King of the Car-Park

Yes, if it’s Tuesday it must be prose – and today’s offering is my latest story, about none other than the event which has put Leicester on the map and which may win us the City of Culture bid for 2017 (fingers crossed).

Here’s the beginning of the first draft.  I’m figuring there will be loads of interest if we win the bid, and almost certainly literary competitions etc.

 

King of the Car-Park

There was no chance whatever of finding a skelly. Only a couple of anecdotal reports about the choir of a lost church thought to have been buried somewhere under a car-park, gave them anything to go on. No-one gave much credence to it. Then again, it would have been foolish not to take a look, just in case – especially since a consortium was waiting to slap yet another block of student accommodation on the site. There wouldn’t be another chance to look for the last Plantagenet there – not in this lifetime, anyway.

‘Great,’ said Leuka when she read the story. ‘Just what this city needs – more student accommodation.’

‘Mm?’ Leon wasn’t listening: he was, as usual, tapping on his laptop.

‘More bloody student accommodation,’ she said. ‘And they’re trying to find Richard III yet again.’

‘You should talk to Stuart if they’re planning a dig,’ Leon told her. ‘He’s bound to be in charge.’

‘And why should I talk to him?’

‘Don’t you want to get in on the act? You’ve got experience, after all.’

Leuka hooted dismissively. ‘Twenty years ago! Anyway, they won’t need artists. They’ll have their own.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ Leon stopped typing and looked at her: his long, dark hair framing his face, one shoulder raised as he was still holding the mouse. ‘I was thinking, you should do it for inspiration. Don’t you have an exhibition coming up?’

‘And nothing to put in it – yes, don’t remind me,’ said Leuka wearily.

But the idea had fired her imagination, so the next day she dug out Stuart’s email and asked if he was going to be running the dig and if so, whether he needed volunteers to do the shit-work. Though she didn’t quite use that expression. His reply came back by close of play: he was, and they would. She would need to be at the site first thing the following Monday. ‘They’re not hanging about,’ she commented to Leon.

‘Told you!’ he retorted. ‘It’s always best to get in on the ground floor.’

‘Except that in this case the lift will be going down,’ she pointed out.

Kirk out

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