Oscar and Richard arrive at Laurie’s country manor house ready to party hard. But will Oscar secure the future he wants?
Oscar B.A. Part 22
Fickle.
On the list of eff-words that have followed me around like a bad smell, it’s up there in the top three.
A word I let define me for too long, and a word I vividly remember learning at eight years old one summer Sunday afternoon.
Mum had given me a choice between two ice-lollies after a day running about the park with the neighbourhood kids while Dad had stayed home to make a roast.
Fruit Pastille lolly or a Feast.
‘Our secret,’ she’d said with a wink, holding them out.
The choice had been as easy as pie. Hadn’t even heard of the first one, so naturally I’d jumped at the promise of a nutty chocolate coating over chocolate ice-cream before that thick, chunky slab of cocoa-goodness in the middle.
But when Mum had opened hers, and I’d seen its vibrant rainbow layers glistening in the sun, my mind had changed before she’d finished unwrapping.
‘Here you go, you fickle little monster,’ she’d said chuckling, taking the Feast and swapping.
In that moment, I’d understood what the new word had meant. How, if I wasn’t happy with what I had, I didn’t have to accept it.
Don’t have to settle for second best.
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Thank you, and enjoy.
Jack Ladd 