Cabbages - Vesna McMaster

‘I didn’t know where to look, I swear.’

‘What do you mean? She couldn’t really have.’

‘I tell you, she was sitting there, dressing gown hanging open, holding two massive cabbage leaves on her tits, snot all down her face, crying her eyes out. I don’t know if I was more embarrassed at the tits, or the snot.’

Shery’s eyes widen. ‘Ooh. I see.’

‘You do, do you? I didn’t.’

‘She must have mastitis.’

‘Glad it all makes sense to you. I turned round on my heel straight up but she yelled out STOP and I had to go back. Took an age of tissue paper and sobbing for me to understand anything.’

‘Poor lamb. Talking of which, here, let’s start.’

They take their glasses over to the dinner table and Sheryl puts the warmed plates out.

‘She pulled up the dressing gown and then it all came out. – Bad turn of phrase. Then she started talking about her issues.’

‘What, other than mastitis?’

‘Tits are the least of her problems. The in-laws have come over to “see the baby” and won’t leave.’

Sheryl shudders, and puts some meat onto his plate. ‘How long?’

‘Three weeks.’

 ‘Meh. Aren’t they helping?’

‘Far from. The usual. Meddling, advising, doing everything she doesn’t, expecting hosting services. They’re oblivious, of course.’

‘Of course. Gravy?’

‘Yeah. Anyway that’s why I was late. Tidied a few bits in the kitchen, changed a nappy, mopped a bathroom floor, took away an unholy amount of dirty tissues. Then she said the in-laws were due back and I’m afraid I scarpered. She could really use some more help.’

‘I’ll nip over tomorrow. I should have checked in on her before. Poor lamb! … Cabbage, darling?’

‘Eh, maybe not, thanks.’