By Roald Dahl
The room was homely, with light shining on the flushed white walls. Two tall glasses filled with soda water and whisky were set out on the coffee table. Ice cubes were gently floating around in them.
Mary Maloney had just finished her work shift and had arrived home to prepare dinner for her and her husband. She would glance up at the clock periodically to make sure she had enough time to cook dinner before Mr Maloney arrived home from his late work shift at the police station. There was a curious warmth in and around her and the way she did things. Her skin was soft and eyes with a renewed gentleness as she was in the sixth month of pregnancy.
When the clock struck ten-to-five, she began to listen out for his arrival. The garage door would open, and then the distinct roar of a car would roll up into it. When he walked in, he wouldn’t say anything, never. Mr Maloney would always drop onto the couch, remote in hand and wouldn’t move until Mary came over and gave him dinner. She made him a strong whisky and served his dinner with it. For her, this time of day wasn’t enjoyable l because her husband abused her love for him, but she didn’t mind because she was alright with being left alone, and she was a paramedic, so she loved to look after people. There was no attraction to this man; the glow that emitted from him as just in her imagination. She wanted to end the relationship, but she was fearful of what he might do to her.
Mary shifted uncomfortably and said to Mr Maloney, ‘Tired?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m tired,’ and as he spoke he lifted his glass and drained the entire drink. ‘Do you want another?’ she said in a state of shock. Mary was used to him drinking, but not to this extent. ‘I’ll get it,’ Mr Maloney said. ‘No, you stay there; you are tired, have some rest,’ she said. ‘No, sit down,’ he said. When he came back, Mary noticed that the drink was unusually dark, rich with alcohol. ‘I think it’s a shame,’ she said, ‘that when a policeman gets as old as you, they still get you to go on so many jobs.’ He didn’t answer, so she went back to her phone. ‘Do you want any more food?’ she said after a while. ‘No,’ Mr Maloney said, ‘I don’t want anything more from you.’ She stood up to put her plate in the dishwasher. ‘Sit down for a minute,’ he said. Mary was a little bit frightened at this point. ‘Go on, sit down.’
‘Listen, I’ve got something to tell you.’ ‘What is it?’ she snapped. ‘I don’t like the way this relationship is going, we don’t talk to each other and every night you get mad at me. I want a divorce.’ This didn’t surprise Mary one bit. ‘That’s fine with me, I don’t even know why we got together in the first place, you were a pathetic disappointment of a choice,’ she said. The argument went on and on, but silence followed after.
Mary went down to the freeze in the basement to gather her thoughts. ‘I hate this life,’ she thought. She reached into the freezer and pulled out a leg of lamb. ‘Well, I guess I’m having this for supper,’ she murmured. She carried it back upstairs and laid it on the chopping board. ‘For goodness sake, I said I didn’t want any supper. I’m going out anyway,’ Mr Maloney snapped. Mary felt a sudden anger boil inside her. She picked up the leg of lamb, raised it above her head, and brought it down over her soon to be ex-husband’s skull. She might’ve well used a spanner; he crashed to the floor instantly, unmoving. She stepped back a pace and said, ‘I didn’t say you had to have any.’
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