All in a name? - a ten minute piece of flash fiction

The keys were there, on the doormat.  Attached to the plastic tab with the ludicrous photo of herself, age four, covered in chocolate and laughing at the camera;  her brothers out of focus in the background. 

They’d rushed up straight after the photo had been taken, of course, each with a bucket of water, and had taken it in turns to throw some over her.  Not a lot; Mum – she’d been ‘Mummy’ then, of course – had kept a watchful eye.  Always said, if she ever did come complaining (and by four she’d learnt not to!) ‘You’re a Rose, not a shrinking Violet!’.  Similarly she’d brought the boys up not to be savages. 

But. 

The keys on the doormat. 

Evidence for sure that she should have been more shrinking.

If she had been she’d not now be standing here, in the hallway, scratchy from the stupid form-filling, the endless bladder-heavy waiting around, the patronising questions about ‘the father’.  And the smug looks of pity from all those feeble, unable to stand alone, brainless, do-anything-for-a-council house morons with their spotty sperm donors, none of whom ought to be being allowed to breed in the first place!

And she’d not be snivelling, snot down her face, bawling her eyes out.  Knowing that he’d been here.  Let himself in with the keys she’d given him.  Collected his stuff, locked the door behind him and dropped the keys through the letter box so as to tell her he’d never be coming back again. 

Take it away Tuesday:  'The keys were there' - todays prompt for Thinking Ten.  This, like so many other pieces, is a part-rehearseal, part character sketch for my current wip.

Unsuccessful salving of a conscience

Baz had been attending a hanging, otherwise he’d’ve been there.

And afterwards, in my more hysterically dishonest moments, I even wondered if Luke had arranged for the assassination.  But that was a step too far in self-justification.   And if it hadn’t been for the fact that Luke knew the restaurant owner and had got reservations – because Baz asked if he knew whether or not it deserved its reputation – we’d not have been going there anyway.   I’m certainly not petty enough to say it was because Baz was missing for my birthday celebration – I know very well how these things happen:  the nearest available reporter had to go and Baz being on the spot there was no choice.   He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way either, even said to me (later, before he found out) that he’d been relieved that the Arts correspondent had been at his grandmother’s funeral.  (Which, he also said, made it five grandmothers he’d buried, in two years)

But.   He hadn’t been there.   I had, and so had Luke.   And because it was my birthday Luke was being kinder than usual, less vituperative, more entertaining, and he opened up a bit more than usual.   When the conversation got around to books he mentioned the Wigtown Book Festival that he’d been to at the weekend, which led to him telling me about Wigtown’s Bladnoch whisky.   And I couldn’t blame the whisky either because by the time he’d suggested we go to his flat just round the corner from the restaurant (I hadn’t known that, but presumably Baz had) so I could sample it, I was already guilty.

This also appears on Thinking Ten, where it is my response to the Monday, On Location prompt of 'A restaurant'.   As before, I am using these prompts to spark scenes for potential short stories or character development for forthcoming novels.