“Marc, please be careful. This weather’s awful.” The rain splashed against the windscreen and fragmented into small magnifying splodges of water which made the task of seeing the road ahead and other vehicles even more difficult. Marc still felt safe at his customary eighty miles per hour in the outside lane.
“I’m fine Ruth, stop worrying. I have done this trip a hundred times before and never had a problem.” The ’tut’ at the end of his sentence highlighting his annoyance. Billy and Meg were asleep in the back of the car and had no idea weather like this was dangerous, and that their father felt invincible at the wheel of a car.
“I’m just saying that’s all. How would you feel if something bad happened?”
“Nothing’s going to happen, you want to get home before midnight don’t you?” Ruth rolled her eyes.
“I just want to get home in one piece thanks.” Silence took over for a few miles.
Marc was awoken by the sound of his phone beeping. It was 7am and he was still at the desk, but could feel a hard object pressing against his right ear, the mouse. The thirty seconds following sleep were his favourite part of the day. As his mind started to piece together his memories for a brief moment he was not the person with so much anger and bitterness inside. He was just an ordinary guy with ordinary worries.
He decided to take a look at his emails and again ignored the mess surrounding his laptop. There was a time when his desk, like his life, was ordered and everything pointed the same way. It was a minimalist workspace with just a mouse and a mat for his coffee cup complimenting the aluminium computer in the centre. Today, the desk was strewn with random post-it notes, an ashtray that was overflowing, dust literally everywhere and various other bits of stationary that were of little use. The only consistency was the dust on the window leading to the back garden which was trying its hardest to prevent the sun from lighting up the disorganised workspace.
Marc had managed to keep himself clean and tidy, at least to the outside world, but had too often let the house and garden descend into a chaotic representation of his mind. It was just too hard to tidy and to do the little things that make a house a home. How could it ever be a home again?
I am right in the middle of writing Tiny Tears, but expect to be complete by July and to release in September 2021. I started writing it 8 years ago, but normal life got in the way and so it sat on a computer somewhere going nowhere.
The only benefit of lockdown has been having the space to write again for long periods at a time and I have found a completely new perspective on the story which makes it feel worthy now.