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(Continued)
“Humph!” She sat down on
a chair and stuck her nose in the air.
“I won’t be long Ma’am,”
he said, trying to give her one of his best smiles. He closed the
door quietly behind him.
Mrs. Marvin inspected the
small room. “I knew it, no air-conditioning in here.” She took
out a handkerchief and wiped her brow.
“He is in so much trouble
when I get a chance to put a complaint in about him,” Mrs.
Marvin said to herself as she fluffed up her grey curly hair.
A few moments later, a woman
poked her head around the door. Michael stood behind her. “Hello
there, I’m Carla.”
“It’s about time.”
“I see we have a little
problem,” Carla said, looking at the suitcase.
“No, we have a big
problem. My plane is late, why?” Mrs. Marvin demanded.
“Where were you going?”
Carla asked holding her hand over her nose.
“Italy. George likes it
there.”
Carla sat down opposite Mrs.
Marvin. “It’s nice there. Unfortunately, delays will happen. I’m
sure it won’t be long.”
“I have a routine you
know, if I don’t stick to my routine it’ll upset my digestive
system. Then I’ll be ill. I may vomit too. Would you like that?”
“Of course not. We’re
dreadfully sorry. I’ll do my best to make you as comfortable as
possible.”
“I want to put in an
official complaint.”
“Yes of course. Michael
will you fetch me a form for complaints about delays.”
“I don’t mean that,”
Mrs. Marvin said.
“Excuse me,” Carla said.
“The air-conditioning.”
“What about it?” Carla
asked.
“Exactly!”
“I’m sorry, but what is
that smell?”
“Well if I wasn’t
running late George wouldn’t be smelling like that. It’s the
heat you know, it makes things smell more. If this place was
air-conditioned he wouldn’t smell that bad.”
“George?” Carla’s eyes
widened peering down at the suitcase.
“Yes, my husband.”
“Your husband is in there!”
Carla pointed to the suitcase.
“Yes,” Mrs. Marvin
replied, clenching her fingers together.
“Oh my god, I need the
police.”
“No you don’t, he doesn’t
mind at all.” Mrs. Marvin laughed.
“How can you say that,
when he can’t have a say at all?” Carla said, almost
hysterical.
“Why can’t he have a
say?” Mrs. Marvin asked looking confused.
“’Cause he’s dead!”
“No! When did that happen?”
Mrs. Marvin held her hands up to her chest, her mouth hung open.
Then she looked down at the suitcase.
“I don’t know,” Carla
said, now pacing the floor.
“George!” Mrs. Marvin
shouted out tapping on the suitcase. “Are you there?”
“Yes dear...” George
replied.
Carla froze.
“You shouldn’t lie to an
old lady like that, I could have had a heart attack. What are you
people trying to do to me, kill me! I want to put another
complaint in.”
“Why the bloody hell is he
in there?” Carla shouted.
“We can’t afford two
tickets, we always do it like this.”
“Are we nearly there,
Mavis?” George called out from the suitcase.
“Not yet dear,” Mrs.
Marvin shouted.
Mrs. Marvin nodded her head
up and down. “I knew we should have bought the bigger
incontinence pads.”
Carla stood speechless.
“I told you so,” Michael
said quietly from the doorway.
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CLAIRE NIXON is a mother of five children from the North East of England. She spends her spare time writing, which she started doing three years ago, inspired by reading regularly. She has had a few short stories published in magazines and anthologies.
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