Collette Bonnar's Short Stories: Prawn Today, Gone Tomorrow

“If this dinner party’s a success, your promotion is in the bag,” Kay told her husband.

“I do hope you’re right dear, you’ve gone to so much trouble,” Byran Williams fretted. 

“Nonsense darling, you know how much I love entertaining. Besides, think of all those extra perks that will come with a step up the ladder. They may very well make you a member of the board.” Kay’s sights were set very high indeed for Bryan, whose promotion was long overdue. 

 “All I have to do now is to prepare the prawn starters. I know how much your boss loves prawns pil pil and I’ve also heard Mrs Bingham-Whyte say that it’s her favourite starter.”

The couple were having coffee in their secluded home in upmarket suburbia.  Earlier, Kay had put the finishing touches to the setting of her elegant, oak dining table. She stood back to admire the flowers, linen napkins, hand-cut crystal and her best silver cutlery. They had also invited two of the other senior corporate partners and their wives. The social-climbing Kay was out to make an impression. This was the first time they had entertained senior management, and Kay was determined to make it a night to remember.  She left the dining room, smiling smugly. What could go wrong? 

 Bryan had been passed over on so many occasions.  She had a really good feeling about her carefully-planned dinner party. The evening could do wonders for her husband’s career.

“Oh no, I don’t believe it,” she gasped as she shooed away their Persian cat. Darling, what’s wrong?” Byran asked as he arrived into the kitchen laden with several bottles of vintage wine that he had retrieved from the cellar.

 “Pepsi has been eating the prawns,” Kay groaned. “She’s devoured at least half a dozen. Never mind, you and I can take a smaller portion,” Bryan consoled.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, those tiger prawns are huge,” Kay replied, eying the depleted plate of shellfish. “Mmm, they smell a bit iffy, I do hope they’re alright,” she remarked. “They were in the car for two hours while I was having my hair done.”

“They look fine to me,” Bryan reassured her as he began to uncork a bottle of his precious 1964 Chianti. Kay still felt dubious as she prepared the garlic and chilli sauce…

“Welcome Hilary, and you too, Walter,” Kay air-kissed the first of their guests on arrival.

“What can I get you to drink?” Byran fussed. 

“A gin and tonic would be smashing,” the perma-tanned Hilary replied, as her husband, Walter piped up, “Something similar for me, old chap.”

The others arrived soon afterwards and as they relaxed over the aperitif, they looked forward to what promised to be a sumptuous dinner party.

“This is a fine house. Did you mention that your architect is South African?”  Arthur Bingham-Whyte asked. He was very impressed by the colonial style house which nestled at the end of a long, sweeping avenue.

“Yes, the design was inspired by a trip we took to Durban once. The houses in suburbia there are to die for,” the pretentious Kay gushed.

“The wrap-around veranda gives it a real Out of Africa look, it’s absolutely fabulous,” Valerie Bingham-Whyte, enthused.

As the guests settled around the impeccably-laid table, Kay noticed the female guests’ eyes widening at the splendour of it all. She was glowing as she made her way to the kitchen to fetch the starters.

“That was just delicious,” Hilary declared, as she polished off the last of her prawns.

“Yes indeed,” they all chorused as a chuffed Bryan and Kay cleared away the plates. Oops someone didn’t finish. Kay noticed an unfinished entrée on one of the plates. This further compounded her earlier suspicions. However, her fears soon dispelled as she busied herself with the main course. The appetising waft of venison drifted from the oven, the vegetables and dauphinoise potatoes were cooked to perfection. 

As Byran entered the kitchen to replenish the wine decanter, Kay smiled proudly at him, “All those cookery courses you treated me to, are paying off.”

“They sure are, darling, everything looks superb,” he beamed at her.

“Before we serve up, I’ll pop these two prawns into Pepsi’s dish.” Kay made her way to the veranda. Suddenly, she gave a loud gasp of horror which brought Bryan scurrying out. 

“What’s the matter Kay?” He asked when he saw her stricken face.

“Poor Pepsi – those prawns she’d eaten earlier!” The tears were welling up in Kay’s eyes, as they gawped in disbelief at the lifeless feline stretched on the wooden decking. “Cats can eat almost anything. Pepsi’s dead. Our guests could die of food poisoning,” Kay wailed hysterically to her astounded husband.

 “Darling - forget the main course. We’ll have to tell them immediately. They will all have to go to A&E and have their stomachs pumped. I may say goodbye to promotion if my boss dies of food poisoning.” The panic was rising in Bryan’s voice as he remembered how Arthur Bingham-Whyte commented on how much he particularly enjoyed his prawn starter.

Several hours later, after a very embarrassing trip to the hospital, the beleaguered guests complete with emptied stomachs made their way home. 

The Williams’ dinner party was beyond humiliation for them.

“Pour me a large gin and tonic,” a mortified Kay whined as she flopped down on an armchair after they’d returned from the hospital.

“Well, it was better to be safe than sorry,” a subdued Bryan replied. “Just suppose we didn’t raise the alarm and all six of them had died of food poisoning?”

“I know, but how can I ever live this down?” Kay was inconsolable.

Then the incessant ringing of the doorbell startled them.

“Who can that be at this hour of the evening?” Bryan rose to answer the door.

“How is Kay? She must be heartbroken.” The sound of Mrs Appleby’s voice drifted down the hallway.

Their neighbour entered the drawing room and flung her arms around Kay, “I’m so sorry about Pepsi. This is dreadfully upsetting for you.”

In their embarrassment over the prawn debacle, Bryan and Kay’s grief over their pet had been put on hold. 

Mrs Appleby plodded on, “We knew that you were having guests. Eric left poor Pepsi on your veranda. He thought it best not to spoil your dinner party.”

“That was so kind of him,” Kay murmured, unable to bring herself to speak of the disastrous party. 

However, their catastrophic evening was not over as Mrs Appleby continued. “My husband saw it happening, it was instant. At least your cat didn’t suffer. Eric knew that poor Pepsi didn’t stand a chance, the guy in the van was driving so fast.”