Sam likes to sit on our sofa into the small hours of the morning.
Yesterday, I came through at 2am and told him about the fat
woman who had sat on her leather sofa for such a long time that
the leather had merged with her skin. Grafted on with sweat
and dead cells, she had to be cut out of the sofa so that she could
use the loo. Sam, my darling husband, looked at me, hands in
his pockets - suspicious that - knuckles bulging though the seams
and belched loudly. “That won’t happen to me love, this sofa
ain’t leather.”

In bed, I moved my pillow to the centre and, for the first time in
years, I lay spread-eagled into a dream. The space felt grand but
still I felt guilty I’d taken up his side. After all, there was a very
slim chance that he may come to bed and not kip on the settee.
So, moving my arms and legs star-shaped I created ripples on the
under sheet as if making an angel shape in the snow and asked
my guardian one for her assistance.

“Come with me.” She said and led me down the hallway to the
kitchen. She opened the fridge and removed the beer. Piercing
each can one by one she emptied them into the sink. She opened
the cupboard and daintily dropped the multi-pack of crisps on the
floor. Then, to my surprise, she jumped two feet up in the air,
stamped and belly flopped onto the packets making them
explode. The crisps turned to crumbs. Her wings quivered with
pleasure. I said nothing but followed her through to the hall
cupboard wandering what on Earth she wanted in there. She
scratched her halo a little and reached for the sewing box.

Needle threaded she sewed the ends of Sam’s slippers to a fine
point as if stilettos and then placed them before the living room
door. Next she sewed up his jacket sleeves to stumps and cut the
brim off his favourite baseball cap. The angel’s halo glowed
brightly at this and she snipped the scissors gleefully before me.

But,” I begin, “you can’t do…”
“Follow me.” She whispered and lifted a hushed finger to her
lips.

From behind the door, Sam’s head was slumped and nodding in
rhythm to his snores. The television flickered static nothing into
the living room. Living room? Abyss more like. Boots
disregarded lay banded around the bookcases, empty curry and
pizza boxes lined the floor in small mountainous terrains, CDs –
my CDs – strewn over the floor scratched on both sides, covered
in mouldy lasagne. I spotted a cup my mother had bought me. I
picked it up and peered inside. A small mutation of green and
white mushrooms glared back. Tilting the cup, the surface broke
and a dark substance glooped to the surface.

The angel crept into the living room behind me and felt the
material of the sofa luxuriously between her fingers. Finger and
thumb with pinkie raised in disdain, she gently sewed Sam’s top
and trousers to the sofa in delicate tiny tacks. The miniscule
precision was a marvel as I watched her intricately catch his
stripy y-fronts and sew them in too. Together we giggled as we
closed the door behind us.

The bed was comfier than I could have ever imagined that
morning. I could roll around, hug the sheets, kick the duvet in
the air and enjoy a horizontal yawn without hitting the usual
lump of lard to my right. Ready for work, I heard a voice from
the living room.

“Rose?” Called Sam, “Come here!”

The angel had secured him good and fast. He couldn’t move from
the seat so grafted he was to it.

“What the fuck was going through your head?” he shouted.

“An angel darling.” I trilled and turned to go.

“You’re mad! You can’t just leave me here. I…” He squirmed,
“I… I can’t even watch the telly.”

I heard his pleas and came back through from the kitchen, threw
an empty beer can at him and sprinkled crisp crumbs over his

head. Then, I picked up the remote control and placed it just out
of reach from his sewed up hand.

“You little bitch…” he began but I smiled.

“I’m off to work.” I felt fantastic, in control of my life for the first
time ever as I watched him writhe. But I must have pushed him
too far. His face began to grow redder and redder and his
blubber bulged bigger and bigger. The sweater from his body
strained, his trousers burst and he tore himself from that sofa
like the incredible hulk. Who knew? My husband Sam still had
muscles under all that blub after all that time on the sofa.

He ran at me, naked, for the first time in years. Excitedly, he
chased me round the sofa, round the telly, behind the curtains,
into the hall. I grabbed my coat and stumbled out the front
door.

The thrill of it all half made me want to hold him again, stroke
the remainder of his hair, kiss him but I paused in the street and
looked back.

And I saw him, shivering and naked fat jiggling pink, wobble
folds. He was waving his arms, throwing slippers at me,
swearing and stamping all over the lawn - in front of our
neighbour Mrs Mackenzie. I didn’t want the parasite any more.

“If you need anything, love, get a job.” I called back and blew
him a kiss goodbye.