‘Italian,’ I say.
The way her eyes widen a fraction is enough that I dedicate myself to forever bringing her treats, even if I have to pulverise a thousand men to fund it for the rest of my life.
‘You didn’t have to…’
‘Arancini. And carbonara. Authentic style. I phoned to check.’
She takes the bag, and I step inside. For a moment, I tower over her, my pulse thumping as she looks up at me. Her teeth graze her lower lip, and I need to clench my fists to avoid pinning her to the wall right there and then. But I’m also aware of how out of place I am in my black clothes and mask, where her home is a sea of softness and femininity. I haven’t visited Ellie here, but I can see the signs of her among Kat’s things. Their two personalities are colliding in the tight space.
She opens the bag, and the smell hits us both. Salty and savoury. Garlic and rich, smoky meat. She groans so lasciviously that I’m almost mad at the food for causing her to make the noise.
‘Sit down,’ she says, heading for the kitchen area. ‘I’ll get plates.’
‘I don’t need one.’
She lifts one plate out of the cupboard and raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You’re not eating?’
I point at the mask.
She rolls her eyes. ‘Could always take it off.’
A flush climbs my face, and I’m grateful that she can’t see my expression. I wonder if she knows anyway, because her lips curve and she turns away giggling to dish up her food.
‘Let’s go to my room,’ she says. ‘In case Ellie comes back and I have to explain the masked man in the kitchen.’
‘You don’t need to convince me.’
She takes a moment to light the candles in her room before sitting at the desk with her plate, crossing her legs on the seat. Note to self: she is indeed wearing panties. I stand awkwardly at the door until she motions to the bed, inviting me to sit. I sit on the edge of the bed, not quite knowing how I fit amongst the sea of cushions and pillows.
She eats heartily, occasionally pointing at the food with her fork and giving an expression of pure bliss.
‘Tell me about after that summer,’ she says between bites. ‘What happened first?’
I think about how to compress so many years of bullshit without bumming her out. The homes largely blend into one another; sometimes the issues differ, but mostly they are the same. Hunger. Cold. Feeling unwanted. Fighting among the kids. Black eyes. Dirty old men. A system designed to get kids to eighteen, mostly in one piece, but rarely set to take on the world on their own.
‘I was bounced around from home to home. I didn’t speak for a while. As long as I was quiet and didn’t cause problems, I was ignored, which suited me fine.’
She’s listening intently, her plate balanced on her knee.
‘Was there anyone kind?’ The softness in her expression kills me.
‘One older couple. She used to sit with me in the evenings and talk as we did puzzles. She never really expected an answer. She helped me find my voice with her lack of expectation, I think. I’d barely spoken in years.’ I look at my leather-clad hands, my breath, hitching as I let myself remember her. Sweet Rita, I’d never spoken about her to anyone. ‘She had a stroke after a year with them. I spent years blaming myself, though I know now it’s not my fault. So back I went into the system.’
Kat puts her fork down and sets the plate on the desk behind her.
‘Did the abuse stop?’
‘On and off. Never as bad as in the cottage. Until the last one who tried.’ I swallow. ‘He spent some time in hospital. I spent some time in juvie. And then I was sixteen, and my last family took me in, and that was the end of it.’
Kat’s quiet for a moment, something weighing heavily. She fidgets with the hem of the t-shirt and avoids my eyes. ‘I went back into the woods. After.’
I look at her.
‘Often.’
Her throat bobs.
‘To make sure it wasn’t a dream. That I hadn’t imagined it all. I watched him rot as the months went by. The stench, the maggots, and eventually nothing but bones. I was always so terrified the police would come. But they never did.’
