‘You don’t know how to use that saucepan!’ Jeff shouted. ‘You’re no Chef!’
Rosie snapped, thirty years of pent up rage came out as she swung the saucepan in a perfect sweeping arc, the cast-iron pan hitting Jeff’s head with a loud crack.
Jeff dropped to the floor, stone dead. The carrots and onions from the saucepan mingled with blood and brains beside him.
Rosie calmly wiped her hands on a towel.
‘You’re wrong Jeff.’ Rosie said to his lifeless body. ‘I do know how to use that saucepan.’