A PASSION FOR COOKING

Jo was at the private baths club when she first saw her glide gracefully across the swimming pool. Strands of Rosemary's hair had escaped from the royal blue cap and were glistening like spun gold. Rosemary's body was tanned and toned. Her well-cut blue swimming costume clung to her curves and emphasised her long legs.Jo caught sight of her own reflection and thought about her own thick, unruly black hair which was now streaked with grey. Time, gravity and periodic bouts of inactivityhad not been kind to Jo's rather solid frame. She looked round the faded Victorian splendour of the swimming pool. It had had its day but now the tiles were stained and paint was flaking. The prospect of such decay sent a shiver through her and she felt suddenly cold. She returned to the dressing room and quickly pulled on her combat trousers and t-shirt over her still-wet costume. She left the building and walked quickly to her nearby apartment. Within minutes of entering, Jo had assembled a rice steamer, large wooden bowl and paddle and a bamboo sheet on the large pine table. The rice that she had washed earlier was transferred to the steamer and carefully simmered on the cooking hob. She resisted the temptation to lift the lid while the rice was cooking. Later she ate a satisfying solitary meal went to bed but had a disturbed night with images of Rosemary and her long, silky hair flashing into her mind.
Next morning Jo had a decided spring in her step as she returned to the Baths Club.The grass in the nearby park appeared greener and the grey stoned tenement buildings she passed did not seem as grimy as usual. Even the constant stream of cars on the busy main road didn't break into her thoughts. Even the air seemed somehow fresher. Soon she would be seeing Rosemary again. Jo went over in her mind how she would make her move. Where would she try and talk to her? The comfortable Ladies' dressing room, the sauna or in the Turkish Bath room?What should she say to her? Did Rosemary live nearby? Were they neighbours? How long had she been a member? Should she ask her name? But of course Jo already knew the answers to those questions – she had made it her business to find out. She would need to play it very low key and not arouse any suspicions.When she reached the baths, she quickly changed into her swimming costume and went to the swimming pool where she positioned herself to immediately see Rosemary when she came in. Time passed …minutes ticked by on the huge wall clock. Soon an hour went by with no sign of her. Feelings of dread started to arise in Jo, along with recurring unsettling memories from her childhood and half forgotten emotions.


Hours of being left alone in a tiny flat while her parents slaved at their restaurant.Feelings of abandonment at the school gates when other girls' parents arrived and she was left alone. The final horror on the day that the city shook with an earthquake.At the end of that day Jo found herself completely and utterly alone with no parents, no home and nobody to turn to.The pool water was now icy cold as panic gripped her and Jo rushed back to the changing room. She hurried home distraught and prepared udon noodles with tempura. But later she was visited by the same disturbing dreams and slept fitfully.
Next day Jo was unsure whether to go. Could she take the pain of another disappointment? Reluctantly she dragged herself round to the baths but on entering she saw Rosemary and her spirits soared. The passion for living returned. She quickly changed going over for a final time the script she had prepared in her head. In the pool her chance came immediately when Rosemary swam towards her."The water is a bit cold isn't it?" Jo said. "I've complained about it three times already," Rosemary replied smiling. They exchanged a few further banal pleasantries about the club and the beaurocratic jobsworths who ran it."We should try and shake things up around here," said Jo."What can we do? The committee are very stuffy and old fashioned," Rosemary said."Well, what are our skills? What kind of work do you do?" Jo asked – knowing full well that Rosemary had a top job in a well known, local public relations agency.To her relief the conversation continued the way Jo had anticipated and soon they were sipping coffee and planning their committee coup.
Over the next few days their conversations widened as they discovered a shared love of art and culture. At first they met in the club bar but later in Jo's flat because, as she had hoped, Rosemary was fascinated by her minimalist design and orchid collection. In this flat Jo's aesthetic vision was truly expressed and to her joy Rosemary seemed to feel comfortable. So many people thought the stark white walls were more reminiscent of a hospital or institution, but Rosemary was completely at home comparing it favourably to the overgrown clutter of a typical Scottish flat.They explored their mutual love of photography. For Rosemary it was more of a casual hobby but her comprehensive collection of shots taken in European capital cities brought over-enthusiastic compliments from Jo.
Jo preferred black and white art studies and was pleased to find that Rosemary spent hours enthusing over her boxes of finely composed and textured prints.They discovered a shared passion for opera, especially Mozart. Excerpts from 'Cosi Fan Tutti' formed the backdrop to their growing relationship. Jo was even delighted to find Rosemary responded warmly to the world music that made up so much of her collection.


Of course there was cookery. Rosemary was more used to take-away and instant microwave meals. Jo was able to initiate her into a world of the freshest of ingredients, meticulous preparation, slowly building to the final gourmet explosion of tastes and sensory pleasures.
Rosemary's birthday was in May. For Jo this was the culmination of her hopes and desires. She had planned the day meticulously. She had personally delivered the flowers - the biggest hand tied selection of exotic flowers that she had been able to find locally. Then she had prepared her masterpiece meal after it she would invite Rosemary to model for her latest photographic project and then………a loud knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was Rosemary looking more beautiful and elegant than ever. Jo kissed her lightly on the cheek and took her coat. The sounds of the beautiful harmony ' Soave sia il vento' drifted through the flat and the last traces of daylight faded as Jo brought a warm ceramic bottle of sake and they settled down on the futon that served as a sofa.They moved over to the table and Jo served dishes of spicy Miso chips with tuna; Kumamoto Oysters with Maui onion salsa; Sashimi salad with Matshusi dressing this was followed by hot dishes of noodles, tempura, black cod with miso; shrimp and lobster with lemon sauce. As the sake flowed, Jo's courage rose she had no problem in asking Rosemary to pose for the pictures. She was pleased to find that Rosemary willingly accepted.Jo got her Nikon from photographic case and hastily arranged the lighting. She had no problem directing Rosemary into a variety of poses. As time passed she grew bolder and her hands brushed over Rosemary's body while she rearranged her clothes and even unbuttoning her white silk shirt. Then came the moment that Jo had been waiting for and she kissed Rosemary full on the lips. The atmosphere suddenly changed. Rosemary jumped back and screamed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she shrieked – her face contorting in disgust."But I thought ………." Jo was confused. What could possibly have gone wrong?"Well – you thought wrong!" "The past few days. You and me………." Jo eventually stuttered."There is no you and me" came the curt reply that cut into Jo like a knife."Just because of a few flowers and some food …….you think you have the right to do what you want with me. You're sick!""But I thought you liked me?""No. I've never really liked you. I felt sorry for you. In fact you are pretty sad. You are one of the saddest people I've ever met. Give me my coat. I am getting out of here!"


Breathing heavily, Jo staggered back. Her head was reeling. She felt something with her hand. For a cook their knife is their heart and soul. Jo raised her right arm and plunged the knife once, twice, three times into Rosemary's heart. The blood spurted. She had hit a main artery. Rosemary slumped to the ground. Her death rattle echoed round the room. "How had it come to this?" Jo thought. It had started so well.





ruth allen
2005
copyright

Disgusted

They said I did disgusting things. The court case was a few years ago now and I have been out of prison for a while now. I still live in the same flat in the same street in a northern city. Of course I have my index-linked pension and my savings but it is unlikely that I will every get another job. I dislike offices anyway. All those colleagues and little daily dramas about their love lives or families. Nights out and collections for stuff, I just kept my head down and got on with my pen-pushing. Everything would have been fine. On track to retire at 60 with my 40 years intact if the new personnel woman hadn't arrived. Of course they called it 'Human Resources' and they introduced what – to me – were a lot of frivolous meetings and 'awareness seminars' about how we were meant to treat them both the public and as colleagues.
Well somebody complained to her about me. It was done anonymously but they still had an investigative hearing and I had to get the bloke from the union to go in with me.

I was so angry. I remember I went home that day and the flat looked dingy, even more than usual. I should tidy up and I should throw out those newspapers. They were taking up space and to be honest the flat was starting to smell. But there was good information in there. I'm amazed that people are all mad for computers and digital television these days. I find out so much information from my newspapers and I always keep them in neat piles on the floor and tied up with string. I always mark the bits I need with an orange highlighter pen. Of course some of them have bits missing where I had to cut out the banner headlines to use the letters you understand. But that was mostly the front pages of the broadsheets. Of course the computers are useful for the internet and of course all these big headed types make sure they have all their information listed. So I just went to the public library and used the internet there to get their home addresses and posted off the stuff to them. I say 'stuff' but of course it was more than that and it landed me six months in jail.

Nowadays I put on my one grey suit and raincoat and leave home just after 7.30 am.
There is no civil service office to go to so I just buy a daily paper and walk round the area. I keep my head down and avoid any eye contact although I have lived here for over 30 years I have no conversation with neighbours. Today I carried a poster which I spent most of last night making.
I was outraged when I heard about this terrorist and when I saw his picture in the paper. This was a Friday and they would be going to pray and would see my poster
and realise the truth. Well that was my intention until that pair of busybodies confronted me and I have to admit – I scuttled away.

Street art

I screamed and I cried. I stamped my foot. I couldn't believe it and I wanted to burst.
It was gone – the round brass plate that had my name on it. I couldn't stop crying that whole day.

Tessray. Tess Ray. "Tesserae". Mrs Kavanagh our teacher had said that was what is was called. Tiny blocks of stone, tile and glass for us to use for mosaics in the style of the ancient Greeks and Romans. We were going to cover the bollards that blocked the quiet streets where we could play from the big, busy Great Western Road with this work in our own designs. I was very excited. My design was called 'Peace and Love'. I had drawn a huge red heart and a man and a woman figure holding hands.

It was just before Christmas two years ago and Mrs Kavanagh said that my design had been selected. I was so happy and I couldn't wait to get home to tell Mum and Dad.
All the schools in our area had entered the competition. Only some were chosen and then in the week that I was going to have my birthday, Mrs Kavanagh told us that the work would begin and we would be allowed to go and help the students from the Art School who make my design on the concrete block. It was fun and it took all of the day to press the square mosaic pieces onto the soft wet, putty. The colours were bright and shiny and sparkled in the sunshine. I thought they looked like the fancy jewellery stones that I had seen in the big shops in the special diamond arcade in the town! Or maybe they glittered like the stars at night that I had seen when we went on holiday once to Portugal. Red, blue, green, white gold – when they were all carefully arranged – it all looked so beautiful. Now I thought people would see something special to remind them that they couldn't leave their cars there anymore and that this was a play area now.

Like jewels or stars fallen down on the busy street. That is what it looked like now.
Smashed and lying on the road. But the most horrid part was that the round brass plaque was no longer there. "It's gone for the money." I heard that woman from down the road say. Stolen! I wanted it. Surely if anyone was to have it – it should have been our class! My name was on it: Claire Johnston of Willowbank School.
"You're an artist now Claire." My dad had said. My whole family had been very pleased and happy. My mum said that maybe next year we could go and visit that city in Spain with a famous unfinished cathedral and houses and even park which had mosaics and was very famous for that work. It was sunny there all the time and I just new that those squares would sparkle and shine even brighter than jewels!

We had to go home now. The policeman said: "We will hunt for the thieves but brass is valuable and they sell it for cash." I cried. I just knew that the bollards would be that way now – with no plaques forever!