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| Image created in Ai by Helen |
Marianne hummed as she cleared away the breakfast things. Gerry had gone upstairs to shower. She heard the water running and smiled. There was nothing she didn’t know about him, nothing at all. How long had they shared a life now, was it fifteen or sixteen years? She sighed.
Time has a habit of getting away from one, she thought.
The dishwasher packed, Marianne fetched the loaf of bread from the bread bin and gathered the ingredients to make her husband’s lunch. She had been doing this ever since they were first married. She stood, lost in a memory, a sweet memory, of how when she had first started packing his lunches she use to include a love note, and how when he would find it later in the day, would ring her and tell her he loved her too. She stared out, her eyes cold and unfeeling and wondered why time had to change things.
She heard his footsteps on the stairs and stopped buttering the slices of bread. He walked into the kitchen and smiled. She looked up and just for a moment her eyes softened. It was that smile of his that she had first fallen in love with. He was such a charmer, all the girls loved him, but it was her he had married.
“Just going to collect my work papers from the study. Is my lunch nearly done?” he asked.
“Just making it now.”
Marianne returned to buttering the bread. As Gerry left the room, she looked up and observed his figure.
He’s put on weight, she thought. He’s always been careful about not doing that. He’s slipping.
She scraped some of the butter back off the bread. “Must look after his health,” she murmured. I’ll certainly do that alright. It’s the least I can do for him. Her lips curled up at the corners, and her eyes sparkled.
She laid the lean pieces of ham down on the bread. Marianne gazed at it, lost in the myriad of thoughts that were playing through her mind: her own private movie.
So smooth, it reminds me of his skin and the feel of it against mine. His hands, so gentle, exploring my body, his lips pressed hard against my own. His hardness between my thighs as our excitement grew. Our bodies moved as one in blissful harmony, to meet in a crescendo of lovemaking that left us both breathless. Then sleep, sweet sleep within each others arms. Naked flesh against flesh. My breast cupped in his hand, his leg wrapped around my own.
"We were perfect together," she whispered. The resentment in her voice hung in the air like a heavy blanket, ready to suffocate the last of her emotions.
Gerry walked into the kitchen and placed his briefcase on the floor. “I’ve gotta go, Marianne. Hurry up with that lunch.”
“Will you be home for dinner tonight?” She already knew the answer but her voice never betrayed her feelings as she glanced up at him.
“Sorry, I’m working late again. I’ll grab a take- away and eat it at the office. Don’t wait up for me.”
Marianne’s eyes became cold once more as she looked at him. “Mustard?” She held the pot in one hand and the knife in the other. Her fingers were squeezed around the knife handle so tight that her knuckles turned white.
“Of course.” Gerry didn’t look up from the newspaper he was holding.
She spread the mustard on thickly. She knew how much he loved mustard, especially the hot sort—the perfect ingredient to mask the poison.
How could he think I wouldn’t know?
She wrapped the sandwiches and handed them to him. She had done her research over the last few weeks and knew the poison she had chosen, would take its time to work. She had mixed the calculated amount with sedulous care and if she had got it right, he would die in his lovers arms tonight.
A smile spread across her lips as she said, "Goodbye darling."
©2014 Helen A. Howell all rights reserved.
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