The Chef's Choice

I stood by the desk unobserved looking at the picture they made. “If only Sybil…” I mentally stamped on the thought.

I heard Janet speak.

“My grandma says that my mummy has gone on a long holiday but she’ll come back one day.”

This was a fiction of my mother’s I had never felt comfortable with.

Alice did not respond and Janet went on, “I don’t think mummy will come back.”

Alice did respond this time.

“Why don’t you think she’ll come back?”

“She doesn’t like me. She said I spoil her…” She hesitated for a moment, struggling with a word that finally came out as, “pleasure”. “That’s why she went away.”

This was the first time I had heard this, and I felt a lump rise in my throat and tears press against the back of my eyes. Alice, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, laid a hand on Janet’s hair, but said nothing.

The agony lay not so much in the words said as the way they were said. It was a mixture of matter of fact childish innocence but said in a sad voice. Janet had accepted that the reason Sybil had left us was she. She was to blame.

I am not a violent man by nature, no matter what they say about temperamental chefs, but if in that moment Sybil had been present, I think I could have killed her. Perhaps I should have thought of my part in her leaving, or tried to think what she might have suffered. But the betrayal of innocence?

I moved away from the desk and went outside, trying the control my emotions, then made a noisy entrance.

Nothing was said, but Alice still had a tearful look. I had not assessed her as a woman who would easily cry. Despite her generosity to Janet and I by way of accommodation, and other marks of kindness, I took her to be a tough, determined businesswoman. I thought she would need to be if she was going to make a go of the Inn.

Early in the afternoon, the truck arrived with our luggage. Some time was spent putting this away, and Janet arranged her toys according to her preference, and of course, her teddy bear occupied the place of honour on her bed.

For the rest of the day, I worked on the preparation of menus, taking into account that we could not afford to waste the existing stock. I also made out orders for supplies, determined to keep an eye on the quality when they arrived.

That evening in the restaurant I observed how big was the job Alice had taken on. Even given that it was early spring, and therefore outside the main summer tourist season, the showing was very poor. Certainly, the numbers using the restaurant would come nowhere near covering the cost of wages without taking account of any additional costs.

After eating, I went into the kitchen briefly to find out if Agnes needed any help. As I suspected, there were so few meals ordered she was having no trouble coping.

I had Janet with me, and when Agnes spotted her she said rather loudly, “Oh, ain’t she a little duck.” Janet hid behind my legs again.

Leaving the kitchen, I felt Janet tugging at my coat.

“What, sweetheart?”

“Daddy, I’m not really a duck, am I?”

“No darling, that was just the lady’s way of saying you look nice.”

“Oh. I think you look nice. Are you a duck too?”

“No, only nice little girls are ducks.”

I think the logic of this escaped both of us.

We made our way to the reception area to find Alice sitting there.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“No, I’ll have something brought out.”

“Could I take over from you for a while?”

“Well, we haven’t got any more booked in, but we might get the odd traveler. If you could just keep an eye on things for me. If anyone does come in for God’s sake get me, we can’t afford to lose a customer.”

I sat behind the reception desk while Janet went back to her cutting out of paper figures. No one arrived.

Alice returned after about half an hour, and I took Janet off to bed.

Thus ended my first full day in Egret Reach.

During the following weeks and months Judith, my assistant and I worked as if our lives depended on it. We not only had to prepare meals, but with the aid of the one waitress, we had to do the washing up as well. In addition I had to look after Janet, prepare the menus and order in stock. Alice helped whenever she could, but she had her hands full with the administration, and keeping an eye on the women who did the cleaning and linen changing. She also helped keep an eye on Janet. In fact, we all kept an eye on Janet, as she had become something of a pet with the female staff.

Every night I fell into bed and slept like a log.

At the end of three months, Alice and I had to make our decisions. Did she want me to stay? Did I want to stay?

Alice had placed advertisements in the local paper announcing the opening of the restaurant to the local populace. At first, there was suspicion among the food conservative locals, and comments like, “I want me steak eggs and chips, not a lot of fancy foreign stuff.”

I became conservative myself and only slowly included more exotic dishes on the menu. The customers came slowly at first, but as our reputation grew the numbers swelled. As the diners grew a little more adventurous, so I expanded the range of choices. Then Alice added a new dimension. She brought in country singers on certain evenings, and from caution the mood changed to, “It’s a bloody good night out, mate.”

In addition, the summer season was well underway, and more tourists were using the Inn.

When discussing the matter of the two-year contract, Alice said, “You’ve worked a miracle in such a short space of time. We’re not only breaking even; we are beginning to show a little profit. I can’t offer you more money yet, but I can offer you regular time off.”

I had hardly had a day off for the three months, but then, neither had Alice, and the rest of the kitchen staff had been superb.

I pointed out that the kitchen facilities were now stretched to the limit, and if there were further increases in customers, we would not be able to cope adequately. There would be long waits for orders to be fulfilled, and thus a dissatisfied clientele.

Alice asked if we could hang on until the end of the summer season, and when the number of people using the inn declined, we could add to or replace the existing equipment.

I pointed out that the installation would take several days if she bought what I had in mind, so what should we do? Close the restaurant?

Alice came across with an idea I should have thought of.

“Some of the units are fairly close to the restaurant. If I make sure they are not in use for the period of instillation, we could use their kitchens.”

I imagined myself rushing from one little kitchen to the other, trying to prepare and cook the dishes. “I don’t think its possible, Alice.”

“Yes it is,” she responded. “I can persuade Agnes to help, and I’ll take an extra cook on. I’ve been thinking that now our clientele is increasing, we need another one for the evening dinners.”

“That will soak up the profit.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Will you stay?”

Naturally, I had been weighing this matter for some weeks. The work had been arduous, but somehow satisfying. In many ways more importantly, Janet had settled in, and seemed very fond of Alice and the rest of the staff, who made much of her. I also knew that as Alice now had a receptionist from mid afternoon to late evening, she retired to her quarters and worked in the office, looking in occasionally to see that Janet was all right, while I worked.

“I’ll stay,” I said.

“Excellent. Here’s the contract.”

I noted that I was to have a day off each week.

The inn restaurant continued to be patronized increasingly. We battled to survive with the equipment we had, and even before the new equipment was installed, the additional cook, Maureen, was employed. She was of similar stamp to Agnes, although plumper, but got on with the job with the minimum of fuss.

Early in the winter, with few of the units occupied, the new equipment arrived and was installed. I now had my regular day off, and tried my hand at fishing in the river. To my amazement, at my first attempt I caught two sizeable fish.

I had got into the habit that on my days off I cooked for Janet and I in one of our small kitchens. I tried cooking the fish I had caught, and found them good. It was then that the thought struck me, “Why aren’t we putting locally caught fish on the menu?” From that thought, I went on to consider the fresh water lobster-like creatures called “Yabbies.” “Why not those as well?”

There were a number of local professional river fishermen, so very tentatively I began buying direct from them.

The Yabbies were a little more difficult to obtain, because the amount caught was dependent on flooding followed by the dropping of the river. Then I heard of a Yabbie farm down stream that was already supplying city restaurants. From then on, the supply of Yabbies was assured. Both the fish and the Yabbies proved popular with the customers.

Things were going well. We now had an extra waitress, Joyce, and a retired local Shire Council worker who became our washer-up.

Have you noticed that when things seem to be going wonderfully, something unpleasant seems to be lurking in the wings?

I kept in regular weekly touch by telephone with my parents. One day, just over one year after I began working at the Inn, my mother gave me a warning.

“Paul, one of the neighbours from where you used to live, Mrs.Armitage, came to see me. Sybil turned up looking for you last week. When she found out the house had been sold and you and Janet had moved, she went up and down the street screaming she would ‘Get you’.”

I felt fairly confident that Sybil would not find me and told mother not to worry.

“Be careful, darling,” she said.

Then one afternoon, just after I had started preparing the evening meals, someone came into the kitchen. At first I did not see who it was, but assumed it was the arrival of Judith my assistant or the other cook. With my back turned to whomever it was I called out, “Good afternoon.”

A voice behind me said, “Hello, Paul.”

The voice was hoarse and shaky, and not recognising it, I turned.

I saw a white faced woman with dark patches under eyes and sores at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were bloodshot and hair lank and greasy. She looked thin and wasted and was dressed in clothes that looked as if they had been salvaged from a Salvation Army Op Shop throw out pile.

It took me several seconds to recognise her. When I did realise who it was, I gave thanks that Janet had now started school, and was not around.

“Sybil!”

“Yes, Paul. I’ve come back to you.”

I was staggered. Apart from my confidence that she would never find me, I could scarcely believe that a once beautiful girl had become a living ruin. I strove to find something to say.

“What do you want, Sybil?”

“I told you, darling. I’ve come back to you. It was all a silly mistake. It’ll be just like it was before. I’ve realised how much you’d miss me, so I’ve come back to look after you and…where is our little treasure?”

I did not answer her question. There was no way Sybil was coming back to me, and certainly, she was not going to get her hands on Janet.

“How did you get here, Sybil?”

“Hitched a ride with a truck driver. Had to pay the bastard of course…you know…!”

She drew close to me. Among other breath and body odours, I could smell that of recent sex.

Looking at me slyly she asked, “Could you let me have some money, darling. I do need to get a few things, then we can have a long talk about our future.”

I had little doubt about what she wanted the money for and I wondered where she could get the stuff in Egret Reach, but I suppose even here there were suppliers.

“No Sybil, I couldn’t give you some money, but I will take you to see a doctor.”

From what I think she hoped was a seductive look; she was transformed into a screaming harridan.

“You’ve got money, you bastard. You sold the house so you must have money, so give me my share.”

She changed yet again, supplicating. “Come on, darling, just a few dollars. You wouldn’t begrudge me a few dollars, say, a hundred!”

The sight, sound and smell of her sickened me, but at the same time I felt, not compassion, but that weakest of all our emotions, pity.

“No, Sybil, I will not give you money, but I think you badly need help. Let me…”

She screamed at me, “You arse hole. You fucking lousy shit. You stick your fucking cock into me and give me a stinking kid, and you won’t part up with a few lousy bloody dollars.”

She grabbed a vegetable knife from a knife block and made a dive at me with it. I managed to avoid her first blow, but as she came at me again I tried to grab her wrist and received a savage cut across my hand.

I was still trying to avoid Sybil’s attempts to knife me when Alice came into the kitchen. She must have taken the situation in at a glance. She grabbed a plastic water filled rolling pin and promptly clubbed Sybil behind the ear. Sybil dropped like a stone.

My hand was bleeding badly and Alice wrapped a clean towel round it and said, “I don’t know what the hell has been going on, but I’d better get the ambulance for both of you. That cut needs stitching.

She ran off to telephone for an ambulance, leaving me to shakily contemplate the ruin that was my wife. She was beginning to come round, and was groaning as she tried to sit up. I picked up the knife she had been wielding that was now lying on the floor, and took up the rolling pin from the workbench where Alice had left it.

Returning Alice said, “They won’t be long. Who is the woman?”

“My wife.”

Alice did not seem to know what to say. She stood staring at Sybil, then seeing her trying to rise said, "You'd better stay down there. An ambulance will be here soon.”

“Don’t want a fucking ambulance. Just want this bastard to give me some money.”

“Think yourself lucky I haven’t called the police. They may still be involved. It will depend on what your husband and the medical people decide to do.”

“Get fucked.”

Despite her abuse, Sybil stayed sitting on the floor.

Alice turned to me. “We’ll talk later when you get back. I’ll persuade Agnes to come in to replace you.”

When the ambulance arrived, Sybil refused the offer of being carried on a stretcher and we both walked to the vehicle. Alice drew me back a little and whispered, ”I’ll look after Janet when she gets home from school. I’ll tell her you had an accident and cut your hand. You can tell her what you think she should know when you get back.”

Sybil had entered the ambulance passively, but as soon as it set off she became abusive again, and seemed to lose all control of her movements. Her hands roamed constantly over her hair and face, and she was shaking violently.

The paramedic tried to restrain her and nearly got his face clawed.

Then from violent abuse Sybil changed to her wheedling voice again.

“Give me something, you can give me something. I need a fix, please…something.”

When the paramedic refused she became violent once more, and between struggling to control Sybil he tried to take a look at my hand and find out who we were. I identified myself, and told him Sybil was my wife.

Arrival at the hospital was another drama, with Sybil still spitting venom at anyone within range, and especially me. It was a relief when we were separated. Bureaucracy swung into action demanding my details, then my hand was examined and stitched. When asked how my injury had happened, I lied, saying it was an accident. I don’t think the doctor believed me, but he said nothing.

I was left to rest on a bed for a while. When it was decided I could leave I telephoned the Inn, and Alice said she would come and get me in the station wagon. As I sat waiting for her a nurse approached me.

“Doctor would like a word with you before you go.”

I was taken to a small office and the doctor introduced himself and said, “I believe you are Sybil Carter’s husband?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any idea what she’s been taking?”

“No, it’s more than a year since I last saw her and I don’t know what she’s been doing.”

“I see. I’m afraid she’s in a very bad way, Mr.Carter. We haven’t gone very far in our assessment of her but we’ve concluded that she needs far more sophisticated help than we can provide here. We need to send her on to The Royal City Hospital. She is sedated at the moment, but it looks to me as if she’s not going to agree to the arrangement when she wakes up. We don’t like to take away people’s rights to decide, but I think she may be a danger to herself and others if we just let her go. As her next of kin, would you be prepared to sign a document agreeing to her being transferred?”

It seemed strange to hear myself called Sybil’s “next of kin.” It was as if the period we had been apart had formed a great gap between us. I knew, yet did not know this woman. We had once been in love and made love. I had vowed, “Until death parts us.” Together we had made a baby and lived what I had thought was a “normal life.” Now all I could see was the ruined woman and the wreckage of what had once been our marriage.

The thought crossed my mind, “What if she comes hunting for me again when Janet is around?” That thought helped me decide. I signed the document. If she were taken to the city hospital, it would at least give me some respite to think out what I must do for the future.

I left the doctor to find Alice waiting for me. Looking at her, I saw her in a new light. At first, it was the contrast between her and Sybil that struck me. Sybil, the wreckage of a human being, and Alice, the strong, healthy woman, determined to succeed in what she had set herself to do.

For all her kindness and concern for Janet and I, Alice had been my employer, a business woman, and in the year long hurly burly of trying to get the Inn on a sound footing, I had not recognised in her another side. Of her personal life, she had told me almost nothing, and I had not sought to know. Where Mr. Albright was had not been revealed, and I had wondered if he even existed.

One feature that did reveal another side to her personality had been the growing intimacy between she and Janet. They seemed to love being together. The marks of affection in the shape of kissing, holding hands, Janet sitting on Alice’s lap talking, had become obvious. Janet no longer mentioned her mother and I had to admit that Alice had become something of a substitute mother. She had not, however, become a substitute wife. I had simply not thought of Alice like that.

As we drove back to the Inn Alice asked, “Do you want to talk about it, Paul?”

I did. Apart from my parents, I had spoken to no one about my personal life. I had tried to bury it, but now it raged in its dark hiding place, clamouring to be brought into the light.

I tried to make a start, but Alice interrupted. “Perhaps it would be better to wait until we get back to the Inn?”

“Perhaps so,” I said.

Arriving at the Inn, we went to her apartment, and I was led into her lounge. This was a room I had only glimpsed before as my dealings with Alice had only been in her office. Alice made coffee, and we sat in armchairs for our talk.

I told her the murky story insofar as I knew it. I had no real idea what Sybil had been doing since she left me, except that it was clear it had done her no good.

Alice had listened quietly, and when I finished telling the woeful tale, she asked: “What are you going to do, Paul?”

“I don’t know, Alice. I suppose I still have some responsibility for her; after all, she is still my wife, and Janet’s mother. She’s on her way to the city hospital now, but they won’t keep there forever. She came hunting me this time for money, she may well try again. I don’t mind so much for myself, its Janet I’m concerned about. However negative her memory is of Sybil, it would be far worse for her to see her mother in her present state. Perhaps I should move on.”