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Authors: Milly Johnson
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say we’ll call around tea-time tomorrow, they might ask us to stay for something
to eat, then you can have a good natter and show off your charm and wit. And muscles. How can Floz resist?’
‘You must keep it secret from Juliet why we’re really going,’ warned Guy.
‘Course I will.’ Steve grinned, pleased with his plan. And he was very good at keeping secrets. The one thing Steve had never told Guy was that since they were at primary school,
he’d had the biggest crush on Juliet Miller.
Chapter 10
The next morning, Floz spent a few quiet minutes staring out of the window which overlooked the communal gardens whilst she was drinking her second coffee. It was a beautiful
mid-August day, bright blue skies and a high sun, yellow as a lemon drop. But there were a few leaves on the turn on the trees, brown splatters amongst the green. The summer was evidently enjoying
its last weeks on the year’s throne.
Her first job was to send off the saucy Valentine’s card copy to Lee Status by email. He rang her within minutes of receiving it.
‘Thanks for the Vals, babe. Now, have I got a brilliant emergency brief for you!’
‘Do tell,’ said Floz, who hoped it was a nice cheery one because she badly needed some light relief after the awful night’s sleep she’d had. She’d dreamed of Nick
coming back into her life and must have felt real euphoria in her sleep, because when she awoke and realized that it was all a dream, she felt bereft.
‘Cards for the terminally ill,’ said Lee. ‘ “Sorry you’re dying” et cetera.’
Floz floundered on an answer before finding her voice. ‘You are joking! Who’d want to get a card saying “sorry you’re dying”?’
Lee ignored her and ploughed on. ‘You can really let your poetic side loose. Don’t mention specific illnesses, obviously, just beautiful warm lines like “wishing you strength
and guardian angel” bollocks.’
‘Lee – are you serious?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lee, with glee in his voice. ‘The sales figures on our “We’ll Meet Again” range are through the roof. People sending cards to dead
relatives is the new black. Death is the future. I think it’s down to the popularity of these undead teen fiction films.’
Floz had written a lot of the ‘We’ll Meet Again’ verses for the weatherproof laminated cards which were specifically designed to be left on graves.
‘There’s a bit of difference between a fond verse for a deceased loved one and this new range. I mean, what are you going to call it for a start?’
‘Dunno,’ mused Lee. ‘ “Death’s Door”? Possibly a bit too harsh. I know, I know – what about “Waiting for God”? Mind you, that could alienate
the atheists. Hmmm . . . Anyway, the range title can wait. If you think of one, I’ll pay you for it.’
‘Okay,’ sighed Floz. A job was a job whether it was writing cards for living, dead or dying people.
It took her nearly two hours to write the first poem and be satisfied with it. Then she thought of it sitting in a card shop and the sadness of someone who might buy it, the heartache of the
person who might receive it. It wasn’t a job that sat well with her at all, however much she needed the money.
Just before she broke for lunch, Floz updated her website. It didn’t get a load of hits, but it was a useful tool to advertise herself and her expertise. Gibby, the guy who had set it up
for her, had included a page for posting comments. It happened from time to time that she received junk mail that didn’t make any sense, and the occasional circulated advert asking her if she
wanted to link to a blog about finding sexy housewives in her area, or to grow a bigger penis. But the mail she discovered on her website that day wasn’t her regular spam. It was sent
anonymously and just said Glad to see you’re doing good, Cherrylips.
It could have been a coincidence, but she didn’t think so. There was only one person who ever called her
to eat, then you can have a good natter and show off your charm and wit. And muscles. How can Floz resist?’
‘You must keep it secret from Juliet why we’re really going,’ warned Guy.
‘Course I will.’ Steve grinned, pleased with his plan. And he was very good at keeping secrets. The one thing Steve had never told Guy was that since they were at primary school,
he’d had the biggest crush on Juliet Miller.
Chapter 10
The next morning, Floz spent a few quiet minutes staring out of the window which overlooked the communal gardens whilst she was drinking her second coffee. It was a beautiful
mid-August day, bright blue skies and a high sun, yellow as a lemon drop. But there were a few leaves on the turn on the trees, brown splatters amongst the green. The summer was evidently enjoying
its last weeks on the year’s throne.
Her first job was to send off the saucy Valentine’s card copy to Lee Status by email. He rang her within minutes of receiving it.
‘Thanks for the Vals, babe. Now, have I got a brilliant emergency brief for you!’
‘Do tell,’ said Floz, who hoped it was a nice cheery one because she badly needed some light relief after the awful night’s sleep she’d had. She’d dreamed of Nick
coming back into her life and must have felt real euphoria in her sleep, because when she awoke and realized that it was all a dream, she felt bereft.
‘Cards for the terminally ill,’ said Lee. ‘ “Sorry you’re dying” et cetera.’
Floz floundered on an answer before finding her voice. ‘You are joking! Who’d want to get a card saying “sorry you’re dying”?’
Lee ignored her and ploughed on. ‘You can really let your poetic side loose. Don’t mention specific illnesses, obviously, just beautiful warm lines like “wishing you strength
and guardian angel” bollocks.’
‘Lee – are you serious?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lee, with glee in his voice. ‘The sales figures on our “We’ll Meet Again” range are through the roof. People sending cards to dead
relatives is the new black. Death is the future. I think it’s down to the popularity of these undead teen fiction films.’
Floz had written a lot of the ‘We’ll Meet Again’ verses for the weatherproof laminated cards which were specifically designed to be left on graves.
‘There’s a bit of difference between a fond verse for a deceased loved one and this new range. I mean, what are you going to call it for a start?’
‘Dunno,’ mused Lee. ‘ “Death’s Door”? Possibly a bit too harsh. I know, I know – what about “Waiting for God”? Mind you, that could alienate
the atheists. Hmmm . . . Anyway, the range title can wait. If you think of one, I’ll pay you for it.’
‘Okay,’ sighed Floz. A job was a job whether it was writing cards for living, dead or dying people.
It took her nearly two hours to write the first poem and be satisfied with it. Then she thought of it sitting in a card shop and the sadness of someone who might buy it, the heartache of the
person who might receive it. It wasn’t a job that sat well with her at all, however much she needed the money.
Just before she broke for lunch, Floz updated her website. It didn’t get a load of hits, but it was a useful tool to advertise herself and her expertise. Gibby, the guy who had set it up
for her, had included a page for posting comments. It happened from time to time that she received junk mail that didn’t make any sense, and the occasional circulated advert asking her if she
wanted to link to a blog about finding sexy housewives in her area, or to grow a bigger penis. But the mail she discovered on her website that day wasn’t her regular spam. It was sent
anonymously and just said Glad to see you’re doing good, Cherrylips.
It could have been a coincidence, but she didn’t think so. There was only one person who ever called her
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