Chapter 10 Wrapping
As soon as Cait’s gone, I fetch a freezer bag from the kitchen and put the knife inside without touching the handle. I then text Cait a quick text message (), and return to wrapping the corpse.
I grab the scissors and parcel tape, and I’ve soon forgotten about the contents of the package because I’m utilizing my gift-wrapping techniques courtesy of a tutorial that Liberty offered last Christmas.
The shape of the package is a challenge, but with the right number of pinches and folds, I do a good job.
I’m about to search for a ribbon to embellish the parcel but come to my senses just as the children arrive in the kitchen, accompanied by a stream of Parisian invective.
I rush upstairs, remove my bloody pyjamas, get dressed again, reapply lipstick, go back downstairs, put the pyjamas and charity clothes on a hot wash, and enter the kitchen.
All is not well there either. There’s a Mexican stand-off. Nathan is threatening to drop Nelly’s doll in the sink, Nelly is threatening to throw Aimée’s phone out of the window, and Aimée is threatening to put Nathan’s slug in the bin.
‘Stop,’ I say calmly and assertively, as the parenting guides tell you to do. I walk through the chaos, pick the doll out of Nathan’s hand, give it to Nelly, take the phone out of Nelly’s hand and give it to Aimée, pick the slug out of Aimée’s hand, place it in the sink and turn on the hot tap.
‘Now, let’s cook,’ I say.
Aimée slinks away (probably for a quick afternoon absinthe), and I hand Nelly an onion, as she’s deft with a knife, and Nathan a piece of garlic and a garlic crusher, which he adores as the garlic turns into so many wiggly worms.
I take five hundred grams of Waitrose Native Breed minced beef, slice open the packet and find myself wrangling with bloody plastic not for the first time today.
Nelly browns the onions, Nathan adds the garlic, and I add the meat as we sing ‘He’s a Funky Kind of Monkey’ which they still love, even though it’s been over a year since we last went to Monkey Music.
I add a generous splash of red wine, and grind in some salt and pepper.
Nelly tips in bright red dollops of Duchy Originals organic chopped tomatoes.
Nathan throws in bay leaves and scatters a handful of dried oregano all over the hob like confetti.
Cooking done, I kiss each child and thank them, then call Aimée to supervise some craft and colouring activities.
Arguments about the red felt tip begin almost immediately, and I leave Aimée to utilize a little of her International Relations degree.
Back in the living room, I try dragging the body but I lose my footing after a few earnest tugs.
I turn to Google. I refrain from typing ‘how to move a corpse’ as that’s inadvisable when you have an actual corpse in your house.
So I type in ‘ancient stone-moving methods’ and become absorbed by the ingenuity of Egyptian engineering.
Rolling the body over logs seems plausible, but the ones in the log basket are all cut into angular shapes, and the three-part pulley would work but is beyond my capabilities.
As I’m thinking about this, I remember our gardener’s new wheelbarrow with an enormous orange front wheel in the shape of a ball – not what you see the gardeners use at Polesden Lacey, but Luca is difficult to refuse.
The ball barrow is stable and light. I roll it from the garden shed into the living room, right through the kitchen (no one bats an eyelid) and once in the living room I tip it on its side, and roll the body into the centre of the barrow.
Then I tip the wheelbarrow upright and feel pleased with myself.
I leave him in the living room for later, wash my hands, put on a pan of water, admire my children’s utter concentration, put the pasta on, and then order Aimée to take the children to wash their faces and hands, while texting Stephen who should be home by now.
The children troop off with a barrage of complaints, and in the short window before they reappear, I carry the rug to the garage, lean it against the door to save time, and race the wheelbarrow out into the garden and into the garage.
I lock the garage door then hide the key and the spare to avoid Stephen stumbling across the body.
I do worry for him since his father passed away, and I don’t want to trigger a Hamlet’s ghost moment – he’s indecisive enough as it is.
I’m feeling super proud of my multitasking when Stephen texts to tell me he won’t make it home for dinner with Nathan.
He’s forgotten about it, of course, but I don’t admonish him – minor squabbles can ruin a successful marriage, and I’m actually pleased that he’s forsaken his family to focus on becoming a partner.
I send back three little words, three hearts, and three kisses.
I really am a perfect wife. I go to my to-do list and add four satisfying ticks.
Of course, all incriminating lists are destroyed once complete.
Prepare dinner
Wash charity shop clothes
Secure incriminating knife
Wrap corpse and rug and remove to garage
I can’t abide an empty page, so I sit in my study for a moment, and, in addition to the standing item (make love), I add four items to my list:
Clean living room
Flatter Stephen’s masculinity
Move corpse from garage
Order more Sellotape