30 Day Challenge: Day 30 – Motives (Extract 3)



For previous extracts of Motives, see Day 6 and Day 22.


The kitchen looks new, professional and very expensive.  

Julia is preparing dinner, her anger going into chopping vegetables. Jack walks in, a wad of paper in his hand. Julia doesn’t even acknowledge his presence.

JACK: Hey…

Julia ignores Jack. Jack puts the paper on the counter.

JACK (CONT’D): I need you to sign this contract for the Harrison account…

Jack pushes the contract towards Julia. It says ‘J&J DAVIS PRESS’ across the top. Julia takes one look at it, and pushes it off the counter on to the floor. The papers scatter everywhere. 

JACK (CONT’D): Okay. You’re mad. I know…

Jack picks up the papers and shuffles them into a pile.

JACK (CONT’D): But this is to benefit our company. Can you just sign-

Julia grabs the papers, dumps them in the sink and turns the taps on.

JACK (CONT’D): Julia!

Julia still doesn’t respond.

JACK (CONT’D): Look, it meant nothing…

Jack walks towards Julia.

JACK (CONT’D): I’m sorry-

JULIA: Jack, I swear to God, if you come any closer, I’ll stab you in the face.

Julia holds the knife up to Jack.

DYLAN DAVIS (17, looks older) and MADELEINE DAVIS (14, spitting image of Julia) walk in. Julia continues chopping vegetables and she and Jack try to act normal.

JULIA (CONT’D): Hey kiddos. How was the film?

MADELEINE: It was all right…

DYLAN: What are you talking about? It was awesome!

MADELEINE: Well, it would have been better if you and your friends weren’t kicking mine and Tabitha’s seats the whole time…

DYLAN: You shouldn’t have sat so close to us then, should you?

MADELEINE: Whatever.

DYLAN: What’s for dinner, Mum?

JULIA: Lasagna.

DYLAN: Do well.

Pause. Awkward moment. Dylan and Madeleine sense the tension.

MADELEINE: Oooh, what’s going on here?

JULIA: What?

MADELEINE: What have you done, Dad?

JACK: Nothing.

DYLAN: Yeah, right…

MADELEINE: Mum’s mad.

JULIA (clearly mad): I’m not mad.

MADELEINE: Wanna tell your face that? Come on, what did he do?

JULIA: You kids and your drama. Look, everything’s fine… See?

Julia kisses Jack to prove it.

MADELEINE: Gross, guys…

Dylan and Madeleine leave the room, disgusted. The second they’re gone, Julia stops kissing Jack and kicks him in the groin. He falls to the floor in pain.

Julia turns the taps off and gathers the soggy papers from the sink. She hurls them at Jack’s face, soaking him in the process.

Julia then goes back to chopping the vegetables, as if nothing happened.

JULIA: Sorry, hon, did I hurt you?


30 Day Challenge: Day 29 – Comedy Routine



In my third year of uni I took a comedy class not realising that part of the assessment was a stand up comedy routine. This was what I ‘performed’ – if you can count sweating, shaking and trying to remember how to say the word sarcasm correctly as performing. I’m warped, I know, but even I can’t believe I said the following out loud to a room full of people with a camera pointed at me.

No, I will never share the YouTube link. Never.



If you don’t like sarcasm, you won’t like me… So get the fuck out.

No, I’m kidding…

Or am I?

Some people say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. Well, those people should be shot in the face. At close range. Forty-six times. In front of their weeping parents.

No, I’m joking… Actually, I’m not, shoot them all, even the children.

Sarcasm is an essential part of our society. Without it, life as we know it would be over. If sarcasm was banned there would be riots in the streets, whole cities would be burned to the ground and ninety percent of the population would be imaginatively yet brutally murdered. And that’s just how I’d cope.

Do you know how many articles there are about dealing with sarcastic people? Too fucking many. Most of them talk about how you should be sensitive around sarcastic people because psychologists say that sarcasm is just the defence mechanism of a deeply unhappy person. Really? I personally think it’s just the best way to deal with the clinically retarded.

Speaking of psychology, anyone here ever read a self help book? Yeah, some of you have? Okay, well, you did it wrong. You see, self help books can’t help you if you read them. No… The only way they’ll help you is if you use several of them to weigh yourself down when you jump off a bridge into a deep, icy lake filled with toxic waste and piranhas.

Come on, are you really going to take life advice from psychologists? Their careers are based on Freud wanting to fuck his own mother! Freudian slip? More like Freudian slips into his mother’s vagina.

Psychologists tell everyone to voice their feelings… ‘Don’t bottle it up, let it all out…’ They’re the reason the world is filled with oversharers… You know the type – the people who know you for all of five seconds and tell you everything from the death of their grandfather to their recent yeast infection. Both in graphic detail. I’m not kidding, this woman actually told me both these stories and I still don’t know which was worse. I mean, yes, her grandfather was killed in a horrifying skiing accident where he fell off a cliff, was practically decapitated by the ski lift wire and impaled by a tree… But this woman’s yeast infection. Let’s just say it made me wish I didn’t have a vagina. Or out of date yoghurt in the fridge.

We’ve all met an oversharer, right? Well, if you haven’t, it’s you. And you need to be stopped… You know what, I hear they sell some excellent self help books on oversharing… You should go buy yourself a couple…dozen.

Nowadays with Facebook and Twitter we get to know everything about everyone. FACT: annoying, misspelled, private subject matter Facebook statuses cause sixty-five percent of a third of twenty-four percent of a quarter and a half of all murders. And you can quote me on that.

I mean, don’t psychologists understand? Their encouragement of people telling everyone everything is what caused sarcasm in the first place… What better way to respond to statuses like ‘I literally hate my cheating ex boyfriend.’ than with ‘WHAT? Shut. Up. I’ve never heard of anyone that literally hates their cheating ex boyfriend…’ Or ‘It’s snowing outside!’ with ‘Oh my God, that’s what that falling white stuff is!’ Or ‘I just took a two foot long, mile wide shit!’ with ‘Congratulations, your medal will arrive in 2 to 4 weeks…’

Honestly, these ‘psychologists’ don’t know shit. You just wait, next they’ll be trying to tell you that, I don’t know, midgets aren’t circus freaks or that alcoholism is a real thing…

(Downs contents of a vodka bottle)

Anyway, you probably haven’t realised this about me yet, but I’m a little sarcastic. I know, I hide it well… My problem is when I have to be around someone who doesn’t understand sarcasm…

For instance, I was talking to some friends about prostitution the other week, you know, as you do… And I said ‘Oh yeah, being a prostitute sounds greeeaaat…’ And this genius looked at me, sheer disgust wiped across her face and said ‘Laura, how could you say that?’

Now, I’m not a particularly violent person…but at this point I wanted a large, dense object covered in spikes and industrial-strength bleach to fall from the ceiling and crush her.

Of course I’d eventually get it off her. I’m not a monster! I’d make sure she was okay!

Then I’d kick her ‘til she was dead.

30 Day Challenge: Day 28 – The Transplant (Extract 2)



For the first extract of The Transplant, see Day 2.


MEGAN stares out of her window across the hallway into the room opposite her: a MAN (80s) and his FAMILY are celebrating with champagne.

Megan is clearly suffering from alcohol withdrawal symptoms (shakiness, sweating, nausea, insomnia, headache). She dials her phone – it goes straight to voicemail. Megan is furious. She waits for the beep to begin her message.

MEGAN (into phone): Where the hell are you? You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. I don’t pay you to sit around on your ass all day. Now drop that enchilada, put on your sombrero, hop on your donkey and get your fat little Mexican ass over here with my breakfast booze.

Megan hangs up. She stares across the hall at the old man and his family again. A NURSE (20s) walks in. Megan looks her up and down. The nurse looks terrified. Pause.

MEGAN: I’ll give you $20,000 for your uniform.

The nurse looks at her in horror, then shrugs her shoulders.

NURSE: Okay.

The nurse goes into Megan’s bathroom. Megan gets her chequebook out of her bag.

MEGAN: I’ll throw in an extra $5000 if you leave a urine sample.


MEGAN: Just piss in the bottle, genius.

Megan signs the cheque.


Ryan walks down the corridor towards Megan’s room, past the window of the room opposite to Megan’s, looking in to see the man and his family celebrating along with Megan, dressed in a nurse’s uniform being handed a glass of champagne. Ryan sighs in disbelief, then knocks on the door of the room and enters.


Megan, the man and his family turn to see Ryan at the door.

RYAN: Sorry to interrupt…

Megan tries to hide behind her glass.

RYAN (CONT’D): Nurse Megan, can I see you outside?

Megan looks as if she could kill Ryan, but then smiles.

MEGAN: Of course, doctor…

Megan walks towards the door, attempting to hide her glass.

MEGAN (CONT’D): Now Stanley, you just keep up the good work okay? I don’t wanna see you back here again, you hear?

FAMILY MEMBER: Thank you again.

MEGAN: Oh, don’t thank me. I’m just doing God’s work…

RYAN (under breath, to Megan): Would you come on.

Ryan grabs Megan’s arm and pulls her to the door.

MEGAN: And CeCe, good luck with the gastric band. You’re doing the right thing – remember, there’s no room in heaven for fatties.

Ryan pulls Megan out of the room.


Ryan marches Megan back to her room. Megan tries not to spill her drink.

MEGAN: Easy tiger, you’ll hurt your wife’s liver.

RYAN: Shut up.

MEGAN: What the hell are you doing back here? Can’t liver with me, can’t liver without me, huh?

They arrive at Megan’s room. Ryan pushes her inside, then slams the door behind him.


Megan goes to drink from her glass.

RYAN: For God’s sake, Megan.

Ryan snatches the glass from her. She looks furious.

RYAN (CONT’D): You need help. Serious help.

MEGAN: You need deodorant. Serious, industrial strength deodorant. Now give me the-

Megan goes to take the glass back, but Ryan moves towards the window, holding the glass out, ready to drop it. Megan gasps dramatically.

MEGAN (CONT’D): Woah, okay. Let’s not do anything crazy. Wasting good champagne is a sin. Drop that and you’ll earn yourself a one way ticket to hell.

RYAN: Fine, I’m gonna need this anyway.

Ryan downs the champagne, then throws the glass out of the window. Megan is horrified. Megan sits down on the edge of her bed, physically shaking.

RYAN (CONT’D): Would you look at yourself. You’re shaking, you’re sweating, you’re on the verge of vomiting-

Megan goes to say something, but Ryan beats her to it.

RYAN (CONT’D): And no, not because I smell. You need professional help. Look, I’m a rehab counsellor. I can help you…

Megan looks vulnerable.

MEGAN: You can?

Ryan is shocked at Megan’s interest.

RYAN: Sure. We can set up an appointment and talk about treatment plans…

Megan nods. Ryan smiles sympathetically.

MEGAN (emotional): Could you do something for me now?

RYAN: Of course, what?

MEGAN (deadpan): Jump out that window and die.

RYAN (shocked): Wow.

MEGAN: Look, you were fun at first but I’m bored of this now. So, get out or I’ll have my maid sit on you. She’s a large lady – trust me, all that’ll be left of you will be a few strands of that awful straw-like hair, a couple white blood cells and an ear lobe swimming in a puddle of B.O. juice.

RYAN: I’m gonna help you whether you like it or not.

MEGAN: What’s the return policy on livers around here? Is it a twenty-eight day thing, or what?

RYAN: Is my wife’s liver not up to your standards?

MEGAN: No, and neither is the liver’s first owner’s husband. Now get out.

Ryan walks to the door, opens it.

RYAN: Fine, but I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow.

MEGAN: I’m going to catch Ebola just so I can give it to you.

RYAN: You’re a delight.

Ryan leaves.


Ryan bumps into Megan’s maid, JOSEFINA PENA-RIVERA (57, of Mexican descent, short, fat, wearing a maid’s uniform under a coat).


RYAN: My fault. Wait, are you Megan Delaney’s maid?

JOSEFINA (offended): You see a middle-aged Mexican woman and instantly think maid? That’s racist!

RYAN: I’m sorry! I just assumed-

JOSEFINA: Well don’t! You know, it’s people like you who keep this stupid, outdated stereotype aliv-

MEGAN (OFF STAGE): Josefina!

Josefina freezes.

MEGAN (CONT’D, OFF STAGE): Shut your fat, chimichanga eating mouth and get in here!

Ryan raises an eyebrow at Josefina. She smiles at him.

JOSEFINA: You still shouldn’t just assume.

Josefina walks to Megan’s door.

RYAN: Wait. Look, I’m a rehab counsellor. When Megan drinks and get’s herself in trouble, call me.

Ryan hands Josefina a card from his wallet. Josefina puts the card in her bag.

­­RYAN (CONT’D): I don’t care what time.

JOSEFINA: Okay. I’ll call.

Ryan and Josefina smile at each other.

MEGAN (OFF STAGE): Josefina!

Josefina rushes into the room. Ryan listens.


MEGAN (OFF STAGE): What are you apologising for, you being late or the fact that you smell like you bathed in my Chanel No. 5, you thieving, lard assed Mex-crement…

Ryan walks away, laughing to himself.

30 Day Challenge: 3 Days Left



Ok, I’m wrapping this 30 Day Challenge up tonight. I missed yesterday, for one reason and one reason only. Wine. So, tonight you get Day 28, 29 and 30, because it seems weird to end a challenge on a Monday. So three posts in one day – aren’t you lucky?

I have enjoyed this writing challenge…most of the time. I’ll keep posting blogs after it’s over, but definitely not quite so often!

For those of you that have read, liked or commented, thank you!



30 Day Challenge: Day 27 – Black Friday



Do not buy that. No, do not buy that either. Do you need it? No, no you do not. What could you possibly do with a wine decanter. You don’t throw dinner parties. You don’t need to air your wine. Most of the time you don’t even need a glass for God’s sake, so no, do not buy that fancy ass but absolutely beautifully sophisticated wine decanter. There’s nothing sophisticated about the way you drink wine, let’s be honest.

Oh good lord, no, do not buy the poncho. You will never wear a poncho. Who the hell even came up with the poncho? It’s just like a blanket with a head hole. Wait, that’s kind of genius – no! Do not buy it. Black Friday is getting to you. Black Friday is to blame. You know damn well that every store you’re looking at bumped up their prices two weeks ago just to give you a fantastic saving today. How dumb are you? Forget about the poncho.

And Christ alive, do not even look at that blender. You already have a blender. Yes, it is the biggest pain in the ass to clean and assemble, and yes it leaks half the time, and yes it’s probably nearly electricuted you on several occasions, but it works…kind of. It may give you anger management issues but the blades still spin so you do not need a new blender, ok?  It’s only £18.99 – no, fuck the blender. Take a step away from the laptop. Put down your phone. You have a problem, seek help.

No, fucking hell, do not buy that. No. No!

30 Day Challenge: Day 26 – The Writing Struggle is Real



Ok, so in all honesty, this writing challenge is a lot harder than I thought it would be. When I started it, I was unemployed and had a whole load of free time, and I needed something to do other than applying for jobs, jobs and more jobs. I thought, what better way to get back into writing on a regular basis than a challenge? I wrote every day at uni – it’ll be no big deal…

So, so wrong. A few days into the challenge I got a full time job in which I write about very expensive furniture. Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely loving the job – but to then come home and try to find some kind of inspiration to write something else? That’s the struggle.

I will admit, I have been relying on stories and scripts that I wrote way back when much more than I had planned on, but editing them takes time. And time is not really something I have most nights, you know, if I want to cook and eat something relatively healthy, not smell bad and get a decent amount of sleep…

Anyway, the point of this whole blog post is that I’ve been going through a lot of my old work, and oh my God, so shocking. Maybe in a few years time I’ll look back at this whole blog and think what the hell was I on? Who knows. Anyway, I’d like to treat you to a few examples of my ridiculously awful creations.

Here are the synopses of some stand out appalling stories/scripts/poems I actually wrote:

Sociopath mind reader goes back to her hometown seeking revenge on the one person who shouldn’t have outcast her – her best friend, who, plot twist, is also a mind reader.

A Thelma and Louise type friendship, where the two women are running away because they were tricked into framing their husbands for murder, and now, said husbands, are pissed. Road trip comedy drama, with a pet iguana.

17 years ago, woman’s husband sleeps with her sister, fathering a child – 17 years later, the sister’s husband finds out and lets everyone know about it while they are stuck in a house because of a major storm. There’s a gun, that is not so subtly referenced to in the first scene…

Lying in the ruins of a plane crash, a woman realises the sky is green and that she is, in fact, on another planet. The plot thickens when strange alien like creatures with no mouths or arm pits threaten to eat her. How you ask? I don’t have a fucking clue.

The entirety of my poetry portfolio. What a joke.

30 Day Challenge: Day 25 – Internal Monologue: Julia Davis



Sometimes I write internal monologues to figure out how a certain character would act in a situation. I think this helps especially when there are a lot of characters in a scene all struggling to be heard. When I was writing Motives, I wrote several internal monologues for Felicity, Julia, Adelaida and Lily, but this one for Julia really helped me with her character in the scene I posted for Day 22. These monologues are usually short, and might not seem like a lot, but thinking like the character helps me with everything from writing their dialogue to figuring out how they would act in the worst of circumstances. Whatever, it’s a load of writing waffle, I know, but it’s Day 25 and I am fresh out of ideas for tonight so this is what you’re getting.


The secretary. The fucking secretary. He fucked the fucking secretary. Yes, Doug stole your job, and Ed got himself fired, but Jack fucked the fucking secretary. No one cares. I said I don’t care, so they don’t care. They should care. I don’t have to, but they should care that I so obviously don’t care even though they know that I do fucking care. My husband fucked the fucking secretary. No, you know what, he can go fuck all the secretaries he likes. You’d think my friends could just spend five seconds asking me if I’m ok, though. I showed an interest in their stupid little problems, offered some advice that they will, of course, ignore, and what do I get in return? ‘You know what, I hate men.’ Really? That’s great, but we weren’t talking about men, we were talking about Jack – you should hate Jack. Him. Not men. But no, we’re back on the Adie show. Or the Flick show. Or the… Well, Lily doesn’t really have a show because her life is so perfectly boring, but that’s not the point. None of them care. And you know who else doesn’t care? Jack.  He wouldn’t have fucked the fucking secretary if he cared.

30 Day Challenge: Day 24 – Perspectives (Screenplay Extract)




MELANIE MCCORNICK (39) is usually a no-nonsense, sharp-tongued and witted, type A woman, but right now? She’s lying in a hospital bed in a plain room, restrained with ties on her wrists and ankles. She looks very pale, what’s left of her makeup is smudged across her face and her hair is matted from an unsettled night.

ZAINA KHAN-TRENT (34), who with her bohemian style looks more like a quirky art teacher than a psychiatrist, stands by Melanie’s bed. Her voice is very calming, annoyingly so. Her presence irritates Melanie.

ZAINA: Mrs McCornick? Are you comfortable?

Melanie glances towards her wrist and ankle ties, the rough looking bed sheet, the stained walls, the mouldy window which doesn’t close properly, the tray of inedible food attracting flies on a table next to the bed – of course she’s not ’comfortable.’

ZAINA (CONT’D): Melanie- May I call you Melanie?

Melanie shoots Zaina a look of indifference.

MELANIE: That’s my name…

Zaina sits down on a chair which has restraints on the arm rests.

ZAINA: I’m Zaina. Zaina Khan-Trent. I’m going to be checking in on you while you’re staying with us. Do you understand why you’re here?

Pause. Melanie stares at Zaina – despite being tied to the bed, she is controlling the room.

ZAINA (CONT’D): Your husband is very worried about you.

Melanie smirks.

ZAINA (CONT’D): Melanie, this whole process will go a lot more smoothly if you co-operate. I’m on your side. I’m here to help you.

MELANIE: I don’t need your-

Melanie’s sentence is finished by:

NATHAN (V.O.): Help.


NATHAN MCCORNICK (50), a silver-fox with a charming, kind look about him, sits in front of Zaina. He looks emotionally drained and close to tears. He has a long thin knife cut along his neck.

NATHAN (CONT’D): That’s what she needs… I trust you’ll keep her stay here discreet. The press are sniffing around and I know she’d hate for anyone to know…

ZAINA: Of course. Confidentiality is a key value here at Hope Found…

Nathan smiles appreciatively, but Zaina can see his sadness.

ZAINA (CONT’D): I understand this must have been difficult, Mr McCornick, but you did the right thing. This is the best place for Melanie at this time…

NATHAN: I just… I need my wife back.

A tear rolls down Nathan’s cheek. He brushes it away, clearing his throat, trying to pull himself together. Zaina smiles sympathetically.



Melanie stares at Zaina coldly. Zaina doesn’t quite know how to take Melanie.

ZAINA: Your husband asked for our help.

Pause. Zaina stares back at Melanie – both seem to refuse to break their eye contact.

ZAINA (V.O., CONT’D): Yes, that Melanie McCornick…


Zaina is stood outside the hospital, cigarette in hand, though she forgets to smoke it, only taking a drag occasionally. She talks on the phone discreetly.

ZAINA (CONT’D): Yeah, he was here. He brought her in. (beat) No, of course I didn’t! (beat) What could I have said? Sorry your wife’s a little, you know, woohoo, but would you mind signing this for my husband? He’s a big fan… (beat) No, he looked terrible. I hardly recognised him…


Zaina and JAMES TRENT (33 in present day scenes), a well-groomed, preppy looking man, sit cuddling on the sofa, in a small apartment that is fairly basic in terms of furnishings. There are unpacked boxes which seem to have become part of the furniture. They are watching the news on the television. The date in the corner of the television screen reads 28 June, 2011. We watch the news report along with Zaina and James.

NEWS REPORTER (ON TV): Foreign Secretary, Nathan McCornick, earlier had this to say.

The news report cuts to a press conference. Nathan stands in the centre, while Melanie stands to the side, looking glamorous, in front of a reasonably large crowd of REPORTERS.

NATHAN (ON TV): This morning I spoke with Secretary Clinton and together we have agreed on a united stance in reaction to the events that took place in Iran yesterday.

The news report cuts to Melanie, looking on, proudly.

NATHAN (ON TV, CONT’D): As we have done so before, we will be working with the

United States in order to successfully negotiate with Iran and to…

Back to Zaina and James – the news report carries on in the background.

JAMES: McCornick will go down as one of the best foreign secretaries we’ve had, mark my words…

Zaina looks on at James, who is staring in adoration at Nathan on the television. Back on the TV: Nathan flashes a winning smile, then:



Nathan stands to the side, looking exhausted and heartbroken while Melanie is dragged through the reception kicking and screaming by TWO MALE NURSES. Zaina watches on from the front desk, along with everyone else in sight.

MELANIE: Get the fuck off me!

Melanie physically assaults one of the nurses holding her. They manage to keep hold of her, despite one of them bleeding.

NATHAN: Mel, please, just stop…

MELANIE: Don’t talk to me! You did this!

NATHAN: Please, Mel-

MELANIE: You’re a liar! You’re a fucking liar!

NATHAN: (to the nurses, defeated) Just take her, please.

A DOCTOR, pill cup in hand, walks over to Melanie. Nathan turns away from the scene.

MELANIE: (panicked) No! No, I don’t need to be here! I’m not insane, he’s lying! He’s lying about me!

DOCTOR: Melanie, we need you to calm down now…

MELANIE: I can’t calm down! He’s doing this on purpose! I’m not crazy! It’s him!

DOCTOR: Melanie, I’d like to give you a sedative, just to relax you a little, ok? If you take this pill, you’ll begin to feel nice and calm-

The doctor holds out the small cup with one pill in it.

MELANIE: What? No! I’m not taking any pills! I’m not insane! Nathan, tell them I’m not insane!

Nathan turns back to face Melanie.

NATHAN: Mel, you tried to kill me-

MELANIE: You fucking LIAR!

DOCTOR: Melanie, since you have refused an oral sedative, I have no choice but to administer intramuscular sedation. I have to inject you. Do you understand?

MELANIE: No! No, don’t!

A nurse hands the doctor a needle.

MELANIE (CONT’D): NO! I don’t need anything! I’m not fucking crazy!

Though she puts up a fight, the doctor manages to inject Melanie with the needle. She continues struggling, while the sedation slowly kicks in.

MELANIE (CONT’D): No! NO! Nathan, tell them to stop! TELL THEM TO STOP! NATHAN!

DOCTOR: Melanie, you’re ok. We’ve got you. It’s all done. You’re going to feel relaxed real soon. We’re going to help you, all right?

Melanie begins to relax. The nurses have to hold her up. The nurses carry her through to a private room, while she continues mumbling.

Nathan stands back, looking shell shocked. He glances at Zaina, who smiles sympathetically.



Zaina, still on the phone, drops her cigarette to the floor and presses her foot over it.

ZAINA: Yeah, she’s going to be a handful, definitely.

30 Day Challenge: Day 23 – Perspectives (Extract)



For Chapters 1 & 2, see Day 8. For Chapter 3, see Day 13. For Chapter 4, see Day 20.

Chapter 5: Melanie

If we were anywhere else I’d slap her so hard that smug look would fall right off her face. So she thinks she’s sussed me out; big deal. What does she think is going to happen now? We’ll become best friends and talk about our dickhead husbands while braiding each other’s hair and syncing our periods?

Let me think about that. No.

Is your husband having an affair? Please, try affairs. My husband really went to town in order to screw me over. Not just the one blonde bitch like any normal adulterous bastard, but two blonde bitches. Oh, and a brunette bitch and a red-headed bitch and a bitch with electric blue streaks in her hair. Obviously my husband likes variety in his bitches. Of course, not with age though; all of them are in their twenties.

‘That’s none of your business.’

Christ, I ripped into him… Not physically; I have no idea how he got the bruises – I certainly didn’t give them to him. Like I’m going to start a fight with a six foot, four man who’s built like a brick shit house. No, I used my best weapon. There isn’t a name under the sun that I didn’t call him, and trust me; he did not like what I had to say. Richard’s surrounded by people who are paid to lie to boost that overinflated ego of his even further, and for a long time I fell into that category. Not now.

Our marriage was strained, even before I found out about the affairs, but we’d stayed together out of politeness and mutual pride. A divorce would ruin both our reputations. Funnily enough though, after I found out, I didn’t give a shit about my reputation; I wanted to take him down, even if it meant I went down with him. So I told him I wanted a divorce and that I was going to tell everyone about his extramarital activities; no one’s going to vote for a cheating, cradle-robbing scumbag, but he was one step ahead. Like always.

‘My husband’s been having his affair for a while now…’

And now on ‘The Amelia Trent Show’, Amelia Trent, talks about herself!

Is there a gun lying around here anywhere? My brain would love to meet a bullet right about now…

‘I still haven’t told him I know.’

Oh, now she’s making it difficult not to react on purpose. Look at her; I can hear the click click click of the wheels turning in her head.

‘I found out a month ago, but I haven’t confronted him about it yet…’

I know she’s testing me, trying to figure me out.

‘I even ironed a shirt for him last night knowing damn well just who he was going to be wearing it for.’

‘What the hell is wrong with you?!’

All right, that outburst was a little obvious, I’ll admit. But come on, how the hell can you do nothing when you find out your husband is cheating on you? My God, when I found out about Richard’s affairs I wanted to shoot him in the face. I nearly torched the house with him in it for God’s sake. I mean, honestly I was so damn close to taking a knife to his dick. And here she is, cool as a cucumber, while her husband is probably sticking his cucumber into some skanky whorish slag.

‘It’s not easy to bring it up…’

Well, apparently it is for him, honey.

‘I’m waiting for the right moment.’

‘That’s bullshit.’

‘Well, how did you confront Richard?’

‘I just told him to-‘

Oh shit. Good one.

And look; right on cue, there’s that smug grin again.

‘You just what?’