What am I writing?


Hello and Happy Wednesday!  I hope you are all doing really well.

What am I writing?

Those of you who follow me on Facebook will know that I am finally writing again – hurrah! 😀
And you will have seen my updates letting you know how I am getting on.
But…what am I writing?

Here’s a snippet, just for you 😉


g-hlt-111202-hands-4p-today-inline-large“Tracy, have you been on that thing all day?” Janet rolled her eyes and whined at her daughter in exasperation. As soon as she arrived home, Janet knew what she would find—Tracy, her 15-year-old daughter, glued to the games console as she always seemed to be during the school holidays.  Janet stood looking at the image in front of her as she leant on the uPVC front door and closed it with her behind.

“Yeah. So what?” Tracy snidely snapped back. She did not even move her head nor did her mother’s arrival break her concentration or stride as she continued to combat virtual pixelated bad guys on the 32 inch TV screen before her.

Janet put her bag on the coat hook in the hall and took a deep breath. It had been a long day and the last thing she wanted was to fight with Tracy, again. She knew she had to rein in her irritation unless she wanted another bout of door slamming and screaming at each other. “It’s the school holidays. Don’t you want to go outside and do something else?”

“Like what exactly?”

Janet shrugged unseen by her daughter. “Anything has got to be better than staring at that screen all day. Doesn’t it give you a headache?” There was no response. Janet pressed on, “What about your friend Sam, what’s she doing today?”

“Mum,” finally, Janet caught her attention. Heaving a sigh of exasperation, Tracy pushed the button on the controller to pause the game and turned towards her. “Sam’s family are in Spain, they go every summer, remember!”

The sarcasm dripped from her daughter, but Janet refused to be pulled into yet another shouting match with her. Not this time. Not today. She was tired, deeply tired, exhausted with her life. Mike, her estranged husband, and Tracy’s father had called her that lunchtime with yet another schedule change. He, apparently, would not be able to see his daughter again this summer. How on earth would she break that news to Tracy? It would break her heart. She had been looking forward to seeing him for months. She would not understand. She never did. How could she understand that her father’s new family was more important than she was? Janet had to think fast and say or do something. Her own relationship with Tracy was breaking down; she was so temperamental these days, and she herself was tired and snappy. She stood looking down at the beige carpet, it needed replacing, and it was getting threadbare near the front door. Janet felt beaten up. She looked up at her daughter; she looked like she had herself before life got to her. How she loved that teenager staring back at her.

Janet dug her hand into her trouser pocket and threw her mobile phone to her daughter, “Call a Pizza, there’s money in the biscuit tin. I’m going to shower.”

Tracy smiled as she caught the phone and dialled the well-used number, the game was instantly forgotten.

Janet climbed the stairs and walked straight into the bathroom at the top, and locked the door behind her. She could hear Tracy talking on the phone downstairs. She leant against the door; it felt cool on her back. It was nice in comparison to the heat of the headache that threatened to split her head in two. Turning on the shower, she stepped out of her black work trousers and blue blouse and looked at her face in the mirror over the sink. When did she get so old? Where did those dark circles come from? She pushed the mirror away from her and climbed into the shower, muttering thanks to God for the hot running water washing the day’s stress from her. “Help me, what am I going to do?” She groaned as the tears came and her body shook with her silent sobs.

©2017 Karen Aminadra. All rights reserved.



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