Heh, you wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve done that. Unfortunately, spellcheck isn’t veyr good, and It’s hard to read it yourself to pick out errors.
Oh, the two boxes, if you read carefully, are leftovers from the variety packs that you can get, often for children, from when (Sarah, is it?) came to stay. Not an indication of poverty.
The item you were looking for was deleted.
Romance / Unnamed Story
Part 1
Begin at the beginning… and go on ‘til you come to the end: then stop.
— Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
Prologue
Picture a bus-stop. Picture a late day, nearly evening maybe. Now, picture the man walking towards the bus-stop, in the evening, annoyed. This is our protagonist. His name is Greg. Reader, meet Greg.
Greg kicked a stone, and reached the bus-stop. He sighed as it proved to be empty. Waiting on your own, for a time decided by random variables such as ‘who is the bus driver?’ ‘What have they been drinking?’ and ‘How desperate am I to get home?’. It was the worst. Even any company, a toothless old lady, a dirty tramp smelling of cigarettes and muck, a ruthlessly rebellious teenager insulting various people with graffiti – it was company, and better than waiting on your own-
Thunder.
In the rain. Greg frowned at no-one in particular as fat drops of rain bounced off his head. He fumbled for his hood, and covered his head – unnaturally (dyed, ‘course) red hair, ‘swamp’ green eyes, an ironically permanent smile – as the rain strengthened. The steady psssh of the rain triggered some obscure feeling of well-being, and Greg’s lonely wait could possibly be worth-
Lightning arced out of the sky.
Nothing. Greg huddled under the bus shelter, and dejectedly stared at the road. He absent-mindedly reached into his pocket, where his hand met something cool and flat. He drew it out, and stared at it. It was his lighter, a shoddy transparent-green one, but it was like a holy object in his life. He flipped it into the air, and caught it again. He reached into his other pocket, and drew out a packet of cigarettes.
Pushing up the paper lid, he pulled one out and lit it. He put it to his mouth, and drew in a breath of smoke. He held his breath, and let his shoulders sag back down out of their former tense position. Then he blew out a trail of smoke, which curled up into the sky, and stared at the road.
As he stared, he slowly became aware of voices.
”...you never let me! You’re always making me do stuff and I Don’t Want To!”
Greg listened, interested.
”...leave me alone! I don’t want to-”
A faint slap echoed across to Greg. Suddenly concerned, he turned around. In the darkness, he could see the two figures standing just inside the park. The smaller one – a woman, by the looks and sounds – had staggered backwards, holding her face.
“Stop fighting me! I…” a truck drove by, droning out the sound. Frustrated, Greg edged closer, blowing out a plume of smoke as he did so.
The man said something unhearable, and the woman froze. As Greg watched the pair, she burst into tears, and leant against the man. Her head looked up – was she talking? And the man reached out an arm, and she clutched it. Greg tried to make out what was happening, but the fading light made it impossible to see. He edged to the far end of the bus shelter, watching but (hopefully) not seen. The shadows blurred their actions, then they became clearer again. They were moving! He watched them walk, and talk. He could only catch snatches of their conversation now, they were talking quieter.
”...look after her…she said…you’re always…never…?”
The man said something, and the woman stopped. Her tears, stemmed earlier, came again, in small gasps between words.
“No…not gonna…now-”
Greg jumped back as the bus sped to a halt beside him. He took a final breath of the smoke, and threw the cigarette to the ground. With a parting frown at the couple, he stepped on. The bus drove off, speeding away from the arguing couple. As Greg watched out of the window, the rapidly receding pair walked behind a tree and disappeared from sight. Greg sighed, and sat back in his seat. A couple in front of him were cuddling on the seat, talking in whispers. Greg watched them, and saw himself and Rosy, hugging on the seat, sharing rumours, looks and kisses, or watching a film, together on the sofa…
Greg and Rosy, Rosy and Greg, the most dangerous force in existence, a writer and an actor, two insomniacs, both Libras. Greg tapped his leg, and idly pulled out his lighter.
Greg was a little undecided about his lighter and cigarettes. Yes, they were dangerous for his health – and that was a point of contest. During an argument – it saddened Greg to think of it, their first argument in weeks – Rosy had said that maybe she’d prefer ‘Someone who won’t drop dead of cancer when I’m forty’. Greg had taken this deeply, and had since cut down drastically.
Greg took out the cigarettes in his pocket, and looked at them. What, really, was the point? Why’d he start? He put them on the seat, and reached up to press the bell. He’d get off here, and pop in to see Rosy.
As Greg got off, he carefully forgot the cigarettes.
Greg pressed the bell to the apartment, and a voice came out the box.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
“Greg! Um, yeah, come up.”
Greg pushed open the door, and started to walk up the stairs. Three floors later, he’d reached Rosy’s room. He knocked at the door, and Rosy opened it, looking fresh and active. He walked in, and she hugged him.
“So, why’re ya here?”
“Just popping in, say hi. Bored.”
“Heh. I’ll get the coffee.”
Rosy started to make coffee, and Greg sat on the sofa. It was warm. Beside it, a few magazines had fallen off their usual table perch. He picked them up. After a minute, she came back in, and settled next to Greg.
“So, how’d your day go? Found a job yet?”
“Yes, actually. I’ve found a job as a teacher I might take. And plus, my book’s nearly done.”
“Good, good…guess what? You know that interview a few days ago?”
“You’ve been accepted?”
“Yep! I’m now the Junior cook there, at the lovely restaurant in town, Oak and Willow.”
“Congratulations! When do you start?”
“A week. I’m going to need a lot of practice for it, and I’m there nearly all day.”
“Ouch.”
“So, we might not see each other much.”
“Aww…that won’t be nice.”
“No. I was thinking…If we have a little break, maybe, see how we cope…”
“Trial separation?”
“Yeah, that thing. See we get along.”
Greg nodded, but on his head, he’d decided already. She’d ditched him.
Chapter 1
Three weeks later
“…and so the weather will be cloudy this afternoon, with occasional showers throughout the day. After tomorrow, it will begin to brighten up, and temperatures are expected to stabilise around 13º.”
Greg stared at the ceiling as the radio continued to chatter on about weather and news. He yawned, then reached over and flicked the radio off. 6:30. At least he didn’t have to be in school early today. Introduction day for him. So, a half-day of teaching, after a few lectures from the other teachers. He closed his eyes, savouring the fact.
Greg opened his eyes. Mentally swearing, he turned over and looked at the clock. 7:38. He’d been asleep for too long. Shit. He swung his legs off the bed, and kicked the chair beside it. Injury #1 for the day.
Hobbling on one leg, he made some breakfast and ate it quickly, while reading yesterday’s paper. Two, oh, make that three, suicide attempts, a sex scandal with a celebrity and another missing teenager. Delightful. Bloody fantastic. He threw the depressing paper away, cleared his bowl, and got dressed, depressed and annoyed.
As he was shaving, he looked at himself in the mirror. Murky green eyes, dark-crimson hair and a permanent smile looked back. He laughed at the difference, and promptly cut himself with the shaver. He swore, and finished shaving.
He picked up his work-bag, which held paper, pens, a decrepit phone and various other necessities, and headed out the door. Just as he closed it, he turned round and stuck his foot in the crack. His bad foot. He winced, but he walked back in. He picked his keys up off the table. Phew.
The September rain soaked him before he got to the bus-stop, and he dried off under the shelter. He read some of the graffiti. Oh, three new bits. All three along the lines of ‘Dave is a wanker’. He grinned, and felt sorry for Dave.
“Hey, got a lighter?”
He turned, and faced another man. He was about an inch shorter, and sported the 3-day stubble. He was dressed quite well, and motioned with a cigarette. Greg fumbled in his bag, and pulled one out. Despite giving smoking up three years ago, he still carried a lighter. He handed it to the man.
“Cheers, mate,” he said, and lit the cigarette. Greg tried not to breath, and took the lighter back. He sniffed slightly, and coughed. Turning away, he watched the cars drive by in the rain. As a stream of white vans drove by, he checked his watch. Three minutes late. He sighed, and tapped his foot impatiently. Late again, late always. But no! Here it came around the corner. As it drove closer, he saw a dozen school kids in the back. Of course, it was school term now. And so started his new job. English teacher. In a new school, with new kids and a new playground hierarchy. He wondered if any of the kids on the bus were the important, please-or-die kids. As he stepped on, he saw one.
Brown hair, short and spiked up and backwards. Gold earring. Laughing. Looks in control, confident pose. Friends all laughing with him. Obviously a boss among kids.
“Hey, where to?”
Greg snapped back to the bus driver, and looked at him. A spark of recognition bloomed.
“Jim! I didn’t know you got the job!”
Jim smiled, and nodded.
“Yesterday. Where you going, the school? And sorry, no discount for friends. £2.50.” Greg laughed, and paid him. Taking his ticket, he walked up the aisle and sat down, three seats behind the boss kid. He examined him intently, remembering him. He might be in his class. The bus drove off, towards the school.
Greg sipped his coffee, and watched the kids playing football outside in the rain. Lunchtime already? Too bloody quick. All he’d done was write a page in his notebook on school rules and lesson regulations and stuff. Ooh, exciting beginning. He had stood with another teacher in the playground, being told that the head was just a ruthless despot, and the school was much less strict as long as you fooled him. The teacher introduced himself as Danial Green, head of art. Unfortunately, Greg had never liked Dan’s subject, being inept and uninterested. That hadn’t bothered Dan much, as he’d said the school had only about a third who liked it. It was easier in the GCSE levels, as there were only the ones who liked it there. Greg had blanked out for the rest of the conversation, watching two kids having an argument. Dan had waved him goodbye after that, and Greg went back to Mr. Ruthless Despot. Uh, no, Mr Tresnon, Sir or Your Majesty.
Now, he sat sipping his coffee, foul instant stuff, but he was in need of Caffeine. He had his first lesson next, with some year 7s. That was going to be fun.
“Can I sit here?”
Greg turned, and looked into a beautiful face. She smiled, and motioned to the char beside him.
“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”
She sat down, and pulled out a book. She started reading, but glanced over at him a few times. He examined her. Short brown hair, thin, tall, wearing a long skirt and a blue and pink jacket. Reading—oh god, was that Shakespeare? Yep, Romeo and Juliet. A battered, dog-eared copy. Either well-read or the school’s, possibly both. She looked up.
“You’re the new English teacher aren’t you?”
Greg nodded. “Yep, new as the Year 7s. And teaching them next.”
“Cool. I’m Georgie Rose, also an English teacher here. 5 years of it, so it can’t be all bad. Or I would have quit ages ago.”
Greg noticed she twitched slightly as she spoke, like a dog dreaming, except awake. Freaky.
“I’m Greg, Davies.” He waited for the response.
“Cool. Hey, you wanna get some lunch? The cafeteria does great lasagne today.”
“Um, sure. Yeah, I’m hungry, and lasagne sounds good. You can show me the way.” Hey let out an imaginary breath. She hadn’t immediately screamed ‘oh, you published that book! It was great! Can you sign it?’ But then again, It had only been out for a month. Maybe this school hadn’t read it. He hoped so – he didn’t need everyone flocking him asking him about it. The money was good, but fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
The dinner hall was packed, but they walked straight through the queue and got their food easily. Oh, skipping the queue was great. Georgie sat down on the least full table, and he sat opposite her. She started eating immediately, and he followed her example. She was right – the lasagne was delicious! He ate it hungrily, and finished before Georgie. She laughed, and put her fork down.
“You liked it then! You ate it quick enough.”
“I was hungry. And yes, that was delicious. What else do they do?”
Georgie racked off a list of equally delicious-sounding dishes, and finished by describing a Banoffee pie with more lust than he’d heard used to describe food in a long—well, ever. He took his plate away, and they went back to the staffroom for a coffee and preparing for lessons.
“Right, you’re in room M11, so that’s just down the corridor, on your right. You should go there now, and get set up. I imagine you can do a nice simple lesson to start, so you shouldn’t have much trouble after that. Then you have another group of 7s, so you can probably just repeat the lesson. Have fun!”
“Yeah, I will. If I get stuck I’ll just let them talk for a bit while I figure out what to do. Seeya later, then.”
“Hey, you wanna have coffee after school? The shop just down the town?”
“Yeah, sure. Meet you there?”
Georgie nodded. Greg got up, and walked off to hell.
Chapter 2
Greg looked up as he heard the footsteps. Sure enough, the class was trudging to his room, like a herd of sheep, or some animal that pretends to be bored while being excited at meeting their new teacher. He took the pen out of his pocket, and twirled it in his fingers as they reached the door. One of them knocked tentatively, and looked in.
“Come in then!” Greg shouted, and they filed in, taking random seats at tables. Greg stood up, and picked up the whiteboard-pen. He stood, and waited until the class had sat down. They stared at him, at the walls, and at each other, waiting for something.
“Good Morning. Do you know who I am?”
They shuffled a bit more. One of the boys put up his hand.
“Mr Davies, the new English teacher.”
“Correct! Now, do you actually know me, though? Do you know my first name, where I live, what I’m like? No? Do you want to know?”
They shuffled, and made a few quiet murmurs.
“Or would you like to do some boring work on, say, the use of the semi-colon?”
They all agreed, in various voices, that knowing him was better. He smiled.
“Right, all of you, I assume, know most of the others by now, even if just as faces. So, someone pick a thing, and we’ll all say about it.”
A girl put up her hand, and brushed her hair away. Greg pointed at her.
“Where we live?” she asked nervously.
“Yes! Right, I live in town, in a boring little flat, next to the park. So, where does everyone else live?”
Greg pointed at everyone in turn, and asked them. By the end, he had a flurry of hands for the next item. He picked someone at random, and they replied excitedly.
“Did you write that book? Blood by Firelight?”
Greg pretended to laugh. Someone had twigged on it, then.
“Yes, I did. And you’re the first person to realise that here. Now, I take it no-one else has published a book, so does anyone like writing?”
Three hands. Two girls and a boy. He pointed at one of the girls.
“And what do you like writing, miss…?”
“Lucy, Sir. Um, I like writing Fantasy stuff.”
“Interesting. And what about you, sir?”
“I write Murder books. Or try, anyway. I’ve never finished one.”
“Ah, I used to have that problem. Annoying, isn’t it? And now, finally, you, miss.”
“I write, um…romance.”
“Interesting. You will have to show me that. Anyway, enough with this. Something to do…”
Greg thought for a minute, letting the group talk a bit. He tried to remember his English classes. Hmm…
“Quiet! I have something to do.” Greg pulled out some paper from the desk, and handed it to the nearest kid. “You hand this out, and everyone get out something to write with.”
The bell went, and the class immediately began to pack up. Bags mysteriously appeared in their hands, filled already, and Everyone’s jackets had inexplicably found themselves on their owners in the blink of an eye. Of course; however much they liked the lesson, they’d never be slow to leave it. Greg waved at the door idly, and sat down to await the next class. The lesson had gone pretty smoothly, him playing a version of Bingo, using some words connected to English. He’d handed out a bar of chocolate to each of the three winners, which had unfortunately cost a Quid of his money, and had then given them homework.
Not hard homework – he wasn’t that cruel. Yet. Just a simple task; bring in the names of 5 books they liked. He knew his book would be one of the 100-odd brought in. Three of the class had expressed interest in it, which was pleasing. Greg hoped that they wouldn’t spread it too much; he didn’t want flocks of students mobbing him about it.
A tap on the window, and the new class was here. He beckoned at them, and they came in. he stood up, and watched them file in. There was something…different, individual, about the class. One to take notice of, maybe. He examined them; ah! There was the ‘boss kid’ he’d examined on the bus. Surrounded by friends. Or where they just following the crowd? Staying with the popular kid out of fear, perhaps?
“Good Morning. Welcome to my English class. I am as new as you here, this being my first day here. Firstly, does anyone know me?”
A hand shot up immediately. He looked down. A short girl, with pretty freckles and long blonde hair, was sitting right in front of him, eagerly holding her hand up. He pointed at her, slightly raising an eyebrow. Gods, she wasn’t an…
“You’re Greg Davies! You wrote Blood by Firelight! You’re an author!”
…adoring fan. Dammit, they were the worst.
“Yes, I am. You like my book then?”
She nodded quickly, and replied equally quick. “Can I ask you…”
“At the end of the lesson. Right now, other things to do.” Now to the class; “Assuming you know me as your new English teacher, I will ask you about yourselves. Who lives here in the town?”
Up went 20…no, 24 hands. Ouch, only 5 or so didn’t. He pointed at one of them. “And you? Were do you live?”
“Just outside it, sir. In a stables 10 minutes away.”
“Lovely! I always wondered what it would be like. Lots of chores, I expect. And you?”
He continued asking the remainders. They all lived in various little hamlets just outside the town. One of the town kids put his hand up.
“And where do you live, sir?”
“I live in the town, like you. In a bleak flat opposite the park. Not as interesting as some of your houses. Anyway, enough with this. What would you like to do? Interrogate me on English, or myself? Or play a game? Or do some very boring work on some punctuation?”
The class was torn between game and asking him about…stuff? But they decided on quizzing him. He tried to guess what they were going to ask him.
A boy, sat next to ‘the boss kid’, put up his hand. One of his mates suppressed a laugh.
“Are you a Virgin?”
Greg tilted his head slightly. Wasn’t expecting that one. Oh well, no point in lying.
“No, not since I was…15. And since then, I’ve lost count.”
They looked impressed. Maybe he was a cool teacher, compared to the others. That was a good start, at least. A little wave of murmuring spread through the class, and another hand went up. A girl, with curly brown hair.
“Yes?” Greg asked, pointing at the girl.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Greg bit his lip. Sore spot.
“Until 8 days ago, yes.”
And for a while, as well. That was most of the ‘lost count’ there. And then…
And then she’d started getting less interested. Possibly having affairs. It was her new job that probably gave her an excuse to ditch him, but afterwards… Another’d turned up. Purest coincidence; he’d gone to a bar, to have a drink with two of his mates, and they’d come in.
He remembered it well today. Well, it was only about a week ago. He’d sipped some of his…well, he couldn’t remember what he was having. Anyway, he’d sipped his drink, and heard the pub door open. He’d looked out of curiosity, and seen Rosy walking in, a dark 6ft guy on her arm. She hadn’t seen him, but he had seen her. So had his mates.
“That your bird?”
He nodded.
“Ouch. And she ditched you how long ago? That was quick.”
“What are you gonna do about it, Greg?”
“Get us some more drinks, would ya Reg? Greg’s gonna need them.”
“Something strong please, Reg. Try not to attract any attention.”
He’d watched her for a minute. He was hoping it wasn’t anything that bad; maybe just an ex, or an old friend?
Three minutes later he drunk the vodka in front of him, and grimaced. Anyone who kissed Rosy like that couldn’t just be a friend.
“Reg? Jim? Let’s go to a different bar.”
“Amen, brother. Let’s go.”
Chapter 3
Greg blinked, and watched the class again. A couple were talking in the back. The girl who’d asked him was biting her lip. No-one had moved much. Had he just thought all that in about a second?
“Ouch, Sir. How’d you lose her?”
Greg looked left to the voice. A boy, reddish-brown hair, who looked friendly enough. Greg quickly wondered how to say.
“Um…we decided it was best for both of us.” Yeah, she got a new boyfriend, and her nice new job, and he got…what? A new target to throw insults at? Or, in the case of her pictures, a butter-knife. Greg hadn’t known how deep butter-knives could go into a wall. Through a picture of his Ex.
The class nodded in fake knowledge. He wondered is any had learnt the pain. Everyone got Girlfriends younger now, didn’t they? Or were all young kids just whores until puberty?
Two more kids had questions. What now?
He pointed at one, and he started talking.
“Are you going to be a really boring teacher?”
Ah, a straightforward question.
“No. Unless you misbehave, and in the lessons where we do something better, muck around. In which case it’s Essays on every bit of punctuation you can think of.”
A couple laughed. Actually laughed. He wasn’t that funny, was he?
“Can you give us advice on Girlfriends and stuff?”
Hmm…asking a bit much now. Well, it might improve his standing with the class and school.
“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Best to talk to me about it in private though. I think I have taken this classroom over completely, so look for me here if you want to ask me something. Or wait at the end of the lesson.”
Another murmur. Wow, he’d forgotten how much classes talked. It was like talking was as essential as breathing. Well, sure as hell he’d never be stupid enough to make them silent. Easy way to earn hate.
“Now, we can’t keep talking now. Unless you have any more good questions that will keep me talking, we need to do something.”
Immediately, three hands went up. Ooh, more questions. Well, it was easier than organising a game. Yeah, go ahead class.
The bell went. The class, despite the norm for the end-of-lesson, was actually reluctant to go. But that didn’t stop them picking up all their bags. Greg sat down, and picked up a pen. He twirled it in his fingers, and watched them go. One girl stayed behind, and started to come towards him. She skipped – she actually skipped towards him. Oh, this was the fan wasn’t it? Shee-yut. Long discussion imminent.
“Mr Davies? You said I could stay and ask you about your book?”
“Yes, I did. Well, what was it?”
“Oh, me and my sister loved it. First, could we have your autograph?”
Wow. It wasn’t that good. Was it?
“Yeah, sure. Gimme something to write on. And I’ll just…” The pen, with precise timing, flew out of his hand and into the bin. “…damn. I’ll get it—“
“No, I will sir. Let me.”
The girl darted to the bin, and picked it out neatly. She handed it to him, and wiped her hand quickly on the table.
“Thank-you, Sir, two autographs please. If you don’t mind?”
He shook his head.
“No, it’s not a problem. Here.” He scribbled his signature out twice, and handed her the bit of paper. She grinned madly, and thanked him again.
“Anything else?”
She blushed slightly, and nodded.
“Could you help with my story?”
Another budding writer? Yippee.
“Sure. What is it?”
“It’s, um, romance I guess. Uh, shall I bring some in for you to read?”
It would give him his lunch hour free from talking to her, so yes.
“Yes, that’ll be easier. When is your next lesson with me?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow, I think. Um, shall I bring it in then?”
“Yes. Goodbye, Miss…?”
“Steph, Jones. Goodbye Sir.”
Steph turned and left. Greg sat down, and twirled the pen idly again. Tidy up, then he could go meet Georgie at the café. He grabbed his books, and dumped them into his bag. Looking around, he mentally dismissed himself and left.
“Boo!”
Greg turned. Georgie was behind him, laughing.
“Cut it out, Georgie.”
“Sorry, just it was so ahafunny when you jumped. Aha. Ha. Ha.”
“Ha. So funny. So, what was it?”
Georgie fiddled with his watch. She couldn’t stop moving most of the time. “Ah, no, I was just walking down and happed to see you. I decided to scare you.”
She bit his lip, and Greg could see suppressed laughter. He raised an eyebrow.
“Why are there girls following you?”
“What?”
“Jeez, didn’t you see? Three schoolgirls, following you. Creepy or what?”
Greg covered his eyes. He didn’t want people following him. Especially not knowing where he lived.
“Georgie? Let’s hurry up to the cafe. I want a coffee and some cake.”
“Amen to that, Greg. Quickly now, those stalkers appear to be annoying you.”
“How did you guess? Yeah, I seem to have picked up fans from the school. I hate being slightly famous. And, I bet I know one. Long blonde hair, freckles, short?”
“Yep. Looks like the leader. Why, you know her?”
“Fan.”
Georgie laughed.
Greg shrugged, and they reached Georgie’s car. She fumbled for his keys, then pulled them out.
“You coming? I’ll drive.”
“I thought we were going to the café.”
“You didn’t say which one. Those girls’ can’t follow a car. Let’s go somewhere out-of-town.”
Greg frowned
“Georgie…” he sighed. Georgie shrugged.
“I’ll pay.”
Greg took a breath. He held it, and looked left. A girl darted behind a bush.
“Bloody hell. I write one, one, book, and there are girls about 6 years younger following me. No, don’t worry, I’ll pay for my stuff.”
“Right, you’re coming then. Hop in.”
Greg jumped into her car, and they drove off. He looked back out the window at the fans, and saw them looked disappointed on the curb.
“…and so, you know what he asked me? He asked if I was a Virgin! A 12-year-old! What kind of question is that?”
“A personal one? They’re getting older younger, now. If you get my drift.”
“Yeah…”
Greg laughed, and looked at the glass. It was a small glass.
“Another coffee, then? I liked that.”
Georgie went up, and ordered two more. Greg looked at the table. He saw the school table. He thought about the day, his first day. It was…yeah, it was good. He enjoyed it. And, although he complained about the kids, it was fun and satisfying. He tapped his fingers on the table, and saw Georgie coming back.
“Right, the coffee’ll be ready in five minutes.”
“Good.” Greg thought for a second, then continued. “How long have you been working as a teacher?”
“Oh, about three, four years? Yeah, that’s about right. It’s a good job.”
“If you don’t mind a fairly low salary.”
“Yeah, the money’s a problem.”
Georgie’s face stiffened slightly as she said it, in a frightened sneer. Greg noticed the split-second look, and was confused. He dismissed it to think of later.
“Soo…how was the last bit of your day?”
Greg smiled, and started to tell her the last lesson. She nodded, and smiled. The coffees came, and she took hers daintily. She leant over the table, stirring three—three!—sugars into it. As Greg continued talking, she looked up and watched him with interest.
Chapter 4
Greg hopped out the car, and thanked Georgie.
“Anytime, Greggy! Enjoy work!” She drove off, squealing round the corner. Greg unlocked the door, and went to his flat.
Getting to the door, he opened it onto his room. Depressed-looking. Gods, it need some cheering up. He looked in the corner; there was a can of blue paint. Not enough for the walls, but he could make it look prettier. He stared at the paint, and dismissed the idea. He walked past into the kitchen, and he saw a note stuck to the fridge.
Greg,
Remember there’s your blind date today.
The Fish restaurant in town.
Table 7.
6.30
Ah. That was important to keep Jim and Reg happy. They wanted him to get another girlfriend, so they’d set up a load of blind dates. This was the third. Greg found a coat and scarf, and set them on the chair. He had a while yet. He looked at his laptop, and decided to write.
As the clock ticked onto 6:10, Greg slung his jacket on and wrapped up in the scarf. Today, a blind date. Tomorrow, who knew? Probably leafing through numbers he received. They were all fairly the same, but there was always that chance…maybe he’d meet someone new, nicer than Rosy had been…
Ten minutes later, Greg reached the restaurant and stepped inside. A small group of people were huddled around the dartboard, and a girl settled on a table, watching him. He looked back at her, and was surprised to see her watching him intently, like a hawk. He looked at the table number, and wasn’t surprised at all to see it was seven. He walked over, and sat down.
“Um, hi?”
“Heya,” She said, and looked at the menu. Greg watched her, and saw her eyes dart to him many times before she put the menu to the side.
“So, how are you?”
“I’m alright. Bit wet from the weather.”
“Ha, I got a lift here. You didn’t walk, did you?”
“Yes, I did. Nothing bad about exercise.”
“In the rain.”
“In the rain. So, what about you?”
The waiter appeared at their side, intent on spoiling the conversation.
“Drinks?”
“Um, a half-pint of cider,” said the girl. Greg hummed at the menu.
“Same. And a glass of water.”
Greg was glad the place did cider. Cider was the only thing that, for some reason, didn’t immediately drop him from drunkenness. As long as he drunk a lot of water with it. As the waiter walked off, he continued the conversation.
“So, how are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Good.”
Greg was drastically aware the conversation was dying.
“This conversation ain’t going anywhere, is it?” Said the girl, reading his thoughts.
“Not really. Have you got anything to talk about?”
“Oh, I dunno. I know. I’m assuming you’ve got a job, so why don’t you tell me about that?”
“Okay. I’m now, as of a few days ago, and English teacher at the Secondary School. And also I write books, although I’ve only had one published so far.”
“Oooh, interesting. I’m still trying to get a job. I hope I get one soon, I kinda need the money.”
“Huh. Tried the papers, and internet?”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll find one soon. Huh, maybe you’ll get fired and I’ll replace you. I dunno.”
Little bit malicious, but Greg let it pass, as the drinks arrive. As the girl drank hers, Greg continued.
“What you going to eat?”
“Dunno, haven’t looked at the menu yet.”
“I think I’ll have the creamy fish pie.”
“Good for you.”
After a bit more casual talking, they ordered their food and waited. After more casual talking, the food arrived and they set into it.
“Do you go here often?” Greg asked.
“To the restaurant, no. To blind dates, yes.”
“I don’t usually go. My mate makes me, though. He wants me to get a new girlfriend, after I lost the other one.”
“Lovely. The food too, actually.”
Greg’s master intuition sensed the girl wasn’t really interested in him much. For the rest of the evening, he didn’t talk much.
“…and so the weather will be rainy today, with a lot of storms around the country throughout the day. It will probably stay stormy for the week. Temperatures are expected to stabilise around 11º.”
Greg frowned. Wasn’t it expected to be sunny? Bah. Stupid weather reports. Never right. He rolled out of bed, awkwardly stood up, and yawned. Stretching, he staggered over to the window and threw it open. A crack of thunder accompanied his motion, and he stood watching rain pour down into the street. Damn. The report was right for once.
Ambling to the fridge, Greg spotted his book sitting on the table. He poured some cereal for himself, while looking at the book. A good cover, a fireplace with a pool of blood before it. An arm was visible stretching into the light. Maybe slightly tacky, but a good cover. Bah, it was a murder mystery. It was a good cover for the book, which was apparently a good book. Well, there were kids following him. That was…inspiring, possibly, said the optimist inside him. The pessimist said it was freaky and annoying and bad for his image. What bloody image? He was an English teacher, who’d published a book. He’d got A’s in English and psychology in College, and then a degree in University so he could teach. He’d had 3 girlfriends, one of them for years, with lots of chocolates, arguments and having sex pretty much everywhere in Halidown. And then recently he’d had a messy break-up, got into a fight or two, and begun drinking, and subsequently puking his guts up. Now he’d started teaching at a secondary school, and was admired by the kids for his book and love-life. And he had creepy stalkers more than a decade younger than him. And his best friends were a bus driver and a freelance advertiser. He didn’t have a car, hadn’t driven in a year, and caught a bus every day. He didn’t have any money problems; winning a couple of grand in the lottery had sorted that out. But his love-life was problematic. The newest people he’d met were the girl at the blind date last night, who hadn’t seemed too interested in him, and Georgie, the English teacher. And neither of them were instantly, strikingly calling out to be his soul-mate.
Wow, what an image. He crushed his cynical pessimist and finished his cereal, which had turned soggy. Trudging into the bathroom, he washed his hair, shaved, and packed his bag for work. He glanced at his book, and put that in. He half-stepped out of the door, and remembered his keys. He turned, and lunged for them, getting a kind of savage satisfaction in grabbing them.
Greg hurried through the rain, repeatedly cursing and using language unsuitable for all the old ladies he passed. He reached the road, and spotted the bus pulling in on the bus-stop on the other side. Swearing too loudly, he ran across the road. Although this is not an advisable action, especially when a car is driving on said road, Greg escaped nasty wheely death by a hair. Adrenaline running, he got to the bus and got on.
Chapter 5
Greg hopped off the bus, and saw Georgie walking towards him. He walked up to her, and said hi.
“Heya. Now, how much do you want a free day?”
“Why?”
“School’s closed. Flooding in a couple of rooms, and a tree fell onto the huts.”
“So we’ve got the day off?”
“Yep. Want a coffee?”
“Sure. Celebration required.”
“…so I’m driving along, and this cop comes, right? And he’s all, like, arrogant and smug. So he comes up to my window, and says ‘You were speeding, Miss. That’s a £20 fine.’ Then, he leans closer, and says ‘or, I’ll let you off if you show me your tits’. So, I was incredibly angry at him, but I decided to embarrass him. I said ‘Lean closer, then.’ And he did. He was practically drooling. And,”
She took a sip of her coffee. “I made to undo my coat. He’s basically next to me now, and I can hear his breath. And I slap him. It’s a loud slap, and I knock his head almost off! And he staggers back, and feels his face, which is all red. And he says ‘That’s assault on an officer!’ and I say ‘And that was sexual harassment. Now fuck off, pervert.’”
Georgie started drinking her coffee, but started laughing. She snorted a bit of coffee up her nose accidentally, and laughed harder, until she’d put the cup down and steadied herself. Greg stopped laughing too, and handed her a napkin.
“Thanks. God, that was a good laugh. I needed that.”
She wiped her chin, and the table, and her cup. Satisfied everything was dry, she resumed drinking her coffee. Greg drank his, and hummed.
“I kinda got to go soon, though. Books to mark, the like.”
“Okay. I’ll go do something.”
“Seeya tomorrow, Greg.”
Greg woke up, and looked at the ceiling. It was dark outside. But this was September, and for some reason it got dark around seven. He looked left, and saw a table. He sat up, and realised he was on the floor. He grunted, stood up, and went to the clock.
Seven thirty. He’d been asleep on the floor for about an hour. Wow. Was he that tired? But he was definitely awake now. And hungry.
He went to the kitchen, and started to make dinner. He flicked the radio on, and continued while listening to the news.
“…and there’s a couple of new people at Halidown Community College, one of which is slightly famous.”
“But I think he might be faking it. He doesn’t look like a famous person,”
“Well, you’re the one who pointed out who he was. A celebrity, you said.”
“Minor. He published one book” Good! Someone else held his view. “But I don’t know what he’s like. He’s hardly seen. He’s reclusive.”
“No, he doesn’t like being famous, probably. Can’t blame him, really. It’s a curse. I can’t walk down the street without signing an autograph.”
“But you’re a radio presenter. He’s an English Teacher, for Christ’s sake. You advertise it; I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t tell his class.”
Greg continued listening; the conversation drifted from him to the streets, to buskers, to Dave’s atrocious guitar-playing, to the latest tracks, to—he cut it off. Dinner was done.
Greg sat eating the meal, simply sausages, potatoes and some carrots, and read his book. He’d already found 3 errors in the first twenty pages; not typos, but simply plot errors, or bad wording. Wow, and this was popular? He put it down, and finished the meal while staring out the window. The rain dripped down, flowing downwards to the ground. Greg watched it, following the drips, down, down, down…
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring—Greg picked up the phone.
“Greg? It’s me, Georgie.”
“Georgie, what are you dong? It’s 11 at night and you’re ringing me! What are you doing awake?”
“What are you doing awake?”
Greg admitted, he’d set himself up.
“Okay, I can’t sleep.”
“Me neither. Wanna come over? Dinner maybe?”
“Its 11. Sane people had dinner four or five ours ago, and are in bed.”
“Teacher’s can’t be sane. It’s basically a job requirement.”
“Ha. Ha. Anyway, I thought you couldn’t cook.”
“Pizza? Indian?”
Greg rubbed is forehead. A take-away.
“What take-away is going to be open now?”
“Pizza Hut. Until twelve-thirty. And they have a great deal for couples.”
Greg gave in. He was hungry, and a Pizza did sound nice.
“Okay, I’ll come over. Where are you?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
Greg said goodbye, and put the phone down. He found his coat, wallet, and keys. Yes, he’d remembered them before going out. He was getting better. Less short-term—
Couples? Greg stopped. What had she meant by that? They weren’t—didn’t look like—act like—were? He thought. A dozen emotions crowded his brain. Doubt—maybe she just meant two pizzas or something; Love—maybe she liked—he liked her—hmm; Amazement—he was kinda stunned. No, wasn’t it obvious? No. Um…
Never mind. Ignore it. Save the thoughts for later. Right now, he was preparing for a pizza with a woman who he’d only just met and might be in love with him. Hmm indeed.
Greg met Georgie at the doorstep, and climbed into her car. It was a beetle, curvy and small, a pretty blue colour. He examined the pizza boxes on the floor. About a dozen. He looked at her. She couldn’t eat that many, could she? She could be a model! Not a star on weightwatchers. Maybe a fast—
“Metabolism. I have an unusually fast metabolism, my Doctor says. I’m not very healthy sometimes, but I can eat a lot and not get fat. And I like Pizza.”
“That’s a lot of Pizza. That fast a metabolism?”
“Yeah. There must be a dozen boxes there, all taken- I mean, eaten, up.”
Greg laughed slightly, a quick breath-out, and pulled the strap over his shoulder. Georgie did the same, and turned the key. The engine purred to life, and she started to drive them away.
Greg finished the slice of pizza, and Georgie continued talking. She was babbling on about clothes and fashion and other girls and stuff. Frankly, Greg was happy for some pizza and company. He didn’t care what she babbled on about.
“…and she says that Richi was dating Dan only to get to Frank, but I don’t think so, cos Richi’s told me how she loves Dan, and is over Frank, so I think that it’s genuine. So now Nita thinks I’m just sticking up for Richi cos we’re ganging up on her because we’re jealous because she has a girlfriend and we don’t, well now Richi does because of Dan, who I saw yesterday actually. He was buying flowers, which was really sweet of him because they were Richi’s favourites even though her nose gets all itchy when she sniffs, but anyway he was buying them and I think he really likes Richi, so she better be truthfully after him otherwise he’s gonna be really sad and—”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Greg asked, almost laughing.
“No, I talk too much. I don’t know anything that shuts me up. I just keep talking all the time.”
“Heh. I used to be like that. I found a way to channel my talkativeness.”
“What was it?”
“Write it all down instead.”
Georgie laughed, and ate some more pizza. Greg sat back, and continued talking.
Chapter 7
Greg opened his eyes, and stared at a ceiling that wasn’t his.
Rolling over, he saw then felt the approaching floor. Groaning, he got up, and sat back onto the sofa he’d just fallen off of. He rubbed his head, and looked around.
Of course. It was Georgie’s flat. He looked behind him; through the half-open door, he saw Georgie sleeping on her bed. He staggered up, then sat down again. Wow, he was tired.
He looked around, and saw a clock. Squinting, he saw the hands pointing to an uncomfortable hour. Eleven? He’d been asleep all that time?
But he’d only gone to sleep at about two or three. He’d spent the rest of the time, um…eating pizza and talking.
“Greg? Are you up?”
Georgie’s voice quietly emerged from her room, and she appeared at the door. She was only wearing a long white shirt that was slightly stuck to her with sweat, and her hair was frizzy.
“Wow, I overslept until now?”
Greg nodded, and yawned. Georgie ambled to the kitchen, and found some breakfast for them. By the time it was ready, Greg had woken up enough to walk to the table, sit down, and read yesterday’s paper that was sitting there. They ate breakfast in companionable silence, and slowly prepared for the day. Greg needed to go back to his flat for some new clothes, and so just moped around.
“Are you just going to sit there, watching me get dressed and ready?”
“Yep.”
Georgie laughed, and just did so, without a care of privacy. She strutted to and from the bathroom half-dressed, pretending to ignore Greg but flashing him occasional grins. Eventually, after about 5 trips to and fro, probably for no reason except to strut in front of Greg, she was done. And they left.
“Jim? Wanna come to the pub?”
“Oooh, so what’s happened?”
“What do you mean?” Greg replied.
“You never offer to go to the pub. It’s always the other way round.”
“Okay, you might be right. The thing that’s happened is more a person, you could say.”
“So you’ve got a new girlfriend! Who?”
“No, I haven’t. Just a friend who happens to be a girl. And I’m bored, so, the King’s Legs, then. Twelve?”
“Yeah, alright. Reggie coming?”
“Yep. Seeya there.”
Greg put the phone down, and idly poked Georgie’s arm. She stopped hanging around his neck, and trotted over to his table.
“This is a nice flat. Although it needs some paint on the walls. And some more decoration.”
“Hmm…Not much of a house. Just right for not much of a donkey.”
Georgie laughed.
“That’s Eeyore! From Winnie the Pooh! Oooh, I love that”
Greg smiled, and found his wallet. He flicked through the notes, and satisfied, put the wallet in his pocket. He picked up his keys, and twirled them around his fingers, spinning them and finally pocketing them. Georgie looked up from examining a potted plant, and at his nod, followed him out.
Georgie stopped the car, and they hopped out. The pub wasn’t very full, being slightly out-the-way and a bit expensive. Unless you were a frequent customer. Greg, Jim and Reg came more than twice a week, so the barman gave them a discount. So they came here, to talk about the week, brag, moan, and offer emotional support for the other. And to drown their sorrows in beer and lemonade.
Greg pushed open the door, and the barman looked up. He nodded at them, and Greg found a table. Reg and Jim weren’t here yet, so he ordered some drinks for Georgie and him, and they settled down.
“So this is your little hideaway.”
“Yep. Charming, isn’t it? Nice food, good drinks, good atmosphere.”
“If a bit empty.”
“Rush hour hasn’t begun yet. That’s in a few hours yet. Ah, here they are.”
Reg and Jim walked in, nodded to the barman, and joined them.
“Hey Greg. So this is your bonny lass. Hello, miss…?”
“Georgie Rose. Please don’t call me a bonny lass, I’m no-one’s Bonny Lass. You’re Jim?”
“No, I’m Reg. That’s Jim.” He nodded to Jim, who waved.
“Pleased to meet you. So Greg, get us drinks?”
“No, you can go order. Food as well, I’m starving.”
Jim went to the bar, and bartered for half-price drinks. Reg smiled at Georgie, and soon had started interrogating her. She answered the questions with growing annoyance, flashing looks at Greg.
“Reg, why are you interrogating her?”
“Sorry. To see if she’s anything like your ex, and to see if she compares with your blind date I was going to send you on in three days. Cancelled now.”
Greg was about to reply, but Georgie butted in.
“Oh! Tell me about her. I’d love to hear. About his ex, not the blind date.”
She winked at Greg, and Reg started eagerly explaining about how Greg’s previous slutty bitch of a girlfriend had gone off with another guy. Georgie laughed along with a few bits, looking amused at the exaggerated tale.
“Guys! And Gals! Lunch’s up!”
Jim placed down the plates, and broke up the story. Georgie looked at Greg, then started to ravenously eat. So did the rest of them, and they talked and ate and laughed, enjoying another day in the pub.
Chapter 8
Greg woke up, bleary-eyed and tired. He struggled to sit up, and looked around. His room, definitely. There was the trademark pair of trousers on the floor, and thee cupboard, and a note pinned to the door, and the clock, and the window, and the…
Note?
“Heya Greggy! Too much alcohol, Jim said. You passed out. Jim said to never let you have more than a few pints of anything, or you keel right over. So we hauled you here. Sleep it off before Monday. Night, Day and probably night again! Xx Georgie”
Too much drink. That was it. That’s the bunny. Oh, shit. Greg sat still, and rubbed his head. Nope, didn’t help. Might as well go and have some breakfast. He ambled to the cupboard, and opened it. A box of Special K, some muesli – muesli? Why the hell was that there? He didn’t even like muesli. Oh well, next – 2 boxes, one of cornflakes and one of rice crispies, from a multipack. Now, when had he last had one? That must’ve been when Sarah and her son were staying. He picked up the cornflakes. But hang on…his sister hadn’t been over since…last Easter. Greg’s hand flinched, and threw the cornflakes backwards. They hit the wall with a thud, and a rattle. The rice crispies followed, making a sandy noise when they thudded into the wall. And he could’ve sworn there was a splat. Greg continued looking in the cupboard, trying fruitlessly to find some appealing cereal. Sighing, he took the Special K, and poured some into a bowl. He looked for milk, and opened the lid. There was hard white stuff on the lid, and the milk stank.. He dropped it, bottle and lid, into the sink. He searched for another bottle, but alas, no milk. Orange juice? No. Yogurt? That was good. He took it, and opened it. Strawberry. Yum. He emptied it onto the cereal, and snatched a fork from the drawer. He sat down, and stabbed at the cereal. It made a chink! sound. He looked down. Dammit, a fork! He threw it into the sink and got a spoon. Yes, a spoon this time. Now, finally, he ate breakfast.
Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring fucking ring. Greg threw his book at the phone, and when it missed, walked over and got the book. He ignored the phone, and it stopped. He sighed gratefully, and sank down into the chair.
Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring fucking ring. Greg woke up, and threw something at the phone. The something bounced like a glass cup, and shattered against the wall.
“Fucking phone.” Greg walked over, avoiding the glass, and picked it up.
“Good morning, are you interested in–“
The phone beeped as it slotted into the holder. Greg swore, loudly, and felt better. Then he started clearing up the glass.
Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring fucking ring. Greg stared at the phone, willing the person to leave a message. He rubbed his head, and slowly got up. The ringing stopped, and the phone beeped.
“Greg? Are ya there? Feeling less drunk yet?”
Greg picked up the phone.
“Jim?”
“Greg! You’re alive!”
“Yeah, but feeling shit. Thanks for getting me back here.”
“Yeah sure. You were completely stoned, absolutely out cold. How much did you drink?”
“Too much?”
Jim laughed, and Greg heard footsteps outside his door. He turned slightly, and watched it.
“Jim, back in a mo.”
He heard a reply from Jim, and he put the phone on the table. The footsteps got closer, and the door shuddered with a knock. Greg reached for it, and pulled it open…
…the footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Greg caught a glimpse of feet turning the corner. Grrr. He closed the door, and got the phone again.
“Back. Just some annoying kids knocking and running.”
“Hah, last time some did that to me I drew my BB Gun on them. They scarpered bloody quickly, and didn’t come back. You should try it.”
“I don’t have any gun, BB or otherwise.”
“Hm. No, yes you do! That one on top of your cupboard.”
“That’s yours. You left it here about a year ago.”
“Think of it as yours.”
Greg’s gaze wandered to the cupboard. The black gun was just visible on top, and although it was a BB Gun, looked like an original. Hmm…
“Hey, I got to go now. Just checking to see that you’re alright. Seeya on the Monday bus.”
“Heh, bye.”
Greg put down the phone, and looked at the gun. Curious, he walked over to it. Stretching up, he got it. It felt cool, and heavy. He clicked the cartridge open, and saw some BBs in the top. A feeling of power started to wash into him. He felt more alive than ever, or at least in a fortnight of ever. He weighed it, and transferred it from left hand to right. Interesting…
“…and so the weather will be rainy yet again, all the day. Storms and thunder are expected, and probably very strong wind. Temperatures will dip down to about 6º, and the weather’s gonna get worse still.”
Greg growled at the radio, and switched it off. He stood up, and pushed back his hair. He’d been awake for a few minutes, and was feeling refreshed and rearing to go. He went into the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. He looked brighter and happier than normal. Why? He’d spent yesterday hung over and miserable. Well, best enjoy it. He showered, dressed, and explored the cupboard for breakfast. Special K or muesli. Greg promised himself he’d eat the muesli. Someday. He poured the Special K, and found the new milk. Jim’d driven him to and from the supermarket, so he now had food. He crunched down the cereal, looking at yesterday’s paper. Revolution of governments, suicides, a car crash, two missing girls and a sex scandal with some cop. Such interesting news. Hey, what was this?
“A recent report of the murder of Robert Highbridge, 37, has confirmed his death by multiple knife wounds, probably between 12 and 7 o’ clock, Sunday. Police are currently searching for the killer, and have requested any information to be reported, anonymously if wanted.”
Delightful. Greg hummed, and started to pack his bag. He put in his books, sheets, and some pencils and pens. His eyes strayed to the BB gun on the desk. His gaze rested on it for a while, thoughtful. Then, slowly, he packed it underneath the rest. Slinging on the bag, and getting his coat, he grabbed his keys and walked out.
Jim wasn’t the driver today, instead some grumpy woman with black hair. He paid and found a seat. What a morning. The chattering schoolkids pointed at him a few times, and talked about him. Greg listened out the corner of his ear to snatches of conversation. It wasn’t particularly interesting.
Chapter 9
“…so he’s expressing love for her, then. How? And come on, boys. Romance isn’t just for the girls. You, Justin is it? You answer.”
Justin frowned slightly, and looked to the side for help. All the others seemed interested in the wall. He looked back at Greg, or Mr Davies.
“He’s taking a long way to it, ‘cos he’s shy and doesn’t know how to tell her he, uh, loves her. So he gets Robert to talk on his behalf, and hardly sees her. ‘Cos he’s really shy and unsure how to tell her.”
Greg nodded, and clapped. Justin was actually very good at English. Greg had read his work, and he was easily one of the best. And Greg suspected he liked romance more than he let out.
“Well done, Justin. Because he’s shy of her. He can’t bring himself to talk to her, because…?”
“Um…he’s afraid of being rejected, and doesn’t want to supposedly make him look bad. But because he holds back, he seems a lesser person than if he went for it.”
“Very good. Remind me to give you a credit at the end. And don’t laugh, Mr Stevens. Romance is a very broad and interesting genre.”
“It’s girly and boring.”
Greg grinned. Oh, this was fun.
“So do you want a girlfriend? A wife? Children?”
“Yeah, course.”
“They’re not boring? Is a girlfriend there to share romantic feelings? Or just for the sex?”
Several people burst out laughing, and Stevens turned slightly red.
“No, they’re not just for…”
“Then you can respect romance, can’t you? And I will find you a good romantic, which you will read, as homework.”
“What?”
“Joking, Stevens. All the class will. That’s next week’s homework. Unless you find a romantic yourselves, I will select one. I’m sure your parents have some lying around the house. All of you can ask. And I’m sure they’ll be really impressed with your question.”
“And will you read one if we find one for you?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t make you if I wasn’t willing. You can find me one, then, Stevens. The rest, and write this down in your planners, find a romantic that you can read, minimum one hundred pages, either from a shop, your house or the library. Won’t it be fun?”
The class’s response was varied, from excitement to disgust. They scribbled out the homework, pens scratching on the paper. One girl lowered her book and raised her hand.
“Yes Becky?”
“Um, do you write it? Because you write books and stuff, I thought you might.”
Greg smiled. Did he? That was his newest book. And it was nearly done. In fact, only needed redrafting.
“Yes. That’s my newest book, which only needs redrafting to be done. I’m hoping to have it published within a few months. Would you like to read that as your homework? Because I can bring in a copy. And you can try redrafting, which is a useful skill.”
She blushed, bringing a pretty red to her cheeks.
“Um, okay.”
Greg grinned, and scribbled that down in his planner. And it’d help him. Ultimate test; if a year seven girl liked it, it’d publish. If not, more work needed, or the girl didn’t like that style. Helped either way.
Greg glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes. Well, they hadn’t got any work to do really.
“As we’ve only got fifteen minutes, you can sit and talk amongst yourselves. If you can think about the book you’ll get, that’d help.” But of course they wouldn’t. Well, now he had to get a spare of ten copies of a backup romantic, and a copy of his story for Becky, and he was hungry. He reached into his bag, and found an apple. He started to eat it, and watched the class. Little groups of them sat together, some of girls, some of boys, some of both. None of the class were especially a nuisance, although some spoke a bit too much. Justin was a hidden talent, and Greg liked him. He was quiet, didn’t especially stand out, had a rugged handsomeness that was ruined by a bad attempt at spiking his hair, but was excellent in English and was a good romantic person. He’d do well.
Greg cast his gaze at the rest. He spotted Steph, who was staring at him. Woo, freaky, no! He didn’t need Steph adoring him. No. Noo-oo-oo. He turned away, and crunched on the apple again.
He saw another girl. She was on her own, quietly writing something in her book. He glanced at the book. She had written about a page of something. He got up, and slowly walked over to her.
“What are you writing?”
She jumped, visibly, and covered the page. She looked at him, and her face changed to friendly. But there was a hint of something there, before. Anger? Fear?
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No, I should be. I snuck up on you. Are you alright?”
“Yes. I’m just writing.”
“I won’t force you to show me if you don’t wan to. Just making sure you’re alright. As you were all alone.”
“No, I told my friends to let me write. I’m okay.”
“Good.”
Greg turned and walked back. No, she wasn’t. She was a good liar, but not good enough. Something was wrong. But he wouldn’t worry. He threw the apple in the bin, and sat down again. He closed his eyes, and listened to the class. You could hear the pockets of talking, the different groups of people.
“There’s a good romantic, the one on—“
“He’s a great teacher, in’n he? Not stroppy like Mr Brekkal—“
“And he first had sex at 15? Rebel, eh? But Dan’s apparently fucking Laura—“
Greg’d had enough of listening. It was disturbing. And, time to go.
“Right, pack up! Stevens, take the books. Dan, you help him. Pack up and then you can go.”
The class started to move like only a class dismissed can. He smiled, and watched the girl go out. She walked out, and to the right to the lunch hall. He looked at his watch. Hmm, today would have a fish pie and broccoli. And sponge cake. He had another apple and a smoothie. Georgie would be in the staffroom. Yeah, he’d meet her there.
Greg chomped his second apple while Georgie told him her day.
“Well, I had Year Nine’s first. That was a nightmare – they’re the worst year. And then there were some little year Eights, who were really quiet and calm. Then I had a free, but spent it updating my lesson plans. Now, after lunch, it’s a free and then Year Elevens.”
Greg nodded, and bit off another piece of apple. Yum. Georgie had finished a sandwich earlier, and was now drinking some coffee. They’d eaten together for about half an hour, telling each other their day.
Suddenly, the bell went, ringing shrilly and deafening all the staffroom. Greg stood up, and took his bag. Georgie finished her coffee, and threw it at the bin. It bounced around the edge, and then in. Georgie made a little cheer, and Greg laughed.
“Have fun.” She said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then they walked off to their lessons.
Greg dismissed the second class, and collapsed on the desk. Exhausting, both lessons. Year Eights and Nines, the rowdy groups. He rubbed his temple, and started to pack away his stuff. When he put a book into his bag, his fingers brushed something cold and hard. The BB Gun. Why had he taken it? Lulled by its supposed power and security? Maybe. He drew it out, and examined it. Oh, who was he kidding? It was a BB Gun. It could, possibly, with a (un)lucky shot, kill someone, but it was otherwise just a fake. He dropped it back into the bag, and finished clearing his desk. Oh, what a day. He looked outside. It was already getting dark. Wow. A burst of thunder suddenly shook the room and it started to rain. Shit. Lovely weather, huh? He pulled his jacket on, slung the bag over his shoulder, and opened the door to a fresh thunder. He took a breath, and ran to the staffroom.
Greg looked up at the clock. Four-thirty. He looked down at the measly three pages he’d written. Oh well, couldn’t do everything. He put the sheets in his bag, and packed up again. Around him, the other teachers were doing the same, leaving the quiet of the staffroom at work to go back to their various homes. Bah. Greg thought to his home; grey, boring, lonely. Maybe he’d go back to Georgie’s house. He looked over to her. She had a 6-inch pile of paper next to her, which she was studiously marking. Maybe not. He looked at his own work. Blissfully, he’d had very little to take home and do. Well, soon that wouldn’t be the case. Books to mark, essays to hand out, kids to be cruel to. Fun. He hefted up his bag, and in went the sheets. And the books, and the pens, and the unexplainable pencil shavings that always appear in a bag of stationary. Greg slung the bag over his shoulder, and opened the door. A dramatic crack of thunder, and the rain strengthened for a few seconds. He swore under his breath, and ran out to the bus-stop.
As he ran into view of the bus-stop, he swore and put on a burst of speed. As he ran, the bus accelerated away, leaving a trail of blue smoke and anger from Greg. He reached the bus-stop, swearing. He kicked the sign, and spat on the floor. Then he started walking dejectedly home.
Greg kicked a can on the path, and ducked beneath another shop awning. They were all closed, their dark windows mirroring his mood. He glared at each one in turn, but was slowly getting less angry. He’d only missed the bus. Wasn’t that tragic. He saw an open shop, and turned in. his eye flickered to the cigarettes stacked behind the counter. Oh, how he would like a cigarette right now. He walked to the counter. A fat, balding man stood behind it, watching him with a beady eye.
“Yes?” The man asked, with a cough in his voice.
“Um, a pack of Lewistons.”
“Yes sir. Just a minute.” The man turned, and reached for the cigarettes. Greg fumbled in his bag for some money. Where was it? Somewhere near the bottom. He fished around, and…
…cold, hard. Greg flinched at the contact. He felt the coldness. It felt like a handle. The gun. It was still in his bag. Promise of power flowed up his arm. His anger hinted at him. He could release, shoot this fat man here, no use anyway, and he could shoot everyone who’d pissed him off, the bus driver, he drove off, and he could—
“I said, that’s £3.50. Hello?”
Shoot him, kill him, knock his—
“Yeah, sure. Um—”he found his wallet, and pulled it out. He counted out some money. “two, three, fifty. There.”
The shopkeeper gave him a strange look, and took the money. Greg took the cigarettes, but his sudden urge for them had disappeared
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Adrianrgcampbel reviewed Version 1 -
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confessdeny reviewed Version 1 -
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TreesGoneWild reviewed Version 1 -
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It was clear that this was written by a youthful writer, however, it does have potential.
You have some great moments here but, largely this seems stilted, almost forced. I think you make good use of language and getting it to flow better will come with time and practice.
My biggest problem is that I don’t connect with the character of Greg at all and since this is from his point of view I really should. To me, he seems very dispassionate, cool and (I hate to say it) boring. I don’t care about his relationship with Rosy and care even less that they broke up.
Clearly, this is a big deal to Greg, but I can’t get past my total apathy to his character and situation in order to care about it with him. I think a little more backstory in the beginning about him, his life and the relationship between he and Rosy would help this.
The whole issue about the smoking seemed a little preachy, but I understand it, and still I don’t care really that he started smoking again. Is this a major issue for him or are you the author inserting a PSA into the narrative?
Give me more with the characters to care about. Give me a little comedy if this is indeed a romantic comedy. Grab me and make me care about these people.
All of this, from the dialogue to the characterizations is just flat. I think that you are fully capable of bringing this story to life but you need to really work on who your characters are, not just what they are doing.
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justinmicheal reviewed Version 1 -
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first off
edit repetitions noticed you rephrase lines elongating your descriptions check spellings and punctuation.
What are the spacings for?
Two boxes one of corn flakes one of rice crispies are those the little boxes,
If so good job on showing poverty for oneself.
Very impressive.
Like I said go through this again and double if not triple check this if you want to attract a publisher, I’m sure someone will pick up your talent especially being so young you’re future has a great deal of potential, just remember edit edit edit, dictionaries, a thesaurus and spellcheck.
Hx reviewed Version 1 -
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This is excellent work. Your characters are believable and very likable (Georgie and Greg are just too cute together), your dialogue flows smoothly and the narrative is easy to read and humorous in all the right areas.
I’m impressed with how well polished this text is. I could find no problems with grammar or mechanics, just a couple little things that were doubtlessly typos: at the end of the prologue you say that “Greg nodded, but on his head, he’d decided…” – I’m pretty sure that was supposed to be ‘in his head.’ And in Chapter 5, when Georgie calls, Greg says “Georgie what you dong?” – unintentionally funny, that.
Great work. You’re off to a fine start and there’s no reason you shouldn’t finish this. Keep it up. It’ll be worth it.
sparki34 reviewed Version 1 -
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Greg kicked a stone, and reached the bus-stop. He sighed as it proved to be empty(What proved to be empty) this is unclear
The steady psssh of the rain triggered I would change psssss
carefully forgot the cigarettes – (what does that mean ?)
smiled, and motioned to the char beside him. You mean chair right ?
filled already, and Everyone’s jackets had inexplicably found ( why is Everone a capital letter ?)
Lasagne is spelt Lasagna
i have to say this is very solid work for a kid your age . Your dialogue is snappy and realsityic. I like the narative style in which you talk.
It needs a hell of a lot of editing but the story line is quite compelling so keep it up
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