SUMMER'S END

5

Had she been flirting with the Lodge owner? What on earth had possessed her? Robyn looked at herself in the mirror in her room. She hardly still resembled the girl who had boarded a plane for Singapore three months ago. Her hair was so long and light in colour. The blue of her eyes popped out against the brown of her skin. She'd always believed that, just like her mother, she had no talent for tanning, but look at her now. Persistence really did help. Not always though. She'd tried long enough with Jasper. She had persisted. It still hadn't worked. She looked skinnier as well. Maybe even too skinny, although her mother would certainly not agree with that. What would she do when she got back? Take the position at her father's company that had been reserved for her since she was born? She hadn't excelled academically like her two brothers, hadn't breezed through university like everyone else in the family-even her mother in her day, if she was to be believed. Here she stood, three months older but none the wiser. Maybe a real conversation with a non-judgmental stranger was exactly what she needed. Someone far removed from the situation, but with enough knowledge of social pressure and family ties to understand. Nicki seemed to fit that bill quite perfectly. And she was younger than her mother-by ten years even. The confirmation hadn't just come from Nicki announcing the number. It was as if Robyn had seen her grow younger before her very eyes. Obviously, something had happened in the woman's life.
Something devastating enough to chase her out of her home country and make her hate her birthday, but Robyn had seen her perk up. She had noticed the laughter lines crinkle around her temples, and she'd been amazed at how Nicki's biceps curved from under the wet sleeve of her t-shirt when she brought the bottle of beer to her mouth.
By god. She had been flirting. What should she wear for dinner? She tore herself away from the mirror and rummaged through her backpack. Every single item of her clothing was either severely wrinkled
or plain dirty. She fished out a white tank top that had seen brighter days, but at this stage of her trip, it was the best she could come up with. She finished her casual outfit with a pair of skimpy jean shorts.
Not that she was trying to dress to impress. The utter foolishness of it. Robyn found Nicki in the kitchen downstairs. She inadvertently blinked when she walked in. Should women over thirty not always wear a bra? Even merely to counter the laws of gravity? Nicki obviously didn't think so. Maybe she was one of those wild chicks her mother sometimes talked about with a wrinkle of disgust curling under her nose. The ones who burned their bra and regarded them as a symbol of female oppression.
"Hey," Nicki greeted her. She'd been so absorbed with stealing glances at Nicki's chest that she hadn't even taken in the kitchen yet. It looked as if it had
been designed by Nigella Lawson herself. Robyn whistled between her teeth. A cat call the old her would never have dared to utter. Then again, this wolf whistle was only aimed at the stainless steel of the kitchen and the pots and pans suspended from hooks along the walls. "Jesus. I'm not a psychologist,
but could there be some overcompensation going on here? You know, like middle-aged men with flashy sports cars?" Nicki looked her over. It was hard for Robyn to keep her gaze fixed on her face because the chef's nipples clearly had a life of their own and poked pointedly through the flimsy fabric of the faded The Cure t-shirt she now had on.
"But no chef's whites, huh?" Robyn couldn't help herself. Nicki flushed bright red. A typical British complexion. Robyn knew all about that herself and she instantly felt sorry for her host.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be untoward." The conservatively raised girl in her-the one she'd been trying to escape the grips of on this trip-bubbled to the surface.
"My fault entirely," Nicki said with slightly bowed head.
"They're not usually so... disobedient."
They both burst out laughing at the same time. Not just giggles, but loud cackles that served more to release the tension than to mark the comic quality of the situation.
"What's cooking?" Robyn asked after the waves of laughter had subsided.
"Pad Thai all right? It's not very original, but I make my own version and it's not too shabby."
"Sounds wonderful. What can I do?"
"If you could chop those, that would be wonderful." Nicki pointed at a bunch of green onions.
They seemed to have been left there for the sole purpose of audience participation as Nicki visibly had everything else under control. She worked quickly and methodically-like the chefs in professional kitchens on TV-and by the time Emily had sliced the onions the kitchen smelled like the essence of Thai food: fiery peppers, garlic and a delicious mix of spices. Robyn suddenly felt quite
hungry. For the next twenty minutes she watched Nicki assemble the dish. Almost entranced by her graceful movements around the designer kitchen, Robyn hardly noticed Nicki's bra-less state anymore-except when she reached up to grab something from a cabinet above the cooker.
"Dinner's ready," Nicki said, with a smile so bright it stirred something in the pit of Emily's stomach. Or maybe it was just hunger.