Challenge: Paul's absence
Not even near 100 words. 246. Sorry. I just wanted to keep this place rolling, that's all.
“What else? Go on, tell me.”
Ian sighed and replaced his hand on the telephone with his shoulder as reached for the kettle. “Paul, I almost dictated you the whole recording. What else do you want?”, he said into the speaker as he filled the kettle with water. “You could just go and watch the show tomorrow, you know.”
A heavy cough came from the other end, making Ian wince inwardly. Paul had never been ill, not really, not bad enough to not turn up to a recording anyway. It was … odd. “That would mean missing out on the best bits.”
Ian smiled warmly. He turned off the water and heaved the kettle onto the stove. “Trust me, you won’t. Just get some sleep. You sound terrible.”
“I feel good.”
Ian shook his head. What a kid; just like his children when they were ill. Almost unconsciously he put on his parent-voice. “You don’t. Go to bed and get the sleep you need, Paul. It will make you feel better, you’ll see.”
There was another cough on the other end, followed by a long pause. After a few minutes Ian started to get uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying not to thing the worst. “…Paul?”
“I think I know why you don’t want to tell me what’s been going on.”
Relieved Ian went on to look for teabags. “Oh?” he asked expectantly.
“You’ve been flirting with Frank Skinner, haven’t you?”
“What else? Go on, tell me.”
Ian sighed and replaced his hand on the telephone with his shoulder as reached for the kettle. “Paul, I almost dictated you the whole recording. What else do you want?”, he said into the speaker as he filled the kettle with water. “You could just go and watch the show tomorrow, you know.”
A heavy cough came from the other end, making Ian wince inwardly. Paul had never been ill, not really, not bad enough to not turn up to a recording anyway. It was … odd. “That would mean missing out on the best bits.”
Ian smiled warmly. He turned off the water and heaved the kettle onto the stove. “Trust me, you won’t. Just get some sleep. You sound terrible.”
“I feel good.”
Ian shook his head. What a kid; just like his children when they were ill. Almost unconsciously he put on his parent-voice. “You don’t. Go to bed and get the sleep you need, Paul. It will make you feel better, you’ll see.”
There was another cough on the other end, followed by a long pause. After a few minutes Ian started to get uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying not to thing the worst. “…Paul?”
“I think I know why you don’t want to tell me what’s been going on.”
Relieved Ian went on to look for teabags. “Oh?” he asked expectantly.
“You’ve been flirting with Frank Skinner, haven’t you?”