Clare tied back her long blonde hair and opened the freezer door. She wondered what flavour of ice cream would make her feel better after another tough day at the office. I may not always have the best meals but I always have the best ice cream in stock she thought.
She pulled out the cookie dough flavour with the picture of a cow in an apron and went searching for a spoon. It was one of those occasions that merited eating out of the tub. The picture of the cow is probably because that is what you turn into when youâre done she thought.
Clare grabbed herself a spoon from the drawer of mismatched cutlery and brought her tub of ice cream through to the lounge and sat down where she always did, in her fatherâs old arm chair. She stood back up and grabbed the box of matches she kept on top of the fire place. In front of the fireplace was a line of flavoured candles that Clare had accumulated over the years from various birthdays and Christmases. She struck one of the matches against the side of the box and lit the cherry flavoured candle that sat proudly in the middle of the line-up and returned to her chair.
She turned on the TV that was mounted against the wall and pulled the lever that was down the side of the chair so that her legs shot up and out onto the shelf that had been the bottom of the sofa just seconds before.
She removed the lid from her ice cream and made that first move to disturb the swirly goodness that was staring back at her. It always felt to Clare like breaking ground on a construction site where they are probably building yet another apartment block. She was pretty sure though, no matter how far she dug down the tub of ice cream, she wouldnât find the happiness and satisfaction she was looking for. That will only come when I have reported that sick bastard who started all this.
She took the first spoonful of ice cold heaven and looked back at the cow on the front who was staring back at her.
âWhat are you looking at? Youâd eat it yourself, itâs that damned good.â She remarked, digging back in for another scoop. âItâs udderly delicious!â She threw her head back with laughter and took the opportunity to shovel in another taste. At least you make yourself laugh she thought.
It was then that there was a knock on the door, not the usual noise of the door chime but actually the sound of a personâs clenched fist and knuckles pounding on the recently painted front door. Clare though if the person carried on, theyâd probably chip the paintwork back to what it was.
âIâm coming dammit, keep your frigging panties onâ she bellowed as she pushed the chair back into its place and stood up. She put the ice cream tub on the table in front of the chair and made her way through the hallway towards the increasingly furious sound of banging.
âThis had better be good; Iâm in the middle of a threesome with Ben and Jerryâ she smirked as she unbolted the door and released the chain.
Clare pulled the door open towards her and was met by a body flying towards her. She immediately went into defence mode and prepared to push back, something she had learned in a self-defence class she had signed up to at the gym. But the person was crying. They flung their arms around Clare which knocked her balance a little but not enough to send her falling.
âHey, hey, woahâŚwhat the hell is wrong?â Clare said as she pulled the person away from her body, enough to see their face. âAnd who the hell are you?â she saw that the person was in fact a woman.
âYouâve got to help me! Itâs him! He tried to rape me too!â said the crying woman. There was anguish and pain all over her face.
Clare did stumble at this revelation; her legs could no longer support her weight and she fell backwards against the bottom of the stairs.
How the hell do you know about that?!â She barked as she grabbed the handrail to drag herself back to a vertical base. Her face had become flushed and the hairs on her neck were standing to attention.
The woman looked at Clare with a desperate expression and Clare felt she was telling the truth. There was something about the expression on her face, something striking and familiar to her. It was like looking at a mirror into the past; a mirror that showed what she looked like just two weeks before; dishevelled and broken.
Clare steadied herself and approached the woman with beautiful red hair, her hands open at her sides as if to dispel the tension and anger in her voice before.
âCome through to the kitchen; things are always better when there is a drink involved. I have a bottle of white wine in the fridge and a machine that makes a hell of a coffee. Or if you prefer, I can knock up a cup of tea with these teabags that I got imported from England.â
Clare led the woman by the hand through the lounge to the kitchen, pointed the woman to sit down on a stool at the breakfast bar and headed towards where her kettle sat idly.
âIâm going to indulge in a cup of Yorkshire Tea, care to join me?â Clare asked as she turned towards the woman at the breakfast bar.
Clare heard the gunshots before she realised what had happened. Her face contorted with fear as the third shot was fired straight at her head, right between the eyes.
The woman walked silently over to where Clareâs body was slumped and pulled out a small statuette from her pocket. She placed it under Clareâs right arm and walked back towards the breakfast bar, turning to face Clareâs lifeless body.
Then the woman turned the gun on herself.
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