... of to lunch... but i don't get to eat...

for a lunch date dont you get to eat? not this time instead you just get bad news... back to the ice cream...

-

No-one’s P.O.V.

-

 

Through the tinted windows of the restaurant Maxwell and Joanna Florence watched first their daughter and only child climb out of the taxi at the kerb then Michael followed close behind. He held her elbow for a fleeting moment but they watched with growing disappointment as Charity pointedly ignored his assistance despite wobbling dangerously on the uneven paving slabs in her high heels. Dislike for him was plainly written on her face. Joanna sighed with frustration. Why did her daughter never make anything in life simple?

They were ill-matched in personality but perfectly matched in looks, sitting down with out greeting. Charity and her parents stared at each with out speaking, the animosity blatantly clear in her eyes. Michael knew she did not like her parents but he had not realised it was his bad. Well it was about to get worse when she was told the news. He chuckled in expectation. He had seen her get angry before and felt it, but it was great fun to watch, if not experience. This time would be no exception.

“Charity there is something we need to tell you.” Her mother started, not asking about her health or if they wanted a drink or food. “You’re getting married.” Joanna cut straight to the chase, and then sat, a pained expression on her face as she waited for Charity’s outburst. But she didn’t say anything. Nothing at all. Then quietly she stood up and left. All three stared at her in shock.

“That went rather well,” her father muttered waving a waiter over and ordering a whisky.

“Maxwell!” Joanna hissed at him.

“What?” he objected, “Its never to early to drink.” Joanna’s blue eyes widened and her small mouth puckered up in a sour expression before Maxwell was assaulted with a barrage of angry words. Michael watched with interest for a while, seeing where Charity had received her feisty attitude. Then he stood and left quietly to go in search of Charity. They didn’t look up or even notice him leaving.

He grabbed a taxi and ordered the driver back to the office as quickly as possible. The reception area was silent and empty of visitors when he arrived. Walking as quickly as he could without looking like he was panicked or on urgent business he approached the reception desk. A petite woman with cropped shiny chestnut hair rolled over in her seat to him and smiled broadly.

“Good afternoon Mr. M.” she chirped with a wink. He smiled back with his corporate, fake smile and asked,

“No sir,” Mara told him confused by the question, “wasn’t she with you sir?”

“For a while yes, but she… wasn’t feeling well and I sent her home.” He lied off the top of his head. “I thought she had come back to get her bag but I must have been mistaken she properly already had it with her. She has some important paperwork I need. What’s her address? I’ll go and fetch it.” It convinced Mara, even if it hadn’t really convinced himself. He memorised the address she reeled off to him. he hurried away to company parking lot entrance.

“Tell her I hope she feels better soon,” Mara’s voice echoed behind him.

 

-

Charity’s P.O.V.

-

 

Behind the wheel of my jaguar I wiped away angry tears. Why did my parents never let me make my own decisions? Ever since I was a little girl I had everything decided for me- from what I ate, who I played with, where I went to school , what I studied, where I worked and now who I was marrying. This was a step too far. And to Michael of all of people. At least I’m pretty sure that’s who they had chosen for me. Why else would he have been there? I screeched to a halt in the dark underground garage of my house; something my parents had approved of me buying; and fumbled with my keys to try and get in the house. Kicking of my high heeled boots at the bottom of the stairs so they wouldn’t hinder my ascent I ran up first one flight of stairs and then the next two to my room. I pulled off my uncomfortable work clothes and redressed in a slouchy jumper and some old jeans. Flinging myself down almost the myriads of cushions I loved buying and used to decorate my bed, I let the tears fall and dug into some Ben and Jerry’s with gusto.

 

-

Michael’s P.O.V.

-

 

Agitatedly I drove round Charity’s block five times before I managed to find a parking space. There was no answer when I rang her front door so I walked down the dark ramp to see if her car was there. It was and the door to the house, down there, seemed to be opened. I made my way over and peered cautiously up the dark stair way. Tripping over a pair of black leather boots abandoned at the bottom, which I am sure Charity had been wearing this morning, I made my way up into her house. On the first floor light streamed into the open plan kitchen and living room through tall sash windows but there was no one there. I glanced around with interest. It was very tidy, decorated in lots of neutral tones and brightened with colourful throws, rugs and cushions. A cutlery drawer was open and the freezer buzzed angrily its door slightly ajar. I pushed both closed, careful not to make too much noise and then headed up the next flight of stairs.

This floor was divided into two rooms this time, both light and spacious. Both empty. One the bathroom, the other a guest room I supposed. There was only one more floor to go. I set up the next set of stairs stealing myself for a barrage of abuse from Charity for entering her house uninvited. And for acquiring her address by false pretences, he reminded himself. This floor was silent too.

A large bed occupied the centre of the room, with spectacular views from a wall wide window at the back of the house and delicately painted Chinese screens down the other side of the room, partitioning off a walk in wardrobe. The bed was covered in cushions of all shapes and sizes in soft pinks, rich purples and deep reds and they moved. I looked back at the bed with a start. Moving closer I realised Charity was buried under the cushions, curled up in a tight ball peacefully asleep. Standing next to the bed now, I smiled down at her sleeping form, clutching an empty Ben and Jerry’s tub, a spoon lying at her side. My heart lurched at the sight of her pale, lightly freckled face when I realised it was streaked with tear marks. I had caused this.

Author's Note

just have fun :D i did :D

Reviews

[Jane Doe]

Awww:( u gotta keep writing!!!!!!!!!!!!! Really

[JuliePetunia]

I liked it!
I could see this turning into an up and down rollercoaster of a love story!
Keep it up!

[StoryTailor]

It was fun to read. There are a few things I think you could do to make it better, but everyone can improve! Anywho, I liked reading it. It made me smile today, so... congrats, you've accomplished something incredible, without even trying. *smiles* Good job with the write.