Page 2 of Go Cook Yourself
“So it’s a maybe?” Amber presses.
I sigh even as I smile. I have to save face for deciding to move here in the first place. I must stick things out, and maybe I can make Naughty Treats a success so we can finally turn a profit.
My fingers tap the remote.
“I can’t up and leave my life now. Neil wouldn’t cope without me. And—” A smash drags me to the kitchen. It’s going to be a mess. Cleaning up my kitchen and no present.Happy anniversary to me.I mute the music channel and toss the remote on the sofa. “I’ll call you later. But think about finding someone else. Love you,” I add before hanging up.
The huffing and puffing with added grunts are louder now that I’ve stopped the music.
“What is going—”
My phone nearly slips out of my sweaty palm at the sight of Neil and Viv banging on my kitchen counter, his blotchy pink bum bouncing in front of my eyes.
My prized handcrafted bowl, which Amber had gifted me on the day I started Naughty Treats, is in fragments on the kitchen floor.
“You pair of cheating, bowl-smashing bastards!”
Neil’s pumping stops. He’s still huffing and puffing as he does when I ask him to fix the front door so I don’t have to throw myself at it to open it when it’s damp outside.
“Ruby,” he shouts. Viv falls to the floor because Neil’s no longer pinning her to my worktop with his awkward thrusts.
“Amber offered me a job, but I wasn’t going to take it because I cared too much about you and the business.” I’m still talking. This must be shock. “But you both seem to be doing okay without me.”
Neil’s mouth gapes.
I stumble to the doorway.
“Ruby, it didn’t mean anything,” Neil whines. His voice used to make me lick my lips. Years ago, his moans would echo through me when he tasted my signature chocolate orange liqueur frosting, but those days are long gone.
“Ruby,” Viv croaks from the sticky kitchen floor.
Ice snakes through my veins. She’s nothing to me now.
“Babe!” Neil reaches for his trousers surprisingly quickly for a guy who can’t get out of bed before lunchtime. His sorry excuse for an erection sinks before my eyes as a wide-eyed Viv pulls down her dress.
“Don’t babe me. Don’t talk to me.”
I hide my eyes with my hands as if that will make me disappear. At least I don’t need to plug away at this sexless, emotionless relationship that reached its sell-by date a couple of years ago.
“It was an accident,” Viv stutters.
“Sure. Neil tripped, and his dick fell in you when he smashed my favourite bowl.” My body shakes, and vomit climbs up my throat. “I’m done with everything. I’m leaving.”
I swivel on my heel like I’ve practised the move a thousand times before, but remember I’m not done and turn and point at Neil. Thankfully he’s not waggling his penis anymore but struggling with his zipper. Even at my five-foot-three height, I’m a force to be reckoned with. Projectile vomit threatens to destroy the surge of confidence this catastrophe has given me.
“You can deal with the rent, which you’ve never contributed to, alone. And I’m taking your Xbox.”
“Wait,” he bellows before a guttural scream explodes from his mouth. My mouth drops open, and I cover it quickly, swallowing down bile. Neil bursts into tears, not because of our dead relationship or because I’m taking the game console that I’m fed up with tripping over every day. He’s caught his dick in his zipper.
“Karma’s a bitch,” I mumble.
I freeze in the doorway. Should I stay and help?No.I’m not such a doormat that I’ll rescue the man I caught cheating on me.
I throw the first aid box from the shelf at Viv. “He’s your problem now.”
I stumble to the bathroom in time to vomit into the toilet before hastily filling a bag. The things that matter—my cooking equipment—are still in the car. My family’s cookery school owns the best stuff anyway.
The items significant to me have more than monetary value. In the boot of my car are the hand-carved spoons my grandad made for me and my grandma’s favourite spatula, which she bought the month she set up the original Cloud Cookery School.