We ate in her living room, sitting on the sofa chairs with our plates in our laps. It was the way we used to eat our meals when we were still seeing each other, a long time ago. The lamb chops were seasoned with a sprinkle of salt, pepper and paprika. There was also a hint of lemon which really set them off. The potatoes were boiled and served with a generous dollop of butter and the vegie portion consisted of peas, corn and sliced carrots. It wasn’t what you would call fine dining, but for what it’s worth, I really enjoyed it. Tami’s cooking always had a way of satisfying my tastebuds.
“How’s your Mum?” she asked as she picked up a chop. That’s something I always found attractive about her. She was never one for elegance. She said it how it was and played it how it played. No glitter or camouflage. She took a bite from the meat then wiped lamb fat from her chin.
“She’s good, thanks. Had a touch of the flu last year but she pulled through. Other than that, all good.”
“Did you ever marry?”
“No, never found the right one,” I said as I shovelled a load of peas in. “Did you?” Her eyes seemed to glimmer for a moment, then she looked into the fire burning in the next room.
“No, marriage was never going to be my thing. Not much of a housewife, I’m afraid.” I put my fork down, then lowered the plate onto my lap.
“What ever happened to us, Tam?” I said and watched her recoil a little. Although we had a slight history, there could have been a lot more. A tear rolled down her cheek, paused, then dropped into her lap.
“The nightmares won’t go away, Jim. They, just seem to change,” she cried. I could see her fighting them but the tears began to fall harder, her words choking in her throat. I set my plate aside and went to her, kneeling on the floor before her. She didn’t resist as I put my arms around her, hugging her tight. After a moment, she returned the hug, holding me so tight that breathing became difficult.
“I’m sorry, Tami. I really am. I wish I had stayed. I hope you can forgive me. I just couldn’t.” When she managed to regain some composure, Tami looked into my eyes for a long time.
“I do understand, Jim. I’m probably the only one that truly does understand why you left, and I don’t blame you.” And then she lowered her head on my shoulder and held me close.
11.
It was a little before 10 by the time I left Tami’s. I felt happy that we managed to talk and finally settle the questions that had been left unanswered for all those years. We talked for a solid two hours, discussing everything we had carried with us for all that time. The why’s, the when’s and most importantly the questions that we wanted answered but were always too afraid to ask. There was no animosity, no guilt. In the end, we agreed that we would let the past remain where it was and take things one day at a time. When it came time for me to leave, she had walked me to the door and then without warning, had leaned in and kissed me. It was a long and lustful kiss, from both of us. I still found her incredibly attractive and my emotions that had awoken when I first bumped into her were now burning brightly.
“How was it?” Steph asked as she opened the door for me, her grin signalling her desire for gossip.
“It was good to catch up. Any news?” She looked at me a moment longer, then realized I wasn’t about to give her any. Gossip was not one of my strong suits.
“Two crews were door knocking most of the day and didn’t get a single lead. Nothing. No one heard anything nor saw anything.”
“Did you manage to get any more out of the box from the prison?”
“Actually, I did. I found out about Jeremy Winters.”
“Who’s Jeremy Winters?” I asked, the name not registering any sort of recognition.
“Jeremy Winters was a prison officer at Crab Apple in the late 40s.”
“OK?” I said, still unsure of where she was heading.
“Jeremy used to have a sister, Veronica. Veronica met a soldier called Brian Smith when she was 19. They married a year later, Veronica Winters becoming,” she paused, waving a hand back and forth, waiting for me to register the name.
“Holy shit, Veronica Smith?” I finished for her, recognition washing over me, not in a good way but rather like steel wool being dragged over my naked skin. A picture of a dead girl, naked and tied to a tree stump, slammed to the forefront of my brain.
“He worked at Crab Apple?” I asked.
“He sure did. Then, in 1949, he was fired.”
“Does it say why?” But she shook her head.
“No reason given.”
“Do we know where Jeremy Winters is now?” Her face grew a faint smile, her teeth slightly bared, as if happy to reveal a dark secret she just learned herself.
“He’s a barber in
