Party of Three. Joan Kilby
Ally didn’t have room for it. What Ben did have a lot of was kitchen gadgets.
There was a pasta maker, espresso machine, commercial juicer, industrial-strength electric mixer and what looked like a nuclear-powered food processor. Then there were copper-bottom saucepans, heavy-gauge roasting pans, Italian casserole dishes, French cast-iron grill pans, stainless-steel mixing bowls—the largest of which Ally swore she could have taken a bath in.
While they were unloading the ute George showed up. He didn’t look happy when he saw Ben and Danny. Ally wasn’t happy that George hadn’t brought a truck. She met him on the veranda. “You’re supposed to be moving your stuff out.”
Ignoring her, George jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Who are they?”
“My new tenants, Ben and Danny.” Ally shifted impatiently. “I need you to move those filing cabinets.”
“I’m not moving the cabinets,” George said, his jaw jutting forward.
She used to think his stubbornness showed strength of character but now she saw he was merely inflexible. “Then why are you here?”
“Excuse me.” Ben edged past them up the steps, carrying two heavy suitcases in each hand. Ally’s gaze followed him. All that whipping and beating certainly put muscles on a man.
“Yesterday morning you wanted to talk,” George said, forcing her attention back to him. “I’m here to talk.”
Ally stared. He was serious. “It’s an expression, George. It means, I’m breaking up with you.”
“Why?” He saw her gaze stray back to Ben and a knowing expression lit his nearsighted eyes. “Oh, I get it. I’ve been feeling guilty about having an affair and here you’ve been having it off with the cook all along.”
“Shh,” she hissed as Danny, carrying a huge cardboard box that blocked his vision, felt his way up the steps.
Danny paused and rested his box on his bent knee to say to George, “Don’t let him hear you call him a cook. He’ll go after you with his cleaver.”
“You’re having sex with a maniac!” George grated under his breath.
“He’s not a maniac!” Ally said. “You call yourself a psychiatrist? You can’t even tell when a boy is making a joke. I am not having sex with Ben. I only met him yesterday.”
At the top of the stairs Danny turned. “I wasn’t joking. He’s a chef, not a cook.”
“Yesterday!” George dragged her to the other side of the veranda, out of Ben and Danny’s earshot. “Yesterday you were going to marry me. I know you still love me,” he said. “You’re upset over Kathy and now you’re acting out. I don’t blame you. But I’m telling you, she’s nothing to me. I’ll stop seeing her. In fact, I’ll fire her.”
Ally couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was this what he imagined would appease her? If possible, George sank even lower in her estimation. “Don’t you dare fire her. Not even Kathy deserves that kind of treatment. Look, George, I don’t want to fight. I just want you to get your things and get out of my life.”
“Where do you expect me to go?”
“If Kathy won’t have you, the apartment over Mangos restaurant has recently been vacated.”
“Can’t we talk this over?” he pleaded. “Things are happening too fast.”
Events were unfolding quickly. After living in slow motion for the past year the current pace of her life was a bit unnerving. But now that she’d involved Ben and Danny she couldn’t turn back. “There’s nothing to discuss,” she said. “You’re moving out.”
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