The Fringe, Finchley, and frightening fiction (Rousse)

One of the women at the café table turned to me and asked how I was enjoying my annual trip up to Edinburgh and the fringe festival. I politely explained that I was a resident of this fine city, so I was able take full advantage of the annual arty shenanigans while based at home. Then I asked where she was from.

‘Rural central London’ she replied.

I wondered if she meant Finchley? Weren’t there trees there? I turned to my mother to remind her of the time that the whole family drove down to London and parked the car in Mrs Thatcher’s old constituency before setting off to explore the city.

Then I noticed Belle and her new boyfriend at the other end of the table! They had very little time left in Edinburgh and were about to head back to London. I abandoned all my plans for the day and followed them to the station. Five hours later I was a guest in their little terraced house in central London.

Belle took me up to her secret room in the attic to read extracts from her latest horror novel to me. It was all terribly gruesome, but she was bound to make a fortune when she sold the rights for a slasher movie.

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