Breakfast with Tiffany


Song: “Hey, hang your red gloves up,/Cos there's nothing left to prove now./Hey, hang your red gloves up,/Baby, no-one cares…”

“Good Morning,” said John as he entered the kitchen. He scratched his privates and yawned, running his fingers through his hair; betraying his lineage from Neanderthal man. Music emanated from the small digital radio embedded into the fridge door, technology gone mad he thought, but Gill just had to have it. A small portable TV was also doing its thing at the other side of the room, just loud enough to mix in with the radio.

“…all you dreamed and more?/What planet are you from?/Accuse me of things that I never done./Listen to you carrying on,/Cheating another love…”

Most men have the same annoying habit, or trait as we like to think of it; the inability to remain on one channel on the TV, hogging the remote they surf their way through the various offerings in search of something else inane to watch. Gill had the annoying habit of always putting the TV and radio on simultaneously in the morning. John was sure she wasn’t really listening to either, that is, until he turned one of them off, but it seemed to give her the required level of ambience she needed to set her self up for the day.

Gill sat at the small breakfast table eating her cereal. She looked up briefly to acknowledge the entrance of her husband and then continued on with her breakfast. “Good night last night?”

“…city round. (L.A Ex)/You think I give a damn? (L.A Ex)/Do you think that I'm the fairer (S.E.X?)/Sweet…”

“Yeh, not bad, rough this morning though,” John said. Not that you really give a damn, he thought.

Radio: “You’re listening to Rick and Kate on the Saturday Breakfast Show. That was Rachel Stevens, Sweet Dreams my LA Ex. It’s 8:45, News and weather coming shortly…”

“Late in?” Gill asked without even bothering to look up again.

“…she gives me more than sweet dreams, I’ll tell you! - Kate, did you see that report out this morning from that says that 65% of men will have or have had an affair. It goes on to say…”

John walked over to the fridge and then took a carton of fresh orange from inside. Without bothering to find a glass, he did the only respectable thing, and took a drink straight from the carton. “About, 3ish.”

“… 65% that’s some number. I always knew that men couldn’t be trusted. I bet the number is far lower for women…”

“Were did you get to?” Gill said.

“Yeh, right, like, you’d never consider having an affair…”

TV: “Police launched a murder enquiry this morning after the body of a woman was found last night at a Southampton Hotel. Officers were called to the Ibis on Southern Road at around 5:30am after a member of the hotel staff found the body while collecting breakfast menus.”

“…no, I wouldn’t. I don’t—”

“…the Police are appealing for witnesses who may have seen a man entering the Hotel with the woman at around 11pm, Friday evening.”

“… under no circumstances would you be tempted…”

John turned the radio down.

“…a knife was recovered and an area of the hotel cordoned off for forensic examination. Detectives are treating this as a murder enquiry a spokesman…”

“We went for a few pints at the Slug after work and then ended up at Sugar Cubes. I finished up going with Marc, Brian, and Barker for a curry at the Taj. Big mistake!”

“…believe that the women had earlier been at the Sugar Cubes night spot…”

“Did you have a shower when you got in? You left your wet towel on the bathroom floor again.”

“…left with the same man at around 10:30pm…”

Gill fixed that glare on John that only meant one thing and one thing only; John turned the radio back up and gave the TV a nervous glance before returning his gaze to the carton or orange.

“… in a top London nightspot and Brad Pit sidles up to the bar—”

“Yeah, but that’s not going to happen is it Rick!”

“That’s the point though isn’t it? You don’t know what’s going to …”

“Yeh, sorry. Marc puked on me in the taxi! The rancid smell of curry, beer, and gastric juices; nice.”

“You washed your clothes as well?” Asked Gill noticing John’s anguish.

“…the woman had been repeatedly stabbed...”

“Yeh, they were plastered with it,” John indicated the area of affect with his hands. “I couldn’t leave them, they reeked!”

“What did you get up to with Jackie and Lousie?”

“…So Brad Pit—”

“Ok, but that would only be a one night st—”

“…was carried out at the hotel and the body of the women was recovered from…”

“So, you differentiate?”

“We drunk a few bottles of Moet and watched a film.”

“…you see, men and women, all the same when it comes to sex!...”

Yes they sure are, thought John, “You weren’t in when I got in?”

“… it goes on to say that 75% of those men will have an affair with someone in the workplace…”

“No, I’ve not been in that long myself; I fell asleep on Jackie’s sofa. I just got in, and had a shower; I’m at work at 10am.”

“…has been identified as 28 year old Tiffany Hutton…”

“…Dan, as you and I are the only men in the studio, then the statistics dictate that one of…”

“Hutton, doesn’t she work at your place.”

“…someone in the workplace. And as I know that I’m not having an affair, then it must be you Dan!”

“Yes, can’t be the same one though.”

“Did you see her last night?” asked Gill, and even though she knew the answer, just letting the question roll of her lips made her feel better, feel in control.

“So Kate, how long have you and Dan been seeing each other? Ha Ha ha ha…”

“No, not at all,” John lied. He was getting worried now.

“That’s strange if she was at the same place as you, it’s not that big a club.” Gill was convinced she had John on this one and looked for his give away nervous twitch; a slight curl and biting of the bottom lip.

“…Southampton Police attended and secured the…”

John bit into his lip and considered her for a moment. She’s on to me, he thought. “Maybe she hadn’t been there at all.”

Got you, thought Gill. “Maybe.” Now you’re worried that they might think you’ve done it. Well they will, oh they will.

Written Without Prejudice
written without prejudice
Stories to go to bed with
stories to go to bed with

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