“Think of something, Kevin.”
Slumped at the round wooden table in the kitchen, Kevin lifted his head and stared at his wife of 25 years. He couldn’t help but notice Joanne was trying to frown. She used to have her own range of frowns. From the gloomy to the downright hostile, Kevin had, naturally, seen them all, and his heart rate quickened at the memory of her pre-coital frown. Alas, these days no amount of neural activity could breach the frozen wasteland of that once lively brow. Botox-ed to buggery was a phrase that kept popping into his mind (never an edifying image). Lunch hours, or weekend treats, it was her sodding money, her time, her face. Nothing he could do or say. He missed the comforting ritual of her frowns. It was as though a part of her was lost to him. Lost behind a substance, locked within a compelling idea of youth and beauty.
And, just like an old commercial once had it, Joanne liked the product so much she went and bought the sodding business. Not that she had any trouble convincing him to take out a lease on the retail space. Business was tickety-boo; no one at ground level saw Covid-19 coming!
“It’s beyond our control, love.”
The idea was to keep the business afloat by offering firming injections and beauty treatments after hours and early mornings, sneaking clients in through the back door. Everything was hunky dory until the woman at the flower shop alerted the press.
“We’re only standing up against the infernal thing” Joanne tilted her head and raised her arms, “protecting our livelihood!” beseeching the kitchen ceiling.
Unfortunately, the vitality of their argument was at variance to the will of the people. And all hell broke loose. Didn’t help that Kevin was a retired Detective Chief Inspector.
Now they were enemies of the people, caught out in the people’s pandemic.
Slumped at the round wooden table in the kitchen, Kevin lifted his head and stared at his wife of 25 years. He couldn’t help but notice Joanne was trying to frown. She used to have her own range of frowns. From the gloomy to the downright hostile, Kevin had, naturally, seen them all, and his heart rate quickened at the memory of her pre-coital frown. Alas, these days no amount of neural activity could breach the frozen wasteland of that once lively brow. Botox-ed to buggery was a phrase that kept popping into his mind (never an edifying image). Lunch hours, or weekend treats, it was her sodding money, her time, her face. Nothing he could do or say. He missed the comforting ritual of her frowns. It was as though a part of her was lost to him. Lost behind a substance, locked within a compelling idea of youth and beauty.
And, just like an old commercial once had it, Joanne liked the product so much she went and bought the sodding business. Not that she had any trouble convincing him to take out a lease on the retail space. Business was tickety-boo; no one at ground level saw Covid-19 coming!
“It’s beyond our control, love.”
The idea was to keep the business afloat by offering firming injections and beauty treatments after hours and early mornings, sneaking clients in through the back door. Everything was hunky dory until the woman at the flower shop alerted the press.
“We’re only standing up against the infernal thing” Joanne tilted her head and raised her arms, “protecting our livelihood!” beseeching the kitchen ceiling.
Unfortunately, the vitality of their argument was at variance to the will of the people. And all hell broke loose. Didn’t help that Kevin was a retired Detective Chief Inspector.
Now they were enemies of the people, caught out in the people’s pandemic.
