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“She runs around after philanderers !” sneered her father, as Elaine tried again to explain to her mother what a Private Investigator did for a living. “Pathetic and Idle more like !” laughed the retired police officer. She waited until he went to the pub before explaining that it was more about going through people’s rubbish and sitting in side streets in her car, than running around after any body. Her mother just sighed and said that anything was better than joining the force.
“Running. After. Bloody. Philanderers,” Elaine puffed, as she dragged her – bitterly – protesting body through Sefton Park after the alleged adulterous jogger. “How did I. Get myself. Into a mess. Like. This ?” she wheezed. It was late to be going jogging, and the sky was dark already despite the season. Ominous clouds obscured the last few rays and the stuffy air promised rain before long. It’s alright for men, she thought, they don’t worry about running around half dressed in the middle of the night. A bat swooped low above her head, on the trail of her entourage of midges no doubt, and she gave an involuntary shriek. The jogger immediately halted and glared back into the darkness. She ducked behind a bush and tried desperately not to pant. She was supposed to be following him, and she didn’t want to get caught doing it. The professional shame would be mortifying. Not to mention the pleasure her father would get out of it, if ever he found out. At last the jogger took off again, pushing his lean body along with apparent ease. After a hasty squirt of inhaler, Elaine resumed her punishing pursuit, now scanning the overhanging trees above, as well as the path ahead. As they turned down by the lake, the shaking in her legs began, and Elaine’s heart started to beat even faster. Silently she cursed the drug that opened up her lungs, but made her body tremble. She longed for the jogger to locate his mistress, so that she might catch her breath and regain her waning strength. At the far end of the lake, the park met the road, and with a sigh of relief, Elaine realised that the jogger was almost home. There was no illicit lover, no sordid affair for her to report. Elaine flung herself down behind a car and watched the jogger trot up his drive and into the porch. The door was opened, and she saw a beautiful young woman draw him inside with a kiss. “Wait a minute,” she realised, perplexed, “That’s not his wife.” As the door closed, the brass numbers flashed in the lamplight. 42 it said. But the jogger lived at 44. As the heavy door slammed shut, the heavens opened. “Bloody philanderer after all !” smiled Elaine, as she wearily dragged herself to her feet.
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© Scarlet 2002
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I wrote this as an assignment on a creative writing course. I incorporated my experiences with a new asthma inhaler, which I'd recorded in the picece Inhale Slowly. I wanted my character to be likeable, slightly flawed, and very human. Hope I succeeded.
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