Dinner's Ready by Vivienne Moles

‘Hello, darling!’ A lovely greeting after a dreadful day. Traffic was dire, not helped by raging winds and torrential rain. My normally hour-long journey had doubled in time and I was shattered. I was wondering if he’d made dinner. I could only hope. 

‘Bad day?’ he said, lips puckered, feeling my pain. 

I unloaded the boot: six bags of shopping and something he’d asked me to collect from the dry cleaner’s, clutched under my chin. 

‘Never mind, come in and get warm,’ he said, sitting down with his glass of wine. 

I unpacked the bags, re-routing to cupboards, refrigerator and freezer as appropriate. The kettle was empty. I filled it and made a quick cuppa — so desperate. 

‘Spaghetti for dinner?’ he said, calling out to me. 

‘That would be lovely,’ I said, smiling and walking into the sitting room. He was watching television, feet up, glass of wine in one hand and remote in the other. He beamed at me as I came in. 

‘Not too much spaghetti for me. I had a small lunch out with the lads,’ he said. I’m not sure why I thought he had a meal all ready and prepared for me. With an exaggerated harrumph, I rolled up my sleeves and went into the kitchen. 

‘I’ll be about half an hour,’ I said, tension building. 

‘I could have done that,’ he said. I heard his feet thump to the floor with mock effort. And then I heard him get comfortable again. He didn’t appear in the kitchen. 

I made myself spaghetti with all the trimmings for one, no left-overs. I took it in the sitting room with a glass of wine. He looked at me, question marks oozing from all over. 

‘Sorry? I thought you said you’d eaten?’ I said. 

Published in Issue #21

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