Looking Good Dead

Homer was his favourite – he empathized with him. Whatever Homer did the world always dumped on him.
    Sipping his drink he felt good. He loved this chair, loved this room with its dining area at one end and open-air feel with the conservatory at the other. Loved the photos of the kids and of Kellie all around, the framed abstract prints of a deckchair and of the Palace Pier on the walls – inexpensive art that he and Kellie had actually agreed on – and the glass cabinet filled with his small collection of golf and cricket trophies.
    Upstairs he could hear Jessica’s crying was finally subsiding. He drained the vodka and was mixing himself another one when Kellie came down into the kitchen. Despite her worn-out expression, no make-up and having given birth to two kids, she still looked slender and beautiful. ‘What a day!’ she said, raising her arms in a dramatic arc. ‘Think I could do with one of those, too.’
    That was a good sign; drink always made her amorous. He had been feeling randy on and off all day. He’d woken around 6 a.m. feeling horny,as he did most mornings, and as usual he’d rolled over in bed and straddled Kellie in the hope of a quickie. And as usual he had been foiled by the sound of the door opening and the patter of tiny feet. He was becoming convinced Kellie had a secret panic button that she hit to bring the kids running into the bedroom at the first hint of an attempt at sex.
    In many ways there was an increasingly clear pattern to his life, he thought: constant crap at the office, mounting debts at home and a permanent stiffy.
    He began mixing Kellie a massive drink as she gave the chicken casserole a stir, watching her, in admiration, simultaneously lifting the lid of a saucepan full of potatoes and checking something inside the oven. She multi-tasked in the kitchen in a way that was totally beyond his abilities. ‘Is Jess OK now?’
    ‘She’s being a little madam today, that’s all. She’s fine. I gave her some aspirin which’ll get rid of the pain. How was your day?’
    ‘Don’t even ask.’
    She cupped his face in her hands and gave him a kiss. ‘When did you last have a good day?’
    ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to moan.’
    ‘So, talk about it. I’m your wife; you can tell me!’
    He stared at her, cupped her face in his own hands and kissed her forehead. ‘Over supper. You look so beautiful. Every day you look more beautiful.’
    She shook her head, grinning. ‘Nah, just your eyesight – happens with age.’ Then she took a step back and pointed at herself. ‘Do you like these?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘These dungarees.’
    Gloom momentarily enveloped him again. ‘Are they new?’
    ‘Yes – they came today.’
    ‘They don’t look new,’ he said.
    ‘They’re not supposed to! They’re Stella McCartney. Really cool, aren’t they?’
    ‘Paul’s daughter?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I thought her stuff was expensive.’

    ‘It is usually – these were a bargain.’
    ‘Of course.’ He continued mixing her drink, not wanting an argument tonight.
    ‘I’ve been checking the Web for holiday bargains. I have the dates when Mum and Dad could take the kids – the first week in July. Would that work?’
    Tom dug his Palm out of his pocket and checked the calendar. ‘We have an exhibition at Olympia the third week – but early July would be fine. But it’s going to have to be something really cheap. Maybe we should just go somewhere in England?’
    ‘The prices on the net are unbelievable!’ she said. ‘We could have a week in Spain cheaper than staying at home! Check out some of the sites – I’ve written them down. Take a look after supper. Holly, down the road, has a friend who got a week in St Lucia for two hundred and fifty pounds on the net. Wouldn’t the Caribbean be great?’
    He put the Palm down, took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘I thought I might give my computer a break tonight – and concentrate on you.’
    She kissed him back. ‘I’d hate to think of the withdrawal symptoms you’d suffer.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘And there’s a Jamie Oliver programme I want to watch. You can’t stand him. You’d be much happier for half an hour on your little machine upstairs.’
    Handing Kellie her drink, he said, ‘Where would you most like to go if we could afford it?’
    ‘Anywhere they don’t have screaming kids.’
    ‘You really don’t mind leaving them? Haven’t changed your mind?’ Are you certain?’ Kellie had never before