I loved the Writers in Residence 2022 competition, hosted by the Frome Writers Collective.
On the morning of the competition, we all meet up and are handed an envelope. Inside is a location in the Frome town centre, and a prompt. We have four hours to write a short story using the prompt in our allocated venue.
This year our prompt was ‘fight’ and my venue was the French General Trading shop and cafe. I experimented without speech punctuation.
This is my story:
The Unexpected Phone Call
I picked up the pile of letters that had fallen on the mat. Relief! That speeding camera must have been switched off. A pizza promo, a flyer for an antique fair in town, and a formal-looking letter. Definitely not from the bank. Mmmm, I thought as I turned it over to read the address. Mayfair? What on earth is this about? It’s probably a scam. Yes, it looks like a scam.
I threw the letter on the coffee table, grabbed my hot chocolate, plonked down on the couch and curled my legs under the gown. It was perfect book weather – rainy, possibly snowy later – bliss!
I had barely started reading when I found my eyes wander over to the letter. Oh, come on! Focus on relaxing, Cath! I had been struggling with concentration recently. Overtired, overwhelmed, and over it! My job at the hotel had taken my soul. I wasn’t doing anything of value. Just existing. But we plug on, don’t we? Money, pandemic, cost of living, being single. No time to dream, just do the British thing –keep calm and carry on.
I sighed! Back to your book. But that damned letter! For goodness sake! I reached across the pile of magazines and ripped the letter open frantically. Only, really, to satisfy the universe.
I read it twice. I put it down. Picked it up, and read it again. I walked around the kitchen table. This is not possible! It must be a scam. Yes, yes, for sure. These people are evil and calculating. I had to sit down and think. My mobile vibrated on the table. ‘No number’ – not answering that! Dodgy criminals! Seconds later a text appeared on the screen to say I had a voicemail. They always do this and don’t leave a message. I wish the world would leave me alone for just a couple of hours to read my book. It’s not difficult, is it?
Then the bloody landline! The ring pierced the quiet and I jumped. Seriously? I grabbed the phone, ready to fight.
Miss Craig? This is Anthony Asquith Esquire.
Yes? (a bit scratchy Cath, I thought)
I have just tried your mobile and left a message.
Ah, yes, it is switched off this morning. I lied. I wanted to add ‘because it’s Saturday!’, but I held my tongue.
This is all a bit complicated, and I will need to see you in person, but I am winding up an estate with someone who apparently had no heirs. It seems, and before doing the final confirmation details, you may be the sole heir.
Whatever, I thought!
Miss Craig, are you still there?
Yes yes. I am a little confused. Why, how? I was trying to be polite. Keep his little game going, I thought.
Could you please pop into our offices in Mayfair as soon as you can? We are all in today because this is a big estate. Could you be here by lunch today?
As he spoke, I Googled on my phone. Yes, it seems his company is legit.
And so it seemed, was his claim!
After a bumpy flight to France, my first night in the chateau was utterly bizarre. This is all too much. I need to speak to Asquith. Little me with no relatives. How could this be? And what about my life in London? I love my little flat. And I can’t even speak French. I felt the tears tickle my cheeks. I was so scared. So alone.
Cath! Pull yourself together. Make the most of the next few days and when you get back to London you can have the conversation with Esquire whoever he is. Make a holiday of it. You need the break!
After an uncomfortable night, I got up to a sunny, yet cold day. It was beautiful! The gardens extended to the horizon. The ceilings were adorned with colour and creativity, the light streamed in through the large windows. I really don’t belong here. This is sooo not me.
The building was just too big, too eery.
I need to explore the village, I said out loud. The echo reminded me I was the only person in the mansion.
The bustle of the friendly locals was charming. I had never been to an antique fair. I wonder why I thought. It’s simply wonderful! Thousands of stories. Countless family trees. And troves of treasures. It’s all so intriguing!
I found a café on the square, and in broken French, I ordered a coffee. There is something quite special about people watching in France, I whispered quietly. It feels easy, comfortable, and almost ‘normal’.
But it’s not, is it, Cath? This is just a few days away in gorgeous France until they find their error.
In my periphery, I noticed a young woman hovering. She was, it seems, plucking up the courage to come over to me. I turned to smile at her, and she walked over, tentatively.
In her broken English, she asked if I was the new ‘lady of the manor’. I explained in the simplest English that I was only there in a legal capacity to see the estate and that nothing was finalised.
She burst into tears.
Look what you have done now, Cath! Do something, say something. I reached over and gave her a serviette from under my croissant.
Madam, what will happen to me? To us? We work on the estate and there will be no work? Money for my family? The other families?
I am sorry, but there is a lot of paperwork. I think it will be sold to a private company. I don’t know what they will do with it.
The young girl collapsed into a chair and her shoulders slumped. She spoke into her chest as she wept. What we do? All the people – we work in the garden and the house. And the farmers?
She slowly lifted her head and looked me in the eye.
Et tu? Why not you?
I froze. Shit! What do I say now? I shifted my weight in the chair.
I, I am not really…
Oh, that was super eloquent of you – I reprimanded myself.
But madam. You look kind. You can help us. The village. We need you.
The young girl got up slowly and gave me a gentle smile as she disappeared into the crowded market.
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath and took in the bustle of the French village. My senses were heightened. Yes, yes, why not me? Cath, you can do this!
I opened my eyes to a new me.
I picked up my phone, and scrolled to the last incoming call: Mr. Asquith. It’s Cath Craig. I will be in London on Friday to sign the papers.
