Chapter 2

Chapter the second.

 

Alex liked sleeping. He liked the warmth of his bed. He liked the feeling of having absolutely no responsibilities. He liked the euphoric state you woke up in that lasted for 30 seconds or so when you weren’t sure where you were, and you weren’t sure if you were dreaming. It was nice.

 

Alex was in this state when he realised that he wasn’t dreaming anymore and his wife was actually rushing round the bedroom looking rather upset.

 

“What’s up, love?” Lara stopped rushing and looked startled.

“I need more soap. We don’t have any soap. I’m going to Sainsbury’s.” She didn’t move for another few seconds and then grabbed her bag and fled from the bedroom surprisingly rapidly. It was as if she was on pause and then someone had pressed fast-forward. Must be bloody good soap.

 

It was probably something more important than a body product, but he was too pre-occupied with deciding what to have for breakfast and so let it slip his mind. He pulled on some clean boxers and a t-shirt and went downstairs. Lara had already gone so he had free rein over the kitchen.

 

Eggs. Eggs were a good idea. They were easy to cook and good for him too. He cracked a few into a frying pan and went to get his phone while they sizzled away on the stove.

 

He rang Jude. No answer. He left a message but was cut short by the worrying colour smoke that was being produced by the eggs.

 

They were burning. What was it that cookbooks always said? Keep them moving? Sounded about right.

 

Alex picked up the pan by the handle and began gently rocking it forwards and backwards. This was having no effect. The eggs were not moving. He began to shake the pan more vigorously until his hand was a blur. He didn’t think anything was happening until he heard the slap of fried eggs hitting tiles. S**t. He would have to clean that up now or it would stain.

He dug around in the drawer until his fingers touched the cold metal spatula that one of Lara’s relatives had got them for Christmas.

 

Scraping up egg off a tiled floor was harder than it looked. It kept flapping around and falling off the spatula. Then the yolk burst and suddenly his breakfast was bleeding vibrant orange blood all over the kitchen tiles.

 

He was just about to get the cloth when the door went. He jumped up ridiculously quickly and all the blood rushed to his head. Lara came in and looked worried. She reassured him that she was fine and so he gave her a hug. Partly to make sure that she was okay, partly to steady himself, but mainly so that she wouldn’t see the mess he’d made.

“I’m gonna go have a lie down.” She shrugged him off and wandered up stairs.

 

He hoped she was okay. She didn’t look too peachy to be honest. She’d tell him if anything was wrong. Wouldn’t she?

 

He was ambling around the kitchen thinking when he stepped in something wet and slimy. Bollocks. The egg. He crouched back down and began to hum ‘Rebel Rebel’ as he tried to clear the egg coloured sludge from the floor again. He used the j-cloth this time which was much more effective than the spatula. It absorbed all the yolk and he could just pick the burnt white up and toss it in the bin. He contemplated leaving the cloth to soak in the sink with lots of hot water, decided that that would mean having to touch the eggy side and so just threw it away.

 

After washing his hands several times, he went and sat down in front of Saturday Kitchen in the living room. They were making fried eggs. He switched over and watched Shipwrecked instead.