a short story

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Jilly beat steadily, her wooden spoon making ‘schloop – schloop’ noises as it chased the thick mixture around the bottom of her saucepan. Her concentration was not wholly focused on what she was doing but directed at the door at the end of the kitchen. It was tightly shut, his final defence against her. She had to find a way to tell him but how? When? He was playing music, softly, too low for her to hear exactly what it was. Just a dull, ‘thump thump’ in her legs through the floorboards. And that smell. What was it? Incense? Candles? Drugs?

Damn! It was her sauce. She stirred faster but all she was left with was a pan-full of congealed lumps that dropped in dismal plops from her spoon and spattered across the front of her clean, white shirt. She slammed the saucepan down hard into the sink.

‘Damn!’ she cursed again. Tonight they would be having Lasagna without the sauce!

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