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Dad - creative writing.

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Introduction

Dad "Hurry up Mark," called Jan, "Paul will be here in a minute." The usual Friday-night scrimmage to get Mark ready for his weekend visit with his Dad was nearly over. "Did you pack my England shirt Mum?" he shouted from the bedroom. "Yes, and I have packed the England flag too." Jan answered. "What are you doing now?" she enquired. "I'm just doing my hair." he yelled back. "Ah, that reminds me, I've also packed a can of red hair spray. Will Jo have time to do it for you tomorrow?" Jan checked. England was playing in the Rugby World Cup Final against Australia and Mark was watching it with his Dad and his step-mum, Jo, at the Rugby Club. Mark wanted a red St George's cross sprayed in his hair. It was an early kick-off and they had a fair journey to get to the club on time. "Yeah, no problem, she'll have time," he replied hurtling down the stairs. As Paul pulled up outside the house he tooted the car horn. "He's here," relayed Jan. "So am I!" Mark answered with a grin. Jan gave him a hug. "Have an excellent weekend, love," she called after him as he raced outside to greet Paul. "And you Mum. See you Sunday afternoon, bye," he replied with a wave. Jan smiled wistfully to herself, wishing that she could share the excitement of tomorrow morning with Mark herself. After all it wasn't often that England made it to the final, and Mark did love his rugby. ...read more.

Middle

The longer she spent trying to compose the first contact email to Joanne, the worse she felt. Pull yourself together Jan, she reprimanded herself, you are not doing this for yourself, think of Mark. Jan plonked herself down in front of the computer and logged on again. She opened up a message box and then stopped. Hands poised to type the first message. I still don't know who you are Joanne Harris, but here goes. Paul, I hope you chose your friends well. Jan started typing. "Hi Joanne," she began, "I need to get in touch with Paul. I've not seen him for ages and this is my only point of contact. Does he have his own email address that I can use? If not, would you please let him know that I have been in touch? Perhaps you could pass on my contact details? My email address is jan354@aol.com and my mobile number is 07736 478293. Everything is fine here, nothing to worry about. Thanks very much, Jan and Mark. Well that wasn't so hard. I just need to hit the send button. Phew, I wonder how long it'll be before I get a reply. Or if I'll get a reply at all? Shall I tell Mark when he gets in from school? Oh I don't know. I'll see what Rick thinks. As soon as Rick got in from work, Jan grabbed his hand and pulled him in to the dining room, away from prying ears. ...read more.

Conclusion

He pinned a copy to his bedroom wall at bedtime. * * * "Hi Mum, I'm back," Mark called. "Hi love, did you have a good time?" Jan asked him, wiping her hands on a tea-towel. It was Sunday afternoon and Jan was just finishing the washing up left from a roast Sunday lunch. "Yes! It was brilliant...we won...20 - 17! Did you see the match? Wasn't Jonny fantastic? A drop goal with only thirty seconds of extra time left! The bloke's a genius isn't he Paul?" enthused Mark. "Hi Paul, everything OK? I take it you all had an excellent weekend?" grinned Jan. "Yes, he was Mark. Be a good lad and take your gear upstairs." replied Paul. Jan smiled inside. Mark was growing up fast and she could see the little differences in him even though he had only been away for just over twenty four hours. Staying with Paul and Jo had let Mark see another side to life. He seemed to revel in the attention they paid him, but was always happy to come home. Paul had proved himself to be a great Dad over the past year-and-a-half. He had Mark for visits at the weekend, spoilt him thoroughly at Christmas and Birthdays. Paul had a lot of time for Mark when it came to sport - especially his rugby. He even sat with Mark and encouraged him with his schoolwork, which was not always an easy thing. If only he could get Mark to clean his rugby boots, then the bloke would be a genius! Katherine BRENCHLEY 29th November 2003 1 ...read more.

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