FICTION IN THE POST PANDEMIC – Episode 22
Dear Readers
Here I go again. I promised more adventures and then, well, life took another detour but not to the Overseas Passenger Terminal at Circular Quay, Sydney.
This time, I headed to the Hunter Valley, to stage the annual Australian Society of Travel Writers (ASTW) annual convention. And what a fabulous event it was. As ASTW president for nigh on four years, it was the second such event I’d brought to fruition, along with my hard-working trusty team. It was months of hard work leading up to the shindig. Now, it’s over, (along with the fantastic post-convention wine-tasting in five wineries), so I have picked up the story with our two gad-about gals.
Let’s get on with it.
Last time we tuned it, Mrs MacPhillamy had already packed her bags for the round-the-world Queen Mary 2 cruise, while Tiffany was lying amidst a sea of expensive clothes, high heels and bling, trying to decide what to pack.
And then, shock horror, good old Henry decided he should make a visit to Mrs Mac’s house and try and worm himself back into the good books. Was it a coincidence, or did Henry stalk Mrs Mac’s social media accounts, especially her “Classy Cruisers, not Schmoozers” Facebook page?
As you know I enter a writing contest each month and craft my stories around the prompts that are given to us.
The stimuli this month was:
- Your story must include a character who is BEING CHASED or doing the CHASING.
- Your story must include the words BOIL, FRINGE and JUMP. You can use longer words such as boiling, or jumped as long as the root word is retained.
- Your story must contain at least THREE CREATIVE SIMILES.
I hope you enjoy it. Here it is.
There was a light rap on the door, a polite rhythmic knock like one delivered by a gloved hand not all that sure of its welcome.
Mrs MacPhillamy knew who the caller was – Tiffany had made sure of that screaming his name down to her from the top floor as the man opened the gate and made his first tentative steps down the garden path.
Henry, the potential paramour – the man she had been on the brink of inviting on a world cruise and paying handsomely for it to boot. Her mind and her heart had momentarily deserted her, like rats jumping on the last piece of flotsam as the Titanic sank into the icy Atlantic.
Nonetheless he’d been a bit of a diversion, a rather nice one. But she knew nothing of him really. He could be a frugal pensioner with one good suit and a slick after-dinner banter or worse still, living on the fringes of London, in Battersea.
She jumped suddenly, his slightly louder knock bringing her back from her reverie.
Opening the door, she took him in – the same pleasant face and dismal attempt at a combover greeted her. He stepped back, executed a slight bow, attempted a cheeky smile and with a polished move sleeker than a circus performer, produced a bouquet of red roses from behind his back..
“Ah Henry,” she laughed, “You certainly are a magician, disappearing as you did, and now turning up like a bad penny.” Mrs MacPhillamy was pleased with the off-the-cuff remark.
He smirked, obviously cutting comments were nothing new. He proffered the flowers and dropped to one knee.
“Forgive me my dear, I have behaved abominably.”
“You have.”
“I know my dear…I beg forgiveness? May I come in?”
Mrs Mac was enjoying herself but there was not enough time to fully play out the charade as the limousine that would whisk her, Tiffany and the maid Marjorie to the cruise ship wharf was on its way.
“Do enter, Henry. What beautiful flowers – but I daresay, I won’t be able to enjoy them for long.”
Mrs Mac led him into the kitchen passing by the drawing room, piled high with suitcases , vintage steamer trunk and hot new accessories.
“You see Henry,“ she said as she looked around for a vase but settled on an empty whiskey decanter, “I sail on the QM2 tonight and my car arrives in less than an hour.”
He momentarily stopped in his tracks. “Ah, then my dear, I will have to chase you down the highway, run up the gangway and beg the purser to sell me a first-class ticket.”
Mrs Mac liked the idea of being chased – she in the maxi-taxi and Henry in whatever, possibly stolen, car he was driving.
But Henry buying a first-class ticket was as likely as Tiffany knowing how to boil an egg.
“A fabulous thought, Henry, but why don’t you contact me via WhatsApp instead.”
Well folks — what can I say. While wily Henry always has a good one-liner, Mrs Mac can out-fox the silver fox. It’s just a pity that his few strands of Grecian-2000 tinted hair, are combed over his rather sparse pate.
What will happen next, I hear you ask? Will he chase her to the dock, or just go home. Let’s hope he doesn’t ask for the flowers back and visit the local Senior Cits hang-out, looking for a recipient!
Tune in next time.
If you’d like to enter the Furious Fiction writing competition here’s the link: https://www.writerscentre.com.au/furious-fiction/
And once again thanks to unSplash for the photographs: https://unsplash.com/
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