Deal Breaker

Deal Breaker

 ‘The waves crashed on the shore – elemental, relentless, untameable.’

Frank screwed the A4 into a ball, hurled it into the wicker basket on the other side of the room. Direct hit. It was a move he’s seen so often in movies scenes depicting a script writer.

‘The waves crashed on the shore; elemental, relentless as the sun..’

Scrunch, hurl, hit.

‘The waves crashed on the shore, rested a second, then crashed again.’

He adjusted the anglepoise lamp, and paced over to the wicker waste paper basket. The guilt was beginning to get to him. Shouldn’t he recycle? Have you ever seen a movie scene with a script writer who scrunches paper then takes it out to the appropriate recycling receptacle along with the Tuborg beer empties?

‘The waves…’ Frank read in the creative writing manuals about stopping mid-sentence, taking a break and starting again right where you’d left off. Simple yet effective so everyone on the course said.

He checked email, then text. Fiona- last night they’d had their first row when he called her Fi for the first time- said she’d be home about 7, fix supper, anything you fancy from the little Waitrose?

‘The waves…never seem to tire of it, in, crash, out, gather, repeat.’

Scrunch, hurl, he hit the edge of the basket. For a second it teetered, it could go either way, then it fell in. Frank looked at the clock. It was an electric display style they had bought at Habitat. The time was shown railway station 24 hour style. Next to it was a calendar that clicked as one day turned into the next. It was timed to turn over at midday rather than midnight. Yesterday, noon Sunday, Frank had asked Fiona for 6 months. There was no pressure, the click meant it was only day one of The Deal.

1900 struck. Fiona came in with the carriers.

‘How‘s your day, hun?’ she said, peripherally taking in the brimful basket.

‘Oh, you know,’ said Frank, ‘ you darling?’

Once they’d made the deal there was no need to talk about it again. Fiona set it up. She conference called Stella Bernstein in New York about staying in the London branch at Avron Cazenove Bernstein for 6 months and then taking up the promotion in the head office. If Frank hadn’t finished the first draft of his script by then fine, it wasn’t meant to be but at least they would know it and could literally move forward. No ‘perpetual student’ label for him.

They always got up at the same time though technically Frank could do his work 24/6. One day a week he went in to the college for a tutorial and peer review. Usually he commuted downstairs, she was on the District line.

Frank breathed in the fresh sheets of A4 he bought every Thursday from the stationers. He discussed paper weight and water marks with the young man in the store. He returned with fresh sheets irrespective of how many he completed.

Frank remained unperturbed even as the clock clicked above the pile of blank bonded quality A4 now as high as a Pacific breaker. Fiona returned each day with no waver in her tone as she asked him about his day, her eyes always on his before the wicker bin.

More than half way in to the deal they took a holiday. You need a break Frank, she said. Daytime they relaxed on the beach, night time dinner at Le Phare or a few nights in with a box set.

As they both returned to work before the leaves fell everything seemed just right. Frank moved the desk across the room, away from the calendar-clock, exactly under the anglepoise light pool, right next to the bin.

Pleased with his opening perfect sentence he switched the phone back from silent. It was Fiona’s ringtone with a text alert: ‘Morning Frank, Waitrose will be closed by time I'm back, get something in for yourself. I have a working dinner with partners and HR.  F.’

Frank looked up from his desk, over the sheafs, to check the time. 1159 AM - then the date clicked.