Cupcakes

”Weren’t those cupcakes delightful?”

”Simply divine” I replied.

I was sitting with a plump, middle-aged woman. She had a bright round face and grey hair which was tied back in a bun. She was wearing a pink cardigan and green wellington boots. On her head she wore a yellow bonnet. She smelt like bacon.

We were sitting around an antiquated white table which was placed in the middle of her garden.  We had just been having some supper and enjoying the evening sunshine. It had been delicious despite all the twitching and scratching. 

“Let’s go for a walk” she said, getting up briskly. I followed.

We walked around the garden until we came to a tree. There was a waiter standing underneath it holding silverware and a glass of red wine. His noise was pointed up to the sky.

“This is my butler, Maurice” she said. He suddenly opened his eyes and gave me a lecherous grin. 

“Maurice tells me that you are into…’skiing’?” She said, pausing and giving me a suggestive look.

Maurice began panting and clapping his hands. His tongue hung out of his mouth and saliva dripped down his chin.

“I used to be” I said, gravely.

Silence.

Suddenly she was right beside me. Her blue eyes bored into mine.

“But everyone tries it in the end. Don’t they? Did you like how it felt… inside?” She spat out the word ‘inside’ like it was acid. She leered at me.

She then squeezed my hand with her plump, jelly-like fingers.

There were a few more minutes of silence. The sun had just faded under the horizon and the sky was that vibrant pink that you see sometimes at funerals.

“I know, you see. Because I was watching.” She laughed again. A jangling, drawn out sound which made her sound like a woodpecker jumping up and down on a tree.

I looked behind, and Maurice had disappeared.  Two children were suddenly beside her, staring up at me with big white eyes, pointing.