Finding Abby

10

Ben stands at the kitchen bench chopping ingredients with the stereo playing low. Delicious smells come from the stove where steam rises from a simmering pot. The house seems alive. A buzz of activity. I'm the one who usually makes dinner so it's luxurious to not be slaving over a hot stove waiting for Mum to come home to criticise everything with her silence.

From the doorway I watch him potter around. His broad shoulders and sloth-like movements seem out of place in the tiny outdated kitchen. He's relaxed, humming. I remember the video and how different he is to the young version of him in the film. He could be another person.

I wonder if I'd met Ben when he was my age whether we would've been friends; whether we would have had anything in common. Was he one of the cool kids back then because he was in a band? Was he the same mellow, thoughtful Ben he is now? Maybe I would've fallen in love with him because he was up there on the stage acting like a rock star; owning the music alongside the blonde singer with the pained voice.

A rush of angst hits my stomach when I remember how I acted in the car earlier. I was out of control. Like a dumb kid throwing a tantrum. He's not my dad, I know that. He's not someone I should have been so open and emotional with. But I couldn't help it. I need him to be honest with me.

Why else is he here?

If Minda had been here, at least I could've talked to her about it and she would totally understand. She'd snap her fingers at me and tell me to get my priorities right. Tell me not to dig into stories of the past that might hurt me and focus on Finn. The thing is, Minda doesn't really get how much I need to dig into those stories of the past because her life is so different to mine. But I really miss her.

When Ben realises I'm there he wipes his hands on the tea towel he's thrown over his shoulder and comes over. I get the sense he wants to hug me but holds back. He looks at me with thoughtful eyes.

"How's your wrist?"

My wrist is purple and grazed but I wave it about a bit to show him it's okay. "Finn's sister's a nurse. She checked it. She said it's fine."

"Good," he smiles. "And, how are you?"

Like I'm drowning in quicksand; struggling to breath. "Not so good."

Ben glances at the saucepan bubbling away on the stove. "Let me finish up then let's talk."

"Please don't pretend you're ready to talk," I say, brushing him off. "Mum'll be home soon. She's the one who needs to talk."

"Okay," he nods. "In that case, I've got something for you."

I lean on the door-frame and cross my arms. "What?"

Ben tugs the tea-towel off his shoulder and tosses it on the kitchen table. He digs into the pockets of his jeans, pulls out an envelope.

"This belongs to you," he says, holding the envelope out to me. "Don't open it now. Do it later. Tomorrow. When we have time to talk."

I take the envelope from him, my throat tight. "What is it?"

Ben shrugs. He picks up the tea-towel and throws it over his shoulder again; steps back to the stove. "Let's say I didn't realise I'd lost it, or that you'd found it."

I frown, twist my lips to the side. I shake the envelope. It's got something small and spongy inside. "Why?"

"Because" —Ben picks up the wooden spoon and digs it into the bubbling sauce— "I can't pretend things never happened. And, like I said, sometimes later never comes."

I look over my shoulder at the front door as if Mum is about to walk in. "She doesn't know I have this?"

Ben shakes his head.