Thomas trudged home from work with a gnawing hunger. Finding his wife wasn’t there, he dashed to the kitchen, hoping for something hot. Instead of dinner, he found a note on the hob:
“Darling, I’m at Mrs. Thompson’s. Chatting. Call if needed.”
He peered into empty pans, then raided the fridge, piling edible scraps onto the table. Satiated with sandwiches and tea, he flopped into bed and fell asleep.
Emily arrived at nine. Thomas awoke immediately, groaning, “Em, are we having dinner?”
“I can’t eat late,” she said sternly. “I’m on a diet.”
“I’m starving,” he grumbled. “I drove all day. Can’t I have a proper meal?”
“If you insist,” she sighed, unenthusiastically. “I already had dinner, though. But for you…”
“What did you have?”
“She got a country goose. She insisted I try it.”
“Roast goose?” Thomas perked up.
“Yes.”
“With applesauce?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s why you’ve been visiting her?” He licked his lips, envious. “She’s been feeding you while I’m stuck with macaroni and sausage.”
“No,” she protested, “I go because she’s lonely. Want me to ask if she’ll feed you too?”
“Are you mad?” he blurted. “You want me to go over there tonight? That’s awkward.”
“Easy enough,” she said, seizing her phone. “She’s a generous host.”
“Don’t call her!” he nearly yelled. “I’m not going. Let me starve!”
But Emily was already dialing.
“Hello, Margaret, I need your help. Thomas arrived famished, but we got distracted… Could he come over? Alone? I’ve got errands. Is that okay? Oh, thank you! He hasn’t had goose in years… I’d almost lost him.” She giggled at her own joke. “He’ll be there. He’ll be there.”
She hung up and ordered, “Get ready. She’s setting the table.”
“You’re daft,” he muttered, twirling a finger by his temple. “I’m not going.”
“You will.”
“Then come with me.”
“Can’t. I’m going to shower. You’ll eat and be back in time.” She nudged him. “She’s expecting you. Goose, applesauce, just how you like it.”
“Fine,” he groaned. “But only for the goose. Mind you, going alone feels odd. She’s a woman alone…”
“Off you go,” she laughed.
He left. Emily relaxed in the bath, switching on the TV. Fifteen minutes later, she dried off and sank onto the sofa. Another fifteen passed. No Thomas. She turned off the TV, listened. Still nothing. Pulling open the hallway door, she hesitated. A strange unease prickled her. But now, would it be tactless if she fetched him herself?
Caving, she grabbed her phone, trembling as it connected. A muffled voice crackled through:
“Em, Margaret’s got such lovely dishes… I’m savouring them…”
“Who are you calling Margaret?” Her voice quivered.
“Who else?” he chuckled. “Sorry, love, but I’ll stay a bit longer. Her company’s… well, you know…”
“Ah, you cheeky rascal!”
Disconnected, Emily grabbed her coat. Within five minutes, Thomas was home, sheepishly perched on the sofa.
That night, Emily never visited Margaret again.
