All Stories, General Fiction

Reinventing Amy by Nik Eveleigh


“We’re really so sorry Craig. She was an amazing woman.”

“The best of the best.”

“She was so sweet, so gentle. We all loved her.”

“Amy was one of a kind, she didn’t deserve for this to…”

“I broke your pie dish.”

That one simple truth banished the spell of unending platitudes. Caught me off guard. “Sorry, you broke…?”

“The pie dish.” Deb looks at me and makes a circle with her hands. “Round thing. Generally used for the carrying and serving of pies.”

“Oh. Right. Pie dish. Thanks.” I shake my head to clear the remaining fog. “No, not thanks. I shouldn’t thank you for breaking stuff. I mean, don’t worry. It’s not a pie dish.” Deb smiles as I ramble. My well-wishing groupies sip their drinks and look uncomfortable. “Sorry guys, I should really…” I gesture at Deb and the kitchen. The sympathy brigade dissipate in a fluster of waved hands and placations.


“Of course.”

“No problem.”

“We’re here for you.”

I nod and walk towards the kitchen. Deb follows.

“What is it then?” she says as I open the door.

“Sorry, what?”

“The not-pie dish that has been masquerading as a pie dish this evening.”

I laugh. It feels odd. Like relearning speech after a stroke. “Things are not always as they seem. It’s a pâté dish. Was a pâté dish.”

“Pâté? It’s a bit big isn’t it? I thought pâté came exclusively in small terracotta pots. Not in bloody enormous round beige ceramic things.”

“This was the last of its kind. You have destroyed the forefather of pâté dishes and we are now doomed to a future of small terracotta pots. Assuming of course we are not overrun with cheap plastic jobbies in the meantime.”

Deb smiles and shakes her head.

“What?” I ask.

“You sound like you. It’s nice. I’ve missed it.”

I start sweeping up crumbs and pieces of dish. “Thanks Deb.”

“For what? For breaking your ovenware?”

“Yes. It was on its last legs and I’d never have forgiven myself if I’d been the one to smash it.” I flip the lid of the bin up with my foot and drop the broken dish inside. “Not just that. For being normal.”

Deb smiles again and pulls a bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge. “I’m as normal as it gets. Drink?”

I return her smile. “You are anything but normal for which I am eternally grateful.” I sit at the breakfast bar and pull out a second stool for Deb. “Just be careful in the cupboard. There’s a wine glass that’s really an ice-cream sundae bowl and I’d hate to lose it.”

“Haha. Funny.” She pours two glasses and sits next to me. “To things that aren’t what they seem.”


We sit in silence and drink our wine. It isn’t uncomfortable but I feel the need to speak regardless. “Do you mind staying in here with me for a bit? I don’t really want to go back…”

“Tell me about the dish.”

“It’s a pretty boring story.”

“It’s still a story.”

“Fine. Just put the glass on the counter if you start dropping off.”

“Deal. But first a top up. Would hate to break the flow once you start.”

I laugh again. It feels better. “Thanks. And so, true friend, my tale begins.

“Once upon a time there was a nerdy boy who looked a bit like me and whose mother worked in a local butchery of some repute…”

“Your mum was a butcher?”

“God no! She helped out with the books. It was actually a general store and butchery. Meat at the back, token bit of fruit and veg at the front and a bunch of stuff in between that may or may not have been canned or household goods in the middle. Whatever was in the middle it clearly held little interest for young me. It also had the best twenty pence sweet mix in the known universe.”

“That’s a bold claim. On what grounds? Variety?”

“Nope. The simple fact that when Auntie Jean or Auntie Noreen were working twenty pence was always bumped up with a bonus handful of something. Anyway…the butchery was run by the two Lucas brothers, affectionately referred to as Mister Glyn and Mister Kenvyn. Mister Glyn was the jollier and more butcherly of the two if you went solely on appearance. Mister Kenvyn was more serious but also the more skilled knifeman, if you went solely on local opinion.

“Mum knew their movements at the shop like a prisoner timing a guard patrol. If she sent me up on a Saturday morning for a pound of mince it was always Mister Glyn. If there was some sort of roast or speciality cut in the offing it was always Mister Kenvyn. Either way I got my sweet mix and a packet each of Benson and Hedges and More Menthol.”

“Bit young to be smoking surely? Even in Wales.”

“Funny. Hard to imagine my parents smoking now. I could have saved my mum a fortune if she’d just taken my tip of buying regular cigarettes and slipping a polo mint on the end. Those menthols were expensive.”

“So, getting back to the dish…”

“Sorry. Yes. The butchery had a selection of things as you would expect. Primary and secondary cuts. Hams, cheese…probably weird shit like brawn that my brain has erased and…pâté.”

“In large beige dishes.”

“Always in large beige dishes. Anyway, I don’t know how or why but the pâté dish ended up at home with us and became the vessel of choice for corned beef and potato pie from then on. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever made, and/or eaten, a corned beef pie that didn’t come from that dish.”

“I’ve never had a corned beef pie.”

“And you never shall for not a single dish remains that can…”

“Yeah yeah. So why did you end up with it?”

“I think I inherited it at college. Probably went home for the weekend and then back to res with a corned beef pie and it stayed with me. It was the third part of my first-year-of-college diet triumvirate – the other two being toasted sandwiches and savoury rice with tuna. I replaced the tuna thing with instant noodles after about six months but I still feel queasy just thinking about savoury rice.”

“If it makes you feel better just thinking about it is also making me queasy.”

“Drink more wine. It’ll help. Anyway, the dish has been with me ever since. I made my first ever chicken pie in it and drove it a hundred miles to a hungry girlfriend in the middle of the night. I made an ill-fated corned meat pie when I couldn’t get corned beef in South Africa and I might have even used it as a makeshift bain-marie once or twice. But mostly, it housed corned beef pies.”

“Until I killed it.”

“Yes. Until you killed it.”

The door of the kitchen opens. Tina? Taylor? Soldier, Spy? No…Tasha. Tasha and Simon. Worked with Amy.

“Oh. Craig. Sorry. We didn’t know you were in here. We were just looking for some more wine.”

I point at the cooler box next to the sink. “Plenty of white in there. If you need red there’s a wine rack next to the stereo. Take whatever you like.”

Tasha performs a halting shuffle across the kitchen floor and stops three feet or so away from me. “Everyone is so sorry…we are so sorry Craig. You were such a wonderful couple and it’s just…just…”

She breaks into sobs. I learn forward from my stool trying to bridge the too distant gap and we end up in an awkward, long-armed embrace. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Over her shoulder I see Simon grimacing in a chin-up sort of a way and I dutifully wink and grimace in return. Tasha eventually pulls back and gives me a watery running-mascara smile before backing out and closing the door. Deb gets up, pours more wine and sits down.



We sit in silence once again. For the second time I’m the one to break it. “Why is it my job to make them feel better?”

“It’s always the way at funerals.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair. All I’ve done the whole day is make a parade of acquaintances feel better. I barely know half these people. Those I do know I’d gladly forget and yet my role is to dispense hugs, smiles and agreement.”

“And wine.”

“And food, despite your best pie dish destroying efforts.”

“It wasn’t a pie dish.”

“And she wasn’t a fucking angel.”

The words are out before I can reign them in and the dam wall breaks.

“Craig, you don’t need to…”

“No. I do need to. I have to.”

Deb sits. Waits. Says nothing.

“She was a bitch Deb. You know it and I know it. She made me feel small and stupid our entire marriage. Her family hated me from the start and nothing I ever did could change that. She managed to drive out anyone I cared about while I was too busy being blind and in love. She knew just when to pick a fight to cause maximum damage – five minutes before my parents would arrive, in my lunch hour at work, on the phone on the rare occasions I was out with friends. All the times she knew I’d be too embarrassed to fight back. She made me miserable and she made me into something lesser. Like some sort of dilution of myself, and you know something…I’m glad the crash happened. And that makes me the worst person imaginable.”

I’m crying in great choking sobs now and the words stop. Deb says nothing. Just pulls my head onto her shoulder and strokes my hair. I mumble out some I’m sorrys. She whispers me to silence.

After a time I sit back on my stool and breathe my way back to control. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Yes. You should have, and you needed to. You aren’t the worst person in the world Craig. What you’re feeling might be anger, or grief or the truth. Maybe it’s a bit of each, I don’t know, but what I do know is that you needed to let it out. You are my friend, I love you, and I’m still here. And if everyone else goes I’ll always still be here.”

I reach across and hold her long, cool fingers in my hand. “And they’re all still out there. Talking, drinking and reinventing Amy.”

We sit in silence. This time Deb is the one to break it.

“They need to reinvent her. She would have been a really shitty pâté dish.”

I laugh. This time it feels good.


Nik Eveleigh

25 thoughts on “Reinventing Amy by Nik Eveleigh”

    1. Thanks BM6 🙂 I work hard on dialogue and draw as much inspiration as I can from real conversations – so it makes my day when it gets singled out as a positive.


    1. Thanks Diane. As ever I’m thrilled when a story is well received and singling out the dialogue is a real bonus for me as it’s something I try very hard to get right!


  1. Hi Nik, I was pleased to read your story and put on my symbolic hat for this one. I concluded that the pie dish was more important than Amy, it represented good times and food. But Deb broke it -the split with the past -was she suggesting she would replace the dish and in this case Amy by taking advantage of his vulnerable emotional state. Lots of breaking here, a marriage, a pie dish , silence and the past. His final revelation and release from Amy, washed away with his tears, gives a contradiction in the process of mourning, but in many ways an acceptance of the truth. The idea that a pie dish becomes the focus of attention draws us away from the underlying problem but still does hold our (readers’) attention, because we know it is an avoidance of facing up to the real issue. This comes towards the end and I am left to wonder if Deb is the right person for him to lean on at this stage..


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks James – great to hear from you and thanks for reading. As always your comments are on the mark and I’m glad that the story held enough interest for you to dig into it and give some thought to the idea behind it. I’m very glad that the odd tightrope the MC is treading between loss, regret and the acceptance of truth (and the conflict it raises in him) comes across. I deliberately wanted to leave this with an element of doubt as to where it goes from here. Deb has been a great friend to Craig over the years and in another time or another life I’m certain they would have been a couple rather than just friends. There may be hope for them, equally, it might just be that they were never destined to be more than they are. There is an undoubted attraction between them but their friendship is perhaps too much to risk. The pie dish is real, as are the happier memories of the past but I enjoyed playing around with the idea of merging some reality with a fictional tale. Cheers, Nik


  2. Reblogged this on nik eveleigh and commented:

    My latest short story on Literally Stories. It’s about love, loss, regret, friendship and a pie dish with an identity crisis. Hope you enjoy it.


  3. I like this a lot, Nik. The subject of recreating memories, improving personalities, for better tackling the sadness which goes along with loss, is a fascinating subject. A subject which you handle brilliantly in this piece!
    ATVB my friend

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Tobbe. As we’ve discussed before the idea of the past being reinvented and the bad in people being wiped out in death and mourning fascinates us both. I’m glad I managed to weave a few of these ideas into a story and that you enjoyed it 🙂 Cheers, Nik

      Liked by 1 person

    1. June – you are a treasure. Thanks for the lovely comment and for your continued support and interest in my writing, and of Literally Stories in general. I’m thrilled that the conversation took you to the kitchen and hope that you avoided any stray shards of pie dish 🙂


  4. Your kind comment left me beaming. Hope I spelled that right! Anyway, I love what I’m doing and all you sweethearts! June


  5. Hi Nik, I have said it before but your stories stay with me. I only need to see the title and I remember. This was a blast of memories infused with the complexities of relationships and the acceptance and guilt that goes hand in hand.
    Whether or not the scenario is recognisable, the observations of the human feelings are so real!
    Daring to admit what he felt makes this a very powerful piece of writing!!!
    All the very best my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Hugh – as you well know when you start scribbling something down you have no idea whether people will love it, loathe it or (worse still) ignore it! So it’s always a boost to know that a story connects with a reader and stays with them. I hope to keep you entertained with many more! Cheers, Nik


  6. I am a fan of unattributed dialog. It’s a dangerous thing when the author lacks confidence; but in items of clarity, such as this story, it gives the author a chance to redirect the pace at his or her choosing.
    Irene Allison
    (It has taken me this long to get to reading this because I’m not an item of clarity)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Irene. I’m also a fan of trying to keep dialogue stripped down to its essentials. When I had the idea for this story I knew it would stand or fall on the quality of the dialogue so the fact that you’ve read it and picked this out as a positive means a lot to me. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed both the stories you’ve had published on LS and I’m looking forward to reading more from you.

      As for time taken to read this piece it was nice to wake up to a positive comment on a story I thought was now confined to history so it worked for me! Best regards, Nik


  7. Immersion and insight. A reminder of thoughts that pile up unwanted, like dirty dishes, at funerals.

    “Like relearning speech after a stroke.” A fav, as well as the prison guard image.

    Wrenching and real at the end.

    A worthy rerun.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks so much for reading and commenting Mitchell – very much appreciated and I’m glad you enjoyed the piece. I can’t believe it’s over five years old already – this being a grown up thing certainly increases the passing of time.


  8. You are the Brenin of dialogue Sir. (no I haven’t been on a Welsh language course – life IS too short) In less than a heartbeat we picture the protagonists, imagine the setting,. Why labour over boring marble effect worktops and gloss wall units when you can create characters with first-rate dialogue A question: was it your attention to have us believe Deb was carrying a candle for Craig? I felt certain she was!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Diolch yn fawr Adam! Well spotted regarding Deb – definitely my intention but for there to be that sense of it being doomed to eternal friendship. There’s definitely love on both sides but I’m not sure there’ll ever be a middle ground. I’m really glad the dialogue worked so well for you – I figure everyone has a kitchen so they can paint their own picture, ’tis the words wot count. Great to hear from you – hope all is well!


  9. It’s so difficult to live with pent up emotions. They’ll eventually find an exit route. And the way it’s been portrayed in this story is brilliant! The dish is a marvelous centerpiece around which the story revolves. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Terveen. I totally agree – the human body is pretty leaky when it comes to emotions and when the dam bursts things get interesting! Thank you so much for taking the time not only to read but also to comment – I’m glad you enjoyed it and appreciate your feedback.

      Liked by 1 person

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