Tides of Sorrow

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1.4 - NOTHING IMPORTANT

With the finishing touches applied, Becky was, at best, aesthetically ready to embark on a night of ghoulish entertainment.

As she had watched herself transform from an average 30-something, field-sales advertising rep into a seductive and voluptuous vamp, the reality of her situation hit her hard.

The erratic ebb and flow of her confidence was starting to take its toll. She was the epitome of someone able to ‘talk the talk’ but unarguably incompetent at following through when it came to ‘walking the walk’.

Self-pity threatened to drown her.

Her feelings of being broken were not helped any when her phone continually pinged and rang; the specially allocated ringtone alerting her immediately to who was trying to reach her.

She doubted Michael would be calling out of concern for her. More likely he would want to know if she had cancelled the weekend or not, with a view to hopefully heading to the coastal town for the festival and possibly wriggling his way back into her bed.

She didn’t dare answer for fear she told him and that was exactly how things would end up. Then again, she could lie she supposed by telling him she sold the whole package to some friends who had wanted to go but couldn’t find anywhere to stay. Whether he would believe her or not would be another matter which would just add more pressure to her already feeble state of mind.

His persistence, however, was grinding her nerves, pulling at her fragile emotions and causing her to reconsider her plans for the evening. A moment’s perfidious mirth tumbled from her mouth as she visualised plucking the petals from a Michaelmas Daisy chanting “answer phone -ignore it”, “answer phone - ignore it”.

Tears spilt accompanied by an almost banshee-style wailing as the hurt engulfed her yet again.

Voices from the hallway filtered through her misery. The gay couple from the room upstairs were making their way down.

She had met them that morning when she’d arrived and in chatting they’d told her they were so looking forward to the weekend. On hearing that she was there alone, they instantly invited her to join them in a little soiree they had planned. Nick, the younger looking one of the two, whispered in her ear there was nothing to worry about; they weren’t going to try and persuade her which side her bread should be buttered on, they merely thought it would be company for her.

On one hand, she found herself cringing that she must have worn her pain so openly but on the other, she was quietly grateful for the offer.

She sniffed, pulling out a tissue from the box on the dresser. Blowing her nose, she then reached for a second tissue and dabbed her eyes, trying not to smudge the heavy eyeliner anymore than her tears had already managed. She stared at her reflection. “Get a grip, Becky,” she said to herself. “He isn’t worth it.”

Then with a newfound, albeit forced, determination, she grabbed her bag and cloak then opened her door just as Nick and Craig descended the stairs.

Being met by what could only be described as a hybrid of plague doctor-come-Darth Vader with the outrageous Dr Frank N Furter hanging on his arm, was something of a sobering experience.

If anything, it lightened Becky’s mood.

“You look fantastic!” Nick (Frank N Furter) said. He stepped back with all the dramatics of his character, tossing his bouffant curls and pouting as he looked her up and down.

Becky smiled. “As do you. Both! But, won’t you freeze, Nick?”

He flapped a dismissive hand. “Hell no, we’ll be in the pubs most the time.”

Becky’s phone rang again.

Craig’s voice was a little muffled behind his mask. “If you need to get that, Becky, we’ll be waiting outside.”

Digging in her bag, Becky retrieved her phone. “No, it’s...nothing important,” she replied, eyeing Michael’s name and number flashing on her screen. She silenced her phone and popped it back in her bag.

The plague doctor nodded. “Come on then, the others will be waiting.”

“Others?” she asked, as they ushered her down and out of the guest house.

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