The Devil Among Us Ramsay Sinclair (librera reader .TXT) 📖

into their bags of chips, salt around their tiny mouths. Seagulls kept their beady eyes out for any easy prey available to them or dropped chips along the way.

I rounded the street to one of our local shops, where the shopkeepers were friendly and always greeted you as such. They were a family-owned company and always had the freshest range of vegetables and fish, perfect for the idea that was brewing and simmering in my head. The wide variety of colours prominently displayed by the windows always attracted customers aplenty, and the staff did well to remember their names and normal orders. Their impeccable attention to detail is what brought the locals back time and time again, including me. I’d only discovered this gem a few months ago and hadn’t shopped anywhere else since.

You knew you were old when the quality of your weekly shop bothered you.

“Hello, Mr Cooper,” the young girl behind the counter greeted me chirpily. “I’ll get you the usual, if you’d like?” She offered and held a brown paper bag ready to be filled.

“No, thank you,” I smiled kindly. “I think tonight calls for something a bit different.”

“Special occasion?” She made conversation with me whilst getting on with her daily tasks like wiping the counters and restocking bits and pieces.

I had a look at the array of fish they had to sell and ended up deciding on a nicely cut, fresh salmon. Swaying the basket in my palms, I continued onto the veg aisle.

“Isn't it every day?” I grinned cheesily. “Just dinner with the wife.”

“Ah, I see,” she seemed taken with the idea. “We have some baby potatoes stocked and a lovely pinot noir that goes well with a salmon dish. Chilled, naturally,” she hinted and held it up high to show me.

“How could I refuse that? You know better than me,” A twinkle shone in my eyes and I accepted the wine with a flourish. “It does look nice,” I hummed and read the label.

The shop assistant came next to me and handed over a small bag of potatoes. “That one always goes down well with our customers.”

“I’ll take them, please,” I accepted and waited for the woman to ring them in. Another few customers entered, and the bell tinkled above the door.

“Great!” She greeted the others in a similar way. “That’ll be thirty-one pounds, please,” the shop assistant waited for me to delve into my pocket. Long gone were the days of cheap takeaways and crappy food. Nowadays, this type of organic and local food was the way forward, even if it meant paying that bit extra.

“Keep the change,” I suggested and noticed the charity box on the side. “Just put it in there, if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you, Mr Cooper,” she blushed at the gesture. “Have a great day and I hope your wife enjoys the dinner. I’m sure she will love it.”

“Bye,” I held my palm up in a farewell gesture and exited out into the streets. The brown bag dug into my fingers from the heaviness of the wine and I sincerely hoped the rain had cleared up for the time being. Any bit of water would split the bag apart, and I didn’t fancy the food falling to the floor and wine rolling down the street. Especially not at the prices I’d paid. Multitasking, I checked my phone to see if anyone had messaged me whilst walking.

The only things I’d been sent, was a couple of emails from the delivery driver who had tried to send a package whilst I’d been out, and a funny picture from McCall. It made me laugh at least. The time had escaped me today, and I’d stayed out much longer than I’d expected to. My wife would be home from work soon and I still wanted to get everything set up for her when she arrived.

Eventually, I arrived home, glad to take my sodden coat off and leave my muddy shoes by the front door next to my wife’s tiny ones. Our goldfish gaped at me from their rounded bowel, the pets we’d agreed upon since we usually didn’t have enough time to walk dogs or let cats out when we were both at work.

“Hey buddy,” I murmured and poked the glass where the fish tried to eat my finger thinking it was food. “You’ve eaten already,” I said to the animals who couldn’t really hear what I was saying, but it was a comfort to talk to them, anyway. They were the only things to talk to whilst home alone.

Taking out the food from the bag, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. “Avert your eyes,” I warned the goldfish as I pulled out the salmon and had to search on the internet how to cook it nicely. I wanted this to be a posh dinner, to prove that I was a decent chef when I put my mind to it.

With the potatoes on the boil and salmon seasoned to perfection, I set the wine to chill, as instructed by the shop assistant, and set about clearing the table. There was a stack of unopened letters we’d forgotten to open and I moved them over to one side. Rustling in the cabinet that was stuffed full of junk we’d accumulated over the years, I finally found the candles and tried to light the wick.

Most of them were duff, and it took a few attempts to set them burning. If a younger Finlay ever thought he’d be actively cooking a slap-up meal for his wife and enjoying the simpler moments like these, he’d have probably laughed.

Now that the atmosphere was right and the main lights were dimmed, the timer for our dinner beeped. Checking on the baby potatoes, I noticed I may have overcooked them slightly. “Crap,” I mumbled and raced to take them off the heat. Whilst I drained the water, the second timer I’d set for the salmon started to beep uncontrollably.

“Wait,” I grumbled, starting to sweat uncontrollably. “My hands are