Creative Writing : The Journalist’s visit
Continue the story (The other time, by Peter Appleton)
“Yes.” she answered blankly. At first sight, the man standing in front of her wasn’t impressive, nor a surprise. “Hum, yes uhm, my name is Scoop, Scoop Appleton. And, uhm, I am here as a journalist from the Sunday Blare. You see, we find your… story… very intriguing, interesting. I am sure you have had other people come and ask you for details, but we are extremely serious in this relevant loss and we know that for you…” “What. That it’s horrible for me? That I should want to kill the judges? That I should want fight my sadness by shouting injustice?! Look. Talking drama will not change a thing. Your offer does not interest me…” She said this staying calm and not caring but still with an incredible force in her voice. Scoop was still under shock of her beauty and character. He only managed to get a few words working their way out of his mind. “Yes I understand, but I am sure our offer will cover the emotional difficulty this would imply…” “Paul is dead. That’s basically it. Your money will not get him back, and I don’t see how your article will be beneficial for me or change other’s point of view.” “It must be hard to be like this on your own now. We can help you to have an easier time. We know that it is during mourning that people need some help, support. And we can give you that. We think people need to know the truth, the injustice here. This might change everything! All we want is your story” “We surely have never been rich, and now I need money more than ever. But I am not interested in your money.” She said firmly. Surely she has her principles, Scoop thought, but her loss must be raging inside her. “We understand. We know it must be hard for you. But we are not looking for problems. We think you are an intelligent woman who has the right to be heard. I’m sure your husband was a good man, and your life must have been lovely in your lovely home…” He could see from where he was standing that the furniture inside was neat and classical. No particular style elements, just a random English house like any, maybe even neater than the rest.
“Let’s not stay standing here if you’re planning to talk a lot.” She suddenly added, interrupting him in his maybe-too-obvious peaking. Scoop, shaken up by the surprising invitation calmly followed her. He could hear that behind the hard side she was showing, there was maybe a desperate need to talk, to have a human contact. He tried to grasp as many details as he could, walking towards the lounge area. “Sit here, I’ll make some tea” She said calmly, walking to the little kitchen bloc.
There was nearly a friendly tone in her voice. But Scoop tried to stay in his professional attitude, even if he seemed more clumsy than at ease. Sitting down, he noticed how this sitting chair had used fabric. This must be someone’s chair. Maybe it was her husband’s. He could picture the man sitting here, resting after a hard day of work, while she would be making dinner for her love. The few words she had said about her husband had made it clear to Scoop that she loves him, that he had been a good husband. There seemed to be a special light coming in the house. A warm, orangy light, giving a cozy home feeling. But also a feeling like the one you get when you’re in your grandparent’s old home, after they have left the world. A feeling of silent memories, of peace but also of emptiness. “Mrs. Rhiannon. It’s important that you understand that we do not seek for drama. We don’t want do abuse your story or your name in any way. We just consider your loss as a relevant tragedy and want to understand at best what kind of man your husband was.” “Yes. Surely I understand Mr. Appleton” she said, sitting down with two cups of tea in the opposite chair. Scoop was surprised she had remembered his name. “But you see, I don’t want any more fuss. Some things will just remain as they are. My man was a good...
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