It’s the night before the night before the wedding. She comes home and throws the keys in the basket. Picks up the post off the matt. Flicks distractedly through it and wanders into the kitchen. She opens the fridge, finds some white wine from last night and pours it into a glass from the cupboard. Back to the fridge she takes some onions and garlic. Back at the board she starts to chop and slice the onions. With the garlic she takes the flat of the knife and smashes it onto the side of the garlic, some of her aggression flows with it. She smashes it again knowing that it doesn’t really need it, just because.
She takes pans from the cupboard, sips from the glass and slowly lets her day drift away on a cloud of routine cooking and alcohol. For a moment everything is calm but then a thought enters her mind and quick as a flash her hand flicks on Radio 4. No thinking and cooking, she’s learned that doesn’t work.
Midway through sauteing the onions he gets back, throws his keys in the basket, flicks through the post and turns on the tv. He’s in there, she knows he is, because she can hear him flicking between channels. She wants him to acknowledge her and while she knows she could call out to him she lets him come to her.
The adverts come and he strolls into the kitchen leaving the tv on even though he knows it annoys her, he sidles up, gives her a kiss, steals some food, wanders off to the fridge for a beer and says, “so what’s for dinner”.
“Are you sure you want to get married?” She asks matter-of-factly. She turns off Radio 4; she wasn’t listening to it anyway.
He opens his can and takes a large swig. Looks at her and takes another one. She reaches for her wine and finishes the glass in one.
“No. Neither am I.”