Let's Start Again

They seemed a long way off now. Those words they used to try to sweep the past under the carpet with a new broom, even though they had wooden floors. Put all that had happened behind them. Wipe the slate clean like rain on a roof. Try to make it work.

Neither was really the forgiving type, but had agreed to make an extra effort to make an effort. The past would be a foreign country. They would do things differently here.

Maybe it was because they had didn't speak the language in this new place. A culture shock that left them dumbstruck when it came to remembering the words of affection. It soon slipped back to how it was like a tide coming in. Wet feet becoming cold feet.

Being able to get the salt mill out of the cupboard. If they were being honest, and back then they weren't, they'd admit this is what started the snowball. Or rather making the accusation that the salt was never accessible, did. The growing snowball was returned as a volley with something about shoes on the settee added on. 15 all. As this not unexpected slanging match progressed, the players became more and more animated. Locked in combat, it soon escalated to where neither was prepared to lose. Deuce, then Game Point. But by now neither we're making a point, they were making war.
“Why can't you just make the effort?”
Which sounded beyond ironic when the reply about having never loved you was hurled into the melee. It had meant digging deep for that one. And the next one about 'you've never been happy, so don't blame me'. There was a lull before the explanation was returned, '
“It's cos I've never been happy with you, which is all you've ever seen.”
“All I've seen is you're slapped arse of a face, usually stuffed with biscuits.”
“I wish I was perfect.”
“Even a genie, never mind wishing, couldn't fix that. It's not like you even try yourself.”

Both knew the buttons to press for the required combination to prime the bomb. And right now, neither cared about the aftermath of the explosion. Tick tock. This was getting nowhere, but was accelerating to not get there.

And so it went. Arriving at a place where the fire was played with. Fingers got burnt. Feelings got hurt and neither had anyone to run to. There stopped being pauses. There stopped being ceasefires. At Christmas there was no end to hostilities among the sprouts. No all together now. New year resolutions focused on damage and hate, or promises to leave it behind. Spring sprung and brought only new life to further bitterness.

It was out of the blue in this familiar hostile landscape that it happened. That would form part of the defence at a much later date for one of them, long after the immediate silence it caused had arrived. The snap couldn't quite be heard but was certainly felt. Like the room shuddered to contain it.

"So you say you had the knife in your hands when the argument started?"
This really was a new level. And the detective was serving ace after ace. Had been for a while now. She wasn't even getting to the ball, even when it was in her court. She mumbled 'yes' and was asked to speak louder for the tape.
"Yes. We'd started arguing when I was washing up. The knife was just there. I didn't pick it up on purpose. It was just there. I'd been using it earlier. It was among the things."

"What had you been using it for?"
This threw her a little as she couldn't remember. One of those bits of information you dumped throughout the day. It seemed such a little detail when so much had happened. Try to think back to before it went cloudy. Before he'd come in and she'd goaded him into an argument with threats and put downs. Before he'd started shouting and she got scared at her power.
"Some carrots, I think."
She wasn't sure, just guessing, or semi-remembering. Buying time. Choosing not to commit. Hoping to still wriggle down an escape route that would emerge at the point of time just before this happened. Though if she was being honest it would be years earlier.

“Which hand was the knife in?”
This was a bit easier, it had to be right and she said so a bit too quickly, regretting blurting it out when she had been vague earlier. Would he notice? It didn't seem so, he was just writing steadily, but quite untidily she wanted to nag.
“I'm right handed so it must have been” she added, mainly to fill the air. She wondered why he was still writing when she'd said just a few words.

“That's not what you said earlier”.
At this, the solicitor, who had been mute since the distant and uncommitted introductions, shuffled, and looked like he would break his silence, until the detective stole in and spoke again.
“You seem to be contradicting yourself. Let's start again...”