An Exciting Life by Pondering
Through the Dining Room Window
Vicky set up three places at the dining room table, nervously waiting the arrival of her son and his new girlfriend. She has spent almost the whole day cooking, and she had made more food than three people could possibly be expected to consume in one evening. She was going to be eating leftovers for a week.
There was a soft knock and Vicky’s head snapped up. That would be him. She gingerly placed a knife next to a fork and went to answer the front door. The part of the day that had not been passed in the kitchen had been spent cleaning the house from ceiling to floor: she was eager to make a good first impression.
“Hi, Mum,” greeted Ben when Vicky opened the door. She looked him up and down—her son never seemed to stop growing. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend—Eleanor, this is my mum.”
Eleanor was a pretty girl with feathery blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Vicky, however, did not like the haughty look on Eleanor’s face as she looked around the hallway. Stiffly, she held out her hand. Cautiously, Vicky grasped it in what was a poor attempt at a handshake. “Charmed,” Eleanor sniffed.
Resisting the desire to wipe her hand against her skirt, she asked, “Would you like to eat dinner?” Her eyes were purposely fixed on Ben’s face: she had absolutely no desire to even look at Eleanor.
However, it was Eleanor who answered. “Yes, we shall.” She pulled on Ben’s arm and they followed Vicky into the dining room.
“Oh, these curtains are so quaint,” Eleanor muttered as they walked past the window. She rubbed the heavy material between forefinger and thumb.
Vicky grimaced. “Please don’t touch it—I’ve spent ages cleaning it, thanks.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Are you somehow insinuating that I am dirty?” she asked threateningly.
Ben came to the rescue before Vicky could make some biting reply. “Wow, Mum, is this your lasagna? It looks great!”
Eleanor sniffed again, and Vicky toyed with the idea of throwing a box of tissues at her head. Why did her son have such horrible taste in women?
“Where is the entrée?” Eleanor asked, staring up and down the table. “I was looking forward to some crab soup.”
“Oh, Ellie honey, don’t worry, I’ll make you some soup for dinner tomorrow—it’ll be okay, I promise,” Ben said soothingly.
“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, you know,” Vicky said cuttingly as she settled in her chair with a copy of the newspaper.
Eleanor lifted her eyebrows. “And would you eat all this food by yourself? I think not.” She sat down smartly in the chair next to Vicky’s. She picked up her fork and picked up a bit of lasagna: eating it straight from the serving platter.
Vicky’s eyes bugged. However annoying and condensing Eleanor was, she did seem like the sort of person who would at least have respectable table manners. Internally fuming, Vicky fought to keep her voice calm. “Would you please use a plate?”
Eleanor paused in her chewing, some lasagna still hanging out of her mouth. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know that you cared for the proper procedures.”
That was it. Vicky slammed the paper onto the tabletop. “Ben, I hope you like dinner. I know lasagna is your favourite,” she muttered. Obstinately, she ignored the lovely meal she had made and opened the paper to the article about Emmeline Vance.
Seeming to have run out of comments, Eleanor and Ben quietly piled their dinner onto their plates. They chewed in silence, not even speaking to each other. Ben finished his food first and let out a huge, satisfied yawn. Eleanor wrinkled her nose in disgust, but put on a saccharine look and started patting Ben’s belly. “Are you full, darling?” she asked sweetly.
“Yeah.” Ben pushed his plate back on the table and slumped back in his chair. Vicky tried to ignore them as much as she could, but couldn’t resist sending them furtive glances over her paper.
“What are you reading?” Eleanor asked, pretty blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Vicky sighed. The sooner she wouldn’t have to put up with this girl, the better. She just hoped that Ben would realise how utterly wrong this girl was for him. “About the Emmeline Vance murder case,” she said, rubbing her temples.
“Oh, that,” Eleanor said snootily as she rubbed her dainty chin with a napkin. “She was a rather strange woman, wasn’t she?”
“Hmm?” Vicky said, unsure whether she wanted to know whatever Eleanor had to say.
“Well, haven’t you read the things that have been said about her in the papers?”
“Yes,” Vicky said through gritted teeth. “That is what I was just doing.”
“Well, wouldn’t you have to admit that some of her behaviour is just plain…strange? I mean—no one knew anything about her, not even her next-door neighbours. She was a very quiet person, kept mainly to herself. What sort of enemies could she have possibly amassed that would have caused her to gain such horrible enemies? She was probably involved with the black market or something,” Eleanor added thoughtfully.
Vicky sighed. “Or maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“What, her own house at night-time?” Eleanor shrugged. “Oh well, I don’t know why the media is making such a big deal out of it anyway, it’s not like the Vance woman ever contributed anything to society, her death isn’t a big loss—“
Vicky’s fingers tightened around her rolled up paper. “Get out of my house,” she grunted, “right now.”
Eleanor harrumphed and got up gracefully from her chair. “As if I would want to stay here any longer. Let’s go, Ben,” she said, pulling on her boyfriend’s arm.
“Er,” Ben muttered, glancing between his girlfriend and his mother. “Um…yes. We will be going. Thanks for the dinner, Mum, sorry we couldn’t stay longer.” He bent over the table to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, now,” he said, as Eleanor pulled on his arm again. “Love you.”
Suddenly, Eleanor let out a tremendous shriek. “What—what is that…thing?” she screamed, pointing out the window.
Her heart leaping in her chest, Vicky walked apprehensively towards the window, hoping that whatever it wasn’t anything hideously nasty.
At first, she didn’t see anything. Then she saw it, gliding closer and closer to the window. She ran over to it and opened it so that it did not collide with the glass. She didn’t know why Eleanor had been screaming. It was nothing scary, such as a decapitated head or even an overly large huntsmen spider.
It was an owl.
An Exciting Life by Pondering
Chapter Notes: Thanks again to voldy_mort for betaing this chapter. :)