Category Archives: Creative writing

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The fictional wedding – things looking tricky

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Simi: a Londoner, who happens to be staying at the resort while the wedding is on

Rudd: the young manager of the resort

Katania: the mother of the bride

Jen and Hansie: the soon-to-be-married couple

Setting: Zimbabwe

(I’ve skipped on through the text a little to this next section. It the morning of the wedding and Simi has overslept.)

Simi, pleased with her choice of pancakes and bacon, sat down opposite Jen.

“So glad you overslept too. They’re not going to turn the bride-to-be away, even if she is dripping wet.”

“Ha, ha,” said Jen, twisting water out of her hair. “At least the swim woke me up. I should dry off quickly out here. This verandah …”

“Jen … Jen, I need to talk to you. Been looking for you everywhere.”

Simi recognised the voice instantly. Jen looked up, one hand trying to block the sun.

 “Oh. Why?” she asked.

Katania swept around the table, heels clacking on the stone, eyes focused on her daughter. She slipped on to the bench beside her.

“Do you want me to leave?” asked Simi.

“No, no.” Katania shook her head. “You carry on. I can see you’re a breakfaster. I couldn’t eat a thing. Such a stressful morning, and this young lady slept through it all. As usual.”

Katania pursed her lips, body turned accusingly towards Jen.

“Why stressful?” Jen asked.

Simi studied the pair, unsure as to whether she should eat, or go, or stay. She decided to stay, to listen, but not listen. Plus it was her holiday, and she did want breakast. She pulled her plate towards her, wondering. Jen soft as a pillow, she thought, the other like a knife. A masked knife with those dark glasses.

“Your uncle Mick can’t join us. Held up by some storm. He sent half a message this morning. I’m furious. He knows this is your big day …”

“He can’t come? But why? Is he okay?”

Simi, fork in hand, looked up, unsettled by Jen’s alarm.

“Oh, he’s fine. Don’t look so worried Jen. He’s not ill or anything serious. Nothing like that.”

“That’s such a relief.”

“Selfish if you ask me. Just didn’t want to get stuck in Zim. Some storm. Needs to be with colleagues in Mozambique. So annoying.”

“A storm? What storm?”

“No idea. What storm? Exactly!”

“I haven’t heard anything about a storm … have you?” Jen asked, wide eyes on Simi.

 “Well,” Simi hesitated, not sure if she had heard right, “the pilot on my flight said something … about a a cyclone? I was half asleep and, I wasn’t sure where …”

Katania cut in.

“Oh Jen, since when does a storm stop Mick? Anyway, I’ve found a solution? Not to the storm, but …”

“Just as long as he’s okay …”

“He’ll be fine.”

Simi said nothing.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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Preparations for the imagined wedding continue

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Simi: a Londoner, who happens to be staying at the resort while the wedding is on

Rudd: the young manager of the resort

Katania: the mother of the bride

Jen and Hansie: the soon-to-be-married couple

Setting: Zimbabwe

Rudd remembered the priest saying he was from Southwark Cathedral in London. Out for a couple of months. Father … or was it Reverend Norman? He looked at Katania. Surely a London priest would do?

“There is a visiting priest who might be able to help,” he said slowly.

Her fingers stopped their drumming.

“A priest? They are already married you know. This is more celebration than service.”

“Well, he’s over from London,” he paused, “… unless you want Simi?”

“Simi?” Katania spun the name around her tongue. “Simi. The lady in those kaftans? I do not want her. A kaftan? Leading the service? Can you imagine the photographs? No. Not her. Who is this priest?”

“He’s called Norman. I’ve only met him once. Not for long. Looks a tidy sort of guy. Long sleeves. In his sixties. ”

“Long sleeves? What do you mean?”

“Well he’s different. City type.”

“Hmm. Just as long as he doesn’t ruin the day. This is a wedding. Like launching a brand. You understand? Part of Jen’s forever portfolio. Any chance you can find this priest?”

“Well, I could try …”

“That’s good. Let’s do that,” said Katania standing up.

“Do what?” asked Rudd getting to his feet.

“Find this priest.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. I want to meet him.”

Rudd realised he was doomed, or, as his grandmother used to say, about to be the egg in somebody else’s pancake.

“Well, I saw him at the tea factory about this time of day, two days ago. I suppose he could be there again.”

“Oh that’s very close. Let’s go.”

“I don’t …I didn’t mean …”

“What?”

“Well … I just came to see the birdwalkers off. I’ve still got to …” He rubbed a hand across his unshaven chin, and then up through his hair.

“Oh. This won’t take long. You can sort yourself out later.”

“But…”

“No buts Rudd. We’re paying for this remember.” Katania began to walk away. “I’ll fetch my sunglasses, and be out front in two minutes.”

 “Sure …” said Rudd slowly, as she willowed into the distance.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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Another scrap from the fictional pending wedding

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Simi: a Londoner, who happens to be staying at the resort while the wedding is on

Rudd: the young manager of the resort

Katania: the mother of the bride

Jen and Hansie: the soon-to-be-married couple

Setting: Zimbabwe

Rudd escorted Katania back to the reception area. He knew Mick’s absence was a problem, but he had a feeling Katania was about to make it much worse. He walked beside her, nodding sympathetically, trying to calm her irritation. But still it came.

“What am I supposed to do? I’m going to have to tell Jen. Not that she’ll mind. Never sees how important these things are. So wrapped up in love she’s not thinking straight. Perhaps I should tell Tim?”

He led her across to a sofa, and took the chair opposite her.

“Good idea to speak to Tim,” he said, sitting down slowly. “Only problem is that he’s just gone off for the bird walk.”

“Typical. And Jen’s still asleep.”

He watched as she fixed her green eyes on the view, and then sat down, her back stiff as a pylon.  

“Let’s think about this,” he said. “Is it definite your brother can’t come?”

“Of course, it is. It’s just so irritating. He always makes a plan, and now, suddenly, when it really, really matters, he gives up. Just like that.”

The door thumped open and Innocence rattled past, en route to the kitchen, his arms stretched taut by a tray, laden with teapots and empty mugs.

Rudd felt the sudden stab of Katania’s eyes.

“I know. You could take the service for us.”

“Me?”

Alarm surged through Rudd.

“Yes!” She leant towards him. “Yes, you Rudd. You’d be perfect.”

“Me?”

“You’d be completely inoffensive. Boring. Nobody would object.”

Rudd stared at her.

“Boring” he muttered. “Inoffensive …”

He’d never been called boring. Young, yes. Quiet, yes. Tough, yes. Inoffensive … part of his job. But not boring. His jaw clenched. He took two slow breaths, as she studied him.

“Yes. Ideal. It’s not about you anyway.”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. It’s not about me, but I won’t do. No … I mean … I’m sorry. There’s no way I can take the service for you. I’m too busy.”

He paused, flushed, as her eyes scanned over him. First they were surprised, and then dismissive. Then she flicked a bangled wrist in his direction.

“Oh well. That’s a good thing. I can see that now. Wouldn’t have worked anyway. Not enough gravitas.” She paused. “So who else?”

Rudd wondered if there was anyone who wanted to do her a favour. Her brother, he thought, but knew that wouldn’t do. The tap of her fingers on the table, drummed on his nerves. He retraced the guest list in his head, putting names to faces, but found no solution. Then he remembered the priest he’d met at the tea factory. Norman. Father Norman.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023