Friday, 22 June 2012

Friday fiction: Home time

It had to be the most boring view in the whole wide world. Or universe. Even the galaxy. Was the galaxy bigger than the universe? Or was it the other way round? Anyway, it was boring.
From her cell, also known as the Guest Bedroom, you could see houses, lamp posts, gardens and parked cars. That's it. So there was a danger that she'd die of boredom. Jo-Jo was sure of it. A real genuine, medical, factual chance. People really could die of boredom and it could happen to her, she knew it.
“Go to your room, and stay there” was one thing. That hadn't been so bad because in her room she had her little radio, she had books and there were old copies of 'Jackie' to look at.
Then the Wicked Witch of West Corley (otherwise answering to Mum) had come up with the Guest Room. It made her the cruellest mother in the entire world. Universe. Galaxy. Ever.
The whole point of the Guest Room was that it was deadly boring. Like a cell. Tiny, with a couple of singles bed and a wardrobe and nothing else. Nothing. Just a pair of Grannie's old shoes in the wardrobe. It had been straight in from school at 4pm and she was stuck there until teatime at 7pm.
Three hours of nothing to do but look out the window. 'You can have a good hard think about your behaviour, my girl,' she'd been told. But how much thinking is there to do about swearing at your little brother? He is an irritating little reptile and 'sod' isn't such a bad word.
Three hours for one three-letter word. It was a good thing she hadn't said: “Shit, bum, bugger, bastard, bloody bollocks.” She'd never get out.
It made her sort of jealous of Katy. In Katy's house things were straightforward. Cut and dried when it came to 'discipline'. If Katy swore her Dad would whack her bum really hard with a hairbrush, simple as that.
Bad words, sore bum. Which was barbaric and Medieval and Victorian and downright awful, but it was also quick. Katy said half an hour later your bum was back to normal and that was that, slate wiped clean. Not hours of endless boring boringness,
Then a car drove slowly down the street. When you live in a cul-de-sac cars are usually ones you know, but this one didn't belong. It went slowly, in that way they do when someone is looking at house numbers.
Jo-Jo didn't know much about cars, but this one was dark red like Ribena. And it looked sort of familiar, but not in the right place.
It came to a stop in the only gap to be seen, four or five doors away. A woman got out. Or to be more precise, Miss McDuff got out.
Jo-Jo didn't breathe for as long as it took for Miss McDuff to get out of the car, lock the driver's door and put the keys into her large handbag. For more than a minute she held her breath and felt her heart race.
When she finally remembered respiration, she exhaled at the same time as saying 'sod it' to herself three times over. Miss Annabel McDuff, history and games. The youngest teacher at Bradenhall High School for Girls and easily the best-looking. Tall, slim, Scottish, high cheekbones and absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever.
The notice was only a joke. It hadn't been Jo-Jo's idea, but she went along with it all the same. They found a sheet of card and a safety pin then Karen Burley had borrowed Stacey May's felt tip marker pens.
Karen had written 'SMACK ME PLEASE' on the card in big capital letters along with an arrow pointing downwards. Then they'd dared Jo-Jo to pin it in place. And Jo-Jo couldn't ever resist a dare.
(Too many words for one post, so to be continued...)

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