ll give it a lift. And you’ll need cream.’
    I’m walking down the hall towards the front door when she calls out, ‘Wait!’ She rushes towards me, a hundred-dollar note in her hand. ‘Here, take this. You can’t pay for all that stuff. And you should get us something to drink. Some beer or something. Some wine too, maybe. Whatever you like.’
    It’s a hot walk down to the shops in the sun, and my backpack is heavy and overloaded on the way back. I sweat like a pig and wish I’d brought a bottle of water with me. When I finally arrive back at the house and step inside, I’m glad of the gloom. It might be dark, but at least it’s cool.
    I load the fridge with beer and supplies, then wash my hands and get to work. I make pastry for the apple pie, add ginger to the apples and put it in the oven. I put together a salad. Anna offers to help and I get her to mix the marinade and spread it over the skin of the fish.
    When we’ve finished we both go to our rooms to get ready. I take a shower, put on a clean T-shirt, my best pair of shorts. I’m back in the kitchen checking on the pie when Anna comes in. She’s changed into a red T-shirt and a pair of jeans. There’s nothing particularly revealing about her clothes, but I notice her shape for the first time – a body that she’s kept completely hidden until now. I must be staring because she hesitates, then positions herself on the other side of the benchtop and clutches her hands together nervously. I feel like a jerk.
    â€˜Beer,’ I say, and I busy myself getting glasses, opening a bottle, hoping that the heat in my face isn’t showing on my skin.
    We take our beers outside to the small courtyard off the kitchen. I watch Anna take a seat. She lifts her glass and swallows half her beer in one go.
    â€˜Is this all right for you?’ I say, sitting opposite her. ‘Out here?’
    She hesitates, nods. ‘I’m usually okay if I’m close to the house. Sometimes I can’t . . .’ She breaks off, sighs. ‘I’m fine. I’d say so if I wasn’t.’
    She doesn’t look fine. She looks unhappy and on edge. I try to start a conversation, but my attempts fall flat and I resign myself to sitting in uncomfortable silence. Anna finishes her beer while mine’s still practically full. I go inside to get the bottle, glad of something to do.
    She drinks the next one quickly too, downing the entire glass in a few hasty gulps, as if it’s medicine, and I wonder if she’s using the alcohol to calm her nerves. She finishes her second drink before I’ve even finished my first.
    â€˜I think I’ll have another.’ She stands up. ‘Do you want one?’
    â€˜Sure,’ I say, draining mine. ‘Why not?’
    She brings another bottle out and tops up our glasses, then takes the bottle inside. She seems slightly more relaxed when she returns. She leans back in her chair instead of perching on the edge, and her normally restless hands move less frantically. She sips on her third drink slowly. I try again to think of something to say, wishing she wasn’t so impossible to talk to, but I’m saved by a flock of galahs that fly in and gather noisily in the trees above us.