There was an unfamiliar smell in the air. Olive had been experimenting with a new recipe.
‘Bit on the nose, whatever you’re cooking, Mrs Day,’ said Jeremy from the door where he was pulling off his boots.
Sam had just been on the phone to Arthur Sawtell, who had given him some statistics from Rotary to pass on to Jeremy. Counting the grey nomads, over four hundred people had attended the novelty bash, and Rotary had handed the Mesiti family a cheque for nine thousand, two hundred and twenty-six dollars. Sam relayed this information to those present in the Redstone kitchen and smiled warmly at Jeremy. Olive was as proud as any of them.
Alice put the plates of food on the table and after saying grace, they all examined the strong-smelling food. Even Olive suspected she may have overdone it. Jeremy, starving as usual, decided to dig in first.
‘Holy hell, Mrs Day, this is horrible!’ he announced after forcing down the first mouthful. ‘Wouldn’t give this to a dog I liked.’
‘You mind your manners, you ungrateful sod,’ Sam said, in the tone that he normally saved for a misbehaving animal.
However, Olive’s response was unusually mild. ‘It’s curry. I guess none of us is used to spicy food. But it’s good to branch out now and again.’ Alice nodded in agreement and Olive continued, a little more sternly, ‘I don’t mind you telling me when you dislike something I’ve cooked, Jeremy, however there are less offensive ways of doing it.’
‘Righto, give me a minute, I’ll try again.’ Jeremy stared at his plate for a moment. Then, looking up at Olive, he said, ‘Mrs Day, I like you . . . but I don’t like this.’ He pointed at the curry.
Alice and Sam looked curiously from Jeremy to Olive. She tried to maintain a severe look but found that she couldn’t. She gave a small snort and then laughed. ‘I suppose I can cope with that.’
‘Nothing to growl about on an ordinary day,’ Jeremy continued conciliatorily. ‘Best bloody cook I’ve ever come across, by a long way.’
Olive busied herself with the teapot, anxious to hide the pleasure Jeremy’s words had given her. She changed the subject. ‘Jeremy, I’d like to take this opportunity to congratulate you on the great success of the novelty day.’ She paused. ‘Well done.’
Sam and Alice made sounds of agreement but Jeremy was silent, so she went on, ‘It was all your initiative.’
Jeremy looked up shyly from his plate. ‘Jeez, that’s real praise coming from you, Mrs Day. But I did have a bit o’ help you know. I just handed out the jobs.’
‘Yes, but it was all your idea. I was wrong to try to discourage you.’ Olive spoke earnestly.
Jeremy looked bashful and stared at his curry again.
‘And there’s custard tart for dessert,’ she added.
‘You beauty! Worth every bit of effort for that!’ Jeremy grinned like a schoolboy.
‘Also, I’m giving you that Lonergan heifer.’ Olive sniffed primly to show that she was serious.
The other three stared at her in amazement, but Sam and Alice made no comment.
‘Holy f—. . . mackerel.’ Jeremy fell silent. It looked to Olive as though he was scrabbling around for the right words. ‘Thanks, Mrs Day,’ he said finally, smiling at her with genuine humility.
She recognised it immediately and smiled back. ‘That’s my pleasure, Jeremy.’
With quiet determination and many sips of water, Jeremy forced down some more of the curry, with Alice and Sam following suit. Olive watched him, remembering Sam’s comment at one time about ‘writing off a young bloke’. They were making some headway in the reformation process, and at times she congratulated herself for it. But then, try as she might, she couldn’t dismiss the sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind that perhaps Jeremy hadn’t changed that much at all. Perhaps her new perception of him was simply a result of her beginning to know him at last.
After eating a large serving of custard tart smothered in thick cream, Jeremy appeared to recover from the unusually timid mood that had kept him subdued through much of dinner. ‘Real nice type, that heifer. Show quality, I’d reckon.’ He wiped his dessert bowl clean with his work-roughened forefinger and sucked it. ‘Very decent of the Lonergans to donate her. Best not mention it to Wingnut, though, Ali. Don’t think he’d be too stoked about me ending up with her.’
Olive tried to look grim. He was back to his usual self.
‘Don’t worry, Jeremy, I know when to keep quiet,’ Alice answered.
Jeremy regarded her for a moment, then laughed. ‘Couldn’t be more different from me in that way,’ he said. But he clearly wasn’t going to waste time dwelling on that depressing thought. Instead he looked longingly from his squeaky-clean bowl to the remaining tart in the dish. Olive pushed it towards him, deciding that just for tonight, she’d go all out and bend the dessert rules.
‘Ripper! Ta, Mrs Day.’ Jeremy slid the wedge into his bowl and started into it immediately. Through his food he mumbled thoughtfully to himself, ‘Best bloody heifer I’ve ever owned.’ Then, more quietly, ‘Only heifer I’ve ever owned.’
Sam looked up from his tart in surprise.
Swallowing his mouthful, Jeremy looked around at them all and announced, ‘I’m gonna call her Olive.’