Manicured to death: September Competition

She looked at her hands. The broken nail marred the perfection of her beautiful manicure. She hated the jagged line and the sheer horror of it all struck her again.

It had been stupid, careless and unnecessary. She knew what was at risk as she looked at the parcel in front of her. She thought it was flowers. Well, when the postman had asked her to sign for the package she had examined it carefully and Interflora was quite obviously what she had noticed. It couldn’t wait; there were flowers inside and waiting until tomorrow, her birthday, was not an option.

The scissors were obviously and annoyingly not in the designated drawer in the kitchen so she had attacked it with her bare hands. Damn the children, they never ever replaced these things in the right place. Could have been the cleaner, she mused. Whatever, they were not to hand and this was not unusual.

The beauty salon were understanding and appreciated that she really could not contemplate turning up at her birthday party with one nail awry. Quite out of the question they had agreed and her appointment was arranged for ten. At least they understood the ghastliness of the situation; something that her husband singularly failed to grasp when she phoned him to explain why she couldn’t stay at home to have the boiler fixed.

She sobbed and contemplated the smallish room; but at least she felt safe here. The phone was unplugged from the socket and her mobile was switched off. The thought of eating sickening her, and she had of course made Gerald realise that he had to come home and deal with the stupid boiler and the children could not left on their own. Yes, granted he hadn’t been pleased that his snotty secretary had dragged him out of an important meeting, but surely the deal would go through without him.

She squeezed a lemon into a bowl of hot water and soaked her fingernails, staring into space and trying to make sense of it all. Yes, it was short notice but it was not her fault that he’d been speeding and trashed the car! She had left the house assuming that he would shortly arrive. The children wouldn’t come to any harm in the five minutes or so that both their parents were missing.

Couldn’t he have phoned? The toad! Well she appreciated that the five car pile up on the motorway was entirely his fault, but surely someone could have contacted her? Well, she had forgotten to charge her phone but really, the fact that her car had broken down three miles from home was Gerald again. Forgotten to book it in for a service, hadn’t he?

The house, well to be honest, it had never really appealed and it was Gerald who loved it. So why had he not insured the place? Was she really expected to do everything? It was lucky that the children were playing in the garden when the place burnt down. How the hell was she supposed to detect a gas leak; why didn’t the engineer come when he said he would? So, he was stuck in traffic; was that her fault?

Now how was she going to convince these appalling social workers that she was a fit mother?

Back to reality she told herself sternly. She’d booked the hair appointment and she just had time to dash into town to buy something suitable for the funeral.

Things could certainly have been worse, she told herself as she phoned Reception and booked a taxi for the morning. The broken nail paled into insignificance; she had learnt a lesson! Hopefully the funeral would be over in time to pop into the beauty salon for eleven thirty; they could repair the offending nail before the wake. No one would notice at the funeral and she felt better already. She was not too bothered about being a little late for the press conference; she would  be looking her best. She felt she owed it to the Daily Mail!

Palest pink, she decided, as she dropped off to sleep. Yes, that would work.