FICTION IN THE TIME OF TRUMP, MARK II
Hi fiction fanciers
I’m back with another instalment, so please get comfy.
Our threesome is still on board the Queen Mary 2. Please bear in mind that it’s a world cruise and that takes a good three months to partially circumnavigate the globe.
As you well know, Mrs Mac’s plans to relax on the luxurious liner and restore herself after a bumpy time, pre-cruise, which included a bruised heart and the humiliation of pilfered cake forks from her cutlery drawers back in her London pad, weren’t forthcoming. The old lady had to endure a troublesome stowaway in the person of her pre-teen precocious grandchild, Clementine.
And as you know, the poor kid ended up in the ship’s infirmary after an unfortunate headlong collision with a crystal champagne tower. These things can happen. But all is OK in the world; Mrs Mac hasn’t copped a bill for the broken champagne glasses, and Clemmie’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, although her continued presence on the cruise may have been if Mrs Mac’s daughter was not prepared to fly to the next port to collect said troublesome teen.
As you will discover, things have taken a turn for the better and now the (at times) doting dowager can breathe out and breathe in the ocean breezes. I mean, she paid a fortune for this trip, so she needs to get amongst it.
Now, let’s see what’s in store this episode and what rules I had to follow. As you may know, I enter my fab pieces in the Sydney Writers’ Centre Furious Fiction monthly competition. The contest asks entrants to write up to 500 words, and do that within the 50-hour time limit; I must admit I often get mine in just on the knocker at a minute to midnight! Old journalistic deadline habits do die hard. The centre provides a stimulus and/or a list of prompts.
This story’s prompts were these:
- Your story must be set at a remote house or cabin.
- Your story must include three different three-word sentences in a row.
- Your story must include the words SPACE, KNOCK, WHISTLE, MYTH. (Longer words are okay if the original spelling is retained.)
Let’s begin.
Mrs MacPhillamy was attending a lecture onboard the Queen Mary 2; it was unlike her to sit through a long talk on any subject, when she could be in the Champagne Bar sipping on Bolinger. But after the excruciating week she’d just endured, the officer’s chat was quite a relief.
That morning, she had finally farewelled her pre-teen granddaughter Clementine in Gibraltar – she’d waved furiously with a beaming smile when the precocious child and her not-overly-concerned mother, who’d flown in from England, were whisked away in a limousine to the airport for the trip back home to the UK. Mrs Mac had offered to book an ambulance and was ready to pay accordingly, however, the captain and ship’s doctor advised the use of such a vehicle was unnecessary as Clementine’s cuts (from an unfortunate incident involving a smashed crystal champagne tower) were superficial. Instead, grandmother booked a limo; there was plenty of space if the child needed to recline.
Mrs Mac was keen to dispel the myth she didn’t care a great deal for her family; she certainly wasn’t rapt in the child or most of her in-laws, but she certainly didn’t wish them life-threatening injuries.
As the nautical lecture droned on – there was a rather tedious question from a passenger about the difference between the sound of the ship’s horn and the ship’s whistle – Mrs Mac wondered what had actually happened to her two adult travelling companions. Where was Tiffany? Where was Marjorie? Were they onboard?
She got up quietly, smiled at dozing passengers as the officer outlined the meaning of every flag the ship might fly, and made for the exit.
Moments later she knocked on Tiffany’s door.
“Grandma!” Tiffany cried, opening the door to a stateroom strewn with clothes, shopping bags and bottles of vodka.
“I see you’ve been busy,” Mrs MacPhillamy quipped.
“Yes, grandma, I went on the ‘Island Shopping Safari’. Boy, duty-free booze is cheap here!”
“And Marjorie? Where is she, dear?” Mrs Mac suddenly realised she’d not seen her housekeeper for several days.
“She went ashore with Basil. They were looking for a remote cabin in the woods.”
“What! A remote cabin. What woods? Tiffany, Gibraltar is a big hunk of rock!”
Tiffany shrugged.
“And who’s Basil?” Mrs Mac asked. “He’s her creative writing teacher, Grandma.”
Mrs Mac sat opened-mouthed as Tiffany described Marjorie’s new-found passion. Her maid had attended writing classes since they boarded the ship a week ago and was well underway with her memoir about growing up in a tiny cottage in a Welsh seaside village.
“And grandma – Basil is helping her find her muse. “
Mrs Mac reached for a vodka bottle just as Marjorie burst into the room, wild-eyed and hair somewhat askew.
“Oh, I’ve had such a terrific day. Basil says I should decorate my stateroom, like the cottage of my youth…for inspiration.”
Marjorie opened her backpack to display some seashells, a clump of wet seaweed and a tangled fishing net.
Mrs Mac glanced at Tiffany. “Mix me a drink, dear!”
Well, dear readers, you just never know what’s going to happen. Yes, I know, you have many questions. Are Marjorie and Basil the new power couple on the QM2? Can Basil be trusted, or is he another Henry minus the combover? Where on earth did they find a cabin or cottage in the woods?
Ok, it’s fiction and I can produce one! But you must admit, it’s worth tuning in next time to see what’s in store for our gals battling the high seas.
These three-month world cruises become a bit of a blur for some passengers; days slide into weeks, weeks into fortnights and Mrs Mac sometimes slides into flocked-wallpaper corridors, high on the smell of the ocean breeze and the transcendental power of vodka.
Once again if you’d like to write your own fiction and enter the competition, here’s the link: http://: https://www.writerscentre.com.au/furious-fiction/
And thanks to UnSplash for the great images.https://unsplash.com/
And here’s a pic to illustrate my next episode.
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