Page 61 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Oh, I didn’t notice,’ he lied politely. ‘I could only smell the casserole… Well, you’ll just have to keep washing your hands like Lady Macbeth.’ Nicholas laughed at his quip.

‘I’m going up. Chicken should only take another forty minutes. Best to turn the gas off for now and start again when I come down,’ Kate said.

‘Okay. I’ll lay the table while you’re having a shower or… shall I go first, because I’ll be quick and you’ll probably want to put on some make-up?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, always have to put yourself first, Mr Selfish. I’m going up now and that’s it… Oh, and can you let the dogs in? I didn’t want them sniffing around me in the kitchen. You know how they start whining when they smell food.’

She spooned some pet meat into two large bowls and plonked them on the kitchen floor. ‘There. You can give them some fresh water.’

Nicholas did as he was told, then settled himself in the comfy beige leather chair by the living-room window and looked out at the lovely garden. He could see the dogs frolicking and the solar lights winking as the dusk fell. He dozed off, and woke with a start when she called him to the table.

She’s a good woman, Nicholas thought, squashing down the realisation that time had eroded her enthusiasm for life and for him. Maybe he should try and read her a poem. Nothing too complicated. She loved flowers, so why not try Wordsworth now that the daffodils were in bloom. Or maybe not. She’d probably laugh at him.

‘Not bad… the Caesar salad,’ Kate said. ‘Especially if you reckon to make it would cost at least £6.50. Three pounds for chicken breasts, £1 for the lettuce, a tin of anchovies £1.20 and don’t forget the croutons, around £1.30. There you go, and that’s just for the starter. I really don’t know how they do it… I mean dinner for two with three courses – twelve quid. Ooh, Iforgot the serviettes.’ She went to the sideboard and, bending down, took two paper napkins from a packet in a drawer.

‘Mmm, very good salad… You look nice, Kate.’ He scanned her backside. ‘New jeans?’

‘Yuh. Bought them yesterday… at New Line, very comfy.’

‘See any nice skirts?’

‘Nicholas, you know I don’t like skirts.’

‘It’s such a shame. You’ve got beautiful legs.’ He poured them both a large glass of red. ‘Do you remember when we first met at college? You walked into the canteen with the shortest black miniskirt. Stunning! To tell the truth, I fell in love with your legs before we even started chatting.’

‘Oh… such a long time ago. What has happened to the years? Anyway, we did manage to bring up two good kids…’

‘That’s true. By the way, where are they?’

‘Mark has gone to Glastonbury with his mates, camping overnight, and Beth is at a sleepover with her friend Lilly.’

‘Well, that’s good. We won’t have any rude interruptions.’ Nicholas topped up Kate’s Rioja.

‘But we do have these two little beauties.’ Kate patted the lively spaniels who had bounced into the sitting room and, competing for attention, nuzzled her legs.

‘Hello, Sally! Hello, Rocket! Ooh, look! Daddy’s left a bit of chicken on his plate…’ She threw a couple of pieces to the panting dogs, whisked the empty gravy boat away and walked briskly to the kitchen.

‘Wish you wouldn’t feed the dogs the scraps at the table,’ Nicholas muttered. ‘You know it encourages them to beg.’

He refilled his glass of wine.

‘Heard that,’ Kate called back. ‘Can’t you just chill for once?’

Exasperated, Nicholas sat back, staring stonily ahead. The Victorian watercolour on the opposite side of the wall seemed to taunt him. He had paid a fortune for it – a painting of a beautifulyoung maiden picking flowers in a field of bluebells. He didn’t care about the cost. He’d been smitten by the beauty of the girl.

Just like Kate. When he first saw her. The outside had been enough.

Ha! How not to marry, he thought. Husband and wife trying to make their way out of a cul-de-sac. Standing still, frozen habits, words for the sake of making conversation, a lonely play for attention and companionship.

Nicholas dreamt of his soulmate Sophie, while Kate didn’t dream at all.

She came back with the gravy boat refilled.

He poured some on the potato and patted it in with his fork. ‘Don’t think much of the mash. Tastes a bit bland. It’s better home-made. My mother made the best mash. She cracked two raw egg yolks into the potato, whisked it up with a pat of butter and a tad of milk… I miss her, you know,’ Nicholas said.

‘Yes, she was a lovely person. I was very fond of her.’ What a porky! Kate had deeply resented his mother. She’d invaded their marriage, Nicholas always ready to jump at her command. To do his duty as a loving son.

‘She certainly made good use of your DIY skills. You were like a yo-yo. Always back and forth from our house to hers fixing things. In fact, you were more there than here.’ Kate slurred her words and this time poured her own wine.

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