Rain lashed at the window. Lightning flashed. The thunder rumbled a few seconds later. Jane had turned the comfortable armchair to the window and was watching the storm, tapping her pen on her notepad. She was trying to think of the next line – actually the second line – of a short story, but her thoughts had veered into a creative cul-de-sac and her mind was stubbornly blank.
‘You should never start a story with a weather report,’ Larry said.
Jane flinched, not realising he had crept up behind her. Battling with her inner visions, she hadn’t heard him come back into the room. She hastily turned her pad over – she didn’t want him reading what she had scribbled down – and sat upright. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Haven’t they even taught you the basics yet?’
‘I was definitely lucky to meet you’
‘It wasn’t actually the start of a story.’ Although that was a lie, because it was. ‘I was just jotting down some ideas.’ If she could call them that.
