10.34 p.m. I am breathless and buzzing with excitement.
I am sat waiting for my boyfriend Keith to return home from his twelve-hour shift at the factory.
Tonight is going to be very special; not just for Keith but for me as well (squeal loudly with eyes closed whilst doing some vigorous air punching!)
For the last two weeks I have been living up in our attic, trying to get into the mindset of my new fictional character, Vivian. In my book Vivian is kidnapped and hidden away in an attic. So two weeks ago I asked Keith, my long-term boyfriend, to kidnap me in a supermarket car park and lock me away in our attic.
As this is the last night in the attic I am going to play out what happens in my book.
Vivian seduces her kidnapper Frank (a.k.a Keith), overthrows him and escapes.
Keith is unaware of what is going to happen to him. I want this to be as realistic as possible.
10.36 p.m. Gasp! I can hear his slow and heavy footsteps on the stairs up to the attic.
It is time for action.
I am just going to lie down on my makeshift mattress and turn into Vivian; naturally beautiful with seductive eyes.
I watch the door open. Keith walks in yawning and carrying Margaret, our adopted cat.
I love Margaret, our black and white cat, but for a pet she is hard work. The pet rescue centre were relieved to see Margaret get adopted as they had given up hope on finding her a home. Keith often says that Margaret and I are well suited. I can’t see how we are; Margaret is hormonal, unhinged and unpredictable.
“I am home!” he announces at the doorway.
“Why have you brought Margaret up?” I ask, avoiding Margaret’s stare. It is best not to look her in the eye.
“I thought you would like to say goodnight to her!” he says, looking at the cat tucked under his arm.
“Keith she’s a cat not a small child!” I snap, feeling frustrated.
“She was looking a bit strange when I came in from work” explains Keith.
“That’s her look!” I say, trying to think of a time when Margaret has not looked odd.
“Maybe you’re right. I am off to bed, I am tired!” yawns Keith.
“Why don’t you come and sit next to me?” I whisper, fluttering my eyelashes and patting the mattress beside me.
“Why?” asks Keith, still holding Margaret and standing in the doorway.
“Come here and I’ll show you!” I whisper with a suggestive look on my face.
He walks towards me and places Margaret at the foot of the mattress. I watch as he plonks himself down beside me.
I stare longingly at Keith whilst playing with my hair.
In my book Vivian twirled her long hair around her finger for a few seconds whilst giving Frank her best seductive eyes. He was all over her in a flash.
I have a feeling things are going to take a bit longer with Keith.
11.02 p.m. I am still gazing at him and fiddling with my hair. He is busy yawning and picking the dirt out of his fingernails.
11.13 p.m. Ok – this could take all night. I need to let Keith know he has a free ticket for romance.
“Kiss me?” I say in a high-pitched sugary sweet voice, which makes Margaret the cat start hissing at me.
“You are scaring the cat” says Keith, pointing at the cat and letting out a chuckle.
“Don’t look her in the eye” I murmur.
“It is only Margaret” says Keith.
I am losing my patience. “Will you just KISS ME!” I shriek, making Keith jump. By this point in my novel Vivian had escaped and was half-way to freedom.
Keith lets out a sigh and leans over to kiss me on the cheek.
In a flash I turn into my fictional character Vivian. I decide to skip the seduction and just overthrow my captor (Keith) and escape.
12.50 a.m. Keith wasn’t expecting me to overpower him on the mattress, pin him down and attempt to bind his wrists and ankles with some old rope, that I had been keeping hidden.
I wasn’t expecting Margaret to act like she was possessed by some evil spirit and pounce on both of us with claws and teeth.
None of us expected the lights to go out in the attic. Margaret took this opportunity to hunt Keith and I down in the dark. I have to say that when our little cat puts her mind to something she goes for it.
The neighbours were not expecting to be woken up a series of screams, snarls, howls, bangs and a flurry of bad words.
Keith, Margaret and I are all sat in our lounge. Mr Brown from next door is stood by our fireplace explaining to two police officers that he called the emergency services because he thought a zombie apocalypse had begun.
This was not how my book was meant to end.
12.56 a.m. I have just informed the police officers that I am a writer and tonight was all about research for my new novel.
One of the police officers has just asked me what sort of books I write.
1.32 a.m. The police officers have just left. Keith is telling me that I should not view every situation as an opportunity to clinch a sale on my failed thriller series from last year.
“Keith I am a writer!” I snap, getting out my needle and cotton to sew Keith’s tattered and clawed work overalls back together.