‘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]