Why I Abhor Violence

It was a Wednesday and I got up extra early before work to make some gravy in readiness for the meal in the evening. I had everything planned.

The gravy was my Mum's recipe full of peppers, mushrooms and other secrets all merged together and liquidised. I had the full details jotted down in my note book, nothing could go wrong. I also made a cheesecake. I'd made them lots of times before and this one must have been 6cm high, a real beauty.

As Mark was a veggie, just like me, I decided on a nut roast. To save time I bought a pack from the Health Shop where all I had to do was add water, mix the ingredients, and bung in the oven. So Wednesday evening that's what I did, together with roast potatoes and various vegetables - all very easy peasy. I even had time for a couple of glasses of red wine as I prepared the meal.

My Mum and Dad arrived first and I could hear them laughing and making comments - they always seem so relaxed and happy. I went to see them and it was the usual hugs and teasing. I told Mum I didn't need any help and left them to chat with Mark while I checked on how the food was cooking.

The nut roast looked very squidgy and runny, even though it should have been nearly ready.

At that moment Mark's parents arrived so the good little hostess, that I was trying to be, went out to see them. They were formally shaking hands with my Mum and Dad and the atmosphere seemed a little strained. But, not to worry I thought, a few glasses of wine would soon sort that out and off I toddled to the kitchen.

I peeked in the oven and my mixture still didn't look too good, more akin to thick soup than a nut roast. I must have added too much water. The roast spuds though looked perfect.

Back I went to the living room where my guests were already sitting round the table in anticipation. I explained there would be a slight delay and picked up the wine bottle to top up their glasses.

Now I must be a premature pourer because just as Mark's mother put her hand over the glass, to indicate she didn't want any more, the wine was on it's way. I'm sure you know the feeling guys! Splash - all over the back of her hand, and I watched as her white blouse cuff slowly turned a lovely shade of pink.

I glanced at Dad, whom I could tell was stiffling a smile, and I giggled a 'whoops'. Mark's mum sat stoney faced.

I went to get a cloth but, before I returned, she'd made it to the sanctity of the bathroom. I went back to my kitchen followed by Mark who grabbed my arm tightly and had this peculiar expression on his face again. He was furious and I realised my arm was hurting.

He let go and I had another look at my nut roast, which was slightly crisp on the edges but still yucky in the middle. The roast potatoes now had gone beyond perfection and were on an upward crispness spiral. If I left them too much longer they would turn into black bullets, but I decided to risk a little more time and went back to cheer up my guests. Huh!

Five faces looked at me. I tried a few whimsical remarks as the conversation seemed to have dried to Sahara like proportions.

"Why shouldn't old people eat Health Foods? - Because they need all the preservatives they can get." Mum grinned and said she hoped I wasn't talking about her.

I noticed we had two teams: Mum, Dad and me - still all looking happy and then we had the Stoney Faced Three. "So what did the girl mushroom say about the boy mushroom? - He looks like a fun guy". Oh well, back to the kitchen.

I couldn't put it off any longer, I just had to dish up. I gave the two ends of the nut roast to Mark's mum and dad, which at least had some resemblance of firmness. The rest of us had a dollop of - well I'm not sure what you'd call it - hot runny nutty stuff. I crossed my fingers and hoped that it might solidify as it cooled.

We then had a selection of armour plated roast potatoes, that clunked noisily onto the plates, and various overcooked vegetables. Not quite as planned but I thought Mum's gravy recipe would hopefully cover a multitude of sins and I poured this slowly into the gravy boat.

I transported the completed plates from the kitchen and suppressed a smile as everyone looked at what I placed before them. Even dear old Dad couldn't quite manage his usual 'that looks nice' comment.

I passed the gravy boat to Mark's mum. She tipped the spout end towards her food and - splat! The nut roast may not have solidified but the gravy very nearly had. It must have been bubbling away for far too long getting thicker and thicker. Cow pats came to my mind for some reason!

We ate in reasonable silence. I say ate. Mum, Dad and I tried. We courageously battled with the potatoes and scooped up the gunge. Mark's mum and dad nibbled a few limp vegetables but he didn't touch a thing himself, not a morsel crossed his lips.

Oh well, I still had my cheesecake to come - at least that would be OK.

I cleared away the debris and made some coffee to go with the cheesecake. Mark came into the kitchen while I was doing this and squeezed my arm again. I had to tell him to stop as he was hurting me.

I cut the cheesecake at the table. This time Dad did manage a, "That looks nice, Suzie. My favourite".

He was the first to pop a portion into his mouth and as he did so I watched as his eyes narrowed. He tried to silently mouth a word to me as a warning. I soon learnt this was, "Salt".

I've since come to the conclusion that things in life sometimes happen for a reason and might well be beyond our control. I mean, why else would I have muddled my storage jars and put salt into the cheesecake instead of sugar?

You may not believe this is possible but I swear it's true. Obviously the outcome was uneatable.

Mark's parents soon made their excuses and left. A short while later Mum and Dad went as well. It's strange but for some reason, as they were leaving, Dad asked me if I'd be alright.

Why wouldn't I be?

I struggled to get up but he must have hit me again because I landed back in the chair once moreThe flat was silent.

Even the CD player had stopped playing.

There are some days you don't forget. It was a Wednesday in June.

Likewise there are some words you never forget.

I looked at Mark and at a face I didn't know, "You bloody stupid creature, how could you treat Mother like that".

Before I realised what was happening I had lost my balance and tumbled backwards into an armchair. I struggled to get up but he must have hit me again because I landed back in the chair once more.

"I'm off. I'll pick up my things tomorrow", he grunted.

I sat perfectly still for five seconds, five minutes or five hours - who knows. Eventually I got up and went to the bathroom, there was a trickle of blood coming from my nose. I made my way to the bedroom and curled up in bed without undressing, washing or anything else.

Next day I phoned work to say I wasn't well. My left eye was virtually closed and I looked pretty awful. My arms and one thigh were showing early signs of heavy bruising.

I drove to Mum and Dad's house as I needed somewhere safe to cry. I didn't return to my flat until the evening - Dad went in with me.

On the table were a dozen red roses, a door key and a note saying, 'Sorry. I love you. Please phone me on my mobile.' As much as I wanted to, I never did and he didn't call me.

I heard that Mark went overland to India via the old 'hippy trail' - just like we said we would do one day. I've never seen him since but was told recently that he's back in the area. I'm hoping that, if I should bump into him somewhere, the butterflies will now have all flown away.

But, hey, let's end on a less serious note.

My present boyfriend has a sense of humour about my cooking ... he refers to the smoke detector as my oven timer!

And, he keeps telling me ... if we are supposed to be what we eat then I must be 'easy, fast and cheap' ... he should be so lucky, certainly not cheap anyway!

It's a funny old world, isn't it? Once the demons are laid to rest.

P.S. If you love cheesecakes like I do - and without any salt! - please see my lens My Love For Cheesecake Recipes.