
“How much food have we got?” Katania asks.
“Plenty,” Rudd replies. “Should have enough to keep us going for another two or three days. Stocks are pretty good thanks to the wedding.”
“Where’s everyone going to kip?”
Simi turns around to see who’s asked the question. It’s Hansie, standing by the sinks in the furthest corner of the kitchen, hands covered in soap suds.
“In the dining-room, once we’ve all eaten and cleared everything away. I think we can find enough campbeds and mattresses for the squash court crew, and any campers who got drowned out. We’ll put the doctors on the sofas.”
“Any news on the roads?” Hansie asks.
“Hope the doctors can tell us when they get in,” Rudd replies, his voice weary. “I don’t know much more. Listen, thanks again everyone. Oh … by the way, we’re working on the generators, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Okay. Thanks,” says Hansie, returning to the washing up as Rudd heads out through the swing doors.
Simi turns back to her task. On the counter beside her there is one more unopened pack of sausages. She looks at it, and at the gash splaying down towards the base of her thumb. The throb is more intense now, and she thinks the whole hand may be slightly swollen.
You know what? I can do this. Then I’ll bandage it. Should have asked Marybelle, except her head was full of doctors and helicopters. Plus I couldn’t even think straight.
Frowning, she manages somehow to release the sausages from their packet, and tips them into the pan. She adds oil and adjusts the flame, then stands in a headachey haze, flipping them occasionally until the last of them is done and added to the pile in the serving dish. It is when she tries to pick up the dish that a sudden jolt of pain makes her cry out.
“Simi!” In an instant Marybelle is beside her, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s happened?”
“My hand,” says Simi, clutching it by the wrist.
“What? Oh no. I forgot all about it. Here, let me have a look. Actually, let’s go outside. The light’s better.”
Outside Marybelle takes Simi’s palm and examines its inflamed ridge. Then she reaches up and places a hand on Simi’s forehead.
“I like your hair wraps. You’re so clever with them. I love this yellow,” she says, arm stretched upwards to just below Simi’s hairline. She lowers her hand. “You know you’re a bit hot. I don’t think it’s normal. And I think your hand’s a bit swollen. You shouldn’t have done all that work.”
“Well, I felt okay when I started.”
Simi feels Marybelle’s worried gaze, roaming inside her, examining.
“You’re not looking that well. Too bad Tim’s gone with Jacobus, but I think I heard those helicopters coming in just now. Come. Come with me. I want them to have a look at you,” she says, reaching for Simi’s good hand, and leading her back through the kitchen, past the counters piled with dishes of chips and peas, and bread being cut into slices, and on towards the swing doors into the main body of the Lodge.
Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023