J. L. Merrow

After all, millions of people coked food every day – how hard could it be? Feeling inspired, I grabbed one of Jay’s cookbooks from the kitchen shelf and flicked through until I found a recipe for something I recognised. Lasagna. That was just pasta, and pasta was easy, right? Trying not to be put off by the list of ingredients longer than my small intestine, I scanned the instructions. Chop onions… I could do that. Brown mince…trickier but manageable. Probably. Make a roux in the usual way… I sighed, shut the book with a snap and went off to make dinner in my usual way: pierce film; bung in microwave; wait for bell.

Maybe he'd even taken up hunting.
Yeah, right. That was about as likely as me taking up pole dancing in a sparkly thong.

„Get what you were after?” I asked to justify hovering by the door.
„Yes, thank you.” She didn't enlighten me as to what it might have been. Small enough to fit into her handbag, whatever it was. Then again, her presumably fasionable handbag was so large she could have comfortably fit the bed in there.

I reckoned I just about had time for a cup of coffee – if I didn't feed the cat. „Nobody should have to deal with a moral dilemma like this first thing in the morning,” I groused, stumbling downstairs to the kitchen.