Mortal Ghost | Page 6

a hint of apology. 'No bones, no bacon or sausage, only some steaks for my dad in the deep freeze. Finn would kill me if I used his imported beef for a dog.'
'Finn?'
'My dad.'
'A nickname?'
'No. An old family name.'
'You call your father by his first name?'
'Yeah, why not?' She looked at him in surprise, then asked, 'What's the Elder Edda?'
'A collection of early ballad-like poems. An important source of the Norse myths, written in Old Icelandic.'
'Norse?'
'Yeah. You know, stories of the Viking gods. Odin. Thor. The Valkyries. Loki the Trickster's one of my favourites.'
She stared at him for a moment with a frown, as if she'd never heard of the Vikings, before going to the refrigerator for another packet of cheese.
'Your dog won't mind some cheddar, I reckon.'
Sarah persisted in calling the dog his. Jesse hadn't bothered to correct her again. A meal was worth more than a pronoun. If he played his declensions right, he might get to shower as well.
While Sarah cut some cheese Jesse concentrated on the tastes exploding on his tongue. Hunger sharpened the senses -- everyone knew that. Only the truly hungry saw the ghosts it raised: a grandmother cooking on an old range, a little girl setting a basket of warm feathery eggs on the table, the sad tired eyes of the constable. Sarah noticed how Jesse's eyes caught the light as he raised them from his plate. They winked like mirrors, or deep blue pools, full of hidden and subtle layers of colour.
'Would you like some coffee?' Sarah asked.
'Please.'
Sarah liked that he was polite, that he ate slowly and thoughtfully even though he was clearly ravenous.
Sarah sat across from him while the dog lay at their feet, licking up crumbs. The coffee was hot and strong and utterly delicious. Sarah took hers black, but Jesse added sugar, lots of sugar, and a dollop of cream from the jug she'd set before him. Though they'd stopped talking, the silence was not strained or uncomfortable.
When he'd finished the eggs, Sarah rose and prepared a second batch without asking, and two more slices of toast. He ate everything. Sarah offered him more coffee, but he refused. He could feel some pressure against the sides of his skull, a mild fogginess. Though coffee could sometimes relieve his headaches, more often it triggered a debilitating migraine. He'd been lucky in recent months. Perhaps he was only overtired. But what would he do if he had a full-fledged attack?
Sarah poured herself another mug. Her fingers were not particularly long or fine -- nails short and blunt -- but her hands carved a line of melody through the air. Reminded of a CD Liam used to play, Jesse hummed a few bars of Stravinsky's Firebird. Sarah finished the phrase for him.
'I've danced to that,' she said.
'So you do dance,' he said. 'I wondered.'
She swirled the coffee in her mug, a private smile on her face.
'What?' he asked.
'You're not at all what I expected.'
Jesse noticed the faint sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the flecks of green in her eyes. He looked away when she became aware of his scrutiny. The kitchen was warm, and despite the coffee Jesse was beginning to feel drowsy.
'Do you want to lie down?' Sarah asked. 'I don't mind.'
Jesse played with his fork, considering.
'You shouldn't be so trusting,' he said. 'It's dangerous.'
She laughed, deep and throaty.
'There's a spare bedroom upstairs which has a bath en suite. You're welcome to use it. I'll make up the bed for you.'
'I can do that myself. You don't have to wait on me.'
'It's OK this time. You're tired.'
She narrowed her eyes, measuring him.
'There's probably some old stuff of my --' She broke off and took a breath. 'Some old stuff we've still got that will fit you. We can put your clothes in the washing machine.'
'Won't he object?'
'Who?'
'Your father.'
Her laugh again. 'He wouldn't even notice. Anyway, he's on the top of some mountain in the Andes on another of his expeditions.'
'Expedition?' This was getting more interesting.
'Don't be so nosy,' Sarah said, but with a grin. She relented. 'He's a photographer. Does a lot of nature assignments. You know, like National Geographic. Unless you're a new kind of moss or mollusc or mineral, you're just another teenage body. You could be wearing a dinner jacket over a thong, with feather boa to match, and he wouldn't turn a hair. He lives in jeans and T-shirts, which he orders in bulk from the internet. Except when he's in his biker's mode, when he dons black leather and chains.'
'Now you're trying to wind me up,' he protested.
'Well ... only a bit. If you get to meet Finn, you'll see what I mean.'
'Is he gone for long?'
'Depends. Why? Are you planning to rob us or just move in?'
Jesse shook his head