Insights from a person of questionable sanity

Below is just a first draft of a short story I wrote in my Creative writing

workshop. As a group we made up a character called Geraldine Philips,

successful, thirty nine, married to a man called Colin, two children-Adam and

Ashleigh-who is dating a man called Fabrizio or James (we couldn't decide

which name was better) and those were the only constraints.

Any feedback more than welcomed. What works? What doesn't? What

sounds fake? Let me know.

Managing Risks

‘Fabrizio dah-ling, you promised.’ Ashleigh Philips whined.

‘I know. I’m sorry. But something’s come up.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m thinking of you, of course.’ Fabrizio, otherwise known as James Docker,

replied.

Ashleigh had a sudden flashback of last night’s passionate love making. She

could picture his naked torso, his red and blue tattoo of a thin snake across

his back.

‘Listen honey, I have to go now. No rest for the wicked and all that. Ill give

you ring later, yeah’

‘What time?’ She asked, not wanting to put the phone down.

‘Later.’ Fabrizio said.

‘Mwah.’ She blew air kisses down the phone but he had already cut her off.

‘Women trouble?’ Fabrizio’s flatmate, Michael asked.

‘Yeah. Good old Ashleigh, always gagging for it. Quite a surprise as her mom is

apparently a risk analyst for this top insurance company. Obviously darling

mother has not told little girl the risks of sex. Always gagging.’ He laughed.

Michael laughed with him too.

‘Their the best I say. Their the best.’ Michael asserted as he changed the

shop sign from ‘CLOSED’ to ‘OPEN’. Fabrizio looked at the cheap white clock

hanging behind him. Nine o clock. ‘I need to get out of this **** hole.’ He

muttered to no one in particular.

‘Don’t we all, my friend. Don’t we all, my friend.’ Michael said as their first

customer, an elderly lady with a scruffy dog entered the shop. Michael had

this annoying habit of repeating everything he said. Back in their college days

someone had told him that repetition was good for emphasis.




In the Philips household things were unusually loud.

‘Mother, can’t you tell him to stop that awful racketing? For God’s sake, it’s

nine in the morning on a Saturday. What would the neighbours think?’

‘One in eight neighbours don’t care what their neighbours are doing. Your

father’s building a greenhouse.’

‘A what?’

‘Greenhouse.’ Geraldine Philips replied. She waited impatiently by the toaster

for the toast to come up. But she was careful not to stand too close. One in

three hundred and ten people died because of misuse of a toaster. Her

company tag-line always reminded her, it isn’t the risks you take but how you

manage them that puts the ‘happy’ in happiness. When it finally did come

up she placed it on her expensive glass plate. With her pristine glass butter

knife she spread the strawberry jam on to the piece of toast in a horizontal

way before cutting the toast exactly in half in a rectangular shape. She then

joined the two pieces immaculately. She washed her pristine butter knife and

placed it back in the ‘KNIFE’ holder. From the cutlery holder marked ‘SPOON’

she took out a pristine glass tea spoon to put a level amount of one spoon of

brown sugar in her tea and stirred it in a clockwise motion. One in fifteen

people become obese as a result of consuming white sugar. She washed her

pristine glass spoon until it was clear and placed it back in its rightful place

with the rest of its family.

‘Can you build a greenhouse?’

‘One in five people achieve the impossible if they put their mind to it.’

Geraldine took a bite of her toast and was very careful to get all the crusts

on her glass plate. ‘What are your plans?’

‘Oh,’ Ashleigh sighed. ‘I've got work at twelve'

'When are you going to get a new job?'

Ashleigh sighed impatiently. 'Mother, do you have any idea how hard it is to

get a part time job these days? Besides, I'm happy being a Sandwich Artist'

Geraldine Philips snorted. 'Sandwich Artist? You work at subway!' Geraldine

looked at the expensive watch on her wrist. 'I thought you had a date with

that-that-lad.'

'Oh, Fabrizio cancelled our date.’

‘You must invite him over. Your father and I must meet him sometime. One in

eight girls marry without their parents ever meeting the husband-to-be.’

‘Yes Mother.’ Ashleigh said. She was secretly thrilled that her Mother thought

that Fabrizio and her would marry and live happily ever after. ‘We’re out of

milk’. She added.

‘I know. I am just on my way to purchase it.’ Geraldine Philips drank her tea,

taking a sip every four seconds and turning the pages of her ‘Daily Mirror’

newspaper in tune to her drinking. The headline in black on the first page

read: ‘MURDER: THE BORED HOUSEWIFE’S ANSWER’.

Exactly at half past nine Geraldine Philips left the house to buy milk from their

local corner shop. She had tied her dusty blonde hair in a dark blue ribbon

and everything she wore matched her ribbon. Dark blue blazer, dark blue

knee-length skirt, dark blue shoes. Her shirt, quite shockingly, was light blue

(the dark blue one was in the wash). At thirty-nine, Geraldine wasn’t too bad

on the eye. Always looked so prim, so proper, so bloody conservative that

boys half her age often fantasised what she was like in bed. It just so

happened that this dashing young man called James who worked at her local

corner shop often thought about this too.



‘Morning Geraldine.’ James beamed at her as she entered the shop.

It smelt of strong tangy aftershave. She looked around. Empty.

‘Morning James.’ Geraldine Philips replied. She walked to the open fridge and

took hold of a bottle of semi-skimmed milk from the top skinny end and walked

to the counter.

‘Michael not about?’ She asked avoiding eye contact.

‘He had to go somewhere.’ James replied politely. He thanked God for small

mercies.

‘So I have the whole place to myself. Ummm…I’ve done that list of dangerous

equipment in the shop that you wanted. May I ask what it is for?’

‘Oh just for a report.’ She replied as she handed him a gold coin.

‘Thank you. Right, well do you have time to take a look at it now?’ He asked.

The till made that familiar ringing shrill as he opened it and closed it and the

jingling of coins could be heard as he handed back to her the change.

‘Yes. Yes, I have time now.’ Geraldine said. She finally looked at him in the

eye. What a nice young chap, she thought, why can’t Ashleigh settle

with him a boy like him than someone called Fab-idiot-rizio? Ethnic minorities

lived more risky lives.

She followed him up the steep stairs as they turned right to an open bedroom

door. After they had entered he closed the door behind her. She heard him

fumble and close something, maybe a drawer, behind her as her eyes skimmed

the bedroom. Pizza boxes on the corner of the bed, the red duvet all scrupled

up, jeans, shorts and dirty laundry scattered across the floor, a magazine

open displaying a half naked woman with big tits, some CDs, empty beer

bottles, aftershave and a tiny box (condoms, she thought) were on

the table.

‘Excuse the mess.’ James said with a sheepish grin as he took a step towards

her.



Later she couldn’t recall exactly what had happened or who had initiated it.

She could remember him fumbling with her clothes, ripping a wrapper and

moaning ‘uh, God’ a lot. What surprised her was how quick it was. Colin liked

to take his time. There was no fooling around and straight to the point-quite

literally too. There was none of that tender kisses on her neck that she had

expected of a younger man. Did she even kiss him? No. He was too busy

doing something to her tits, she suspected he was sucking her nipples

and wondering why they weren’t hard. Thereafter, every time she pictured

him eagerly trying to make her pink nipples hard she would giggle like a

naughty school girl. He thrust in a bit too quickly for her liking, some

movement down below that she synchronised with-or attempted too and then

he was lying beside her, on his stomach, panting. Just before she scrambled

off with her clothes she noticed a snake tattoo on his back as irregular lines

of smoke formed in the air from his cigarette. One in ten people die from

cancer every year.



‘Where’s the milk?’ Ashleigh asked as her Mother came in through the front

door.

‘Oh right. They didn’t have any milk.’ Geraldine replied briskly.

‘A corner shop with no milk. Whatever next.’ A voice from the living room said.

‘Yes thank you Adam.’ Geraldine said as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

“Where’s you ribbon Mother?’ Ashleigh asked as she followed her Mother into

the living room. Her brother, Adam Philips was on the computer.

‘The wind must have blown it off.’ Geraldine muttered. She sat down on the

sofa and clenched her fists.

‘Wind blowing off ribbons. Whatever-‘

‘Adam.’ Geraldine warned.

‘Yes Adam.’ Ashleigh said emphatically. ‘He’s been in this funny mood

ever since he met that silly bird.’ Adam just laughed. ‘And look what he’s

doing now, he’s googling this-this-what are they called again?’

‘The Strokes’

‘Yes, The Strokes.¬. He says he’s doing ‘research’.’

‘Never heard of them.’ Geraldine said. She had taken of her blazer and was

folding it in different ways.

‘Their this rock band. She loves them.’ Robin said without tearing his gaze

from the computer screen.

‘Where’s your father?’

‘Still in the garden.’

Geraldine found him leaning against the wall looking hard at his tools. The

radio was on, someone she didn't recognise sang ‘Wednesday morning at

five o'clock as the day begins, Silently closing her bedroom door, Leaving the

note that she hoped would say more…’

She watched him for just a second as he rubbed his spectacles on his

sleeves. ‘Is everything ok?’

He looked up. He put his glasses in his pocket. ‘Didn’t see you there. No, not

really. It’s a bit more complicated than I thought.’ He admitted. He walked

towards the radio to switch it off. ‘…Quietly turning the backdoor key,

stepping outside she is free…’

‘You could just buy one.’

He shook his head.

‘Why do we need a greenhouse anyway?’ Geraldine asked. They both stood

close, staring at the tools. When it provided no answers she said ‘Come on.

Maybe a cup of tea will help. And…we can talk’ she said, ‘about the hut’. She

offered her hand but he had already turned away.

‘No. No. Must get on with this.’ He said and picked up his hammer and started

banging a nail into a wooden plank. She watched him for another second

before looking up to the sky, dark clouds had formed. Its going to rain,

she thought, and turned away.



When James finally came back down to the shop floor Michael had come back.

‘Where were you?’ Michael asked. James stank of fags.

‘With the lovely Geraldine.’

‘No way! No way!’

‘Yes way!’ James said proudly. James told him everything. He had Michael

eating out of his paws like a young school boy in the back playground learning

about sex for the first time. ‘….on….blue…just one left in the box….put it on

like a pro…so wet….hard nipples….moaned a lot…lots of snogging…came

quick…Fantastic mate..’ James boasted.

‘Fab-Fabrizio has done it again. You’ve got my respect caveman. You’ve got

my respect caveman. But you’re taking a big risk. She’s married. Her husband

might come after you with a hammer. Smash your head right in. Smash your

head right in.’

‘It’s all under control. Her husband will never found out. He’s a dumb bastard.

He must be. And what’s life without a few risks, hey? It’s not the number of

women you have it is how you manage them’ James offered his wisdom.

‘Managing women well reduces risk to personal health’ Fabrizio, otherwise

known as James Docker, said.

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