How to Write Flash Fiction (6)
It’s Andy Murray’s fault.
Friends had introduced them, thinking they were made for each other. They went on a blind date to the best Indian restaurant in Edinburgh, according to a write-up in the Metro, the Bombay Bicycle Club. The food was as good as the reviews promised, the Cobra beer was perfect. They talked cinema. Yes, they
were both regular visitors to the Filmhouse in Lothian Road. And had both loved The Breadwinner, the film in which a little Afghani girl cuts her hair and passes for a boy in order to earn a living for her family after dad was taken in by the Taliban. Mountain walk was another of their common passion. They had both read and enjoyed Ali Smith. Probably the best living British author they agreed. I will definitely ask her out again, he was thinking. No, he was no great football fan. He watched a little bit of tennis. She was also a moderate fan. How do you like Andy then? she asked. Oh, Murray? Not much, I can’t abide his tantrums on court. When he asked if he could see her again, perhaps in a week’s time, she said she was washing her hair.