Approval - Tapa blanda

Acerca del autor

John D Rutter is a writer of literary and short fiction and an academic who teaches, researches, edits and writes primarily on the short story – the subject of his PhD from Edge Hill University. His stories and articles have been published in a variety of anthologies and journals. Approval is his first novel. John lives in Lancashire with his wife, Lin.

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A couple are standing in the doorway of a small bedroom. His arms blanket her from behind. A beech IKEA table sits in one corner. A die-cutting machine is buried under stacks of card in pastel shades, hand-made miniature flowers and a clutter of dies and tools. There is an unassembled wooden crib beneath the window. Otherwise the room is unfurnished. A fan of paint sample swatches lies in the centre of the beige carpet. The walls are magnolia.

'Are are we settled on Winnie the Pooh?’ David asks.

'Okay. Paint the walls yellow.

‘Honey Mustard.’

‘Honey Mustard. Then I will add some details and stickers.’

‘Shall we do it this weekend?’

‘No, let’s wait till we know for definite.’

Cici strokes her flat stomach. She turns round to face him. ‘You agree with Scarlett?’ she asks.

‘All right. And Eric for a boy?’ He grins.

‘I will.’

He kisses her on the forehead and leaves her looking at the empty room.…

Two middle-aged men are leaning across a circular pub table. One is tall with salt-and-pepper hair. The other is thick-set and unshaven; his chest is wide, so the top three buttons of his checked shirt are undone. There is a milk stain on his shoulder.

‘How was your visit to the IVF clinic?’ Dougie, the broader man, asks.

‘I kid you not,’ David says. You’d have loved this place.’

Dougie chuckles.

‘Huge La-Z-Boy leather armchair, forty-inch flat-screen telly with remote…’ David makes a ‘fish-was-this-big’ gesture with both hands, then takes a swig of beer. ‘The video menu was, I must say, extensive. Plenty of motivation.’

‘Literally.’

‘Don’t use that word, Dougie.’

‘Tell me more.’ ‘Imagine a comprehensive library accommodating every taste and proclivity…’

‘Every taste, like? Literally?’

‘They might not delve as deep as the darkest recesses of your twisted mind, but there was plenty to pick from.’

‘And may one ask what you chose from this smorgasbord of viewing delight?’

‘That’s private.’