Chapter 4 - Too Much Monkey Business
Holly read Janet's e-mail with horror.
"She's coming to the ball," she mouthed to herself.
She couldn't. No way. If she came Holly would never have the chance to dance with Matt, to feel his hands on her back, to squeeze his knee...
Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout of "No! Who are you? Stop it! Stop it!" from the living room.
She ran in to see Anna cowering on the sofa as the stranger from Holly's bed stood in front of the mirror.
"Anna, what's wrong?" asked Holly in horror, only to discover the answer for herself. Beneath the stranger's foot was Monkey.
"Move, you big ape!" Holly yelled at the stranger, but he continued to ajust his hair while squashing the poor stuffed animal beneath his patented leather loafer.
Just then, Matt entered the room, saw the commotion and wrestled the stranger to the ground, rescueing the folorn monkey and returning him to Anna.
"Matt! My hero!" she cried, flinging her arms around his neck.
Holly went back to the computer, brooding that she hadn't been able to congratulate Monkey's rescuer, and began to plot ways to prevent Janet's return to St. Andrews.
***
The secret, Holly soon discovered, lay in the mystery of the 371st shoe. Holly had, in the time that she had lived with Janet, seen her whole collection. Every Saturday afternoon she had lined each shoe lovingly on the kitchen table and polished them with a flannel. On the bottom of each shoe she had written in minute handwriting the date on which and the place where each had been purchased. She had red shiny ones with six inch heels, dark leather flat ones, thirty-two pairs of trainers, each with a message in a different language inscribed on the side, sandles and flip-flops, Clarks, Hush Puppies and a much prized pair of Jimmy Choos. Yet not even these were as appreciated by Janet as the very last shoe. She polished it with more love and affection then she had shown to any of the others. She kissed it, cradled it in her arms, rubbed it gently against her cheek but never put it on. It stood alone. A single shoe.
Holly had never asked why there had been no other shoe to accompany it, and she got the impression that, had she asked, Janet would merely have pulled her hair. But now she knew. Now she had the answer.
And the answer would allow her to have Matt all to herself.
"She's coming to the ball," she mouthed to herself.
She couldn't. No way. If she came Holly would never have the chance to dance with Matt, to feel his hands on her back, to squeeze his knee...
Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout of "No! Who are you? Stop it! Stop it!" from the living room.
She ran in to see Anna cowering on the sofa as the stranger from Holly's bed stood in front of the mirror.
"Anna, what's wrong?" asked Holly in horror, only to discover the answer for herself. Beneath the stranger's foot was Monkey.
"Move, you big ape!" Holly yelled at the stranger, but he continued to ajust his hair while squashing the poor stuffed animal beneath his patented leather loafer.
Just then, Matt entered the room, saw the commotion and wrestled the stranger to the ground, rescueing the folorn monkey and returning him to Anna.
"Matt! My hero!" she cried, flinging her arms around his neck.
Holly went back to the computer, brooding that she hadn't been able to congratulate Monkey's rescuer, and began to plot ways to prevent Janet's return to St. Andrews.
***
The secret, Holly soon discovered, lay in the mystery of the 371st shoe. Holly had, in the time that she had lived with Janet, seen her whole collection. Every Saturday afternoon she had lined each shoe lovingly on the kitchen table and polished them with a flannel. On the bottom of each shoe she had written in minute handwriting the date on which and the place where each had been purchased. She had red shiny ones with six inch heels, dark leather flat ones, thirty-two pairs of trainers, each with a message in a different language inscribed on the side, sandles and flip-flops, Clarks, Hush Puppies and a much prized pair of Jimmy Choos. Yet not even these were as appreciated by Janet as the very last shoe. She polished it with more love and affection then she had shown to any of the others. She kissed it, cradled it in her arms, rubbed it gently against her cheek but never put it on. It stood alone. A single shoe.
Holly had never asked why there had been no other shoe to accompany it, and she got the impression that, had she asked, Janet would merely have pulled her hair. But now she knew. Now she had the answer.
And the answer would allow her to have Matt all to herself.
posted by Kirk Yetton | 5:02 pm
2 Comments:
I would, Ms. Writer, greatly appreciate your critique of my latest poem about the Duke of Edinburgh.
Oh the wind blows so softly,
So softly does the wind blow.
The wind blows so softly
And the fat one lets rip.
Yours,
Andrew Motion
Andrew, how nice to hear from you. What can I say of such a marvellous work? You've obviously spent a lot of time on it. The rythem and syntax are perfect, the choice of language spot on. It's so... subtle.
Her Majesty will love it.
G.W.
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