Nine Perfect Strangers

‘Leave them be,’ said Frances snappily.

‘Let’s get all those adverbs too!’ said Sol happily.

‘Even the rhyming ones?’ asked Henry affably.

‘That’s an imperfect rhyme,’ pointed out Frances.

‘They’re just words, Frances,’ said Gillian.

‘So profound, Gillian,’ said Sol.

‘Shut up, Sol,’ said Gillian.

‘She never liked you,’ Frances told Sol.

Sol said, ‘That sort of woman always secretly wants an alpha male.’

Frances smiled fondly at him. Egotist but sexy as hell. ‘You were my first-ever husband.’

‘I was your first-ever husband,’ agreed Sol. ‘And you were my second-ever wife.’

‘Second wives are so young and pretty,’ said Frances. ‘I liked being a second wife.’

‘By the by, Gillian kissed me once,’ said Henry. ‘At someone’s thirtieth birthday party.’

‘She was drunk,’ said Frances. ‘Don’t get a big head about it.’

‘I was drunk,’ agreed Gillian. ‘I felt bad about that until the day I died.’

‘Henry, you were my second husband,’ said Frances. ‘But I was your first wife. Therefore not as pretty.’

Gillian said, ‘Why do you keep identifying your husbands?’

‘Readers get impatient if they have trouble working out which character is which,’ explained Frances. ‘You’ve got to help them out. None of us is getting any younger.’

‘Except this isn’t a book,’ said Gillian.

‘I think you’ll find it is,’ said Frances. ‘I’m the protagonist, obviously.’

‘I feel like that tall Russian lady is giving you a run for your money,’ said Gillian.

‘She is not,’ said Frances. ‘It’s all about me. I’m just not sure of my love interest yet.’

‘Oh my God, it’s so obvious,’ said Gillian. ‘Blind Freddy could pick it.’ She shouted at the sky, ‘You knew it from day one, right?’

‘Gillian! Did you just try to break the fourth wall?’ Frances was shocked.

‘I did not,’ said Gillian, but she looked guilty. ‘I’m sure no-one noticed.’

‘How tacky,’ said Frances. ‘How very gimmicky.’

She dared to look up and the stars were a million darting eyes on the look out for rule-breaking in her story: sexism, ageism, racism, tokenism, ableism, plagiarism, cultural appropriation, fat-shaming, body-shaming, slut-shaming, vegetarian-shaming, real-estate-agent-shaming. The voice of the Almighty Internet boomed from the sky: Shame on you!

Frances hung her head. ‘It’s just a story,’ she whispered.

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ said Gillian.

An endless gossamer-like sentence embroidered with jewel-like metaphors, far too many clauses and meaning so obscure it had to be profound wrapped itself around Frances’s neck, but it really didn’t suit her, so she wrenched it off and flung it into space, where it floated free until at last a shy author on his way to a festival to accept a prize grabbed it from the sky and used it to gag one of his beautiful corpses. It looked lovely on her. Grey-bearded critics applauded with relief, grateful it hadn’t ended up in a beach read.