Hello, Steve Johnson here,
TITLE. Greenwicker Cricket Club, season 2017.
Social commentary. Opening chapter.
GREENWICKER V THE KINGS HEAD
SATURDAY 13TH MAY 2017
'Duncan, Duncan, Duncan,' pleaded Duncan Nottingham. 'Tails you stay, heads you emigrate.' Duncan counted like NASA from five, and tossed a pound coin. His coin clipped the living room mirror and landed in a three-quarter-full coin jar. He knelt. In the jar laid two pound coins, one on tails, the other heads.
To Duncan, the one-one result, meant fate was as indecisive as him, and he wouldn't let fate duck its responsibly. Without looking down, he nudged the jar with his knee, and kept nudging and not looking, until clinking convinced him of a shift. He peered. Still one tails, one heads. On a patient breath, Duncan shuffled to the sunflower on the coffee table. He held the stem and plucked a petal, 'I'm staying,' he picked another, 'I'm emigrating.' He sneezed. Hay fever.
Duncan collapsed onto his back and examined the ceiling where the bath-shaped water stain lived. He imagined a giant pound coin split the ceiling, then a huge hand, his wife's, catch the coin. She tossed the coin, with him on it, and he spun out of the house. He flew above the lush Greenwicker cricket ground, crossed the Channel, and landed in a muddy football pitch in Poland.
Duncan shuffled back to the jar and shook out the change. In the pile, stood a lone fifty pence. He put the coin on his thumb. 'Five, four, three, three and a half...'
At that moment, his wife Serafina, speedway skidded onto their drive. She looked back at the wide furrow of displaced gravel and whistled. She sucked in her face-cheeks and removed her helmet.