102 292
JoMazelis
102
The doorbell rang on the
last Friday of the holidays
at eight o’clock.
She opened the door to
find Lawrence on the
threshold. He was tanned
and seemed to have lost
the last of the excess fat.
He wore flip-flops, khaki
shorts and a white t-shirt.
‘Hi,’ he said, hefting the
rucksack from his back
and onto the floor. Not
wanting to look at his
face, she found herself
concentrating on his feet.
There were grains of
sand still visible between
his toes. She hated him
for that, for making her
remember
long
ago
summer days when she
had come home from the
beach, sand everywhere
and the sea pulsing in
her head, the waves still
visible when she shut her
eyes to sleep.
‘Hello,’ she said as coldly as
she could, but he seemed
oblivious.
‘Think I’ll have a shower,’
he said. ‘Is there anything
to eat?’
She turned sharply on her
heel, went to the kitchen
and crashed about with
pots and pans, browning
meat, chopping onions,
garlic,
mushrooms,
chillies.
She heard the creak of the
floorboards overhead and
the rattle of the pipes as
the shower was turned on.
She boiled rice and poured
half a bottle of Claret into
the sauce. Drank the other
half, then opened a second
bottle.
The little feet beside
her seemed to wobble
unsteadily. Her little ghost