This may or may not turn into a regular slot. If it does it'll feature a snippet of a draft of somthing I've written or whatever I'm presently reading (similar to Dorte's Bait in the Box). Anyway, this is a short scene from Election Fever/Saving Siobhan (the title has swapped back and forth a dozen times).‘Hey, mister.’ The boy poked the socked foot. ‘Mister.’
Grant woke with a start. ‘What! What?’ He blinked his eyes and instinctively bought a hand up to rub them clear of sleep.
‘Mister. Who are you mister?’ the boy persisted.
‘What?’ Grant realised where he was. ‘Mary’s house. You must be her kids? Chloe and Jack, right?’ He was looking down the length of the duvet to where two small children were standing in their pyjamas.
‘Who are you?’ Jack asked.
‘Grant. My name’s Grant. I’m a friend of your mothers.’ He pushed himself up so he was sitting, leaning back against sofa's arm rest.
‘We want to watch television,’ Jack stated.
‘Oh, yeah, right – you work away,’ Grant gestured at the large flat screen in the corner of the room. ‘I’m getting up now in any case.’
‘You’re fat,’ Chloe said matter-of-factly.
Grant pulled up the duvet defensively. ‘I’m … cuddly.’
‘You have two chins.’
‘That’s just the way I’m sitting.’
‘And you’re going bald.’
‘That’s a sign of virility.’
‘Of what?’ Jack asked.
‘Of, oh nevermind. Besides, you’re small,’ Grant said pointing at Jack, ‘and you’re skinny.’ He motioned at Chloe.
‘No I’m not, I’m tall for my age,’ Jack stated proudly.
‘And I’m fashionably toned,’ Chloe replied primly.
‘You’re what?’ Grant asked confused.
‘Nevermind.’ Chloe mimicked turning to switch on the television. A lurid cartoon appeared.
‘How old are you two?’
‘I’m six and she’s eight. How old are you?’
‘Twenty eight.’ Grant swung his legs round and looked for his shoes. He was still fully clothed from the night before, too tired and wanting to be semi-prepared if anything happened to have removed them.
‘You look a lot older,’ Jack stated.
‘How much older?’
‘You look about fifty,’ Chloe said spitefully glancing over her shoulder.
‘But that would make me a lot older than your mother,’ Grant reasoned.
‘I know,’ Chloe replied still staring at the screen. ‘But you’re fat and you’ll soon have no hair. That’s what older people are like.’
‘You two really know how to give a person a compliment, you know that? Well I’m twenty eight, okay?’
‘Do you play Ludo?’ Jack asked ignoring Grant’s assertion.
‘I haven’t played for a long time.’
‘How about Lego?’
‘Yeah, I can do Lego okay.’ Grant pushed a foot into a shoe and started to do up his laces.
‘I can do laces,’ Jack stated keenly.
‘You can?’ He put on his other shoe.
‘I’ll show you.’ Jack took hold of Grant’s laces and tied a bow.
Grant looked down. ‘Not bad, not bad at all. There’s a shoeshine future waiting for you.’
‘You wanna play Lego?’
‘Sorry, Jack, I have to go out for a while. If your mother wakes up tell her I’ll be back in a bit.’
‘She lies in on a Saturday.’
‘We watch cartoons,’ Chloe said without looking round.
‘Right,’ Grant said standing. ‘I’ll be back in half-an-hour.’ He moved to the door and looked back. Jack had lain down on the sofa and was watching the television. He looked at his watch, six thirty, and groaned.
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