‘Ecology, technology, scientology,’ Amy sings when she comes back from spending the weekend with her father.

‘What’s that, sweetie?’

‘Rhymey words. They’re fun to sing.’

‘Where did they come from?’

’Suzie. I couldn’t say scientology.’

Amy’s hands fly over her mouth. She doesn’t say it, but I can tell Suzie made her promise not to tell me.

Suzie. Sunny, sweet Suzie. Suspicious Suzie. I had a feeling Suzie was all-round bad news, beyond wrecking my marriage.

I’m far from Shakespeare, but I have twelve days. Amy will have new rhymey words to sing then. I’m sure Suzie’ll get the message.

[inspiration: today’s Flash Fiction February prompts: ecology, Shakespeare, technology]