Pete peeled and chopped the garlic, tossed it in with the frying chicken. A lot of garlic; he had come to understand that she liked it that way.
The kitchen was a stove on which two of the four burners worked, a fridge that was older than he was and a sink cluttered with days of dishes. As Pete stood station at the stove Julie moved around the appliances. She was not a girl to whom stillness often occurred. Small, fair-skinned, nose splashed with freckles, blonde hair cut short, she was dressed in knock-off DKNY jeans and a No Fool tee-shirt. The radio was playing Eric Clapton, Anything For Love.
“Shit,” judged Julie, fiddled with the knob, came up with P. Diddy. She danced a couple of steps to Pete, looked in the pan.
“I’ll smell of garlic.”
“We’ll both smell of it.”
Pete chopped a tomato, added that along with the remains of a can of sweetcorn.
“How do you know what to add?”
Julie was very much a take-away, microwave girl. If she didn’t eat out, dinner was opening a package. With a fork Pete turned the chicken.
“Can’t afford take-out every night.” Sometimes it was worth putting in the effort. “Taste. Experience,” he said. With the fork he lifted a little of the sweetcorn and garlic. “Try a thing, see if you like it.” He put the fork to her lips. “Blow on it,” he said. “It might be hot.”
She blew and swallowed. “Garlicky, crunchy,” and bounced away from him. The Pussycat Dolls were asking whether you wanted a girlfriend like them. Pete thought about it, remembered Julie last night in bed, all curves and hollows and wetness and reaching for him, and forgot his answer.
She stood behind him, put her arms around his waist, nuzzled his neck.
“What about when you were seeing Carol? Did you cook for her?”
“Yeah.” She liked digging around in his past. He didn’t know why.
“She’s vegetarian. How did that go?”
“Interesting, but there were limitations.” Last night Julie had fucked with abandon, had hung her body, a coat on the hook of him. Carol had been a more careful girl, picking her way through sex, never finally letting go, as though scared of what she would show him.
“It wasn’t that good?” said Julie.
“No. She was great.” He wouldn’t do that, bad-mouth her. He had loved Carol. Now he was starting to say the same things to Julie and meaning it. Should he be able to do that, to move from one love to the next?
“What happened?”
“What?” He tapped at the sweetcorn and garlic, mixed them up a bit.
“At the end?”
He shrugged. ”I was an idiot.” Easier to mix things up than separate them.
“Really?”
He adjusted the heat under the meat. You had to keep an eye on the thing. “Really.”
“It’s hard to imagine you being an idiot.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
Julie picked up a knife, pushed at the chicken, added her touch to the mix. “But you prefer it this way?”
“Oh, yeah.” Carol had left a little buddha in his bedroom and he remembered what Julie had used that for last night. He’d have to clean it; hot, soapy water. It was the most enjoyment he’d ever got out of the thing.
“How many times have you done this? With other girls?”
He looked at her. Where had that come from?
“Cooked this meal. With others, with Carol.”
“She was a veggie.”
“You can be an idiot.”
“It’s different every time.” He scooped a mix of sweetcorn and garlic onto the chicken. You tried to get it right. He slid the chicken in the oil and thought of her body, oiled with sweat, sliding in his arms. “I thought we were having fun,” he said.
“Yeah.” She corrected her tone. ”Right. Fun.” Snapped a smile like a camera. She stepped close, leant against him, looked at the arrangement of chicken and sweetcorn and garlic. “One time it’ll just be …” and she smacked her lips. “On the button.”
“Sure it will.”
“Like a story.”
“Just like that.”
He turned the chicken. It was done. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” and she kissed him.
He turned off the gas, covered the chicken and took her to look for that on the button thing.
(c) David Gill, 2009
David Gill is from Cardiff, lives in Hackney and works in Brixton. In the past year he has had stories published by The Frogmore Papers, Three Types of Love, Litro and Tales of the Decongested (Volume 2).
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