Urge for offal

Jane felt free after Barry left, in fact it was only in his absence that she realised how unpleasant her life with him had been. She could stay out an hour later than expected without returning to an evening of non-stop verbals, and she could leave her coffee mug anywhere, without his OCD and temper making her feel she’d sinned. She could do anything she wanted, without fear of reprisals.

 

Like this morning, for example. She’d woken up early, before six, and instead of staying in bed she’d suddenly had the urge for a fry-up. There was nothing in the fridge, but a bag of offal in the freezer, which she thawed out in the microwave, and then fried herself a mixed meat melody of lung, liver, heart and kidney.

 

Barry would never have allowed it. He hated offal, which is why the bag had sat so long in her freezer, several years in fact.

 

‘My own private offal fest’, Jane thought, enjoying the freedom.

 

Of course, the meat had been in the freezer for so long, that Jane should probably have thrown it out long ago, and it is hardly surprising that within less than half an hour, before she had left for work, she was throwing up everything she’d eaten, leaving a mess in the toilet which took a considerable time to clean up.

 

Jane met her sister Mary for lunch. She’d made a point of being alone as little as possible, though she didn’t miss Barry it was still strange, spending so much time in your own company and she tried to see as many people as possible.

 

Mary was the sister she knew least well, she was several years older and had left home when Jane was just nine. They were on friendly terms, but had little to do with each other’s lives, Mary being fully occupied with her own family.    

 

“You’ve done the right thing,” she said, “all men want to do is dump their genes on you.”

 

“Dump their jeans on you?” Jane said, confused.

 

“No genes, genetics, leave you their kids.”

 

“Oh right.”

 

There was an awkward silence, before Mary eventually explained. “I think I’m on again.”

 

“On again?”

 

“My third. I’m pregnant.”

 

“Are you sure? Have you done the test?”

 

“Not yet. I’m waiting ‘til Tim gets home. But I can tell, it always starts the same way.” At this point Mary’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, as if she were confiding some marital secret, and Jane had to lean across the table to hear. “An urge for offal.”

 

“An urge for offal?”

 

“This morning I was up at six frying liver and kidneys. They’ve been in my freezer untouched since I had Susan, it’s the only time I ever eat the stuff, when I’m pregnant. I get this mad craving. The rest of my life it turns my stomach.”

 

“Oh, well that’s lovely news,” Jane said, “if you’re right. I do hope so.”

 

“Well I’m not looking forward to the morning sickness, and Tim’ll moan about the money, but there’s no doubt. Mum was the same. Every pregnancy she’d be offalling wildly, though she tended towards the black pudding. ”

“Did she? I never knew.”

“It runs in the family. Genetics. The amount I guzzled I reckon it must be twins this time.”

 

Jane said nothing for a while, and they finished their lunch with a few politities about nothing in particular.

 

“Enjoy being young, free and single, you’ll really miss it when you’ve lost the chance,” Mary said as they left, tapping her belly.

 

“Let me know the result,” Jane said, “I’ll break open a bottle.”