Shepherd's Pie

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I was standing at the sink peeling potatoes. I’d decided a shepherd’s pie would be a nice way to use up the mince. I was a bit bored of bolognaise, and lasagne was too fiddly; so a shepherd’s pie would be just perfect. I knew Sandra wasn’t that keen on it, but we hadn’t had it for a while and surely it would make a nice change. The radio was playing that uptown funk song and I was trying to sing along.

I heard a key in the lock and smiled.

“I’m in the kitchen love,” I yelled over the radio, but if she replied, I didn’t hear her. I heard her feet on the stairs, heavy, angry; another shitty day in work I guessed. I was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to switch and make bolognaise; it wasn’t too late. I’d pour her a glass of wine and ask her when she game down. I also flicked the switch on the kettle just in case a cup of tea was the order of the day.

I could hear her stomping around upstairs. I imagined her stripping off her skirt and tights and looking around for her tracksuit bottoms. I wondered if it might be fun to go up and join her; catch her half naked and see where that might lead. But from the heavy feet it sounded like any advance might be met with a heavy hand, so I continued with the spuds. The radio had changed songs. Iy was a generic pop song; one that I knew the words of but didn’t know who it was by. I vaguely sang along as I worked. The kettle clicked off. The clomping around had stopped but I hadn’t heard Sandra come back down stairs.

At first it tickled; kind of tingled. Then it stung, and then there was searing pain. Just below my right shoulder blade. My t-shirt felt warm and I felt weak. Sweat gathered on my forehead; was I having a heart attack? I tried to scream for help but no sounds came. My hands were clinging to the sink holding me up for as long as I could before I fell.

It was only when she called me a bastard, spat on the floor next to my head and I saw her black high heels walk away that I realised that what ever happened to me was caused by Sandra.

It was the pain that woke me up, a horrible nagging ache that dragged me unwillingly back to consciousness.

“Oh hello there,” a nurse said. “How are we feeling.”
“Pain.” was all I could say but on any other day I would have pulled her up on the use of we.

“When the doc comes we’ll see if we can give you some morphine.” she helped me take a sip of water.

“What happened?” I said.

“Well you were stabbed,” the nurse said. “But you’ll live.”

“Stabbed? I knew I shouldn’t have made shepherd’s pie.”