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Tuesday, 11 December 2012

By popular request- Stamp part three

Tuesday already! Doesn't time fly? Especially when Christmas is racing towards us and I haven't started my shopping... Hey ho. I am well-skilled in the subtle arts of procrastination, so I'm not worried yet. People love presents from garage forecourts, right? Oh. Maybe I'd better get on with it.

Anyway, I've been a bit preoccupied with editing the first of five (possibly) short stories for my new collection- no book title yet- suggestions appreciated- and I've been getting requests from people who are dying to know what happens next between Ben and Cassie. Who is she? Where did she come from? Is this love? Or something else? I've caved, so here is a bit more. Let me know what you think.

Don't know what I'm on about?
Catch up here: Stamp- part one   Stamp- part two


Stamp- part three

When Ben woke, his first thought was of her. He knew she’d leave before morning- why would a girl like that want to stick around? Nevertheless, he felt disappointed. He rolled over onto his back and gazed around his bedroom.
His clothes were heaped on the floor where he’d left them, hurriedly, and there was no note on the bedside table. He hadn’t really expected her to leave one. What would it say? Last night was the best night of my life- call me and a phone number? No. Whatever magic had happened last night had evaporated in the morning sun, which was streaming through the blinds in a very unhelpful way. He doubted he’d see her again.
Grunting, he dragged his tired body out of bed and into the shower, turning the radio on as he passed it. The Sunday morning show mix was soothing and exactly what his throbbing head needed. He let the hot water blast down onto his neck and reached for the shower gel. He washed himself absent-mindedly, feeling only vague annoyance that the stamp on his hand wouldn’t wash off. At least it was proof that it had been real. He gave up scrubbing it and turned off the shower.
When he was dressed he rang Tim. He didn’t answer until the fourteenth ring, and sounded terrible when he did.
“Hello?” he groaned.
“Tim, mate. How’s your head?”
“I’ve been better. How did your evening work out? You get lucky?” Even over the phone, Ben imagined he could hear Tim’s eyebrows waggling.
“Good night, yeah. Top,” Ben replied, refusing to be drawn into a play-by-play re-enactment. Cassie was classy. She deserved better than that.
Tim was disappointed.
“Aw, mate. No details? She was fit as!”
Ben laughed.
“Get lost! No details- and I don’t want to hear any details about your after-club shenanigans either. I’m feeling queasy enough as it is.”
“You’re no fun. Fancy a fry-up?” Ben looked at the clock on his bedside table. Just after eleven.
“Yeah, go on then. I’ll pick you up.”
“Cracking plan, mate. I can barely see straight, let alone drive. See you in twenty.” Tim hung up.
As they ate their breakfast, and despite Ben’s protests, Tim insisted on giving a full run-down of his night with Angie, the girl in the hot-pants. Other than agreeing that it had been a great night, Ben resisted Tim’s attempts to discuss Cassie. He didn’t want Tim knowing everything. He was glad when he could make his excuses and leave.
Back home, he had another go at scrubbing off the stamp with a nail brush and some white-spirit. It wouldn’t budge. The line of numbers stayed stubbornly visible and fresh-looking. He tried on and off all afternoon, in between watching the football highlights and Hollyoaks omnibus, but it looked like it was there to stay for now. Wondering idly how long it took for skin to renew itself, he turned in early, pulling the duvet over his head.

Intrigued yet? Or have you guessed the twist? Let me know your theories x


  1. No idea yet, but I've just remembered an old episode of Doctor Who where tattoos came alive!


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