The doughnuts had failed to de-escalate the situation. Maybe she’d have had more luck if they were Krispy Kreme’s, but she’d only had time to nip to Asda.

‘Look Ruth…’, she began as she continued to proffer the iced confections, holding the box between them like a shield that would ward off Ruth’s glare, so hostile Deidre wondered if it might give scientists the evidence they needed to prove that looks could kill.

‘I don’t want to hear it Deidre,’ Ruth interrupted her.  ‘You can’t just come round here with a box of bargain basement fancies and think that makes everything okay.’ 

Deidre was about to summon up her best ‘I’m highly offended by that remark’ face (she’d picked the fanciest looking box on offer) when she realised she’d forgotten to take the Asda label off the front.  Oh well, at least she brought something, she didn’t even have to do that really.

‘Ruth, if you’d just let me explain, it’s not what it seems.’

Deidre felt herself withering slightly as Ruth arched a killer eyebrow.

‘Ok, maybe it is slightly, but you must understand, I had the best of intentions!  How was I to know it would turn into a virus.’

‘Go viral’ said Ruth flatly.

‘Excuse me?’

‘It didn’t turn into a virus Deidre, it went viral!  All over the internet, for all and sundry to see!’

‘Maybe it’s a blessing Ruth.  Now that everyone knows you don’t need to hide it anymore.’

‘There’s the door Deidre.  Don’t let it hit you on the way out.’

Deidre walked back to her car, dumping the manky doughnuts in a nearby bin. Ruth just needed some time to cool off, that’s all. A few days should do it. She should be thanking her really. She’d practically made her famous.

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A month later and Deidre was pottering around at home, the television blaring in the background.  She wasn’t really watching it, but the steady chatter was a comforting presence.   She still hadn’t heard from Ruth, though she kept trying to extend the olive branch.  If she didn’t take is soon, she might just stop offering.  Then Ruth could see what life would really be like without her.

Deidre’s mind was chattering away on the unfairness of her treatment by her so-called friend, when something on the television caught her eye: that looked like their local community centre, yes it was!  She grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The reporters voice filled the room.

‘…the woman they’re calling the Granny of Grime has been offered the chance to guest on an album with none other than home grown rapper turned international superstar, Fizzy D.  The pair will also be touring the US together later next month. ‘

The reporter put his hand to his ear,

‘Yes, we’re just getting word they’re about to go on stage…’

The camera followed the reporter inside the community centre, where Deidre could see all her bingo pals seated alongside some excited looking teenagers.   

They got to their feet and Deidre’s jaw dropped as Ruth stepped on the stage, accompanied by a young man in sunglasses with trousers that were clearly far too big for him.

The music started and Ruth launched into that awful rapping Deidre had surreptitiously filmed her doing after one too many sherries on Christmas Eve and then got her grandson to post on the YouTube.  It had seemed like a funny thing to do at the time, she couldn’t believe Ruth had stopped talking to her over it.  And now look at her, swanning about on the stage in a…. was that a playsuit she was wearing?  Touring America?  This never would’ve happened if it weren’t for her, thought Deidre.  She should have VIP tickets!  Ruth should be grovelling at her feet!  Well, that was it, she was done with the lot of them.  She’d always been too good for them anyway.

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A bit of light-hearted fun for story time this week. I found this one sitting on my computer, I’d completely forgotten I’d written it. It was in response to a prompt by Marian Keyes in a free book writing course she did on Instagram last year. I can’t remember what all of the prompts were, but one of them was definitely doughnuts.

I’ve set myself a goal for this year to regularly publish flash fiction as well as poetry in the hopes of building my story writing skills. Sooner rather than later I’m going to run out of stories I’ve already written, which should hopefully shift my bum into gear to write some more! I can but hope.

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