Daisy by J P Henderson

Author:J P Henderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oldcastle Books
Published: 2020-03-04T15:26:50+00:00

Continuation 7

Keeping Busy in the Time of an Interregnum

I’ve had to rewrite the last paragraph of continuation 6, because when I reviewed it this morning I discovered a mistake. Originally I’d written: I was cock-a-hoop when I read his message and doubted the day would get better. In thinking this I was correct, because when I turned on the local news that evening it took a complete nosedive.

I liked the paragraph’s cliff-hanging nature, but it suddenly struck me that the cliff didn’t yet exist and that I’d forgotten that your present is my past, and my present your future. I’d fallen into the trap that Ric had warned me about, of rushing a story rather than allowing it to unfold naturally, and described an event that, had it happened at this particular juncture, would have entailed me having written all six continuations in a single night. I’m a fast writer, and I can finish a continuation in a week if I put my mind to it, but I’m not that fast, and it’s fortunate I caught the mistake.

It’s funny, although as a rule I don’t like talking about myself, I’ve had no problem writing about myself. In fact, I’ve found it surprisingly easy, and in an odd way cathartic. It’s interesting to review your life from a distance, to dredge up the past and perhaps understand it better. I’ve written about events and people I haven’t thought about in years, and though I’d have preferred some of the events not to have happened and for some of the people still to be in my life, I don’t look back on the past and think it a better place.

I had to break off here and go to the opticians for an eye examination. I wear glasses for reading and working on the computer, but not for everyday activities. I was, however, having problems with my left eye, which had been bloodshot for the past two weeks and felt as if it had a piece of grit in it. At first, I’d thought it was a simple eye infection that antibacterial drops would cure, but the doctor said that it wasn’t and that I should consult an optician whose equipment would allow him a better look.

Donald had volunteered to drive me to the opticians on King’s Road, but when he arrived at the house he was without his car keys.

‘Lydia’s hidden them,’ he said. ‘And there’s no point asking me why because I don’t know why, and I doubt God does, either. I’m sorry, Rod, but we’ll have to take a taxi.’

In view of the changed circumstances, I told Donald that I’d be happy to make my own way to the opticians, but he insisted on accompanying me. It would, he said, give him an excuse not to return home.

‘She’ll be as right as rain by the time I get back, but between now and then… well, I’m steering clear.’

Donald was quiet in the taxi, no doubt brooding over Lydia, and we passed the time looking out of the window.

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