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‘We’ll have a couple of Hound Dog breakfasts,’ Lena says. ‘Coffee for me. Orange juice for my daughter.’
Hearing that, Elissa is a little disappointed. She was sort of looking forward to Andrea bringing her the wrong-flavoured milkshake, but she doesn’t correct the order; the thought of choosingwhichmilkshake makes her shiver.
‘How’d you want your eggs?’
‘One set scrambled, one set fried.’
‘Coming right up.’
Andrea saunters off, buttocks swinging inside her tight black trousers.
‘Thanks,’ Elissa says.
Her mum raises an eyebrow. ‘For what?’
‘Ordering my food. Don’t think I could have done it.’
‘Too much choice?’
She nods sheepishly. ‘We probably would’ve missed the tournament.’
‘Can’t have that.’
‘Did she really sayshitums?’
Lena rolls her eyes. ‘That’s why I don’t like bringing you to these places.’ Her smile shows she doesn’t mean it.
Soon, Andrea is back, plonking down coffee and orange juice. Five minutes later she returns with two huge plates. ‘Who’s for fried?’
Elissa raises her hand. There’s far too much food for a thirteen-year-old girl: bacon rashers, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, fried potato, grilled tomato, beans and a square of fried bread sparkling with grease.
‘Whoa,’ says the woman with the jade necklace. ‘Somebody’s hungry.’
Elissa stiffens, wondering if it’s a criticism, but when she looks over her fellow diner is smiling.
‘Growing girl,’ says the man with dirty fingernails.
Thankfully, another waitress appears then, ready to take the couple’s order. Spared from further attention, Elissa cleans her knife with a napkin. In the car, she hadn’t been that hungry, but now she’s famished. As she eats, her thoughts return to the tournament. Her mind becomes a landscape of black and white squares, populated by the carved shapes made famous by Nathaniel Cooke. Once she’s cleared her plate – everything except one egg, the mushrooms and the fried potato – she pushes it aside.
Her mum digs in her handbag for her purse. ‘Just popping to the loo. Will you be OK?’
‘Sure.’
Unzipping her rucksack, Elissa grabs the book by Jennifer Shahade and begins to read. She’s interrupted by a grunt from the next table. Looking up, she sees the man with shaving foam behind his ear examining the title.
‘Funny name for a book,’ he says. ‘What’s it about?’
She looks from the man to his partner, who smiles sympathetically, as if to say:Yes, sweetie, I know he’s a little slow. Just humour him for me, would you?
‘It’s about chess.’
‘Huh. Ain’t ever been my thing. Used to like a bit of poker, before.’
Elissa nods. Her focus returns to the book. It attempts to settle there, but she can’t help herself. ‘Before what?’ she asks, glancing up.
Using his knife as a pointer, the man indicates his partner. ‘Before … you know.’
The woman’s smile broadens. If there’s a message, this one’s probably something like:See the kind of shitums I have to put up with?