Fictional flirtation

Fictional flirtation

You’re still here! I’m so sorry – I forgot you. I’ve been busy. Writing! Here’s a little something I’ve been working on – possibly the start of the novel or maybe just the start of a short story:

If the morning had gone differently she wouldn’t have been stuck in the lift. She felt certain of that. The lift was the inevitable result of a catalogue of tiny disasters that day had thrown at her. It had started with the burnt coffee that the twelve year old behind the Starbucks counter had made for her and had ended with the lift grinding to a halt between the 11th and 12th floors. The interview was probably over by now. They’d probably decided that she was one of the worst human beings to have walked the planet. How dare she apply and then not show up at the appointed time. Didn’t she know how busy they were. Didn’t she want the career in journalism her CV had claimed she did.

Between the coffee and the lift there had been the man on the Bakerloo line who had pressed himself into her back, when there was clearly enough room in the carriage for him not have done. That was followed by the infant that spat up their banana over her Mulberry satchel. Then there was the call from Anthony. That just seemed spiteful. He knew the day was important. He knew what the job meant to her. But did he let her have that moment? Of course not. Why would he do that when he could inflict maximum damage with just a well placed phone call. She didn’t take the call, that would have been foolish, but she did check the voicemail. That was her mistake. She knew realistically that she should have checked it after the interview, but the temptation was too great.

“It’s me,” the message began – the King of the Obvious strikes again. “I just need to know when you’ll be out of the flat. I have someone coming to look at it tonight and I could do with it being tidy. If you could stay out until after seven that would be helpful. But more importantly if you could let me know when you’ll be moving out then I can just get everything closed off.”

No goodbye. Not even a hint of kindness. Just business. She could still hear it in his voice: the bitterness. She’d hurt him and he wasn’t letting that go any time soon. He was going to hold on to that feeling for as long as he could. His inability to unclench was one of the reasons she’d decided to leave him. That and, of course, because of Michael.

I’ve got more, but it’s the start.


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