Richard trudged into his flat in Manchester, his stomach roaring with hunger. Spotting Emily wasn’t there, he dashed to the kitchen, hoping for a hot meal. Instead of steaming plates, he found a note on the hob:
“Darling, I’m at Maggie’s. Chatting. Call if you need me.”
He peered into the empty pots, then rummaged in the fridge, piling every edible item onto the plate. Satiated with sandwiches and tea, he collapsed into bed, his exhaustion dragging him into a deep sleep.
Emily returned at nine, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. Richard jolted awake, grumbling, “Emily, supper?”
“I can’t eat late,” she snapped. “I’m on a diet.”
“I’m starving,” he retorted, bitterness threading his voice. “The lorry’s driver’s seat’s been my chair all day. You think I can live on crumbs?”
She sighed, exasperated. “Fine. I’ll make something… although I already ate here.”
“Goose?” he perked up.
“Yes.”
“And apples?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, that’s why you visit her,” he mused, smirking. “Not poor Maggie, she spoils you. Me? I get sausages and pasta.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she protested. “She’s alone. I help her. Want me to ask if she’ll feed you too?”
“Madness,” he scoffed. “What am I, a beggar? Go ask her to feed a grown man at ten?”
“Don’t worry,” she said, already dialing. “She adores guests.”
“Not a chance!” Richard barked. “I’d rather starve!”
But Emily was already speaking, her tone chirpy, as if discussing the weather. “Maggie, emergency! Richard’s not eaten since dawn… Can he pop over? Alone? No problem. Bless you… He’s been craving your goose for ages. Oh, darling, you’re too kind. He’ll be there soon.”
She snapped the phone shut. “Go on. She’s dishing up.”
“I’m not a pet,” he muttered. “I won’t go.”
“Go,” she insisted. “She’s waiting. That goose is seasoned to perfection. Like you love it.”
Resigned, he grumbled, “If it’s the goose… But I’d feel odd. She’s a woman alone.”
“Pfft,” Emily laughed. “Off you go.”
He left. Emily moved to the bathroom, the warmth of the shower soothing her shoulders. Minutes passed. Then more. Her unease crept in, whispering warnings. The flat echoed too loudly. She pressed her ear to the door—nothing. Snatching her phone, trembling fingers dialed his number.
“Emily?” His voice crackled, a background clink of cutlery. “The goose is divine… Maggie’s outdone herself.”
“Who’s Maggie to you?” she hissed, her voice fraying.
“Who else?” he chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’m not coming home. She’s… charming.”
“Don’t you dare.”
The line cut. Emily’s fury erupted as she stormed out. Five minutes later, Richard slouched on the couch, grinning.
That night, Emily never set foot in Maggie’s door again.
