The Satanic Mechanic Read Online Free PDF Page A

that happened long ago as if they are happening now in front of my eyes.’I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. ‘And I’m scared of what might happen, in the future.’
    I paddled myself forward with my hands so that I was now on the front of my armchair, my feet back on the floor.
    â€˜I must give it more thought . . . I’ve been eating chocolate cake for shame, and I don’t think it’s the right thing. I think maybe I need something lighter.’ I looked at the orange chairs and yellow walls. ‘With citrus. Maybe a lemon meringue pie . . .’
    â€˜Mrs van Harten . . .’
    â€˜Call me Maria,’ I said, feeling friendly now that the counselling was helping me so nicely. ‘Tannie Maria.’
    â€˜Tannie Maria, do you maybe eat as a way of escaping your feelings?’
    â€˜No . . .’ I said. ‘I’m trying to help. To help my feelings. Trying to feel better.’
    She looked down at her skinny legs and then up at me, her eyes running across my length and width.
    â€˜Have you ever been on a diet, Tannie Maria?’

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I sat at my stoep table with the first diet meal of my life in front of me. Cucumber, lettuce, tomato and a boiled egg. No dressing. I wondered if I should eat the diet pills before or after the meal. The counsellor had recommended these pills, and I’d picked them up from the chemist on the way home. I decided to have them after my lunch, like pudding.
    I looked through the diet sheet she’d given me and shook my head. I’d never use these recipes in my column; they gave punishment instead of comfort. Punishment to those who enjoy food and have a little padding.
    I clicked my tongue and looked out onto my lawn. Two of my hens were scratching through the compost heap, their rust-brown feathers fluffing up as they pecked at tasty treats. The other three were lying in the shade of the lemon tree. It was a warm day but not too hot – the right weather for Welsh rarebit. I looked at the boiled egg on my plate; it would go so well with a piece of buttered toast and a creamy sauce made with cheddar.
    I distracted myself while I ate, by answering one of the letters I’d brought home with me. The handwriting was beautiful but spidery, and the paper was thin, almost see-through.

    Dearest Tannie Maria , it said
    There is a man I fancy who is quite a bit younger than me. I think he may fancy me too. He definitely fancies my shortbread .
    When it comes to love, does age matter? Or is it just a number?
    The man has a sweet tooth and I need some more treats for him. Maybe something savoury too. I think variety may keep him visiting more often, don’t you think?
    Here’s my mother’s excellent shortbread recipe for you. She was a fine baker .
    Yours faithfully ,
    A lass almost in love

    Hmm, I thought, nothing says ‘kom kuier weer’ – come visit again – like Hertzoggies, those little coconut jam tarts that General Hertzog used to love. I thanked the Scottish lass for her mother’s shortbread recipe and sent her my mother’s recipe for Hertzoggies.
    I told her that age doesn’t matter (unless the boy is under sixteen, of course, and then you must make sure the only treats you give him are the ones above the table). And I gave her a recipe for cheese scones made with mature cheddar. As cheddar matures, the quality and flavour improves.

    Your young man may realise that mature women are more delicious .

    The diet pills made a poor pudding, but reading and writing those delicious recipes helped a bit. The phone rang. It was Henk. His voice was warm and sweet like hot chocolate, and it made a smile run through my whole body.
    â€˜Are you doing all right?’ he asked.
    â€˜I went to see someone today . . . She put me on diet.’
    â€˜Ag, no, you need a counsellor, not a diet-lady. There are counsellors who come here to the police station. They