He sits there, headphones on – focused on the game, tap-tapping away at the controller. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Thinking of a knife, her mind wanders to food.
She gathers all the ingredients for something easy for dinner, a dish that won't require much concentration: pasta with homemade tomato sauce.
She opens the fridge drawers loudly, retrieving the tomatoes, onion, pepper and garlic. The chopping board lands on the worktop with a thud. She slams the onion down, as if she were centering clay, and begins to make loud, aggressive slices through it. The tomato and pepper get put through the same torturous experience. After ripping two cloves of garlic from the bulb, she strips them of their skin.
Once everything is prepped, she continues to clatter about, getting a roasting tray from the cupboard and causing a metal landslide in the process. She ups the ante, tipping the veg into the tray and vigorously grinding salt and pepper over the top. Next, she drowns the ingredients in a generous glug of olive oil. She scrapes the tray along the oven shelves, creating a sound only dogs can hear, and shuts the door with a thump.
As she pours the pasta from a height, the shapes land with a ringing clatter into the empty saucepan. She submerges the fusilli in water and bangs the pan on the hob, ready to boil later.
When the vegetables are roasted, with the edges slightly charred, she adds water. She tears basil leaves, shredding them with her fingers and letting them fall into the mix below. Their stalks now lying naked on the counter.
It's time to blend. This is the climax – the crescendo.
She switches the blender on, pressing the button hard and generating the incessantly annoying droning sound. On, off. On, off. Making sure every last lump is mulched.
Back to the pasta. She presses firmly on the hob button, relishing the cracking snaps that sound as it tries light – the blue flame lapping up the side of the saucepan.
It's not long before the pasta begins to boil, bubbles rumbling up in the pan and causing water to slosh out over the top, fizzing as it reaches the flame underneath.
She grates cheese onto a chopping board, pressing the block along the grater in rhythmic groans.
When the pasta is ready, she slaps it in the pan with the sauce, watching as little red droplets dirty the white tiles behind. After mixing it and messily transferring to bowls she drops cheese on top with one, firm flick of the wrist.
Et voilà.
The contents of the dish slosh dangerously close to the rim as she thumps the plate onto the table.
He looks towards the source of the sound – just for a millisecond – and then back to the game.
'Oh, it is ready?' he says.
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