Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 287

This week's photo prompt is one of my own. This is a marble rolling pin that was my mother's. It's extremely good for pastry making, but very heavy. And using it one day it occurred to me that it would make a very good writing prompt, for several genres. although of course mine tends to go darker. 

Content warning on this one: domestic violence - but maybe not quite what you think. 

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Driven Nuts

She pushed the marble rolling pin back and forth faster and faster, the soft pastry spreading out further across the table. Lucy’s mind was no longer on what she was baking, but on the night before. She’d let him do it again. She couldn’t keep on tolerating this.

She didn’t need to touch her face or look in the mirror; she could feel the swollen, throbbing lip and the bruise round her right eye, which would be a lovely purple by now. She’d taken away several mirrors since she’d been in this marriage. She didn’t want to look at herself, and see the betrayal.

She thought she’d be stronger and be able to stand up for herself; she’d always promised herself she would after watching her mother go through it. But here she was preparing dinner, making everything from scratch because that was how he liked it, because that was what would keep him happy and placated so she didn’t risk another night like last night.

He wanted children but there was no way in the WORLD she was going to let that happen. She’d hidden her contraceptive pills under the floor in the spare room where they had decided to polish the floor boards rather than carpet. He still left for work every day, giving her the privacy to take them. He might call several times to make sure she was still there and doing the things he expected from her, but he couldn’t see her – unless he’d put secret cameras round the house.

She paused. Had he? He might have done it while she was out at the shops last week. But if that was the case he’d know a lot more and she wouldn’t be standing here now; she’d be in hospital instead … or dead, because he wouldn’t take her to hospital; people were there and they would see her and know. People weren’t stupid, not if they saw the state of her face.

But they didn’t see her face; he wasn’t stupid either. He wouldn’t be letting her out for the next few days. She was already locked in.

She continued rolling the pastry and then flipped it over the roller, lying it across the dish, carefully pushing it in. Then she placed the greaseproof paper over it and poured the dried peas in, ready to blind-bake the shell.

Lucy took out the ingredients for the filling, and checked the contents labels. It sparked an idea. Nuts. He was allergic. It was one of the reasons she had to make everything from scratch. But there were some in the house, they’d come in one of those ready-made-meal boxes. She’d shoved them at the back of the cupboard, thinking she might snack on them at some point.

She took them out. Cashews. If she ground them up finely they’d be inconspicuous in the quiche. Her mind was already thinking up responses if he noticed a different taste. Maybe a new spice she was trying. And if he was allergic, it would mean a hospital visit … or even … nope she wasn’t going to go there; she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

She took the pestle and mortar out and started grinding the nuts. It was methodical and helped reduce her anger. She glanced at the clock. He’d be home in an hour and a half.

Once the quiche was in the oven, she washed up, putting everything away, and buried the empty nut bag at the bottom of the kitchen bin so it wasn’t visible when opened.

Lucy heard the key in the lock and immediately felt sick, her whole body tensing in anticipation of the pretence that everything was normal. When he came into the kitchen and leaned in to kiss her, she responded as expected.

When they sat down to eat, he crooned over the quiche, excited to eat it. She mentioned she’d tried a new spice so it might taste a bit different, but he didn’t seem to care as he cut himself a huge piece.

Lucy took a mouthful and couldn’t taste any nuts. Good. She watched him wolf down several mouthfuls, but nothing happened. Maybe he’d lied.

Then he coughed, picking up his serviette to cover his mouth. Then coughed again and again, unable to stop, his eyes opening in alarm as he looked at her. His hand went to his throat and he tried to speak but couldn’t.

Lucy sat wide-eyed, watching him choke, feeling strangely numb.

He attempted to stand and even grab for her, but she pushed her chair back and he fell to the floor.

He got his phone out of his pocket and thrust it at her. He wanted her to call an ambulance. Lucy took the phone and did so.

By the time it arrived, he had been dead for at least ten minutes. They tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late. The paramedics looked at her face, but no one said anything, or questioned the cause of death, which was clearly a nut allergy.

Lucy feigned ignorance, claiming she didn’t know he was allergic. An easy mistake. Accidental death was written on the death certificate. She’d got away with it. She wished she’d thought it was before.