Alex Bobl - Memoria

Frank washed his face, poured some water onto the back of his neck, closed the tap and admired his mug in the mirror. Oh well… He could do with a shave and a… Frank touched his chin and the large scratch from the fight on his cheek. A shower would be a good thing, too. Still, it had to wait until the morning.

Frank yawned. Back to bed now. He needed to recover properly.

He stepped out into the hall, nearly knocking over a young woman. At first he took her for a tousled teenage boy, but then realized it was a grown-up girl in her twenties. She had a round face with large eyes and a snub nose. About a foot shorter than him, quite chubby — or rather, squat like a gym coach. Wide-boned, apparently. Must have taken after her dad.

She squinted sleepily, shielding her face from the lamp over the mirror. The girl was wearing pajamas with a teddy-bear print and a pair of pink slippers topped with puppies’ heads.

Frank stood staring at her. She did the same; her eyes betrayed neither fear nor surprise, only curiosity.

“Pardon me,” he croaked and squeezed past her into the hall. “I’m a friend of Barney’s. Hope I didn’t scare you too much.”

The girl waved him aside and locked herself in the bathroom.

Idiot. Frank returned to his room and sat on the couch. What an idiot! He shook his head. All that was missing was to have told her his name and life story.

Water ran in the shower. Frank leaned against the couch, his eyes getting used to the darkness. Soon he could see the mess Barney called his room. In the corner under the wardrobe lay bagfuls of stuff. The desk under the window was heaped high with paperwork and manuals. A soft chair by the door was buried under heaps of clothes.

He wondered what kind of family the girl was to Barney. Was she the Maggie?

The water stopped trickling. For a second, light issued from the doorway, then it was dark again.

“Did he say when he’d be back?” he heard from the hall. A silhouette appeared in the doorway.

She had a nice voice, Frank decided as he rose to greet her.

“Said he’d take the car back.”

“Good,” the silhouette disappeared.

Frank looked out. The girl walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.

“Are you hungry?”

Frank listened to his stomach rumbling. He wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Plates started clinking in the kitchen. A coffee machine hummed.

“I am,” he entered the kitchen. “Are you Maggie?”

They made one another’s acquaintance to the humming of the coffee machine. Her name was indeed Maggie, and she was Barney’s daughter. And over the coffee, Frank discovered that Maggie worked for Memoria as Mr. Binelli’s secretary.

“I used to know a girl who worked for them too.”

Immediately he cursed his loose tongue.

He remembered the argument between Max and Barney. The picture became clearer. His coach wanted to use Maggie to get access to Memoria’s files. She could gain entry to their office and copy the information stored on the device. The risk — primarily for the girl — was enormous.

“What’s her name?” Maggie opened the fridge, took a bowlful of salad off the shelf and placed it in front of Frank.

The juicy radishes mixed with lettuce and slices of bell pepper looked too good to resist. It took all of Frank’s willpower not to wolf it down: he hadn’t eaten anything for twenty-four hours.

“I meet a lot of people there. Wonder if we both know her?” Maggie added looking down at him.

Nonchalantly, Frank picked up a fork and poked the salad.

“Nah. She quit. Doesn’t work there any more.” He lifted the first forkful and started munching. “That’s good,” he managed with a full mouth.

“Good. I’ll fix some pasta for you now,” Maggie turned back to the fridge.

“Please don’t… no need to bother,” Frank started.

She turned and gave him a meaningful glare. So like Barney.

“I’ll take offence. And so will Daddy.”

He choked on a half-chewed lettuce leaf.

“Joke,” her thin lips stretched into a smile. “Daddy promised to break your neck, right?”

Frank nodded.

“I wasn’t asleep. I heard you two come in.” Maggie retrieved a plastic box from the fridge and put it into the microwave. “This is what he promises to do to all men younger than himself who happen to walk within handshaking distance of me.” She reached for a cheese grater above the stove.

“Why would he?” Frank returned to his salad.

“He still thinks I’m his little girl. He calls me his teddy bear.” She sighed and started grating some cheese over a bowl.

“I think, we remain forever children in our parents’ eyes,” with this platitude, Frank shoved the rest of the food into his mouth and pushed the bowl away.

“Yes, but…” the girl put the grater aside, spooned the pasta onto a plate and topped it with the grated cheese. “Unfortunately, sooner or later their children grow up. Then they have their own ideas on how to go about their wishes. True or not?” She put the dirty bowl into the sink.

“Sure,” Frank chuckled and wrapped some spaghetti around his fork. “Same old story.”

“Now don’t you start!” he heard reproach in her voice. “I’ve been reading a lot about it lately.”

“It can’t be that bad, surely!”

Maggie sat on a stool by his side, propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Her eyes were sad now.

“Never mind,” she forced a smile. “I like watching men eat. You mind?”

Frank mumbled that no, he didn’t, munched his way through the first mouthful of pasta and told her that he’d never eaten anything better than cheese pasta Maggie Douggan-style.

“What about the salad, then!” she protested with a smile.

“The salad was great, the coffee, amazing…” Frank paused thinking of a good way to finish the compliment.

“Yeah right! Eat now before it gets cold. Don’t mind me,” Maggie rose.

“Mind if I ask a question,” Frank looked around the kitchen. The fork in his hand outlined the room. “Is this your family’s…” Embarrassment flooded over him but he went on. “You don’t seem to be afraid of me. You’re giving me food. What if I’m a criminal? A murderer on the run?”

Maggie laughed, then abruptly stopped, growing serious.

“If Daddy brought you here, then it was the right thing to do.”

She disappeared into the bathroom leaving Frank alone with his thoughts and his pasta. When she reemerged, he’d already polished off his dinner and thanked her for it, bringing about a burst of happy laughter. She seemed to laugh a lot and with gusto.

Frank gave her a lost smile. Maggie pointed at the sunrise in the window and said that his dinner was rather like an early breakfast. She was due to work soon.

“Daddy will be back any time. I’ve got to cook something for him.”

“What?” it dawned on Frank that Barney wouldn’t be amused if there was no food in the house left for him. “You… I didn’t…”

“Don’t worry,” Maggie touched his shoulder. “I’ll fix him something.”

She opened the fridge and produced a can of milk and a plastic box with some veg. Then she reached into a cupboard by the stove for a packet of corn flakes. “There! Daddy calls this mix a dead migrant’s breakfast.”

Frank barely had time to give a sigh of relief when the front door slammed. Barney walked into the kitchen in his coat, gently kissed his daughter and sat on a stool, casting angry glances at Frank.

As he ate, he told Maggie how his shift had gone, calling her teddy bear three times, twice his darling sunshine, and only once his daughter. He kept casting Frank unhappy glares without saying a word.

Maggie pretended she didn’t notice the way her father treated his guest. Smiling, she went about cleaning the kitchen. Frank wanted to offer his help but he stopped himself just in time in order not to annoy Barney. What if he sees it as an attempt at courtship or accuse him of attempting to seduce or even rape her? He could easily break Frank’s head with those fists of his. He surely knew how to use a knife, too. Frank glanced at the clock above the fridge. Half past six, and Max hadn’t arrived yet. What if something had happened?