The Art Of Killing Well*

“I couldn’t wait to get to the market today to see if there were any artichokes,” I say to Seb when he calls this evening.

“And were there?” He says.

“Yes!  I bought two and now I’m cooking one,” I say.  

“So it’s not like that time on your birthday,” Seb says, sounding amused, “when I wouldn’t let you buy those artichokes from that expensive greengrocer because we would’ve had to carry them to the cinema and then to the restaurant and…”

“Oh I’d forgotten about that,” I say, although it’s coming back to me now.  And suddenly I feel so happy that we’re building memories together.  At long last, I’ve got my chap and we’re writing stories together.  Our relationship has a narrative, it has its own life where we can remind each other of things-we’ve-done-together.  And some of those things involve artichokes.

“What are you having for supper?” I say, chopping my mushrooms for The Omelette.

“Oh: just scrambled eggs tonight,” Seb says.  “You would’ve have loved my supper last night: it was a Mexican-style egg and avocado and salsa and…”

“Yum,” I say.

“I’ll make it for you next time,” he says.

“So, um, when you’ve finished your course,” I say.

“Why don’t you come up here that weekend?” He says.  “It will be hot and we can go on the beach.”

“Can’t wait, my darling,” I say.

Attached photo is the fluffy monster in the sink.  He was drinking out of a saucepan there.

Happy Monday everyone!
*2014.  By Marco Malvaldi.  Murder mystery novel.  Contains artichokes.

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