“Through the door,” I growl.
I need to hit something. Anything. My gym bag is in the back of the car, thank goodness. Smelling my workout clothes, I figure they’ll do. They are a little musty, butwearable. I pull up to the gym I haven’t used in six months, go inside, and ignore everyone in my path. I change in no time, lacing my shoes before I storm over to the punching bags and throw my first strike.
GEMMA
The lasagne is burnt. The three of us stare at its charred remains. I open all the windows to let out the smoke.
“How did you manage to burn it so badly?” Ace asks.
“We have salad,” I offer with a cringe. Both the children look at me like I’ve lost the plot. “Fine. Your dad said he would be home by now.” I look at the time on my phone: it’s gone five o’clock.
“I’m calling granny,” Ace proclaims, and runs off before I can stop him.
“Eden?” I look helplessly at the five-year-old girl.
“At least he won’t be mad that the kitchen is a mess,” she offers with a big grin, looking at the state of the room.
I shudder. I had tried to tidy up, but time got away from me after Jill left, and then I had to pick up the children from school. The sink is still filled with saucepans, and the kitchen units have food all over them.
“Not helpful,” I tell her, wagging my finger.
Eden’s giggles are so loud, no doubt the neighbours can hear them, which makes me laugh in return. Ace comes back with the home phone, handing it to me.
“What am I meant to do with that?” I ask as he puts it in my hands.
“Granny is on the phone.” Ace grins.
“Tell tale.” I poke my tongue out at Ace.
“You burnt it?”
“I put it on two hundred for forty-five minutes. It’s black. Everywhere.” I can hear the desperation in my voice.
“Are you sure?” Jill asks me.
“Definitely black,” I say after inspecting the lasagne again.
“No, are you sure you put it on for forty-five minutes?”
“I think so.” Did I put it on for forty-five minutes? Now, I’m questioning everything.
“I have a spare one here. Charlie will bring it over now,” she tells me.
“Charlie?” I ask.
“Grandad,” the kids yell in unison as they hear me say his name.
“Oh, Grandad. Thank you.” I put the phone down.
Twenty minutes later, and still no sign of Alex, a loud knock on the door which stops the kids laughing at my mess. They both run to answer it, with me following. Ace opens it.
“Grandad,” the children squeal.
An older man who Alex looks like, walks in with the new lasagne in his hands.
“Hello, you must be Gemma. Nice to meet you.” He carries the dish through to the kitchen. “It just needs to go in the microwave for ten minutes. I have instructions to wait and make sure you have no issues. Oh, there’s the other one. How did it get so black?”
The four of us now stare at the black lasagne again. Eden grabs a fork, poking at it.
