Page 8 of Love Thief

“Nikki, out of my way.” I push open the kitchen door and can hear laughter coming from the dining room. Perfect, all in one spot, the thieving cows. I walk into the dining room that I paid for. They have my dining set out, and all my food set out into it. Four women, none of whom I recognise, three American and one English from the sounds of their accents.

“Ladies,” I say to them in a quiet, menacing voice.

They all turn and gape at my attire and the bat over my shoulder. I glance back to Nikki who’s standing wide-eyed behind me.

“Having a nice meal?” I ask mildly, but don’t wait for a response. “Who told you it was ok to steal our food? Who’s idea was it to take what was not yours? And worse, speak to Nikki, who has been cooking all day for us, like a piece of shit.”

A blonde, tall and statuesque in a beautiful black dress, who clearly thinks she’s in charge, looks down her nose at me and sneers. “Steal your food? How can we steal what is actually ours? We own this place. Paid a fortune for it, too. And we expected there would be a chef as usual. But he refused to cook for us,” she states in an impossibly posh English accent as she points at Nikki. “What are we supposed to do, cook for ourselves?” She looks around at the other women with a wide-eyed incredulous expression. They all laugh at her joke, like it’s an alien concept.

“If you’ve come to take our food order, you’re a little late. We’ve sorted ourselves out now. You can go back to your field work. Farm workers, the lowest of the low. Always working in the dirt, and it looks like you’re a hard worker.”

They all turn away from me, dismissing me as if I’m not even there. Continuing to pile their plates with salads.

“You haven’t paid for a chef, you paid for use of the house. Who’s idea was it to take our food? You could see it was being set up for someone. And unless you’re as blind as you are dumb, you couldn’t miss us working in the fields.”

My words fall on deaf ears, they don’t even acknowledge my genuine complaint. Getting drinks and carrying on with their meal, it’s as if I haven’t even spoken.

I stand there, feeling the sting of being ignored and disrespected. It’s as if Nikki and I are invisible in their world. I know I dress down when at home, but this goes way beyond that. It’s as if it's something more fundamental. They’re in charge, there to see and be seen. I’m to go about my work, behind the scenes, invisible and inconsequential.

Well someone forgot to give me that memo. It’s not a memo I have ever subscribed to. Or an ethos. I am always seen, and make sure of it. I believe everyone should be seen.

I grasp the handle of the bat tighter and I hear Nikki make a panicked noise behind me as I smile at them all. Time for the show ladies, time to see the real me.

“Well ladies, I have to say, this will be the pleasure of my life.”

And I start swinging.

They start screaming and running for cover. I smash every piece of crockery in that room. I smash the food into smithereens. Take a run up and hit the drinks cabinet, sending bottles and glasses everywhere, and just keep going. I feel like I’m in a bit of a trance as I smash and smash my own dining room up. The women are all huddled in a corner, shrieking like banshees.

A man runs into the room from the other end in only his jeans, and I do recognise him.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the boyfriend,” I snarl. “Keep these women away from me, and anyone of my association. In fact, get them out of this house.

“Let’s go, Nikki. And don’t you dare clean this shit up, they can do it. After they move that fucking car.”

I hurl the bat so hard towards the women, they all duck and scream as it sails over their heads and smashes a front window.

Nikki moans at my side, but I grin like a maniac at him, and push him out of the door and through the kitchen. “Get in the truck, Nikki, we’re off to the pub.”

I’m the last one on the field. It's just before midnight and I am totally knackered. I’ve got my music blaring out, and I see the headlights of a truck coming towards me at speed. Jake’s probably coming to tell me to come home.

Pulling up the tractor, I wave at him, grab my shirt, and wipe my forehead. I shout out as he pulls up, truck lights still blazing into the midnight sky.

“I’ve just finished J. I’m knackered. Has Pat got some tea ready?”

I’m climbing down backwards, when I’m pulled from the tractor by my hips and spun around. I scream in panic.

“What the fuck have you done?” he shouts at me. “My fucking Ferrari and the house dining room? You’re fucking crazy, woman.” He’s shaking me and is yelling right in my face. Kellen. OOPS.

“Don’t grab me, get off. I don’t know anything about your Ferrari. And those bitches had it coming. I would have smashed them in if I had the chance again.”

Ripping myself out of his grip and diving for my tractor, I climb back into the cab as he tries to grab my legs. I kick out at him, and hear him grunt as I catch him in the chest, knocking him backwards. I take the advantage, grabbing a riding crop I keep handy to swot flies with, and when he comes to get in the cab, I wallop him with it.

He bellows at me, shouting, “You’re asking for it, Kitten. Think a riding crop is going to stop me? You ran over my fucking Ferrari.”

“I did not!”

“You liar.” He growls the accusation at me. “Admit it and I’ll let you off. Go on, admit it. I know you did, no one else is crazy enough. ADMIT IT.” He’s really shouting now, his eyes wild. “You fucking hit the girls with that bat, you could have killed them.”

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