As I wrote in my last blog entry, I facilitate a writing group in Taunton Library and at the Cosy Club Taunton. Last week we had three word prompts for our writing.
The Morning Mist, The Strangers Face and the coincidence. I asked everyone to incorporate these three words into one story by writing for about fifteen minutes on each prompt. Everyone was different, unique and special. For more about me go to my website
Here is one story
A New Friend
6.a.m.! In a former life Fiona would have thought that 6.00 a.m. was an unearthly hour to get up but instead she got up quickly from her bed and put on her hooded bright pick dressing gown and pink fluffy bunny slippers. They stood as defiance against this new regime of hers.
The morning mist blanketed the village like a fallen cloud, silencing everything. Only the lights of the cars on the bypass illuminated the air with their arcs of pale globes hung suspended as people cursed their way to work or school . Droplets of moisture cushioned the leaves and a lattice of sparkling cobwebs coated the dark leaves of of the shrubbery. People hushed their voices, waiting, waiting. Pale coloured flowers drooped their beauty waiting, waiting.
Fiona wanted to pull a light switch so that the life giving sun would shine through with the promised hope of a spring day, then life could begin again.
Fiona collected her ‘to do’ list for the day in anticipation. When the carer Pam came she was going to visit the escue centre of dogs and cats. It was a visit that had been planned for a long time. Soon she would have a pet that was all hers. She watched from the window as a dog with an owner snuffled the plants f the hedgerow before relieving itself. She smiled a secret smile, soon, perhaps today she would be a dog owner and be taking early morning walks.
Catching her day dreaming and coming back to reality she stated making her father’s breakfast and putting onto his favourite tray. Days stretched out before her with interminable duty. Dad hated dogs. How would it pan out, she was nervous, very nervous, but determined.
The carer, Pam arrived on schedule only five minute late, she was to dress and make Dad comfortable in his armchair. They sharecompanionableable cup of tea.
‘You keep a cosy house, Fiona, ‘ Pam said admiringly.’ I love the way you cope and it was a good idea, buying your Dad’s house.. It always falls on the single member of the family to do the caring doesn’t it. So unfair.’
Pam and Fiona had become good friends, sometimes sharing a glass of wine in the local pub.
‘I suppose you are right, ‘Fiona replied. ‘But it is my life now. Since the divorce it has given me a purpose but I do get lonely at times Dad is not up to the intellectual conversations we used to have.’
A sense of loss and sadness came over Fiona as she said this. She loved her father, the one she used to have anyway, the father she had now was just a shell of his former self.
‘Must get on, thanks for tea.’ And Pam left abruptly scurrying away on er busy schedule.
As the cups rattled in the sink, the long promised rays of the sun shone through the kitchen window warming her face and making her eyes squint. She brushed a small tear from one eye and checked her diary. When Mrs James came rom next door to look after Dad for an hour, Fiona’s adventure would begin.
Mrs James was about ten years older than Fiona. Her family had grown up and she was an active do gooder as they used to say with a heart of gold. Thank heavens for the Mrs James of this world. Her husbank appreciated her nature and often treated her to little presents and weekends away.
‘Off you go love, wherever it is you are going.’ Mrs James looked questioningly at her. But Fiona felt pushed for time.
‘Thanks Jean, I ‘ve go to dash I’ll tell you about it when I get back.’ Fiona was already coated and booted when Jean James had arrived. Grabbing her handbag she flew out f the door to the car.
‘Hello. My name is David, I know who you are, its Fiona isn’t it, let me show you around.’ The strangers face at the rescue centre was friendly, questioning and sympathetic all at once. It was a kind face Fiona felt that there was a perpetual smile fleeting around hisfull and very kissable lips. Kissable! Gosh why had she thought that? Those sorts of thoughts belonged to the former life, concentrate.
A cacophony of barks, whines, squeals, scratching arrested her ears confusing her . But when she went into the kennels all was in order David showed her the rescue dogs. Each dog she saw was lovable, needy, just as pretty as the previous one. She couldn’t chose one without denying the others.
‘I need to interview you now.’ David said kindly. Fiona was not expecting that. But David didn’t reassure her, in fact he became more formal, distancing himself. Fiona’s anxiety levels rose as she was asked if she had had a pet before and had she read about caring for dogs. Fiona’s heart rate increased as she realised her situation might preclude her plans.
‘We just need to make an appointment for a home inspection. ‘David concluded.
The journey home filled Fiona with a feeling of flatness, her mind had an empty feeling whereas she hoped it would hae been filled with joy. There were so many ‘What ifs’ Her Dad being one of the ‘What ifs’ What if his dependence excluded her suitability. Fiona couldn’t find her keys to the door and used the wrong one trying to get back in. Eventually entering the house, she slammed her handbag down on the hall table making the telephone fall to the floor and make complaining beeps.
Jean James looked oncerned. ‘What’s the matter Fiona, you look crestfallen?’ She asked.
‘OH nothing, something is taking longe than expected that’s all.’ Fiona ran her fingers through her chestnut long hair and sat with a f lop onto the settee. Fiona told Jean about her plans.
‘I didn’t know you wanted a dog! What a coincidence Firstly my nephew Dave works up at the rescue centre and secondly I am thinking of getting a dog and I am about to go a look at some puppies. Cocker Doodles.’
Fiona laughed out loud. ‘ What on earth is a cocker doodle. It sounds like a parrot.’
‘That’s better,’ Jean said, ‘It’s nice to hear you laugh. Actually it is a cross between a cocker spaniel and a poodle. I t has the friendliness of the cocker and a coat of wool like a poodle. When Pam comes this afternoon, it will be her last call, why don’t you come with me.’
All afternoon Fiona couldn’t wait for the vist to the dog breeder. Time for some research! I di learn something from the visit to the rescue centre. I learnt I needed to do my homework. Looking at her bank savings account she looked to see what she could afford. Secondly she looked up caring for a puppy , the credentials of the breeder and all about cocker poodles which were actually called cocker poos.
The allotted hour came and Pam couldn’t deny the look of excitement in Fiona’s face. When Fiona and Jean inspected the litter, most of them were jumping about and tearing around but one little dog came up to Fiona and wagged its tail.
‘I must warn you about that one if you are thinking f a purchase which I would advise against. It is the runt of the litter.’ The Breeder said.
The rint of the litter. Fiona knew all about that. The one that had made a bad marriage. The one that left school earlier so couldn’t get a high paid job. The one that had to leave a low paid job even though she enjoyed it and got on well with her colleagues. The one that supposedly had less to lose than the other members of the family.
‘What’ s his name? Has he got one?’ Fiona asked.
‘Oh yes we aren’t ogres. His name is Scrap.’ The Breeder recounted.’ He was such a dear little scrap when he was born.’
After half an hour of being with the puppies. Fiona had bought Scap and Jean James had bought his brother and they had made appointments to collect while they got thigs ready at home having been given a list by the Breeder.
‘Why did you decide on Scrap even though he was the runt of the litter?’ Jean asked on the way home.
‘Well, I didn’t choose him, he chose me, I couldn't refuse.’ Fiona said.
‘Well, I’m going to go to a puppy training course organised by nephew Dave. Would you like to come along? And perhaps we can do walks together?’
Dave, would that be David, the man with the kissable lips.
‘That would be great,’ Fiona said.
I think Dad would understand, Fiona thought, if I could communicate properly with him, or perhaps he understands more than we think. Time to get on with my new life Dad, sorry!
by Zoe Ainsworth-Grigg ( copyright)
by Zoe Ainsworth-Grigg ( copyright)
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