Knives had always fascinated her. Not in a violent way; she didn't want to use the knife on anything more gory than chicken or steak. But the feel of a really good quality knife in her hand, the shine of the metal, the balance, the tang running into the handle - all of these things gave her a curious satisfaction. She spent hours in Debenhams and House of Fraser testing various knife sets. Her favourite, yes she had a favourite knife, was a butcher's knife. The long, wide blade just screamed power and efficiency at her. A paring knife was all very well if you were cutting carrots; a bread knife did the job beautifully on a baguette. But the real deal was a butcher's knife.
She eventually got an expensive set of kitchen knives. She took them home, unwrapped them and stood, the butcher's knife poised gently in her hands. She stood savouring the feel, the weight, the sun shimmering along the blade showing the lines of the polished metal.
"Hello, darlin'. What's that then?" Eric called from the doorway. She watched in horror as her jump sent the knife soaring through the air to find its home in entirely the wrong place.