Mira

Mira cracked her husband's skull with the glass ashtray. She knelt
at his side afterwards and delicately brushed the butts and fag ash
from his hair, it was thinning and greying but still remarkably fine
like a child's, she wanted to clean it, as she once had.

Blood was getting all over the carpet. She took the newspaper from his
briefcase, always the Telegraph on Monday, and lifted his head and
spread it out underneath. The carpet was ruined whatever but it seemed
right, letting a bad situation grow worse never helped anyone. She
picked up the ashtray and placed it back on the sideboard, walked into
the kitchen and sat at the empty table with both hands laid flat out in
front of her.

'Well.' She said. 'What now?'

'You need to dispose of the body.' Said the voice.

'Oh.' She said, scrunching herself up a little. 'I don't know if I can
do that.'

'You killed him didn't you.' Said the voice. 'So you can cut him
up.'

'It's different.'

'It's just dead meat. No different from cutting up a chicken.'

Mira said nothing.

'Well?'

'When I was little.' Said Mira. 'Dad and my brother would shoot
rabbits.'

'So?'

'And I'd help my mum skin them and cook them.'

'Well then, it's no worse than that.'

'But then one summer we went to see Watership Down at the
pictures?'

'Oh god.' Said the voice wearily.

'?and after that I couldn't do it. I never skinned another rabbit.
Although Tim kept on shooting them.'

Mira looked at her hands, there was blood on them and two red
handprints on the table. She went to the sink to wash them and came
back with the dishcloth to wipe down the table.

'You've got to do it now.' Said the voice. 'it can't be helped.'

'I don't know.'

'Yes you do. You can't leave him lying there.'

'Well?' Said Mira.

'Well what?'

'It isn't important.'

'Yes it is.' Said the voice. 'Everything you say is important to me.
You know that.'

'You'll be angry.'

'I won't.'

'Yes you will.'

'I promise I won't. Now tell me.'

Mira squeezed the dishcloth over the sink and then sluiced away the
blood, over the noise of the tap she said something.

'What.' Said the voice. 'I can't hear a word your saying.'

'I said.' Said Mira. 'I was just thinking about calling the
police.'

'Your joking!'

'It was just a thought.'

'Do you want to go to jail?'

'No but?'

'But what?'

'I don't want to cut anybody up either.'

'For god's sake. Just pull yourself together and do it.'

'It's an alternative.'

'no it bloody isn't.'

'You sound just like?' Mira started but did not finish.

The voice spluttered in surprise and anger. 'After all I've done for
you.'

'I know.' Mira pleaded. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.' She walked back
to the table with the dishcloth but it was already clean. She walked
back to the sink and draped the cloth over the tap before thinking
better of it and dropping it by the washing machine.

'Hello.' She said. 'Don't go, I didn't mean it.' She sat down at the
table and rested her folded arms in front of her. 'Please don't
go.'

Mira dropper her head onto her folded arms and shook with dry
sobs.

'There there.' Said the voice. 'Don't cry. I'm still here. I forgive
you.'

In the stillness of the kitchen, without a sound, the softest imprint
of a hand ran down Mira's back.

'There there.' Said the voice. 'Don't cry.'

'I keep thinking about his mother.' Said Mira without raising her
head.

'I know.' Said the voice. 'But that can't be helped now. You're free
now.'

'That's just it.' Said Mira. 'I am free now, whatever.'

The voice said nothing.

Mira sat up and pushed herself back from the table with the palms of
her hands. 'I'm phoning the police.' She said.