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A leg of lamb.
All right then, they would have lamb for supper. She carried it upstairs, holding the thin bone-end of it with both her hands, and as she went through the living-room, she saw him standing over by the window with his back to her, and she stopped.
'For God's sake,' he said, hearing her, but not turning round. 'Don't make supper for me. I'm going out.'
At that point, Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him and without any pause she swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head.
She might just as well have hit him with a steel club.
She stepped back a pace, waiting, and the funny thing was that he remai
ned standing there for at least four or five seconds, gently swaying. Then he crashed to the carpet.
The violence of the crash, the noise, the small table overturning, helped bring her out of the shock. She came out slowly, feeling cold and surprised, and she stood for a while blinking at the body, still holding the ridiculous piece of meat tight with both hands.
All right, she told herself. So I've killed him.
It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden. She began thinking very fast. As the wife of a detective, she knew quite well what the penalty would be. That was fine. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be a relief. On the other hand, what about the child? What were the laws about murderers with unborn children? Did they kill them both - mother and child? Or did they wait until the tenth month? What did they do?
Mary Maloney didn't know. And she certainly wasn't prepared to take a chance.
She carried the meat into the kitchen, placed it in a pan, turned the oven on high, and shoved it inside. Then she washed her hands and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She sat down before the mirror, tidied her face, touched up her lips and face. She tried a smile. It came out rather peculiar. She tried again.
'Hullo, Sam,' she said brightly, aloud.
The voice sounded peculiar too.
'I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.'
That was better. Both the smile and the voice were coming out better now. She rehearsed it several times more. Then she ran downstairs, took her coat, went out the back door, down the garden, into the street.
It wasn't six o'clock yet and the lights were still on in the grocery shop.
'Hullo, Sam,' she said brightly, smiling at the man behind the counter.
'Why, good evening, Mrs Maloney. How're you?'
'I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.'
The man turned and reached up behind him on the shelf for the peas.
'Patrick's decided he's tired and doesn't want to eat out tonight,' she told him. 'We usually go out Thursdays, you know, and now he's caught me without any vegetables in the house.'
'Then how about meat, Mrs Maloney?'
'No, I've got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb, from the freezer.'
'Oh.'
'I don't much like cooking it frozen, Sam, but I'm taking a chance on it this time. You think it'll be all right?'
'Personally,' the grocer said, 'I don't believe it makes any difference. You want these Idaho potatoes?'
'Oh yes, that'll be fine. Two of those.'
'Anything else?' The grocer cocked his head on one side, looking at her pleasantly. 'How about afterwards? What you going to give him for afterwards?'
'Well - what would you suggest, Sam?'
