Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Richard handles the veg knife like a kid with his first wax crayon, not so much peeling the potatoes as hacking chunks from the outside.

Trying not to be obvious about it, I watch the performance for a few seconds…

He’s going to slice his thumb if he keeps that up…

…. then taking a peeler from the cutlery drawer, I pluck the knife from his hand and replace it with the peeler. “Try that instead.”

He fumbles at the potato, drawing off a sliver of peel. “Ah, yes. That’s much easier.”

Still, I keep half an eye on what he’s doing. “Not that one,” I say, pointing to the potato in his hand. “It’s green.”

“Oh…” Richard stares at the tuber. “There were a few green ones at the top of the sack. Is something wrong with them?”

“You can poison yourself with green potatoes. That’s why you store them in the dark. So they don’t go green.”

“Seriously?” Richard stares at the spud in his hand as though he’s never seen one before. “Poisonous? Potatoes? But I eat them every day.”

“Yes, seriously. They’re from the same family of plants as Belladonna, the Solanaceae. The green parts contain a toxin called solanine.”

Richard regards the tuber in his hand with a sceptical eye.

“Belladonna? Pretty lady?”

“Medieval women used it cosmetically to enlarge their pupils. The alkaloids that achieve the effect are some of the more effective toxins out there.”

Still, he looks dubious.

“You’ll see the resemblance then. In any case, don’t add green potatoes to the

“How dangerous are they?”

a lot of green potatoes to do yourself any real damage. But…” I raise a finger. “Solanine can be dangerous in pregnant women. It’s

open, then striding across the kitchen, he

*****

Michael

James, but Scruffy and Bear sit in one corner,

large bubbles glopping and redissolving into the surface. Chunks of sausage and something-or-other-else surface then vanish, nudging aside some kind

“Ah, Michael. Good timing. You want to open the wine? Set it to warm… I’ll serve the meal in the dining room, but we can sit in here while the food’s cooking.” He offers me the bottle, then hovers, sucking at his teeth. “That’s Rioja, to go with the casserole. But perhaps a

idea. This is a celebration after all,

is. Back in

his gaze to the hob. Bear isn’t so subtle. He simply stares at the pan, long strands of

I reckon I have before James’ return, I fork a sausage, bright

half to each of the dogs.

Why just them?

swings, James strolls in, a bottle of cava in each hand, and I jam

Fuck!

blowing air over my

puts the bottles into the fridge. Then, stacking plates and cutlery onto a tray, “Perhaps when you’ve finished donating our dinner to Scruffy

corkscrew from the drawer, I wrestle the cork out of the Rioja bottle... “Nice choice by the way.” … then set it on the hearth to bathe

a Spanish meal. We visited my boyhood home several times when she was small,

course. But what I meant was,

clear with a bit of kitchen roll. “What email? Damn!” and