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‘Here’s the information about the tuckshop: the hours, menu and volunteer roster for each day.’ She proffered him a piece of A4 paper.
He took it but said, ‘Can’t you do it?’
She looked at him and her face danced in the shadows from the heat of the fire. Gone was the humour of before, the softness, now she was officious and serious again. ‘Yes, of course I can. And I will if you don’t. Most mums care for young children in addition to helping their husbands on their properties, so it’s not fair to burden them with another job.’
‘But it’s fair to burden you?’
‘I don’t mind.’ Her response was automatic, but he sensed a hesitancy. She checked her watch and gave out a small, almost indiscernible sigh. He wouldn’t say he was a great judge of character, but he sensed Bridie had a fair bit riding on her shoulders.
In a rare move for him, he felt the need to reassure her. ‘I’ll do it, but only this week while the other woman is sick, and I won’t cook.’
Her eyes roamed his face, searching for answers. When she didn’t find them, she smiled, and for that it was almost worth it. But secretly his head churned with ideas of how to get out of this ridiculous charade of the school tuckshop.
Caleb had spent his entire life in a kitchen. The early days were over a sink of piping hot sudsy water, cleaning stacks of dirty dishes until the soft skin had peeled away from his fingers. Then he’d secured his apprenticeship and spent days cutting only tomatoes. Eventually, he moved on to the next station and cut a variety of vegetables. The first kitchens he’d worked in had been simple and drab with only the most basic of equipment, but later, he experienced elaborate set-ups with a plethora of the best appliances. One thing in common, no matter the kitchen- the noise, chaos and the abuse, was the same.
His body temperature rose with the heat of the cooktop. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a kitchen and hadn’t been half-tanked. Drinking and cooking went together, there wasn’t one without the other, well not for a long-time anyway. It was all innocent fun at first, a drink to get through the busy service. Then a glass of something stronger to deal with the pressure. But the pressure had kept building until he was drinking an entire bottle off the top shelf each night.
But he was here now. In the modest kitchen of his sister’s house where the early morning light streamed in casting a yellow glow. This was a simple act of preparing food for Sybella. He didn’t need the drink. Despite the reassurance, his hand trembled.
‘You’re awake,’ Sybella said as she entered the kitchen. Caleb had his back to her, but he heard the hesitation in her voice. He couldn’t blame the kid for being tentative.
He turned, brandishing the hot pan and flipping the pancake. He smiled at her as it flew into the air and landed squarely on her plate. She giggled. Grabbing the leftover ice-cream and strawberries he created a stack.
‘I’ve never had ice-cream for breakfast before.’
‘I know you usually have eggs but there isn’t any. I’ll get some groceries today and you can have them tomorrow.’
‘This is better,’ she said and dove in.
‘Wait!’ He extracted his phone and captured a shot of the dish.
‘What are you doing?’ Sybella asked as he examined the photo.
Caleb paused. What the hell was he doing? Old habits he guessed. ‘In the restaurant we’d take images of our dishes and I’d share them to social media. It’s good marketing,’ he shrugged.
Sybella asked exactly what he was thinking. ‘But you aren’t in the restaurant now, what will you do with that one?’
‘Dunno, it was silly,’ and he put his phone away.
‘This is so good,’ she mumbled through a mouthful. ‘Are you having any?’
‘I don’t eat breakfast.’
‘What? Mummy says you must eat breakfast each day.’
‘Your mummy was very smart and yes, you should eat breakfast.’
‘Why don’t you then?’
The kid was giving him the Spanish inquisition. ‘I always worked late at the restaurant, and I’d eat after we’d closed. I’d sleep late the next day and only have coffee until I was back in the restaurant and then I’d prepare myself a meal before work.’
That seemed to satisfy her, and she focused on her food until she’d cleaned the plate.
‘Holy moly, for a little squirt you sure can eat!’ he exclaimed as she licked her lips.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ He patted her on the head and she looked at him weirdly. Yeah, okay, she wasn’t a dog. Lesson number three. He wouldn’t do that again. ‘What happens now?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have to get dressed and brush my teeth and pack my bag for school.’
