I got this writing prompt from the mind of the one and only crime writer David Mark, in his creative writing class on Goldster
In a kitchen setting where an artist was demonstrating tone on a Rembrandt study, via Zoom, an explosion was oddly unexpected. I ducked down. That’s the last Andy McNab I’ll ever read.
Fortunately my Zoom camera wasn’t on so I hadn’t been spotted by the painterly community who had bravely opened up their own little worlds to the public gaze.
Gingerly, I moved towards the fridge. That’s all we need, the cooler checking out in the middle of a heatwave but the Grundig’s light came on as I opened the door… clever, these Germans.
Gleaning the words Burnt Sienna coming at me over the ether, my gaze was pulled back to the screen. Towards the end of the hour, my wife materialised behind the glass door connecting the kitchen with the living room making hand gestures indicating a) she did not want to be seen on camera as she was wearing her skort* and / or b) was the class finished?
Not wanting to hold up lunch, I beckoned her into the cooking area, while the artist carried on talking. Yes dear, my camera is definitely off.
Lunch was made and eaten so I washed up. Then a 2nd depth charge kaboomed behind me. “Did you hear that?” I called, my agitated rubber gloves flicking water, left and right.
“Yes!”, my own Masterchef yelled back. “Was that you?”
“Of course it wasn’t me!”
While she checked the fridge I carefully opened a cupboard, shielding myself from any shrapnel. Nothing looked out of place. “Well, what was it?” I said. “This is weird”.
Desperately hoping against hope, I peeked in the drinks cupboard where there was something strange quaking in the dark. Pulling out the opened cardboard case of tiny ginger ale cans, my fingers felt oddly damp and sticky.
It was then I saw them. Two cans of Salt’s Calico Session Pale Ale beer had almost burst their entire lids off, frustrated at the kitchen’s cauldron-like heat.
Maybe, just maybe I’d sounded dejected enough.
‘Unfiltered, naturally hazy and vegan friendly’ I quoted from the text on the aluminium goblet in my hand. “…oh well, I’ll suppose I’ll just have to drink them now”
Sighing deliberately my wife started emptying the cupboard of bottles and cans so she could clean up. Meanwhile the golden liquid foamed and conspiratorially winked back at me from my favourite San Miguel branded glass.
Dutifully I went to my iPad and tapping Join the Creative Writing class link hoped no one would spot me surreptitiously sipping Session ale.
*skort. A skirt containing integrated shorts. Often used by female tennis players.
Up for another one of my latest posts? Try this one I wrote on the train to Manchester recently. No mean feat on an iPad keyboard swaying from side to side I can tell you.