Ruth stood before Robert. When he reached up to take the tray, she pulled back. He made to rise then decided against it. Her manner had unnerved him. She studied his facial expressions. A creasing at the centre of his brow. She had unnerved him. He was searching for the answer. His mind carefully hypothesized his next move, like a soldier about to step into a mine field.
“What are you doing, Ruth?” He demanded. His voice not as forceful as it might have been.
“Bringing you your dinner Robert.”
She held the tray out to him. He refused to reach for it. She let it drop. All the time her eyes fixed on Robert, piercing, belligerent. His feet splayed sideways as lasange coated his lambskin slippers. Startled eyes rose to meet Ruth’s.
“You fucking mad bitch. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ruth turned her back on him and crossed to the fire- place. She inspected the ironmongery on the brass stand and selected a heavy iron poker. She held it in both hands.
“What are you going to do with that, Ruth?” To Ruth’s ears Robert’s voice had a new edge. Was it fear. “Time to stop now. Let’s talk. There’s no need to do anything silly.”
Ruth turned, smiling. She raised the poker above her shoulders. Robert raised an arm to protect himself. Ruth swung as hard as she could. The screen of the television shattered, glass exploded across the room. She was triumphant and squealed with delight. She turned back to Robert, her eyes tinged with insanity and glazed over with a feral wildness. Robert, now standing, backed away.
“Ruth. Please…please, calm down. Let me call the Doctor.”