A Watched Pot

'My gorgeous Mr Darcy.' Cressida picked up her dog and gave it a big kiss on the lips.

That's more intimacy than I have had in years.

Graham put a stockpot onto the stove. I'm competing with a fucking toy poodle.

Mr Darcy was carried over to the corner of the kitchen next to the radiator and placed in his bespoke wooden box that was lined with soft plump cushions. He sat in it like a throne lording over his minions.

Cressida had pampered him to the point he had developed a somewhat elevated sense of self-worth. It was clear he was operating under the assumption that he was alpha male of the household. The fact he was twenty cm tall and weighed in at six pounds didn't seem to cause any dissonance in him. This power differential signified itself by a gutteral growl whenever Graham was nearby, followed by a scream from Cressida, 'keep away from him you bastard.' Given the status quo, there were routes Graham could and could not walk around his own home.

'We need to keep Mr Darcy in the kitchen tonight, we can't risk that mouse popping his head up again, with all the food about. We're still going with the Chili "Sans" Carne are we?' said Cressida scrutinising her eye makeup in her compact mirror.

'I think so, I couldn't find any soya mince or kidney beans though so I will have to improvise.'

'For god's sake Graham you had better not screw this up.' Cressida scowled at him as she started grooming an expectant Mr Darcy. 'You have read the article that Martha sent us on the environmental effects of the meat industry haven't you?'

'Yes dear, I thought-'

'It's critical we keep up to speed with these things. Barnaby is always saying that ethics should run central to all modern business decision making. He is an important figure you know.'

'That's all very well, but the problem is we all have different ideas on what ethics are. Terrorists believe their atrocities are justified.' Graham pulled an apron over his head.

'Rubbish, that's just your way of shirking responsibility, I will not associate with that kind of thinking. Martha believes we're on the cusp of an environmental disaster.'

'Well if Martha believes it-'

'I'm going to become vegan too, things will change around here, so you had better buck your ideas up.' Martha bent down to take cleaning products out of the cupboard. 'I'm just going to trust you to get it right. I need to clean the living room, it's a disgrace.'

'I always do my best my dear.' Graham ripped at the ring pull on a tin of tomatoes and sliced open the top of his finger.

'Shit!' As soon as Cressida was out of sight he dumped the tomatoes into his cooking pot accompanied by a chunk of bloody finger nail. He reached in to scoop it out but spilt more blood into the mix. It's all red anyway... it won't notice.

Staring down at the simmering pot, Graham went back in time to when he first met Cressida. There was a moment, when he could do no wrong, she used to treat him as if he was an important part of her life, that was a few years ago now. It all seemed to change over night. Suddenly the way she looked at him was never the same. Her eyes used to rest easily behind her smile, now they flickered impatiently as if she had something else she'd rather be doing. This was around the time she met Martha, going off to all their conventions, dinner parties and games evenings. He was never invited and wouldn't have gone anyway. He felt sure she was having an affair, probably with one of Martha's friends. This was based more on intuition than evidence, though he was convinced it was only a matter of time before she slipped up.

Cressida came back into the kitchen wearing a new romantic vintage dress she had brought on an outing with Martha to an ethical fashion show.

'When are you getting changed?' She said.

'I have.'

'Don't you think we should make an effort?'

Graham turned his back on Cressida and slowly stirred his pot.

'Well, its your business if you want to look like a scare crow.'

'This is supposed to be an enjoyable occasion isn't it?' Graham's glare locked onto his rumbling pot.

'What's your point?'

The doorbell rang. Cressida sprayed herself in a cloud of perfume.

'A watched pot dear... come and greet our guests.'

Cressida opened the door to find Martha and Barnaby holding out a bottle of Biodynamic wine.

'Great Choice Martha! Come in, I do love your shoes Barnaby.'

I got them at the 'Vegetarian Shoe shop in Brighton. Do you know it?'

'You will have to go there next time won't you Graham?'

'Can you eat them when you're finished wearing them? asked Graham smiling.

'Ignore him Barnaby, he thinks he's funny. Do sit down and make yourself comfortable. What can we get you to drink?

'Glass of red for me,' said Barnaby.

'Me too,' said Martha, 'only if it's no bother.'

'Graham, could you get the drinks please.'

'I'm trying to cook, can't you do it? Graham disappeared back into the kitchen.

'I do apologise for him, I'll just be a tick.'

Truth be told, Graham didn't have much left to do in the kitchen, but he couldn't bear to listen to his wife a second longer. Fawning sycophant.

He sat down, picked up his phone and disappeared into Facebook. What is everyone else doing? Is only me that's fucked up this bad? Not that you would ever know on from these profiles, they are just wish fulfilments of a lost generation.

He found himself on Cressida's profile hunting through her list of friends. So many men I don't know... who are they all?

He stopped on a likely contender, Trevor May was his name. Would she go for someone like him? Trawling through his photo collection, he didn't seem the slightest bit interesting, his pictures showed a fascination with antiques, fine art and sun tans. Not much there too keep Cressida's attention for long.

He stopped on a photo of some kind of summer function, set in a park. There was a big banner that read, 'Festival of Performing Arts.' In amongst the crowd something familiar caught his eye. It was Cressida's dress, the same dress she was wearing this evening. She had her back to the camera but it must be her. Zoning in closer, he could see that she was holding someones hand, it was Martha. Her long red hair was unmistakable.

He almost dropped his phone when he saw Cressida's other hand was resting on Barnaby's arse.

So there it was - a cosy ménage à trois - plain as day... and on Facebook for fucks sake. For the whole world to gawk at. Does everyone know about this except me? Am I some kind of web laughing stock?

Just as he clicked on the next photo, Martha called through to the kitchen. 'Do you need any help in there?'

Graham steeled himself and loaded up the tray of starters. 'I'm ready now, everyone to the table please, I hope you like sweet potato soup?' He dished out the steaming bowls to his customers.

'Smells wonderful.' Said Barnaby.

'I grew these myself on my allotment,' Said Graham, struggling to contain his rage. This isn't my moment...not just yet.

'That's impressive Graham,' said Martha. 'I think we should all have to grow our own food.'

'It's near on impossible to be self-sufficient and hold down a job.' Replied Graham.

'Nonsense, I've seen a documentary about people doing it,' snapped Cressida.

'You're not talking about "The Good Life" are you dear?' Barnaby and Martha burst into laughter. Managing the faintest grimace, Cressida diverted attention by standing up and raising her wine glass. 'To friends.'

Martha stood up and raised her glass in unison. 'Hear hear, I'd like to say thank you both for having us and just to say were having our own little celebration tonight. Barnaby has been promoted to CEO of his company. We're so proud, aren't we darling?'

'Oh it's nothing.' Said Barnaby, concealing his false modesty. 'The third sector is very competitive, I'll have to up my game'.

'What good news! It must be so nice to have a high- achieving husband Martha.'

'We've bought tickets to see Lei Wei the performance artist to celebrate. You two must come with us!'

'Oh we'd love to! I love Lei Wei's work, it's... so meaningful!'

'That's interesting,' said Graham, 'I've never heard you speak about performance art before.'

'I don't have to tell you everything, do I dear?' shifting in her seat, Cressida glared at Graham.

Graham did not reply, instead surveyed the dinner table. Look at them... all sweetness and light... not a care in the world. Do they think they can just get away with this...like there would be no consequences? Graham snatched up the empty bowls up and walked back into the kitchen, dumping the used cutlery into the sink with an ear splitting crash. He turned up the gas dial to full on his bubbling pot and stared into it as it spat its contents over the kitchen counter like a witches broth. Graham was motionless, watching the mini volcano, his homegrown potatoes bulldozed the sides of the pot. All these years of trying to please, doing the right thing, day after day. Red hot magma leap from the pot and burnt his arm but he didn't move, just stood there, expressionless and numb.

The smell of burning garlic crept into his awareness, prompting him to turn the hob off and carry the pot into the front room.

'Cressida told us you looked up this recipe just for us?' said Martha

'I'm not used to vegan food, but I got there with some lateral thinking,' said Graham. 'I enjoy a challenge, don't I dear?' Graham dished out big helpings and Cressida pretended not to hear. 'Don't be shy everyone. Tuck in.'

'What do you do for a living again, Graham?' Asked Barnaby tilting his head towards him.

'I'm a postman, have been for 30 years, I love it. I get out and meet real people, do you know what I mean?'

'Yes, that must be... enjoyable.' Barnaby realigned his head.

'I don't know how you cope with those early mornings, I would be a wreck.' Martha smiled taking a big mouthful of food. 'Oh my god, this is amazing Graham! I've been trying to get results this good for years what did you use?

'I couldn't get any soya or kidney beans-'

'Really?' exclaimed Martha, 'What did you use instead? The texture is so smooth.'

'To be honest, I just had to make do with what we had in the cupboards.'

'Well I'm not leaving until you give me a list of ingredients because this wonderful.'

Cressida nodded in agreement. 'I have to say dear this is the tastiest dish you have ever cooked.'

'Thank you everyone, for such high accolades, but if it's that good, I should keep the recipe a secret.'

'Oh you big meanie! Come on, tell us.' Martha's eyes lit up the room.

'I think it must be a blended miso and tofu mixture,' said Barnaby chipping in.

Graham grinned for the first time all evening, 'my lips are sealed.'

'Oh you rotter! laughed Barnaby.

Graham got up and walked across the room. He took three pieces of paper and three envelopes out of the sideboard. 'I have a good idea, lets play a game. We'll call it "sealed bids." Each of you has to write down what you think the recipe is and the one who gets the closet will receive the exact recipe. How does that sound?'

'Yes, Yes, Oh how exciting! I love games.' Martha could barely contain herself. Even Cressida looked like she was starting to relax. Almost.

'Games are such a great leveller aren't they?' muttered Barnaby as he scribbled his recipe down. The house fell quiet, just the sounds of pen on paper and the occasional snigger around the dinner table.

'I'm going to hurry you all now,' said Graham, 'please finish the sentence you are on!'

'You are a tough games master!' laughed Martha. Graham stood up and walked around the table collecting the envelopes,

'Thank you everyone, I will take a few minutes to consult your entries, I want you all to know I am a fair and impartial judge and I wish all of you the best of luck!' The room roared with laughter as Graham walked into the kitchen. Five minutes passed but he didn't return. Martha stood up to project her voice into the kitchen.

'The suspense is killing us, when is the result going to be announced?' Graham walked back into the room and handed his wife an envelope.

'Oh well done Cressida,' said Martha, 'this is exciting! Hurry up and open it.'

'Give me a chance! She ripped open the envelope and looked inside. The colour instantly drained from her face and she fell back into her chair as a metal disk hit the dining table. Martha scooped it up and read out its two word inscription,

'Mr Darcy.'