My tongue is all twisted around the air Who: Cameron & Amanda When: Early evening Where: Home
With every day that passed, Amanda came closer and closer to killing Mrs Marion Calvert in cold blood. The woman didn't even have to be around, didn't have to call, didn't have to breathe - it didn't matter. She could still feel her watching over her shoulder, a constant presence demanding to know why there wasn't a date set yet. As though all of this - the entire reason behind the wedding ever having been delayed - was her fault. Clearly, it was also her fault that they'd not yet set a new date. As though she was deliberately stalling. And if I were a lesser woman I would consider it just to piss her off. In truth, Marion hadn't said anything since the final adjustments to the guest-list had been made. The nagging was now coming from her own mother who was tired of waiting in the most childish sense possible. That was behaviour she could ignore. Mrs Calvert's silence was something Amanda couldn't stand. There was a possibility it wasn't as pointed a lack of contact as she was assuming it was, but the likelihood of that was virtually non-existant. After waging psychological warfare over how many courtesy invitations needed to be sent (none), one did not just fall quiet and wait for the end result. One called what appeared to be an unofficial ceasefire and then marked the end of the ordeal with a series of metaphorical nail-bombs.
Ignoring her blackberry - allegedly Michael Blake calling, actually Tiffany Montgomery-Blake calling having figured out her daughter was ignoring her calls - Amanda stared somewhat absently at her cup of coffee. Had she put sugar in it? Glancing around the kitchen wasn't going to help. "Cameron?" No, he wasn't going to know whether she had put sugar in her coffee either, but that wasn't why she was calling him. Removing her earrings, Amanda pinched the bridge of her nose in a sulk. She was tired and she hadn't even done a proper day's work. Really, just what was the point in calling someone into work if you were going to give them sweet fuck all to do?
But if someone could take a sledgehammer to her blackberry, she'd be grateful.