Gone

I returned to the kitchen blowing into cupped hands. “We had a delivery?”

“First thing this morning.” Martin didn’t look up.

“But I thought we had enough meat?”

“We do.” The cleaver came down on the fresh steak with a purposeful thud. “It was spur of the  moment; compulsive you might even say.”

Studying the sheet of paper pinned to the corkboard — “And you’ve changed the menu?”

“Had to. The delivery had a short life.”

I glanced up at the clock; first sitting in thirty minutes. “Where’s that beautiful wife of yours? The waitress with the mostest.”

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Just gone.”

The hot, humid air of the kitchen thickened faster than adding cornflour.

“Martin. Are you OK?”

A single pace and the meat cleaver brandished in my face. “What! Why wouldn’t I be?”

I backed away, arms held aloft. “OK. OK. Just asking. What d’you need doing?”

He nodded towards another meat board. “Start on the pan-fried liver and kidneys.”

“The first sitting certainly enjoyed that,” I said, backing my way through the serving door, empty plates balanced along each forearm. I stacked them on the dirties table for later. “Jesus, that smells good.” I leant over the grill. “Is that more of the new stuff?”

“Yep. Got the sweet chilli sauce?”

“Unusual choice for a steak.”

“A unique bitch, this one. Its openly social nature has caused it to mature with a cunning and deceptive acidity over time. That’s why it had to go.”

“You’ve tried it then?”

“Me and others.”

Taking the tub out of the fridge I gave it a stir. “So Mary’s on holiday?”

Martin barked, then slowly smiled. “Oh yes, a long, peaceful holiday.”

My smile deflated like an over-folded souffle. “Erm. Desserts?”

A manic laugh. “Oh yes; just desserts.”

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