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Life beforehand had been pretty near perfect. A beautiful home, three great kids, disposable income, and the freedom to shop, socialise and enjoy the rewards of nearing retirement with no major concerns or worries. It hadn’t been entirely plain sailing. They’d scrimped and saved like most young couples starting out. Motherhood had delivered both blessings and curses, testing her resolve and patience on a daily basis. But she wouldn’t have swapped it for the world. She had one creative child, one academic and one she’d yet to fathom out.
But they’d coped. They’d worked together to make a happy and stable home. Over the years, Kenneth’s career had soared, as had his income, easing their stresses and adding holidays abroad and material trappings into their world.
By the time they’d both hit sixty, they were living a life of luxury. Two of their three children had flown the nest and were forging successful careers, and despite their son showing no signs of financial independence, or leaving home, life was good. A long, happy, activity-filled retirement lay ahead, when they could reclaim some of the intimacy they’d lost over the years, rediscover their passion for life and see out their years in comfort.
But that was before the axe had cut off any chance of a happy ending.
Happiness and security now eluded her. They dangled out of arm’s reach, tormenting her, reminding her of what she’d once had.
The timer on the oven beeped.
She glanced down and realised she’d annihilated the red cabbage. Her knuckles were white from gripping the knife, and the chopping board was stained red, like a crime scene, drenched in remnants of evil thoughts about her traitorous husband.
It might be safer to avoid using knives when dwelling over Kenneth.
She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Alex, love. Can you check the potatoes for me?’
No response.
He was lazing on the sofa in the corner of the large modern kitchen, his feet resting on the cushions, earplugs hanging from his ears.
‘Alex!’
He glanced up. ‘What?’
‘The potatoes.’ She nodded towards the beeping oven. ‘Check them for me?’
He frowned, like the question was too challenging for him.
Anyone would think he was fifteen, not thirty. He was hardly the most dynamic of beings. At least he was good-looking, that was something. He had strong features like his sisters, but his mop of unwashed brown hair did him no favours.
‘What am I checking for?’ he said, gormlessly.
She supressed a sigh. ‘To see if they’re done.’ She tried not to ‘nag’, as he regularly accused her of doing, but why should she have to do everything all the time? She was on her own now. She could do with the help.
‘Can’t you do it?’ His gaze returned to his phone. ‘I’m in the middle of something.’
Connie’s agitation levels hiked up another notch. ‘No, I can’t do it. As you can see, my hands are full.’ She stirred the gravy, spraying the liquid over the sides of the saucepan, unable to contain her annoyance.
‘Can’t you ask Beth or Megan?’
She slammed her hand on the countertop. ‘I’m asking you! Now get off the sofa and check the bloody potatoes.’
‘All right, keep your hair on.’ He dragged his long limbs off the sofa, his gait sullen and laboured. To say her son lacked motivation was like saying David Attenborough had a passing interest in wildlife. Quite how he’d ended up so lazy, she had no idea. His sisters were the polar opposite. Energised, independent and driven. Attributes that Alex severely lacked.
Her youngest daughter appeared in the kitchen – as if she’d somehow sensed she was the subject of her mother’s thoughts. ‘What do you think about this one?’ she said, padding over in her bare feet and shoving a magazine under Connie’s nose. ‘Beth thinks it’s too much, but can a wedding dress ever be too much?’
‘I’ve no idea, darling.’ Her daughter’s excitement over her forthcoming wedding irked. Why, she wasn’t sure. Did that make her a bad person?
But Megan didn’t pick up on her mother’s tetchiness – or if she did, she carried on regardless. ‘What do you think? Do you like it?’
‘I can’t see it, darling. I haven’t got my reading glasses on.’ Which was only a partial lie. The tears threatening to spill over were a warning sign. If she saw the dress in all its glory, modelled by a happy, youthful woman playing the part of the ‘blushing bride’, she might lose it completely.
That, or she’d start slashing the magazine in a deranged rage. She glanced at the knife. It balanced on the side, glinting in the sunlight. Taunting her. Reminding her how easy it would be to drive over to Tiffany’s house and stab Kenneth. Or maybe both of them. Maybe just Tiffany? Yes, definitely just Tiffany. After all, she didn’t want to leave her children without a father.
Eradicating Tiffany would solve all her problems. The floozy would be gone, out of their lives forever… but then she’d spend the rest of her days incarcerated, and that would be worse. At least, she was pretty sure it would be. Some days she wasn’t so sure.
‘Show me later,’ she said, mustering a smile. ‘After lunch.’
