Now that would bring on deep malaise ... illness and temper the world has not seen before, worse than ... well, anything.
I jest. i did manage around 500 words tonight, even after all the time wasting. As reproduced below:
Richard comes into his kitchen and takes his seat at the table. Kathryn hands him his coffee and returns to the stove to check the eggs.
‘Why didn’t you come to bed last night?’ Richard says.
‘I did.’
‘You got up very early, then.’
Kathryn gazes out of the window while she feeds the toaster with two slices of bread. ‘There was a car idling outside the house.’
Richard shakes his head. ‘Somebody looking for that ruddy AirBnB again.’
‘It was the same car as before.’
Richard takes his spectacles off and pinches the top of his nose. ‘Please, God, not this again.’
‘But Richard, it
was that same sportscar, and it was her again. She looked right at me this time.’
‘I think those pills are addling your brain. You’ve known my position on this from the start: when you’re in need of solace, you trust in the lord; not in some quack’s poison.’
Kathryn has started beating the eggs; they’ll be having them scrambled. ‘I know your position.’
‘Even if it is her, which is unlikely, she clearly has no real intention of making contact with us.’
‘What makes you think that? She would be apprehensive, given the circumstances.’
‘Yes, I’d be apprehensive if I’d stolen my parent’s savings and car.’
‘Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.’
Richard shakes his head again, and he too looks out of the window, at the road where his daughter might, or might not, have sat in her sportscar last night.
‘Honour your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you,’ he says, finally.
Kathryn seasons the eggs. Once, when they were younger than Alex would be now, Kathryn had gone into a different kitchen, wearing nothing but a tee-shirt, which had barely covered her buttocks. She’d put a record on: Dean Martin and Helen O'Connell singing
How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Richard had sneaked up from behind, and put his arms around her waste, making her jump. ‘I like mine with a kiss,’ he said.
Now she’s looking at him, seated at the breakfast bar, and a vile word pops into her head. The girl in the car, whether it’s Alexina or not, has been sitting outside the house. That’s a fact. It’s like she’s haunting Kathryn. But not in a benevolent way. There are all kinds of ghosts. Jesus is a ghost. She’s looking at a ghost now, of a man she once loved.
‘Aren’t you off on your retreat today?’
‘Yes. How many times do I have to tell you?’
‘Remind me when you’re due back?’
‘Tuesday.’
Kathryn turns away from him and smirks. ‘C U Next Tuesday, then.’
- I tried to find a smilie for 'tongue-in-cheek' - this is the closest to that
