Denise shook the pan and the eggs sizzled and spat over the counter. She adjusted the heat on the hob and rubbed at the greasy marks with a cloth.
‘So, as you agreed,’ she began warily, wiping her manicured hands on the faded blue apron she wore whenever she was cooking, ‘it’s this charity night at the hall tonight and I promised Lyn I’d go.’ Scurrying back across to the table, she picked up a knife and began to carve up the loaf of bread in front of her. ‘Do you think you would mind putting the cat out yourself, as I don’t know what time I’ll be back?’ Spreading the resulting slices with butter, she awaited her husband’s response. ‘Terry?’ She glanced across at her husband’s bulk; as usual he was slumped over the flimsy table with his daily paper. Silence. Denise sighed. Timidly, she asked, ‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes dear’. Terry flicked over to the next page of the newspaper. ‘You’re out tonight so I’ve got to get my own supper.’
‘No! I’m making your supper now. I said you’ll need to put the cat out. I’ve no idea when I’ll be home. Is that ok?’
‘Well, alright. Just this once,’ he growled. ‘More trouble than it’s worth, that bloody cat. And you’d better not be too late back.’
 ‘It’s just for tonight. I’ll stay in tomorrow. I’ll cook you whatever you want tomorrow night.’ Denise breathed a sigh of relief that Terry wasn’t going to make a fuss tonight. The last time she had asked to go out he had given her a black eye which had kept her at home anyway.
She placed the buttered slices on the table. ‘Do you want brown sauce or ketchup with your eggs…Terry?’ Another long silence.
‘Er…brown sauce will do nicely.’
‘Could you grab it from the cupboard behind you please? I need to keep an eye on these eggs.’ Terry remained motionless. Denise flicked the gas off and carried the pan across to the table. She hesitated. ‘Sorry, love. Could you move your paper out the way? I need to serve up.’ Deftly she slid the eggs onto the cracked plates as Terry edged his newspaper aside, making just enough room for Denise to set down his dinner. Leaning past his chair, she grabbed the brown sauce from the dresser behind him. She scuttled back across the kitchen, took cutlery from the drawer, poured two mugs of steaming tea, set them down on placemats on the table and sat down. Patting her perfectly coiffed hair, she picked up her knife and fork and began delicately to slice her egg sandwich, washing each tiny mouthful down with a sip of tea. Terry slurped loudly from his mug, then proceeded to curl all ten fleshy fingers underneath his butty and with military precision hoisted it up towards his gaping mouth. As he attacked the sandwich, thick yellowy yolk oozed from the bread, dribbling down his chin and onto his plate.
Denise sat in silence while Terry pored over the sports pages, chomping noisily. She knew better than to ask whether there were any jobs in the paper today. She had made that mistake before. When she had finished, she set her knife and fork down neatly, picked up her napkin and daintily dabbed the corners of her mouth. She pushed her chair back gently and addressed her husband.
‘Would you like some more bread?’
‘No thanks love. I wouldn’t mind a refill while you’re up though.’ Terry glanced up briefly and held out his mug.
‘You’ve got a bit of egg…’ Denise gestured to her top lip as she stood up.
‘Oh, thanks love.’ Terry chuckled, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned to the paper. Denise refilled his mug, then carried her own dirty plate across to the sink.
‘Just leave your dirty dishes by the sink. I’ll do them when I get back. I’m meeting the girls in ten minutes and I’ll be late if I don’t dash now.’ She reached for her handbag, extracted her compact mirror and swiftly applied her lipstick, pursing her lips to distribute the colour evenly. A furtive spray of perfume on each wrist and she was ready to go.
‘See you later. Have a good night. And please don’t forget to put the cat out.’
She closed the back door and scampered up the path. Without looking up from the paper, Terry pushed his dirty plate away and wiped his greasy hands down the front of his trousers. He took another gulp of tea, sloshing it down the side of the mug, and leafed over to the next page.

The rain was torrential when Denise finally arrived home. She had missed the last bus and was contemplating a long wet walk home when a friend of Lyn’s had offered her a ride. He was a courier with a strikingly coloured purple van. As the rain hammered onto the van’s roof, Denise was grateful to sit quietly and listen to him talk enthusiastically about his new business and how well it was going. When they reached her road, she asked him to drop her off on the corner, just in case Terry should see. She smiled and thanked him for the lift, noticing how attractive his tanned face and honest eyes were, kind of like a younger version of Harrison Ford.
As she darted up the path she saw with relief that the house was drenched in darkness. At least that meant Terry wasn’t in. She had trouble locating her keys in the gloom. Despite the roar of the rain she could hear a tiny scratching sound on the other side of the door. Finally she got the lock open; instantly there was a hiss and a yelp as a dark shadow shot out between her feet.  Denise sighed and stepped into the kitchen, avoiding the patch of curling linoleum by door, and fumbled for the light switch. There was Terry’s greasy plate still on the kitchen table, lumps of congealed fat clinging to its surface. A half empty mug of tea sat in the centre of the table, a film of skin floating on top. The butter was still out, melted into a yellow pool in the dish.
She sat down heavily, dumped her bag on the grey lino and pulled off her damp shoes. She hadn’t asked him to wash his dishes, but at least he could have tidied the table. She was fed up of always running around after him like some sort of slave. She wished he could find himself another job, and snap out of this awful depression he had sunk into. He never used to be like this. For almost two years he had been unemployed now and she barely recognised him. He was lazy, he had put on weight, his personal hygiene was non-existent these days! He never used to drink like this either, it was almost every night now. He had never laid a finger on her before he lost his job. She put the butter back in the fridge, and carried the dirty plates to the sink. She threw the paper in the bin and wiped the sticky marks from the tablemats. It was nearly one o’clock before she finally closed the kitchen door and plodded wearily up to bed. And still no sign of Terry. She prayed he wouldn’t come in drunk again.

Denise was up early the next morning as she had a hair appointment at nine. She had put on one of her favourite blouses, a jade green one. Terry used to say it brought out the colour of her eyes. She couldn’t think of the last time he had given her a compliment of any kind. She was filling the chipped teapot when the door opened and he burst into the room, unshaven and yawning. She glanced up.
‘Morning, love. I didn’t want to wake you. Good night last night? I didn’t hear you come back.’
‘Aye, it was alright. Pete had a win on the horses so we ended up in the Reindeer all night.’
‘That’s nice. Do you want two eggs or three? I’m doing them boiled this morning with soldiers.’
‘Ooh, three please love. I’m famished. Has my paper come?’
‘It’s over on the table.’ Denise took three eggs from the fridge and placed them gently into the pan of simmering water. She sliced the bread and put it under the grill. Terry settled himself down at the table, unfolded the newspaper and laid it out in front of him, enveloping the table. Denise poured the tea and carried it across to him.
‘Can I just move you up so I can put your tea down, Terry? Do you think the eggs will be ready yet? I never know how long to boil them for. I suppose I should get myself one of those egg timers.’
Terry ignored his wife and continued to leaf through the newspaper, his eyes scanning each headline in turn. The silence was interrupted only by the sound of him breaking wind. Ignoring this, Denise fluttered around the kitchen, draining the eggs and slicing their tops off. She buttered his toast and cut it up, laying each slice to attention on the plate.
‘I hope they’re not too runny in the middle,’ she fretted, presenting the plate to Terry, who shuffled his papers reluctantly along the table. Inadvertently she touched her upper arm, still bruised from the last time the eggs hadn’t been cooked quite right.
‘Thanks love,’ he replied, crushing a soldier between his clumsy fingers and dunking it into the runny yellow yolks. Denise turned the tap on and began to fill the sink. Terry glanced up, shovelling toast into his cavernous mouth.
‘Are you having breakfast this morning?’
She pulled on a pair of bright pink marigolds and began to scrub the pan. ‘I’ve eaten already. I’ve got to run. I’m having my hair done in fifteen minutes.’ She waited, braced for the assault.
‘Well, just as long as it doesn’t cost me an arm and a leg,’ Terry grumbled through a mouthful of egg, showering the table with molecules of partly-chewed food.
‘Don’t worry, it won’t.’ Denise laughed uncomfortably, finished the final dish, hung the dishcloth back on the rail, straightened the hand towel and picked up her bag. ‘See you later. Have a nice day.’ She closed the kitchen door softly behind her and her kitten heels clicked quickly away up the path.

After her hair appointment, Denise stayed in town. Last night’s rain had cleared and left a sharp, sparkling autumn day and she thought how nice it was to be out in the fresh air for a change. She had a few errands to run in town, and Terry wouldn’t be home until at least one. There was a particular mini skirt she wanted to try on in Debenhams. She wasn’t sure if at 38 she was too old to be showing off her legs, and she was certain Terry wouldn’t allow it, but where was the harm in just trying one on? She glanced sideways at her reflection in the shop window. She was still in good shape, tiny waist, breasts small but still pert, and slim legs. Not bad, all things considered. She ended up buying the skirt, in a beautiful shade of strawberry pink which would look fabulous with those new brown wedges she had at home.
As she was leaving the store, she decided to treat herself to a coffee. She headed for the newly-opened Starbucks in the square, where she lingered guiltily over a steaming drink and a chocolate croissant, enjoying the busy bustle around her. Draining her cup, she glanced through the window at the town hall clock. Its face said five to one. Was that the time? She jumped up in alarm and grabbed her coat. She had to get back and make Terry’s lunch for him or he would start to wonder where she was.

When Denise got home and tried the back door it was locked. How strange. Terry must still be out. He would normally be back by now. He would have his lunch at home on a Saturday and then head off to watch the football with his friends. Denise let herself in, wondering whether to start preparing his meal. At this rate there wouldn’t be time for him to eat anything hot; he would have to make do with a sandwich. Perhaps she could wrap up a pork pie or a hardboiled egg for him to take to the game. She unpacked her bags of shopping and dashed upstairs to hide her new skirt at the back of the wardrobe, along with the brown platform shoes she still hadn’t told her husband about. She would have to try and explain them later.
She was distracted by the sound of a car pulling up outside and she peered out through the curtains, assuming it was Terry. She frowned. It was a police car, and she watched as two uniformed policemen got out and began to walk up the path. Denise checked her reflection in the mirror then flew down the stairs. As she reached the bottom step there was a knock on the door. She turned the handle and peered anxiously out. The men loomed in the doorway with serious expressions on their faces. The one in front removed his hat to reveal a clump of fiery orange hair. He stepped forward and held out his hand.
‘Mrs Sparrow? Mrs Denise Sparrow?’
‘Yes,’ Denise replied, smoothing her hair nervously. She couldn’t help but stare at the mass of freckles scattered across the man’s face.  ‘That’s me. Has something happened?’
‘May we come in? I’m afraid we have some bad news.’

Terry had been killed instantly. A hit and run, they called it. The driver must have lost control coming round the corner and had ploughed straight into him. He hadn’t stood a chance. Whoever had hit him hadn’t stopped to help. Denise perched on the edge of the sofa, nodding her head gently, absorbing the red-haired policeman’s account of the accident. When he had finished speaking she leapt up and straightened her skirt.
‘Well, shall I make some tea?’ she twittered. ‘You’d like a cup of tea, wouldn’t you? I believe I’ve got some shortbread somewhere as well. Yes, that sounds nice. Tea and shortbread.’ She smiled at the policemen and made her way towards the kitchen. The two men glanced at one another then stood up.
The second one spoke this time. ‘Mrs Sparrow, is there someone we can contact? A family member or a close friend? In this type of situation it’s best not to be left alone.’
She spun around and her hands fluttered down to her sides. ‘Well, I suppose I should tell my mother. She lives just round the corner. Terry doesn’t – didn’t have any family. His parents died when he was very young.’
The red-haired policeman stepped forward, took Denise’s arm and gently led her back to the sofa. ‘Sit down, Mrs Sparrow, and don’t worry about anything. We’ll contact your mother now and get her to come round.’
Denise resigned herself to the couch and allowed the policemen to call her mother. Within minutes she had arrived and was busying herself in the kitchen making tea for everyone. Denise slumped back on the cushions and let her mother take charge.

**********

Denise rinsed the final glass and placed it carefully on the draining board. She picked up the fraying tea towel and began to dry each one delicately, for these were the best cut glass ones, a wedding present from all those years ago. The door opened and her mother shuffled in, balancing a pile of empty plates.
‘That’s everybody gone now, love. There are just these plates to do. Why don’t you sit down and take it easy. I’ll finish up in here.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mum. You should be the one taking it easy. Go on, go and sit down. Shall I make you a cup of tea?’ Denise filled the kettle and placed it on the hob. Her mother opened a cupboard and popped a teabag into the pot. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and addressed her daughter.
‘Well I thought that went ok, didn’t you pet? It was a nice sermon from the vicar. Very touching. And good that so many people were able to attend. Don’t you think?’ She leaned forward, pulled off her shoes and began to rub her feet vigorously.
‘Er, yes mother.’ Denise bustled around the kitchen, drying the plates and stacking them neatly back in the dresser. ‘I think I might pop upstairs and get out of these mournful clothes. I’ll be back down to make the tea when the water’s boiled. Why don’t you go and sit down next door. I’ll bring the tea through.’
‘Thanks, pet. Are you sure you can manage?’ Denise’s mother pushed herself up from the chair and hobbled towards the door. She paused and turned back to face her daughter. ‘And don’t forget what the vicar said. Have a think about what you’d like to do with his ashes.’

**********

Denise looked out into the garden and smiled. The thought of spring always made her feel light-hearted, with the sudden explosion of warmth and colour and flowers. It was her favourite time of the year. A flash of purple on the road outside caught her eye. She leaned forwards and watched the tall figure get out of the van and make his way up the path. She smiled and waved, turning back to the stove to check on the eggs bobbing in the boiling water. Humming along to the radio, she poured two cups of tea and set them down carefully on placemats on the table. The eggs should be nearly ready by now. As the back door opened she looked up to the shelf, at the beautifully carved mahogany egg timer which stood proudly up there. The ash was gently falling through the gap. In seconds it would all be at the bottom. Her sign that the eggs were ready. At least now, finally, Terry was giving her some help.