A little from a story I'm writing. Any constructive criticism welcome.
|A man clambered down from the boat using a questionable rope ladder and thudded down onto the pier.
The man was large, both tall and fat. Long strands of grey hair peaked out of a dirty soaked farmers cap and his face was covered in rough patches of brown and white prickly hairs that went down from his eyebrows to where his neck met the collar of his sopping artichoke green woollen jacket.
Joe started towards the man and Kelly retreated back to the warmth of the car. She took out her tobacco and rolled a cigarette; wishing she could have another joint.
Her anxiety was creeping in; she could feel it rising, like water filling up a bath. This was a big move for both of them and a stark reminder of how fucked things had gotten for them to have even considered uprooting their lives and moving literally, to the the middle of nowhere.
The water on the windscreen made it difficult for her to see Joe and the man, they were just two blurry dark figures in the distance.
'maybe theres a problem and we cant go' Kelly hoped.
The cigarette was good, but it couldn't suppress her rapidly growing anxiety. There were many logical reasons for them to be moving to the island, and many logical reasons for them not to live in London any more, but every inch of her tensed and and squeezed. Water was now pouring over the edges of the rising bath, anxiety started drowning her, breath quickening, heart pounding, eyes pressed tightly shut. She squeezed the cushion of the car harder and harder until she started to feel pain. She could concentrate on the pain, concentrate on her breathing... in, out, in... out......in.....out.