Page 19 of Kept
“Josephine? Is that you?”
“Oh, God, James, I’m sorry. I thought I was being followed. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Here,” he holds out his hands, and I take them, wincing in pain at the scrapes on them. I clearly have some small bitumen stones embedded in my skin.
“You’re hurt,” he frowns down at my hands, holding them up to the moonlight to reveal blood just starting to bubble from the surface of the scrapes.
“It’s just a scrape, listen, do you have your car around here?”
“Car? I live here, just three houses down actually.”
“Oh.”
“I was just out for a jog. Do you need a lift home?”
“Yes.”
We walk side by side the rest of the short way to his home. I feel like I should tell him why I am there, but I just can’t be bothered, and he doesn’t ask.
He also doesn’t ask if I want to come inside while he retrieves his keys, which I think is kind of strange, given that I’ve just told him I'd had a nasty shock, and given that my hands clearly need first aid.
Nevertheless, I wait outside, passing my weight from foot to foot nervously, even though he only takes a few seconds to come back.
As soon as he unlocks his car, I run around to the passenger side and slide into the seat with the eagerness of a retriever about to be taken for a walk.
Espagnole
Mother Sauce 3: this roux is also known as brown sauce
Ingredients:Butter, plain flour, mirepoix: (celery, carrots and onions), beef stock, spices of choice
Method:
Cook mirepoix in butter until golden, add flour and cook roux until medium brown.
Add stock, whisk fast to prevent lumps, add spices, strain in a sieve, discard solids.
A little tomato puree will make this sauce thicker and give more flavour. Peppercorns and bay leaf add depth. Adding the fond from beef bones will give a richer taste.
7
“It’s just coffee,” he says again, pressing me.
“I, uh, I’m busy tomorrow.”
This actually isn’t true. It is my day off tomorrow, and I want to continue to wallow in self-pity, eat cheap food high in sugar and salt and hide under my doona.
But I was also frantically trying to think of a reason, any reason other than the real truth as to why I don’t want to have a coffee with James Hunter, overly friendly and increasingly attractive history teacher.
“Is there some other reason,” he says, shaking his head and trying to catch my eye.
I nervously glance over the counter behind him, hoping the girls will start coming in soon for their lunch, but I am out of luck. It is just me, and James, and an empty cafeteria. Just as it has been every afternoon since he had rescued me after my restaurant debacle. He pops in for an afternoon chat at exactly this time each day.
“Look,” I frown, “I’ve already told you I don’t date staff.”
“And, like I said, just coffee. I’d like to get to know you more, Josephine, that is all.”
“Aren’t I a little too old for your tastes?”
