Hello, I am taking part in NaNoWriMo 2019. For those of you who don’t know NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. (I guess it should be called InaNoWriMo as it is now International!) The idea is to write a novel length story (at least 50000 words) in one month (so at least 1667 words a day for 30 days). Last year I took part and “won” (ie I wrote over 50k in a month). This year I am going to give it another go.
As I did last year I will use @MarianneWest’s daily free write prompt as a starting point (so each day I will use themostdangerouswritingapp.com and write for 5 minutes with @mariannewest’s prompt in mind. I will then write another 1500 odd words and publish it on the blockchain so you can see what crap I come up with!
Yesterday I only manage 1000 words of a chapter. This is part two of that chapter
But I’m still on target to finish by the end of November.
Today is 11th November 2019 and I am writing part two of the tenth chapter of my story
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If you are interested you can find the previous Chapters here One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, 10 part 1
Before Helen brought well meaning Greg into their lives there had been Mick. Helen had picked Mick up at The Nags Head, her local. Mick was a charmer, or at least so he thought. He could say all the right words and flash a smile that made Abbie’s mother “go weak at the knees.”
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Helen said one morning, standing behind Mick as he sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and eating toast. She leaned over him, her dressing gown falling open. Abbie looked down at her cornflakes. She couldn’t bare to see her mother pouring herself all over Mick like a hot sticky sauce.
Mick grinned at Abbie, as Helen’s arms encircled him. He popped another piece of toast into his mouth and chewed.
“Well,” he said, winking at Abbie. “Aren’t you going to answer your mother?”
Abbie thought Mick was far from gorgeous. For a start, he looked like Father Christmas fallen on bad times. His white hair was thin and whispy and heavy and greasy at the same time. His beard was wild, untrimmed and had bits of last night’s chicken vindaloo in it. When he smiled Abbie could see dark patches in his mouth, either bad filings or rotten teeth. His breath would probably stink of decay if it wasn’t as well slooshed in whisky. She had to hand it to her mother, just when Abbie thought the barrel had been well and truly scrapped Helen always managed to find a longer spoon.
“Answer your uncle Mick, Abbie.”
Abbie hated calling her mother’s conquests “uncle”. Uncle was a family word. Abbie didn’t feel as though she had any family.
“I guess he’s alright,” she said, knowing that unless she answered the two of them would go on about it until she left for school. “If you like that sort of thing.”
Mick’s grin widened as Helen’s hand slid down his chest below the table. Abbie felt Mick’s foot brush against her leg and his eyes twinkled. She pushed her cornflakes away and stood up.
“I’m going in early,” she said. “I have a project.”
She knew Helen wouldn’t ask about it. She had no interest in how Abbie was doing at school. She would be glad Abbie was going to school. Unburdened from the shackles of pretending to be a slightly adequate mother for a few hours whilst Abbie was out of the house.
Mick was a creep. Abbie had been feeling uncomfortable around him since the first day she woke up to find him naked, pissing in the toilet, bathroom door wide open.
“Don’t worry about me love,” he’d said, winking at her and shaking the drops of piss from his cock, seemingly very pleased with himself.
But Abbie did worry about him.
As time went on she found he was becoming more and more touchy-feely. And it was deliberate. She knew this because he chose the moments when Helen couldn’t see.
She went to the town library after school. The librarians were nice. One of them, Ruth, would offer her biscuits from her “secret stash” underneath the counter.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Ruth would say as she gave Abbie two biscuits and then two more, “for later”. Ruth always asked if her mother was here too.
“She’s waiting for me in the carpark,” Abbie would say. Or, “she’s gone shopping, she’ll be back in half an hour.”
At this time Abbie was ten, maybe slightly younger. She was used to finding her own way around the town.
It seemed to worry adults that she was on her own, she found, far more than her.
She tried to spend as much time as she could out of the house whenever her mother had “friends” over. But today, she had a good reason for staying away: She had a bad feeling about what might happen later.
She also had a plan.
Like most of her friends Abbie had a smartphone. Unlike most of her friends it didn’t work. The phone lit up, and looked as though it worked. But even if she could have afforded to buy a top-up it wouldn’t work. Even using wifi it wouldn’t connect to the internet, or make calls. But it looked the part. And some of it’s functions worked. The microphone for example.
Slipping the key in the lock she took a deep breath, turned the key and entered the house closing the door behind her as quietly as she could. The television was on in the living room and she could hear Helen and Mick talking loudly over it. They sounded as if they had been drinking all day. Abbie went straight to her bedroom, without even taking the time to take off her shoes or coat. She closed the door behind her and locked the door. She had fitted the lock herself, after finding one cheap in the junk shop in town. She’d watched a video on youtube. It wasn’t very pretty to look at and she had a scar on her left hand from where the screwdriver had slipped and cut her open. But she was proud of the work.
And it made her feel safer.
After an hour or so, Abbie heard a light tapping on the door. She ignored it. It wouldn’t be Helen. At this hour, after drinking, she would shout if she wanted something.
“Abbie?” It was Mick. Of course it was. “Are you in there?” He knocked again and then the door handle rattled. The door moved slightly but the lock held. “I know you are there. I just want a chat.”
Abbie fetched her phone and set the audio recorder going. She stood at the door, her foot against it. Just in case the lock gave in.
“Piss off.”
“Now, don’t be like that. Your mother’s fallen asleep, Abbie. I’m all lonely. Can I come in?”
“Why don’t you go down the pub if you are looking for someone to talk to. I am busy.”
“Please. I won’t stay long. I have something to show you.”
Abbie could quite well imagine what he wanted to show her.
“Go away. I’m not interested.”
Mick grumbled and complained. Then, “Suit yourself. I know when I’m not wanted.” The door shook as he thumped or kicked it.
Abbie put her head to the door. His footsteps shuffled off. Then she heard the sound of the front door open and slam shut. Abbie switched off the audio recorder app on her phone and stood still, not breathing, her ear pressed to the door. All she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart.
After hafl an hour she moved away from the door and sat on the bed, placing the phone next to her. She began to read a book she had borrowed from the library.
She couldn’t concentrate. She was hungry. And she needed a wee. She went back to the door, listened and, hearing nothing, unlocked the door. She opened the door, and stuck her head out. The corridor was empty. From the living room she could hear the television. The sound was much lower than before. She thought she could hear her mother snoring. She took a step out of the room and then retreated and went back for her phone.
And a weapon. Leaning up against the wall was a baseball bat, next to it was her special sock. She had had the idea after watching a film about a prison. One of the prisoners had put a billiard ball in a sock and used it to club a guard. Abbie had tried to steal a snooker ball from The Nag’s Head, but Ike, the landlord, had seen her and made her put it back. She had found a rock instead. She thought it would work just as well.
She decided on the sock.
She stuffed the phone in her back pocket and the sock she kept in her hand. She crept to the toilet and closed the door behind her. The door had a lock but it didn’t work. There was a chair that Abbie used to lean up against the door. It wouldn’t stop a determined pervert, but it might slow them down. She put the sock on the cold tiled floor next to the toilet while she relieved herself.
After emptying her bladder and washing her hands, Abbie listened at the door. Still nothing. She opened the door and walked straight out. Mick was standing there, grinning.
“Hello sweetheart,” he said.
Abbie realised she had left the sock on the floor by the toilet. She tried to go back in, but Mick blocked her path.
“I just want a chat,” he said.
Abbie took her phone out and held it up to him.
“Go away,” she said. “Or I will call the police.” As Mick laughed at her, Abbie pressed record on the audio recording app.
“All I want is a chat,” he said. “I’m lonely, Abbie. Your mother has gone to sleep and I’m all lonely. Can I have a little hug? A kiss maybe?”
“I’m nine years old.”
“I know how old you are, Abbie. I just want a little kiss.” Mick moved towards Abbie and she took a step back. She pressed save on the app and then play.
“Can I have a little hug? A kiss maybe?” Mick’s voice sounded tinny from the little speaker on her phone. “I’m nine years old.” “I know how old, you are Abbie. I just want a little kiss.”
“What the fuck?” Mick said trying to grab the phone. Abbie ran and managed to get into her bedroom and slam the door shut. The door shook as Mick slammed his body against it.
“If you don’t leave me alone,” Abbie shouted throught the door. “I will send this to Ike at The Nags Head.” The door stopped shaking. “I have already uploaded it to the cloud. Do you know what the cloud is, Mick?” Her voice was shaking, her heart thumping. Silence from Mick. “It means it is safely stored on a hard drive somewhere else. Even if you take the phone I have the recording. If you don’t leave me alone I will play this to Ike and the boys down the pub.”
“Fucking slag!”
“What do the boys think about perverts who harrass little girls, Mick? What will they do to you?”
The door shook again as Mick kicked it. But it wasn’t as hard as before.
“If you go away, and don’t ever come back I’ll keep your secret. But I don’t want to see you again. Not here. Not in the pub. Not in the street. And I’ll leave notes, at school, with friends, with instructions on how to find the recording. If anything happens to me, Mick, that recording will be found.”
There was a pause and then, “Okay. You win. I’m going.”
“Slide the keys to the flat under the door.”
She heard a jingling sound and then a key was pushed under the door. She grabbed hold of it and pocketed it. She could hear Mick walking to the door.
She grabbed hold of the baseball bat and opened the bedroom door.
“Have a nice life,” she said, watching Mick slide out of the door like the disgusting slug he was.
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