Short story - Being called stupid can often lead to the unexpected.
I was never very good at climbing, never really enjoyed the wide-open spaces, the sun belting down, the flaking earth beneath my hands. George, well George just loved it, went climbing every weekend.
‘Why won’t you come Ellen.’
‘Perhaps next week George.’
‘Perhaps next week George.’ You really are hard to please, stupid woman you make me look such a fool when I turn up alone. I run out of excuses.’
His voice grew louder, his blue eyes bulged, his hand came up, his slap stung my cheek.
‘You’ll come Ellen, I’m not telling them you’re too tired, you’re not feeling to well. Do you hear me? You’ll come tomorrow
I said nothing, I knew how it would be, a long evening with George ruminating,
his temper slowly building.
It was a bright, beautiful morning. Allan and Rose were pleased to see us. The climb started well, and we easily reached the first stopping point. Standing on the small wooden platform we looked down at the steep drop halfway.
Without any warning George suddenly tipped forward, his arms flaying. I clutched the rope attached to my waist as his weight dragged me nearer to the edge of the platform. Alan was reaching out to catch George’s hand, I saw the fear in the blue eyes I knew so well. I heard his voice.
Stupid woman, pull the rope in.’
My fingers fumbled at the latch. George spun, arms wide as the rope loosened, as his body bounced against the solid rock before plummeting down, and down.
Poor George, no time to call out his favourite phrase, stupid woman, what a stupid thing to do.