The Short Story Blogger‘s Guide to Writing a Novel – Part 3: Chapter One of Your Book, Dummy
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“Hi. I’m David. This is my wife Susan,” said the man, giving me his best smile and an open hand for a handshake before pulling me into him with one arm under mine in case of balance problems. “So you must be…?” he asked after we had hugged warmly together.
“Er…” He was looking at the name tag on my chest where it proclaimed me as David Owen Jones-Thomas, Editor Extraordinary. The standard form is that of ‘Dr’ for scientists but I don’t want any official letters so just write editor-extraordinaire if anyone asks.
“Well hello, David!” cried out the woman who walked up next to us introducing herself as Susan Oram Jones-Thomson, Communications Manager (whatever that means), flashing her million-dollar smile from behind dark designer shades. She was tall enough to make high heels look like child’s play and also looked thin without being skinny.
“Wow! Hi Susan—love your sunglasses by the way—” I gave them both another hug which they reciprocated, then pulled back slightly so that I could see their faces more closely through their glasses.
Susan was about forty years old; pretty good looks but not stunning really and certainly no air-head or anything else that would have made people think she might have been part of the rich elite crowd. My first impression was of someone down-to-earth with strong moral principles, probably some kind of Christian.
And here was I thinking there were none left around these days. Then again maybe there wasn’t any need when everything was handed over to the bankers in return for nothing. Perhaps it was those strong religious values that had helped shape this woman.
Her face did show slight signs of stress though and she seemed much older than David, perhaps even fifty. What I couldn’t believe was how much younger than her husband she looked.
Even more strange given the amount of money he probably spent on her upkeep every month. No wonder the bankers paid a lot to get her elected as their representative to parliament. A couple of wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes but otherwise, her skin didn’t seem too stressed unless the secret was in those glasses.
For a moment she looked deep into me without saying anything, then broke eye contact and let go of my hands, adding, “I love what you’ve done with yourself dear—you’re far better looking now.”
“Oh, thanks darling, you know I think the same thing about you as well,” replied David playfully while kissing the top of his wife’s head and pretending to check her lipstick as proof. They laughed a bit, held each other tightly, and came closer to hug once again, obviously getting comfortable talking to each other.
After that awkward initial introduction, we all sat around a small wooden table covered with two or three pieces of chipped yet very shiny white china decorated with images of cows from local farms that David said served his food at home. These plates were clearly only used during special occasions such as parties in case of breakages because the rest of the time they were stored carefully away somewhere.
The chairs they were sitting at weren’t very comfortable either, built from hard, plastic material and topped with uncomfortable vinyl seats. So we remained standing throughout the whole meeting; something that worked fine since everyone else was doing the same anyway.
David offered me coffee while Susan disappeared briefly to find the appropriate cups and saucers and a large jar of sugar that I noticed was empty. After I declined David decided to do the talking.
He started by telling me a little bit about himself. Being a doctor by profession he had finished training, married his wife Susan, moved into the countryside outside London, and got involved in politics, becoming a member of Parliament about four years ago. As our conversation went deeper into his private life I found out that they already had five kids between the ages of ten and sixteen plus one in the oven due in six months.
Their daughter Claire who looked to be the youngest at fourteen had been working as a waitress in a restaurant nearby until last week when she had an accident on the job; a door knocked her over and she ended up breaking her arm badly. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any major internal damage as the bone was perfectly preserved and now they hoped it’d heal quickly without complications.
But apparently, that wasn’t always the case as not every broken bone healed correctly. It happened rarely but still, most parents feared that terrible day when their child took a tumble off the bike and broke something.
I was reminded of a scene from some film where a father showed up with a daughter whose leg was in a cast and being carried towards a helicopter that would take them to hospital. That kind of stuff never ends well in movies—unless you are the bad guy who kidnaps them.
An interesting detail emerged as David mentioned having five children:
“One of our daughters is adopted actually although you wouldn’t know that if you met her face to face as she seems just like a normal daughter of ours. We chose her out of dozens of babies available in various orphanage homes in South America after a long process involving several meetings and tests, as well as screening procedures to confirm that the baby girl was indeed healthy.
One day she’ll tell her own story I’m sure and thank us for taking her in despite whatever has happened in her past that would explain why she ended up abandoned in those conditions.” He paused for a brief moment as he took a sip from his cup, “Perhaps I should make amends someday by visiting her.
Not likely right now as I don’t know where she lives exactly or how old she is anymore, but definitely one day…”
Now I felt ashamed for judging him unfairly and sympathized with his position. At least the wealthy ones knew how lucky they were to have been born into certain circumstances, while those less fortunate had no choice in the matter. However, I did feel sorry for her too! Surely a person must want to live after their own parents abandon them?
But maybe she was just left behind and later sent on to another home which explained this part of David’s explanation. Perhaps there had been some issues with adoption agencies or foster care and social workers that couldn’t figure out what to do. Or perhaps she didn’t have anybody at all willing to look after her… All possibilities would remain a mystery forever.
There seemed to be a lot going around my mind that night as I listened intently to everything David told me as he poured more coffee into the pot and replenished Susan’s drink. His tone sounded compassionate enough but also filled with uncertainty and sadness. How could anyone ignore a helpless babe in need simply because of their age or gender?
Children deserved the same rights as everybody else; that was something I believed in wholeheartedly and agreed with David’s perspective that nobody should treat others differently based solely on whether they were male or female. Women should be treated equally to men, both professionally and personally even.
Why shouldn’t a woman lead armies when necessary instead of having a man do the job? My father had fought many battles during his military career and made all kinds of tough decisions so I understood his view that women could handle a similar role.
Although I hadn’t told him about my interest in that field of work directly yet, he might guess something was coming. Maybe that was why I saw things through his eyes sometimes; just thinking about what I wanted to say next was scary.
My head hurt as I kept asking myself what would happen if I did decide to go down that road; leave university before finishing my degree and get started in the real world. What would people think about this? Would the army pay as much as civil services for instance?
How good were my chances of getting hired? And where would I start? The same questions arose again and again as I tried hard to understand and absorb everything David was trying to say to me.
Despite these thoughts I got lost in conversation and eventually fell asleep at around eleven thirty, only to wake up nearly three hours later from an odd sound emanating from the hallway. Half dazed I heard footsteps walking back and forth until someone walked upstairs and entered the bedroom.
As soon as I recognized David, I sat up straight in bed and asked if he needed anything. I yawned loudly and stretched my arms, hoping we would talk quietly to avoid waking my parents and the other two guests.
“No thanks, I just came here to check on your dad,” replied David while peeking at me from between the curtains, “Are you okay, Dan?”
“Yeah, I guess. Had a late night I suppose…”
“Didn’t sleep very well, huh?” said David and then went over to the sideboard where he opened a drawer and pulled out something small wrapped in tissue paper. Without a word, he placed it on top of my pillow and turned around abruptly without saying goodbye.
I stared curiously as I wondered what gift could possibly lie on my bedside table. After a few minutes, I slowly picked it up and unwrapped it. A simple silver necklace lay inside a plastic bag, which appeared to have been ripped open earlier. On the outside, it read ‘Danelle’ in cursive writing, along with the date I had written onto the sheet music. Just looking at the pendant reminded me of something important.
When would I have come across the time to buy my own gift and secretly hide it in the drawer…? Was David worried that I’d forget the anniversary? Despite being hesitant due to my current lack of funds I immediately put the chain around my neck and clasped the piece together. For once I felt glad that nothing from my jewelry collection was stolen; nobody could take away such valuable items anyway.
After getting dressed, I joined everyone downstairs, feeling guilty for sneaking off and missing the morning meals they prepared for us. Judging by the smell wafting through the kitchen it smelled delicious! Before heading towards the dining room, however, I decided to stop in front of David and tell him how nice his present was. With a serious expression, David looked back at me but kept quiet as usual.
He just shook his head and quickly exited the room. No hug either – he remained aloof and detached when we met each other face-to-face nowadays. I stared at the closed door feeling irritated and dejected, wondering where on earth the past couple of days had gone.
It was frustrating knowing that after finding my little brother dead on the floor I had somehow managed to find a new life that mattered more than anything else in the entire world… But yet I still couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm or desire to share this discovery with my best friend.
All I could do was look longingly into his eyes and try to communicate nonverbally that I regretted forgetting our special day together. In spite of everything I desperately wished he would say something now, anything, in order to show me that he cared too. Even a short: ‘happy birthday, would be enough for me to feel reassured. And I’m sure he wanted the same thing right back from me…
The rest of the day went pretty normally, involving unpacking luggage and food shopping. My folks organized another dinner at their restaurant so I left most things to them while making coffee for the group and baking some fresh blueberry muffins.
At this point, we were almost twelve people who had gathered here during the weekend in addition to all the staff working at the hotel. Some neighbors we knew had also dropped by for a drink or two afterward, bringing great entertainment and conversation.
Overall I was happy with the amount of space on offer and the general comfort everyone seemed to enjoy. This continued throughout Sunday, even though no major surprises popped up during the afternoon.
After everybody had departed the house I finally sat alone in the living room and enjoyed reading a novel. Every now and then I glanced over the garden out of curiosity to see if there was anybody standing near the swimming pool.
The End