The Westwich Writers Club. 7

At ten o'clock, Stephen got up from his word processor and made coffee. The program had been open for forty minutes but the new page was still blank. He had already made a forced start by saving the page with the title, Sir Montague's Squire, Chapter One, but that hadn't been enough to tempt the first faltering words of the novel from his fingertips.


Stephen swore in frustration, it had all seemed so clear in the car. Now the time had come to get it written up, he couldn't think of a way to begin. He had never believed in writer's block but now he was almost convinced of it.

The Westwich Writers Club. 6

At the end of Redvale Lane Stephen pulled onto the grass verge, picked up Mick's job sheet and entered the address details into his sat-nav.


'After three hundred yards, turn left,' he was advised.

A few minutes later he pulled up in front of a short row of terraced houses. Mick's was right in the centre at number four. Stephen flipped the latch on the wrought Iron gate and stepped up to the red painted front door. There was a choice of a bell push or a brass knocker. He chose the bell push, there was no reply so he beat a rat-a-tat-tat with the door knocker.

The Westwich Writers Club. 5

It took Stephen the rest of the afternoon to remove the various worms and Trojans that had infiltrated Mick's computer defences. He ran five spyware scans a full virus sweep and rebooted the machine several times before he was confident that the machine was infection free.


At five thirty Carole popped her head round the door of the workshop.

'I'm off now boss, I need to call in at the supermarket on the way home. See you tomorrow.'

'Give me a minute, Carole,' called Paul, 'I'll drop you off, I'm going that way.'

'Night boss,' they called together as they left the shop.

Stephen began the final tests on Mick's PC.

'No home to go to Mel?'

'I've nothing on tonight, so I'm not in a hurry.'

Stephen heard her slide from her seat, a few seconds later he felt her breast press against his elbow. She slid a hand around his waist and stretched to look over his shoulder.

The Westwich Writers Club. 4

After dinner Charlotte bought her laptop over and went through her collection of digital photographs that she had taken on safari. Stephen was impressed with her detailed knowledge of the animals and places.

'You should write it all down Charlie, I'm sure it would find an audience.'

'Me, write? as in writing something other than an email. I can't see it somehow.'

'I read your emails, they were very descriptive, I think you've got a real talent there. It just needs polishing up a bit. While you were away, I joined the local writers group. They're a strange lot, mainly elderly, but they do have some younger members stashed away in a cupboard somewhere.. Why don't you join too? maybe together we could blow away some of the cobwebs and get it functioning again. What do you say?'

The Westwich Writers Club. 3

Stephen walked out of the rear entrance and made his way across the tiny, puddle strewn car park to the street. The car park only had a dozen spaces and they had all been taken by writer's club members. Stephen wondered what time he would have to get there to claim one of the spaces. He suspected he would need to be there a good half hour before the meeting started.


The club was situated at the bottom of a narrow street on a steep hill. Close to town, the street was popular with drivers as it was one of the few places left without yellow lines and parking meters. Pedestrians splashed their way along the pavement eager to get to their destination and out of the gathering storm.

Stephen held his plastic document folder above his head and jogged up the hill to his car. By the time he reached it the rain had begun in earnest. A clap of thunder rattled the windows of the taller buildings, a few seconds later a crazy zig-zag of lightning lit up the night sky.