Memory, she looked in the mirror.
‘Hmmm!,’ she thought, holding her head to one side and pulling a face.
‘Not bad for … ‘ Then SHE walked in.
‘G’day Mrs Peabody,’ Helen said as she entered the Ladies Staff toilet.
‘Good morning Helen,’ Margaret Peabody replied.
‘You’re looking well today.’
‘Thank you Mrs Peabody.’ Helen was glowing with youthful health as usual.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking Helen, you always look so well, what foundation do you wear?’
‘Foundation, Mrs Peabody.’ She looked puzzled.
‘Make up, you have such a nice complexion.’
‘Oh, I see. I don’t wear make up Mrs Peabody, I never felt the need for it.’
‘PRECOCIOUS AUSTRALIAN COW.’ Margaret Peabody screamed silently to herself but just said,
‘Goodness me, I’m surprised at that Helen. And gave a weak smile. ‘I’m sorry.’ She had an urge to slap her face.
Oh, no worries, Mrs Peabody.’ Helen threw a smile back. Helen’s smiles were like a ray of golden sunlight.
‘Is that a new perfume you’re wearing? I don’t recognise it?’
‘Its Old spice my stupid brother threw on me this morning.’ Helen thought but just said.
‘Oh, its one that a relative brought me from Melbourne, its not expensive or anything. Its really quite ordinary, oh well, I suppose I must return to the moil, toil and hurley-burley of the communications room.’ She simpered. Taking the piss out of Margaret Peabody, a stuck up cow with high pretentions from Milngavie, “MULL-GUY” she pronounced it, was the only thing that kept Helen sane in the mind-numbing environment of the Scottish region communications room at Bucannan House.
Margaret Peabody watched the door slowly close.
‘BITCH!’ She screamed and threw a paper towel at the door. ‘I hope your fucking teleprinter blows up in your pretty little face.’
Helen heard the little tirravie as she walked along the corridor. She smiled.
by Jane Helen Jones
What were your prompts?: New Perfume, Worry, Memory.