‘Would you teach me how to make this?’ she asked nervously, not yet sure how much of an act his generosity was.
‘I’ll teach you anything you want to know, Ky—’ He stopped himself. ‘Sorry, it’s just you really do remind me of my sister Kylie. For a moment it was like I was back with her.’ He paused. ‘In fact, do you know what, I’m going to call you Kylie from now on. Is that okay with you? You could do with a big brother around here, and it would be nice having a little sister again.’
She’d never been a fan of the name Joanna – not that her family ever used her full name anyway.
‘Okay, big brother,’ she gushed, her heart warming.
He looked just as pleased. ‘Well, isn’t this just grand? The two of us reunited over Grandma’s spaghetti bolognese.’
He squashed into the seat beside her, taking the pot of grated cheese and sprinkling a handful over the steaming dinner, before repeating the action for her. She watched as he picked up his fork, drove it into the mountain of strands, twirled it into a ball shape, and pushed it between his freckled lips. At home, her mum always chopped the spaghetti into smaller strands, but she was keen to learn how to eat it like a grown-up. Stabbing the pasta, she had to use both hands to twirl the fork as Chez had, but when she extracted the fork, most of the pasta fell off. She tried again, this time managing to keep a couple of strands precariously balanced on the tip of the fork, and quickly inhaling them into her mouth. The sauce was rich and tomatoey.
‘What’s Grandma’s secret recipe?’ she asked. ‘Will you tell me?’
‘I will tell you anything you want to know, Kylie.’ He dropped his stained fork back onto the table and squeezed back off the seat, returning to the kitchen area. She saw him rustling through the bin, before extracting an empty glass jar. ‘Here we are,’ he said, twirling it around in his hand. ‘So, what you do is boil the pasta for ten or so minutes, pour this bad boy into a separate pan and simmer it until the pasta is ready. Dead easy, but so tasty.’
Is that it? she wanted to ask, disappointed that Grandma’s so-called secret recipe could be purchased in any decent grocery shop. At least it wouldn’t be too difficult to master.
‘It’s yummy,’ she said, trying and failing to twirl her pasta again.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s one of my jobs here, taking care of our guests. My cookery skills are a tad limited, but you won’t ever go hungry.’
She studied his pasta twirling technique once more, committing the action to memory, and determined to show him that she was mature for her age. On the third attempt, she managed to create a small ball, and quickly shovelled it into her mouth. Pleased as punch, she did it again, this time calling to him, but just as he looked over, the pasta slipped from the fork, cascading down the front of her dress.
Her cheeks instantly reddened and she grabbed handfuls of the pasta, quickly returning it to her plate and looking for something to wipe her top.
‘Oh no, it’s going to stain. Mum’s going to kill me.’ The tears filling her eyes were unexpected, but she didn’t fight to restrain them.
‘Hey, hey,’ Chez sighed, ‘there’s no need to upset yourself. It’s only a bit of sauce. I can get that cleaned up for you. Don’t worry about it. Removing unwanted stains from clothes is something I’m particularly good at.’
He reached out and began grappling to lift the dress over her head, but she didn’t feel comfortable stripping off in front of him and wrenched the material back. In that moment, she would have given anything to be back at home, even though her mum would be in the middle of reprimanding her for being so careless.
‘Listen, it’s okay,’ he tried again, calmness personified. ‘I’ve got some of my sister’s old clothes in a case in my room. I can pick you something out to wear while I give your dress a clean.’
It didn’t cross her mind to question why he would have his sister’s clothes here when he’d left home three years earlier. Instead, she watched entranced as he took her hand and led her through the kitchen area, turning right at the door to the small bathroom and into a bedroom with twin beds. He encouraged her to sit on one before pulling open a wardrobe and extracting a tattered case from the darkness. Plopping it on the bed, he lifted the lid and began to rifle through until he located the prettiest black sequined number.
‘This ought to fit,’ he exclaimed happily as he hoisted it into the air. ‘You’re about the same size as Kylie. Get that one off and you can wear this while we finish dinner.’
She began to peel the dress up, before hesitating. ‘Could you turn around?’
He rolled his eyes in a forgiving way. ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed about changing in front of me. I’m your brother, remember, and I have no interest in your naked body. Besides, if you want to be a movie star, you’re going to have to get used to having strangers looking at you.’
She remained still until he turned his back, and then she quickly whipped off her stained dress and slid the black one over her head. The material felt rougher on her skin than she’d anticipated; it certainly looked nicer than it felt. But with it in place she stood and admired her reflection in the small mirror hanging from the cupboard door.
‘Oh my God, you’re the spitting image of Kylie now,’ he gushed. ‘It is scary how much you look like her.’
The garment certainly made her look older – or at least she thought
