Free Pompomberry House by Rosen Trevithick Page A

were made of granite. “I’ve been trying to think of a
different sort of heroine for my stories, and now I’ve got it!”
    We all made enquiring noises and looked at her with curiosity.
    “A pig!” she shouted. “My short story is going to be about a
pig — a pig that falls off a cliff.”
    “Brilliant!” cried Montgomery. “That’s just what your
writing needs, a fresh perspective.”
    “A pig’s a great idea,” said Rafe, punching her gently in
the upper arm. Dawn’s face blazed with pleasure.
    Annabel immediately turned green. “I’ve got a new idea for a
protagonist too!” she shrieked. Her gaze darted around the room, until it fell
upon a broken garden ornament outside the window.
    “Oh do tell!” pleaded Montgomery, apparently in full
sincerity.
    “Well isn’t this exciting?” chuckled Dawn. “Ideas flying in
from all directions like rabid locusts of inspiration.”
    Um ...
    “My new protagonist is going to be ...” began Annabel,
then she paused for effect. When she was satisfied that everybody was looking
at her, she continued, “a garden gnome.”
    The room was silent. Nobody spoke. Nobody enthused. What was
the matter with these people? In what way was a pig a good idea, but a gnome a
bad one? Then, I realised that it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was a pause of
awe. The others looked at her, with deep admiration, until finally Montgomery
broke the silence, “Bravo!”
    “It’s going to be a romance!” she squealed, as if delivering
surprising news. “A china doll falls in love with a garden gnome and they get
married on a beach.”
    The others started cooing, as if there was nothing more
charming than an expressionless doll falling for a cheeky bearded chap with a
penchant for goldfish fishing.
    Dawn didn’t like Annabel being in the spotlight. “Of course,”
she interrupted, “I’ll have to do some research into livestock. I don’t want to
lose realism.”
    It’s a pig falling off a cliff? In what way is that even
going to flirt with realism?
    “I’m so glad I suggested this place!” announced Dawn. “It’s
inspiring everybody.”
    “I know what you mean,” agreed Rafe. “I have two ideas.”
    “Two ideas?” chorused at least three of the others.
    “Yes! This place is just so inspiring, that I can’t narrow
it down to one.”
    “Well, we simply must hear them both!” begged Dawn.
    “All right,” began Rafe. He perched himself sideways on a
chair, and poured himself a large coffee from a sparkling cafetière. He inhaled
deeply, combing back his floppy dark hair with his lengthy fingers. “One is
inspired by the storm, and a comment I made yesterday about cannibalism.”
    I frowned, remembering yesterday’s remarks and how
disturbing they’d seemed at the time. However, now that it was daylight and the
storm had largely subsided, I felt a little foolish for being so over-sensitive.
    “Yes! The more I think about it, the more I like it! Six
stranded strangers ... Now obviously, a group of survivors having to
eat one of their number has been done before, usually as a thriller. So, my
story would be a comedy — black, obviously — to make it a bit different. They
would bicker and fight. There would be romance, backstabbing and lots of
carefully chosen idioms about food ... It’d take elements of
well-known disaster movies, to make it almost a parody, but also, it could
satirise consumerism in the twenty-first century ...”
    Surprisingly, I found myself a little impressed. Ideas for further
development popped into my mind. Food idioms flooded my mind. This was an idea
he could really sink his teeth into.
    “Or,” he continued, “there’s my other idea: a couple
experiencing marital difficulties both hire the same private detective to
investigate the other.”
    “Oh! I like that one!” enthused Annabel.
    “The second one sounds more up my alley too,” agreed
Montgomery.
    “The first one’s a bit complicated, isn’t it?” mused Dawn.