Writing for Fun
May 2017
M25 - Maureen Rampersaud
The high pitched ringtone penetrated the din of the driving rain on the windscreen, the wipers were furiously trying to cope with the deluge.
'Hello . . . hello, James . . . is that you?'
He sighed and was pleased she couldn't see his exasperation, as he replied, 'Yes, Shirley, it's me.'
'I can hardly hear you, is that rain? It's sunny here, where are you?'
'It is rain. I'm on the M25 on my way to Inverness.'
'Inverness! You never said anything about that this morning.'
'That's because you were asleep when I left.'
'What about yesterday, you could have told me then.'
'You were out when I came home yesterday. You left a note, 'Get your own dinner and don't wait up', remember?'
'Mmm . . . I suppose. Well, why are you going up to Inverness anyway?'
'I got a call from the solicitor yesterday. Dad's left me the lodge and fishing business up there.'
'Great! How much will we get for it?'
'I'm not selling, Shirley.'
'If you expect me to up sticks and leave my friends to live in the back of beyond, you've got another think coming!'
'I'm not.'