Fourteen Days(4)

Who’s laughing now?

He returned to the living room couch with his toasted sandwich and a cup of coffee. The news had finished, and in its place was a cookery show. He despised cooking, especially cookery shows, which was why he lived on microwave dinners, takeaways, and Nicky’s amazing home cooking. Despite his poor diet and lack of exercise due to his workload, Richard was a slim man. He had been as a child. No matter how much he ate, he maintained a lean physique—much to his wife’s annoyance. Although slender herself, Nicky always stressed about her weight, signing up for expensive weight-loss plans and purchasing countless workout DVDs. She even joined a gym when they first moved back to Bristol—which she failed to actually use. He wanted to be supportive by going with her, but finding the time was always one task too many.

He checked his phone: 9:01 a.m. The office’ll be about full now, he thought. Probably all running ’round like headless chickens trying to get the new website up and running. Probably all in a panic.

Stop it! Think of something else, for God’s sake. He shook his head, trying to remove the thoughts from his mind. Gotta take my mind off it. He scanned the room for some inspiration. After coming back empty-handed, he sank deep into the couch and attempted to learn how to cook, sighing.

As 10:00 a.m. approached he got up and walked over to the far cupboard. Kneeling down, he opened the door and inspected his vast DVD collection. He ran his index finger along each movie case, hoping to find something to take his mind off work. After several minutes of painful kneeling on the hard wooden floor, he finally selected a movie to watch: Predator, one of his favorite films as a child. Standing, he felt light-headed. He returned to the floor, assuming that it was simply a head rush from getting up too fast. Nothing more.

After a minute or so he got back up onto his feet, wary. The sensation had passed. So he walked over to the DVD player, popped the disc in, and sat to watch the movie.



Richard had fallen asleep during the movie. He woke at 1:30 p.m., unable to stop the thought that it was lunchtime at the office, reminding him he was hungry. He headed back into the kitchen to make something to eat. After throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, he went back into the living room where he noticed the ironing board still out. He wrapped the cord around the iron, folded the ironing board, almost jamming his fingers in the process, and placed both back into the cupboard. His stomach rumbled, so he checked the time on his cell phone. Twenty-minutes before it’s ready. Got to do something productive.

Walking back out into the hallway, he opened the door under the stairs. He pulled out the small vacuum cleaner, plugged it in, and began to vacuum the wooden floor. With only half the floor completed, he switched off the vacuum cleaner, dropped the long nozzle, and entered the kitchen to check how his pizza was doing. It was still very much frozen. Using a tea towel, he turned the pizza, and then closed the oven door.

He glanced at the hallway, and at the vacuum dropped at the center.

God, he was bored.



As the day went on, Richard’s boredom grew.

He had spent most of it watching TV, eating, and listening to music. He had attempted to surf the Internet, only to discover the laptop and modem missing. He shuddered at the sight of the neat dust mark where the computer once rested. At first he thought it had been stolen—but then he remembered the astuteness his wife possessed.

How much stress could one computer cause him? At the most he would check his e-mails and see if the cursed website was up and running. Nothing more. Ten minutes. Tops. Well, maybe an extra five to look at porn. But stressful? No chance. Removing it from his life was far more taxing.



His cell phone read 4:30 p.m. With reluctance, he got up from the couch, picked up his dishes and cups, and returned to the kitchen. Placing them into the sink, he covered them in soap and started to run the hot water. Despite Nicky’s warnings to relax, he didn’t want her to come home to a messy house, so he scrubbed the dishes, cups, and cutlery as fast as possible, aware that she was due home around 5:00 p.m.

After he had cleaned everything, he started to dry them with the tea towel, putting them away as he went along. When it came to the cutlery, he opened the drawer and noticed that only three of the fifteen dessert spoons remained. He frowned for a moment, and then carried on drying. The sound of the front door opening startled him, causing him to almost drop a cup. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:51 p.m.

She’s home early, he thought. Finishing off what was left of the dishes, he waited for her to enter the kitchen to greet him. When she failed to come, he called out, “Nic?” He waited for a reply—there was none. Frowning again in confusion, he left the kitchen, walking to the foot of the stairs. “Nic! You home?” He waited, but there was only silence. Listening for a few seconds, he shrugged off the bewilderment and went back to cleaning the kitchen.