I take Dod’s plate off his tray, put it on to mine, then place my tray on top of his empty one and make my way to the kitchen.
‘Thanks, Betsy, that was lovely,’ Dod says.
I made a chicken stir fry in sweet and sour sauce. It was a recipe I got from a cookbook by a chef called Jamie Oliver. I liked it too. I just think next time I can make it even nicer. I can add a bit more spice. I read the four cookbooks Dod has bought me over the past year or so and pick out ingredients that Dod will go and buy from the shops. He calls us a ‘team’ now. I agree. We’re a really good team. Dod hasn’t been angry in nearly two years – not since we made up on that great Christmas day.
I get cookbooks and other nonfiction in actual paper books. But I use my Kindle for all fiction stuff. Dod always has money in my account. I just download some great books with the push of a button and get reading. I am really happy that I am back reading fiction these days. It makes me sad to think that I didn’t really read fiction for a few years. I hope everybody reads fiction; reading a book like that takes you away from real life. It makes you have adventures.
‘I’ll wash up,’ Dod says, following me into the kitchen. ‘You go and watch the TV. You like that cooking programme.’
I smile back at him, hand him over the dirty plate I was about to dunk in the sink.
‘Thanks, Dod.’
The show he’s talking about is called US Masterchef. Loads of different people cook dinners and desserts to try to win their own restaurant. I love it. As I’m walking out of the kitchen I notice the back door on the other side is slightly open. Dod opens it sometimes if I’m cooking to let the steam out. Looks like he forgot to close it today.
I decide I better not go near it. I don’t want to upset Dod. So I just continue to the TV room, pick up the remote control and turn the volume up.
I really like the chef Gordon Ramsay. He shouts at the cooks all the time. But he knows what he is talking about. I have four of his cookbooks. Dod says he is going to buy me his latest one when it comes out in November.
I read non-fiction during the day and fiction at night. Last year, I asked Dod to buy me a copy of The Bible because religion and God kept appearing in my books. Some of the characters in my books prayed a lot and I wanted to know what God was all about.
The Bible’s a big book. A really, really big book. And the way it is written means it is tough to read. But I got through it all in the space of one month. I wasn’t sure whether it was a fiction book or a non-fiction book when I asked Dod to buy it for me. But I know now. It’s definitely fiction. It has a talking snake at the start of it and then after that it is all about a man called Jesus who grew up in a place called Nazareth. In the story it says his mother, Mary, got a visit from an angel who made her pregnant from God. Then when Jesus grew up he was able to perform magic. A bit like Harry Potter. I still can’t understand why some people think it is a non-fiction book. They must be really stupid.
It’s the same with my book; Betsy’s Basement. Some people might think it is fiction, some people might think it is non-fiction. But I’m not sure who is ever going to read it. Maybe people will only read it after I’m dead. It is still in my copy book, in the bottom drawer of the cabinet beside my bed. I have often thought about asking Dod if he would like to read it. But that’s not a great idea. He is likely to get upset, or angry. I have only written the truth in it about Dod. Most of the things I write about him are nice things. But he might get angry about me writing about the beatings he has given me in the past. And about the newspaper articles. It makes me a bit sad that I won’t be able to share it with anyone. Especially him.
I laugh when Gordon Ramsay spits out one of the cook’s dinners into a bin.
‘Christ, that’s raw chicken,’ Gordon says. ‘It’s redder than your cheeks.’
I giggle so loudly that Dod pops his head around the door.
‘Gordon cracking you up again?’ he says as he dries his hands with a tea-towel.
‘He always does,’ I reply.
‘Okay… Betsy. I’m just gonna run upstairs to hang up some of my clothes. Are you okay staying here, or should I put you back down in the basement?’
I’m sure my eyes are really wide. I can’t see them of course, but I think I can actually feel them getting bigger. Dod has never given me this option before. Ever. Anytime he’s not with me, he puts me back down in the basement and locks the door. I even wonder if he is messing with me, testing me. I decide to take the test.
‘I’d like to watch the end of this,’ I say nodding over at the TV.
‘Thought you might,’ he says coming over to me. He kisses me on the top of the head. ‘I trust you, Betsy, okay? Don’t do anything silly.’
I look at him.
‘Course I won’t.’
Dod winks at me then turns around and I hear him run up the stairs.
I lie back on the sofa and watch as Gordon calls more cooks up to him at the top of the room before he samples their dinners. He high fives the next cook and tells him that his chicken is cooked to perfection. But just as he is about to put the next cook’s dinner in his mouth, the silly voice over man says ‘next time on Masterchef’. Uuuugh. I hate when it does that. I’ll have to wait till tomorrow to find out what happens. I pick up the remote and begin to press at the buttons to see what is on the other channels. I don’t see anything that I’d like to watch. Then I remember. The back door is open a bit.
I put the remote down and walk slowly into the hall. Really, really slowly. I don’t want Dod to hear me. If he sees me, he will go crazy. I tip-toe towards the back door and when I get there, I push at it gently. It doesn’t creak. It just opens up silently.
The brightness of the outside almost blinds me. I have to close my eyes. When I open them I am amazed. I’ve never seen the back garden before. The grass is really long. Really, really long. It’s probably up to my waist. At least. But it’s beautiful. Really green and beautiful. Birds are chirping in the big tree over in the next garden. The sun is really high in the sky, and there is a little breeze that is making the grass look as if it is waving at me. The wind feels so nice on my face. It makes me stand still. I would love to stay out here for the rest of the day. I breathe in some of the wind up my nose, then let it out really slowly. I can taste it at the back of my mouth. It’s so nice. The nicest breath I have ever taken.
As I breathe in again I stare at the fence that separates our house from the next door neighbour. I bet it’s about my height. I wonder if I could climb over it.
I let my breath out really slowly again. These breaths taste so nice. While I am tasting it at the back of my mouth I hear Dod speaking to me. ‘I trust you, Betsy.’ He says it three times. I open my eyes, turn around and step back inside. I close the door as slowly as I can without making a noise and then tip-toe straight to the basement and back down the steps.