Slice of life

Short fiction by Edwina Exton

There was something about her that didnt quite add up. She was very dignified
and polite, of course, but she exuded an air of complete detachment. When I look back I
can recall a certain deadness to her eyes, to her expression. She didnt seem to have much
of a personality. It wasnt that she was shy - because even shy people can make an
impression, in a subtle way. I suppose it was because she was somehow insubstantial,
ghostlike.
Conversely, he had a presence that cut like a knife. Appearing out of nowhere, he
would enter a room and pervade it with his mean-spirited air. He had a vile temper
and a cruel and ugly face that cloaked all emotion except his derisory view of the
world. He seemed to enjoy rupturing the civilized mood she created by balling up
her guests and barking at them in a rude and shocking manner. Making no
apologies for his behaviour, he merely narrowed his eyes and turned his illnatured attention somewhere else.
The most surprising detail about her though was her attachment to him.
They were business partners apparently but more alarmingly, some said, they
were bed partners as well. It was difficult to understand how she could overlook his
uncouth behaviour towards her guests. It was even more baffling to consider the two of
them as intimates. Why would she ally herself with him? Why would she allow his
menacing fingers to probe the delights of her private self?

When we dined with them he sat and sneered in the corner while she did
her utmost to lend the occasion a civilized air. I honestly cant recall any
details of our conversation its as if theyve been spirited away. But I
remember a sort of clawing feeling that emanated from where he was
sitting and I can still feel the scorch of his gaze.
I was glad to leave. The evening had not unfolded as I had expected. She
seemed more human, in the faint shadow of the candles, but resigned in
some way. There was a faint air of desolation that hung about her, but one
which she would not embrace. He stalked off, barely glancing in my
direction and she followed him out the door.
I sat for a moment and collected, not my thoughts, but the fragments of my
understanding. Then I rose to leave.

She stood on the street and the rain began to fall. It quickly began to soak through
the fine fabric of her dress. The hand which held a twisted black umbrella hung limply by
her side. He stood inches from her face and swore at her. Spittle shot from his mouth with
the expletives and sprayed over her.
- What the fuck are you doing, you stupid cunt! Get a fucking taxi! Do you hear me?!
What are you waiting for, you stupid fucking cunt!
He wheeled around and started bawling at the traffic. The rain was falling thick and wet.
- Taxi! Fucking cunt! Taxi!
He stepped out onto the curb and hailed a cab. The taxi slid to a stop in front of him and
water sloshed onto the pavement. He held the back door open.
- Get in the fucking cab, would you! Get in the fucking cab!
She refocused her gaze on the taxi. She had been staring straight ahead with a
closed expression on her face. Water dripped off the end of the umbrella and splashed on
the ground. She stepped forward and climbed into the back of the cab. I thought I caught
her eye as she slid across the seat. It was an empty look; switched off, with a hollow ring
about it. He climbed in beside her and slammed the door. The cab pulled away from the
kerb and sliced through the traffic.