Lost Apostrophe – the Diary of a Writing Group
by Rosalie Warren
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: EPISODE NINETEEN: February 2015 – Tony
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: EPISODE NINETEEN: February 2015 – Tony
Can’t get her out of my mind. It’s great – up to a point. Something to focus on. Something good. Except I know in my heart of hearts she’s not for me.
Tried a couple of times to catch her eye at Tuesday’s meeting. She’s having none of it. Playing hard to get? Always possible I suppose – but no. Woman with her looks, she’s got to have a bloke somewhere – at least one. And God knows what her tastes would be. Not sure I’d be up to it these days anyway, too long since I…
Christ – what defeatist talk. That’s not like you, Tony lad. The old Tony would be planning and scheming, shopping and showering… back to the breath fresheners and maybe even a new shirt or two. All costs money though, and money’s in short supply since that court ruled that three-quarters of my meagre pension goes to support my greedy ex and the ever-squawking chicks. Who incidentally are all in their teens now – not that I ever get to see them – can’t afford the bloody fare. Wonder who else she’s got supporting her aspiring-celebrity lifestyle. At least two admirers stumping up for meals and drinks no doubt, and probably clothes, perfume, flowers and God knows what on top of that. Don’t know how she does it. Though come to think of it, I do.
Promises the world, does Ailie, with those big dark eyes, fantastic lashes, that look she gives you – I’m yours forever. That’s a laugh. Yours until a better offer comes along and even after that I’ll keep you dangling for as long as you (or your money) are some use.
Don’t think about Ail. Don’t think about the kids. Too bloody painful, but I can’t stop once I’ve started, that’s the trouble. Wondering what they’re doing now. School, of course. Don’t know anything about their school down there, how they’re getting on, whether they’ve made friends, whether they’re coping with the work. You’d think they’d want to tell me, but even when I get them on Skype they always clam up. Maybe she tells them not to tell me anything. Wouldn’t put it past her. She’s poisoned their minds against me, I’m sure she has.
I’ve tried the Facebook friending thing but they ignored my requests or maybe they even blocked me – I don’t know how you tell. OK, I know kids don’t like their parents following them on Facebook, but if it’s the only way to keep in touch, keep track of what they’re up to…
I’ll have to try and visit them. She can’t stop me. Can’t deny me access – it’s all in the legal agreement. They’re my bloody kids, when all’s said and done, and I love them. Might not have been the perfect father, but who is? I don’t deserve this.
Getting angry now. Starting to boil. Must try to control it. Losing my temper never did any good. That time… oh God, don’t even think about it. Think about lovely Corinna. Imagine… waking up beside her every day. Sounds quite romantic – not like me at all, or not the way Ailie always painted me. Maybe I’m changing, now I’m well into middle age, but I don’t just want a shag. Want a woman – need a woman – to belong to, properly. Share stuff with. Sometimes even just talk.
But is Corinna… could she ever be like that? She’s a smart, savvy woman of the world. Knows what she wants and how to get it. Maybe ten years ago, she might have looked at me… but now? If I lost a bit of weight, started running again? Decent hair cut? Nah, you’re kidding yourself, Tony. It’s all cosmetic. She’d see through you in a second, recognise you for the loser you are.
Don’t care though. Don’t give a fuck. Going to let myself dream. Nowt else left to do.
Going to put this in a book. The novel, at last? Me as hero – what a laugh. No, me as snork-fodder. Get the lads laughing, the way I used to at the pub. Her… disguised, of course. Mustn’t be recognisable, just in case. Who’m I kidding, but suppose this book turns out to be the one. The one a publisher accepts. Just my luck if it did, and it’s got her in it. Have to work hard to make her different. Could do that later, I suppose – go back and revise, change her hair colour and everything else.
For now, write it as it is.
Tried a couple of times to catch her eye at Tuesday’s meeting. She’s having none of it. Playing hard to get? Always possible I suppose – but no. Woman with her looks, she’s got to have a bloke somewhere – at least one. And God knows what her tastes would be. Not sure I’d be up to it these days anyway, too long since I…
Christ – what defeatist talk. That’s not like you, Tony lad. The old Tony would be planning and scheming, shopping and showering… back to the breath fresheners and maybe even a new shirt or two. All costs money though, and money’s in short supply since that court ruled that three-quarters of my meagre pension goes to support my greedy ex and the ever-squawking chicks. Who incidentally are all in their teens now – not that I ever get to see them – can’t afford the bloody fare. Wonder who else she’s got supporting her aspiring-celebrity lifestyle. At least two admirers stumping up for meals and drinks no doubt, and probably clothes, perfume, flowers and God knows what on top of that. Don’t know how she does it. Though come to think of it, I do.
Promises the world, does Ailie, with those big dark eyes, fantastic lashes, that look she gives you – I’m yours forever. That’s a laugh. Yours until a better offer comes along and even after that I’ll keep you dangling for as long as you (or your money) are some use.
Don’t think about Ail. Don’t think about the kids. Too bloody painful, but I can’t stop once I’ve started, that’s the trouble. Wondering what they’re doing now. School, of course. Don’t know anything about their school down there, how they’re getting on, whether they’ve made friends, whether they’re coping with the work. You’d think they’d want to tell me, but even when I get them on Skype they always clam up. Maybe she tells them not to tell me anything. Wouldn’t put it past her. She’s poisoned their minds against me, I’m sure she has.
I’ve tried the Facebook friending thing but they ignored my requests or maybe they even blocked me – I don’t know how you tell. OK, I know kids don’t like their parents following them on Facebook, but if it’s the only way to keep in touch, keep track of what they’re up to…
I’ll have to try and visit them. She can’t stop me. Can’t deny me access – it’s all in the legal agreement. They’re my bloody kids, when all’s said and done, and I love them. Might not have been the perfect father, but who is? I don’t deserve this.
Getting angry now. Starting to boil. Must try to control it. Losing my temper never did any good. That time… oh God, don’t even think about it. Think about lovely Corinna. Imagine… waking up beside her every day. Sounds quite romantic – not like me at all, or not the way Ailie always painted me. Maybe I’m changing, now I’m well into middle age, but I don’t just want a shag. Want a woman – need a woman – to belong to, properly. Share stuff with. Sometimes even just talk.
But is Corinna… could she ever be like that? She’s a smart, savvy woman of the world. Knows what she wants and how to get it. Maybe ten years ago, she might have looked at me… but now? If I lost a bit of weight, started running again? Decent hair cut? Nah, you’re kidding yourself, Tony. It’s all cosmetic. She’d see through you in a second, recognise you for the loser you are.
Don’t care though. Don’t give a fuck. Going to let myself dream. Nowt else left to do.
Going to put this in a book. The novel, at last? Me as hero – what a laugh. No, me as snork-fodder. Get the lads laughing, the way I used to at the pub. Her… disguised, of course. Mustn’t be recognisable, just in case. Who’m I kidding, but suppose this book turns out to be the one. The one a publisher accepts. Just my luck if it did, and it’s got her in it. Have to work hard to make her different. Could do that later, I suppose – go back and revise, change her hair colour and everything else.
For now, write it as it is.
About the Author
Rosalie Warren was once a university lecturer, specialising in Artificial Intelligence and Natural Language Processing. But her earliest love was books and stories, and since taking early retirement ten years ago she has been following her dream of writing and publishing. For details of her publications for adults and children, including science fiction and romantic suspense, see http://srg521.wix.com/mybooks and https://www.facebook.com/RosalieWarrenAuthor/
Rosalie has been an exile from Scotland for the past fourteen years, but still has many happy memories of the wonderful city of Edinburgh, where her children were born and raised, and of the equally amazing Dundee, where she worked for a further three years. Going back even further, she was born and brought up in Yorkshire, and regularly returns there to visit a seaside place not so very different from the town of Castlehaven in her serial.
Rosalie is also a qualified proofreader and editor and (under the name Sheila Glasbey) her editing services can be found at http://www.affordable-editing.com/
Rosalie has been an exile from Scotland for the past fourteen years, but still has many happy memories of the wonderful city of Edinburgh, where her children were born and raised, and of the equally amazing Dundee, where she worked for a further three years. Going back even further, she was born and brought up in Yorkshire, and regularly returns there to visit a seaside place not so very different from the town of Castlehaven in her serial.
Rosalie is also a qualified proofreader and editor and (under the name Sheila Glasbey) her editing services can be found at http://www.affordable-editing.com/