Slaved. That’s what she did, she slaved. Know what he did? Betrayed her. For 24 years they’d been married. They were counting down the months for that 25th anniversary. She wanted to have a big bash; she envisioned silver balloons, silver icing, silver confetti and hopefully a blonde dye job to cover her silver. He, on the other hand, wanted to keep it a quiet affair. After tonight, she wasn’t sure they’d make it to their 25th now. She’d spent the morning baking. The sponge was pure perfection: the appropriate level of crispness to the outside, with a fluffiness so light it was like tasting air. She’d made her customary smaller sponge as her taster before deciding it couldn’t get any better, and placed it aside to ice. Tonight was the local church group meeting. This was an important event; they were deciding the charity of the year. But, truth be told, the event was always the one that made the village talk. The woman to make the best cake, well, she was held in such regard that it was almost celebrity like. And every year it was Geraldine. He’d spent the morning sat on his arse watching those police interception programmes he loved. His bare feet up on the coffee table, toenails yellowing and desperately needing a cut. His glass of Diet Coke had so many ice cubes it was sweating and leaving a circle to dampen the wood. The coaster lay unused a mere few centimetres away. She had sighed. After her yoga work out on the balcony, she’d showered and woven her damp hair into a long braid. Pulling on a pair of overalls, she made her way downstairs to find he hadn’t moved. She’d sighed again. This time, he heard her, shuffled his feet and asked if he could help. Naturally she refused. He’d only be in the way. He resumed his mindless Tv watching. He didn’t really care about last year’s ginger and walnut loaf disaster, nor did he care about Geraldine’s now infamous Classic Victoria Sponge. In the kitchen, she checked on her cooling sponge, and was delighted to find it really had set well. Now, for the icing. She pulled out her measuring cups, the icing sugar, the butter and her whisk. She melted chocolate chips in one pan, and butter in another, over the stove and poured the melted goodness into a jug with a tablespoon of brown sugar. She blended the ingredients, turning the wooden spoon, folding the butter into the chocolate. Finally, she poured in clouds of icing sugar, coughing slightly in the puffs folding into the air. Once the mixture formed a spreadable icing, she took her knife and coated the cake. Finally, she crumbled a flake on top. Perfection. It was ready to show up Geraldine at the local church group. This was her night, and she just knew she had to impress everyone more than Geraldine did. Geraldine’s cakes were raved about, but she was confident this one was better. The best she’d ever made, in fact. Next, was the outfit choice. The cake needed to cool, so she traipsed upstairs to her wardrobe. He, still, sat there. His nostril was twitching, his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling. “Don’t touch it.” She’d ordered. I think we all know what happened.