Jack puts his key in the door and opens it. The air is warm and filled with delicious smells.
“We’re here,” he calls out.
Almost instantly a woman pops her head around what must be the living room door. Her eyes are blue, a lighter shade than her son’s, and kind. She is grinning like a child, and I lose all my nervousness. This is the woman who bore Jack. Who loves Jack and wants only the best for him. I’ll show that nobody can love him more, or give him more than I can.
“What a pretty little thing you are,” she says walking into the cramped hallway. She is dressed in a pretty blue dress and there is a cameo brooch pinned to her chest. Jack told me her husband died many years ago, but she is still wearing her wedding band on her finger. Her nails are painted a rosy pink.
“Thank you,” I say shyly.
She looks up at her son slyly. “I can see now why your head’s turned.”
“Sofia, meet my mother, Florence. Ma, meet my girl, Sofia.”
She leans forward and kisses me on both cheeks. “You don’t know how pleased I am to meet you, Sofia.”
Jack takes my coat and she ushers me into her small living room. It’s charmingly cluttered and cozy.
“What a lovely home you have, Mrs. Irish.”
“Call me Flo, dear. Jack told me your mother’s passed on, so I’m like a mother to you from now on.” Genuine warmth radiates out of her kind face.
“Thank you, Flo.”
She gestures towards one of the chintz sofas. “Will you have a glass of sherry?”
“I could murder a glass.”
She smiles. “Something tells me we’re going to get along just fine.”
I smile back. “I think so too.”
After that the evening becomes a night of laughter, reminiscences from the past, and wonderful food. Florence has made lamb leg flavored with garlic and rosemary.
As we eat she tells me that in spring wild garlic appears all across Ireland in the shaded woodland areas. During that time even the air would smell of garlic. When she was a girl she used to harvest the leaves for her mother to serve with the lamb, or toss into a salad.
“Next time I will make Beef and Guinness stew. It’s Jack’s favorite dish. It’s perfect for a cold winter’s day,” she says, picking up a forkful of scallion flavored, buttery mashed potato.
Dessert is Chocolate Guinness cake iced with a thick layer of creamy white chocolate and cream cheese frosting. It looks exactly like the topping on a pint of Guinness. She watches me like a hawk as I put a piece into my mouth. It is dense and fudgey with a distinctive malty flavor from the stout.
“It’s completely delicious,” I pronounce truthfully.
She beams happily.
Afterwards, there is coffee and little chocolates from a delicatessen down the road.
“Do your Irish impersonation,” Jack urges.
“Top of the morning to you,” I say loudly, and both mother and son fall about laughing.
Thirty-nine
Sofia
What a stroke of luck that on the very morning I decide to make the beef Guinness stew that Florence talked about she calls me. When I tell her I am making it from a recipe I found on a cookery blog on the net her response is predictably Florence.
“You can’t trust the recipes you find on the internet. Nobody likes giving away their secrets so they’ll always hold something crucial back,” she says darkly.
Then she makes me get a piece of paper and gives me the recipe over the phone. She is right. While the blogger took pains to declare that browning the meat is absolutely vital as it imparts a rich flavor to the stew, she neglected to mention the real secret to browning. The meat has to be browned as large steaks then taken out of the pan and diced. Florence tells me browning small pieces of meat will make the meat tough as leather, after which no amount of stewing will soften it.
“Do you want me to go through it all again?” she asks when we get to the end.
“Nope. I got it all, Flo. Thank you.”
“Hmmm … Make sure you get a good piece of boneless shoulder.”
“I can get that at the supermarket, right?”
“Yes child.”
“I will go there this afternoon”
“I forgot to say,” she adds, “that like the meat, the vegetables should be browned as large pieces. Fish them out when you are nearly at the end of your cooking. After you have simmered them with the meat to get the flavor out of them, just fish them out. They will be quite soggy and tasteless by then, so you replace them with freshly diced vegetables.”
“I will,” I tell her, my pen scribbling fast.
“What else? What else?” she mutters to herself. “Oh yes, don’t use more than two tablespoons of flour, or it will become muddied.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“And yellow onions. Not red.”
On my paper I add yellow next to the word onion. “Got it.”
“Not too many parsnips, or it will overpower all the other ingredients.”
“Fine.” I note that down too.
“Did I say use chicken stock, not beef?”
I run my gaze down her instructions. “Err … you didn’t say, but good that you mentioned it. I would have got beef.”
“If I think of anything else I’ll call you again,” she says.
“Thank you again, Flo,” I say with a smile in my heart. I think I’m going to love having her in my life. She’s so genuine and real.
That afternoon Lena comes around with Irina, and we take a trip to the supermarket together. Leaving Mika in the car, we go in to get all the ingredients I need while Lena buys some stuff for herself. Afterwards, Lena stays with me for a bit. Once Irina has been changed, fed, and put down for a nap, we sit and have coffee and the cream cakes we got at the bakery.
“You are happy, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Yes, very,” I reply, and she grins happily.
When Irina wakes up an hour later, Lena goes back to Cheshire, and I start to make my stew. I just put all my ingredients on the counter top to begin cooking when Jack calls.
“Whatcha doing, doll?” he asks.
“Well,” I say, slicing open the plastic bag of carrots, “I’m preparing a surprise for you?”
“My dick just got hard.”
I laugh. “Not that type of surprise.”
“What then?”
I start putting the vegetables on the chopping board. “Do you know what the word surprise means?”
“I know what the word means I’m just not a big fan. Just tell me,” he coaxes persuasively.
“You can use that voice all you like. I’m not spoiling my surprise.”
He sighs. “At least tell me what you’re wearing.”
I glance down at my thick sweater and old jeans. “The truth, or shall I make it up as I go along?”
“Make it up.”
“You’re one of those guys who calls up adult chat lines and listens to women pretending to climax while they’re actually painting their toenails, aren’t you?” I tease.
“What’s with all the wild accusations? I’ll have you know I’ve never called an adult chat line in my life. However, I could be persuaded to call one if you are going to man it.”
I giggle. That’s what I like about my Jack. He treats me exactly the way he would if he was with any other normal woman. I never get that with Guy or Lena. They are always walking on eggshells around me. Lena has now managed the impressive feat of never once mentioning the word whore, prostitute, or hooker for over a year.
Once while we were watching TV together, she was flicking channels and hit Pretty Woman, and you should have seen how quickly she clicked out of it. She is so hurt by my past and so frightened of hurting me that she doesn’t realize it only makes my past feel even more shameful and dirty to me.
Jack on the other hand won’t allow anything to come between us. He accepts my past completely and behaves as if it is a non-starter in our relationship. As far
as he is concerned we’re starting with a clean slate. If he has a fantasy he wants to explore with me where he leaves a thousand pounds on the bedside and pretends he is my customer, then we’ll talk about it in the same way we’ll talk about his fantasy of tying me to the bed, or getting me off in a public place. At every opportunity he instills in me that we’re just a normal couple finding out what works for us.
“Go on,” he urges, using his melted butter voice. “My next appointment is in less than ten minutes.”
“Nope,” I say firmly, picking up the knife. “I don’t think I’m going to indulge you right now. I’m too busy preparing your surprise.”
“Treat them mean and keep them keen huh?”