Alex
picked up the manila piece and got back on the bus. He held tightly onto the
envelope and sat down. When it was his stop, he thanked the driver and
sauntered down the street.
“Hi
honey I’m home! Put the kettle on please love,” he proudly requested as he
opened his front door and stepped into the kitchen.
His
wife was anxiously awaiting his return, pacing the room. “Did you get it?” she
asked.
Alex
sat at the kitchen table and produced the manila envelope, “Ta-rah!” He tore
the flap, to his wife’s eager stare, and flipped it so the open end faced the
table top. He wriggled the package and frowned, wriggled it some more and
repeated the process a couple more times.
His
wife was lost for words as he tore open the thing to find it empty. “Where are
the forms then?” she gasped.
“T…t….they
was inside when I left, I swear they were,” Alex stumbled.
His
wife swung around to face away from him, “I don’t believe it, I just don’t
believe it; you’ve lost them haven’t you?”
Alex
gave it some thought, “I’m sorry love, I errmmm….”
“You
fool, you complete and utter turnip!” she screeched at him, “what do we do now?
Marjorie and Roy next door have filled in their forms and sent them off, what
if they’re selected, huh; what then?”
Alex
pondered aloud, “I must have lost them on the bus; it was busy. I was squashed
through the door by a right hippo; she wanted to get out as I was getting on
and knocked me right back into the street! I’ll bet that’s when they fell out!
I’ll nip down the bus depot and see if anyone handed them in.”
“Seriously,”
she quipped, “do you think anyone in their right mind is going to hand them in,
you crazy old fool?!”
“Have
you put the kettle on yet love?”
“For
crying out loud Alex,” she smashed her head on the cupboard door in annoyance.
“This is the end of everything, and all you’re concerned about is a cup of
tea!”
He
stayed sitting at the table, looking glumly at the table-cloth, “I think you’re
exaggerating slightly love, we don’t need to go on a cruise anyway.”
“A
cruise did you say?” she turned back to him in disbelief, “It is far from a
cruise Alex, you saw the man, you heard what he said.”
“Man?”
“The
man on the tele, with the beard!” she continued.
“Oh,
him; they always say the worst, to cover their back,” offered Alex.
“He
doesn’t work for the Met Office Alex; he had a message, from God!”
“A
message from the bottom of a bottle more like!” complained Alex, “listen honey,
calm down, it’s not so bad.”
“So
bad?” his wife screeched, “it’s going to wipe out everything, and we had the
one chance of survival, the one chance and you, you lost the flipping
application forms!”
“Misplaced,”
Alex corrected.
“No
one is going to hand them into the bus depot!” she repeated.
“I’m sorry love. Anyway, I don’t think it’s
going to flood, really.”
“They
only take two you know?” she reminded him but Alex continued to stare blankly
at the tablecloth.
His
wife returned to pacing the room, her anger at boiling point. There was a
silence in the kitchen that could be cut with a knife. She tried to compose
herself and turned to him once again, “I suggest Alex, you be a giraffe about
it for once in your life, call that Noah bloke personally, to apologise, and
pray he’ll see sense and let us on his ark before it’s too late!”
Alex
sighed, stretched out his long yellow neck and switched the kettle on with his
left ossicone.
