How to use this blog

Welcome to the class blog for The Craft of Fiction!

If you are enrolled in the course The Craft of Fiction, you can use this blog to publish your class assignments and other creative writing.

If you are not part of the course, you can find out more at Creative Writing Now.

Click here for step-by-step instructions on how to use the blog.

Just a few rules to keep in mind:

  1. Only post your own original work.  You may publish your course exercises or your other creative writing.  Please only post work that has not been previously published.
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  3. Please respect intellectual property. Do not reproduce or distribute other authors’ work without their permission.
  4. We reserve the right to remove or edit anything posted here. Please keep a backup copy of your posts.

Happy writing!

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The Brown’s Wedding Photos – Beetlemania part 2

The sad old man knocked on the door.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, this was my sister’s house. I know it’s your place now, but I was hoping you might be able to help me. My name is Jeremiah Brown.”

“Mr Brown, I’m so sorry for your loss. Of course, I’ll try and help you, come on in.”

So now I have to go back down to the basement.

Why did I have to open my big mouth? “Of course, Mr Brown, I’d be happy to help you. I’m sure I’ll be able to find your sister’s old photo albums. Give me your number and I’ll call you when I have something.”

Dammit, the nightmares about those hideous Christmas beetles have only just started to back off; now I have to go down there again.

Standing in front of the basement door, I’m starting to regret agreeing to help the old man. But he was so sad. His rheumy eyes had filled with tears when he’d talked of his sister, Josephine. I’d felt so sorry for him and look where it’s got me- heading down into that hellhole again.

The key is still in the bits and bobs bowl where I dumped it a few weeks ago, after I escaped from the nightmare swarm of Christmas Beetles.

Who cares that it was just in my head? It felt real enough.

The hairs spring up on my arms as a shiver of repulsion runs down my spine. Deep breath.

I rummage around the bottom of the bowl until I find the key. Carefully pushing it into the lock and turning it, I hear a loud click and the door opens onto the landing.

It’s dark. Stuffy dry air washes over me and I’m back in the forest being attacked by Christmas beetles again. I shake my head and flick on the lights.

The staircase sits before me and the basement opens up below in the dim light. Another deep breath.

Come on you cowardly custard. It wasn’t even real, there’s nothing down there except a bunch of boxes and a bit of dust.

I step onto the staircase. One step, two, three. The boards creak as my foot lands and I nearly jump out of my skin. A sweat breaks on my forehead and my skin is clammy. My breath is coming fast and I’m starting to feel dizzy. The prickling hairs on my arms feel like beetles crawling on me. In a panic, I plop down onto the stairs and huge sobs start to wrack my body.

This is crazy. I’ve never been like this before. It was a bump on the head. I passed out and hallucinated. It wasn’t real. There were NO Christmas beetles in the basement.

Time passes, ten minutes, twenty. I scrub at my face and make a decision.

Standing abruptly, I step forward and quickly walk down the stairs. I flick on the light switch at the bottom and the shadows recede to the corners of the room. Looking over to the pile of boxes that caused me so much grief, I see the words “Photos” scrawled on the sides of the bottom box.

Dammit, that’s the one I need. If any of those boxes will have Mr Brown’s parents’ wedding photos in it, of course it’ll be the one that says “Photos”. My thoughts drip with sarcasm.

Deep breath. Here we go. Shoulders lifted for courage, I stomp over to the boxes and pull off the top one. It crashes to the floor, spilling treasures from the last century in a scattered mess. The careless destruction boosts my bravado and I start to rummage through the “Photos” box.

I spy a wedding photo and reach down to grab it when a wave of dizziness passes over me again- can’t do that much head down bum up anymore. I reach for the wall and feel the uneven carving of flowers and leaves. No, no.

I look up to see that the wall has become a door, with the chiselled carvings from my hallucination. It’s happening again. Even though I’m not touching the doorknob this time, the door is pulling me through. I scream NOOOO, and the same scratchy prickly sensation engulfs my whole body as I’m pulled through the door again.

Crunch. I land on a massive swarm of Christmas beetles, and their prickly little feet scratch at my skin and catch in my hair.

The bloodcurdling scream that escapes my throat cuts off abruptly when beetles start to crawl on my face. My hands scrub them off and I shake my head, gagging in horror. I struggle to my feet, spinning around and pushing the beetles away.

Get off you creepy bastards.

They don’t of course- their little clawed beetle feet don’t let go. Not ever.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, I run towards the forest. Beetles crunch under my feet, and I gag as the smell of squashed beetles invades my nostrils.

I run and run toward the trees and I don’t stop. The barbs from thorn bushes rip the skin from my arms, but I feel nothing. The beetle phobia has me in its prickly clasp and I can’t get away.

Finally, I collapse to the ground, sobbing and panting, eyes scrunched tight, hands over my ears. The sobbing eases to a pathetic whimper as I rock on my side, knees to chest in a tight ball.

Enough.

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Beetlemania

?Coughing and hacking like an old crock, I stopped to catch my breath. I sat back on an old chair and looked around the basement, taking stock of what I’d sorted out- not much, and what was still left to go through- way too much. 

I grabbed my waterbottle and glugged a few mouthfuls of water, eyeing a large stack of boxes against the far wall. Right, that’s next. I put down the bottle, stood up and stretched tall to the ceiling- I could nearly reach it since it was lower than the other ceilings upstairs.

I marched over to the pile of boxes, stepping carefully around piles of books and dusty furniture. 

Why did I think it would be so exciting to buy this old deceased estate? “Mysteries from times past!” Really? Whatwill I ever do with all this junk? 

No one answered of course. I reached for the top box first, and pulled it down to the floor so I could open it up. Oh, my gosh, it’s so heavy. Tugging it hard, I dragged it out and it toppled to the floor, ornaments and papers spilling out of the top. Jumping back out of the way, I nearly toppled over too, but saved myself against an old wardrobe. 

Coughing in all the dust- why aren’t I wearing a mask,idiot– I looked up at the pile while the dust settled. Light caught against the edge of something I hadn’t noticed before. I stepped over the mess on the floor, and looked closer. Adoor. 

That’s weird. How bizaare how bizarre! I did a little jiggle of excitement.

Shoving the rest of the boxes aside- they could wait for another day- I marvelled at the door. It went all the way to ceiling, no doorframe like all the other doors in the place. There were carvings on it- flowers and leaves, the sun on one side at the top, and the moon opposite. Reaching up, my fingers trailed over the carvings and I could sense the chisel marks on the wood. I reached the door handle- a massive curled lever, and made to grab it. My fingers tingled as they closed around the handle and I found myself being pulled into the door- the closed door. I screamed.

In panic, I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath.  Tiny scratches tickled and pressed on my bare arms and legs, then stopped abruptly as I fell forward and landed on my hands and knees. Goose bumps sprang up on my arms from the cool damp air. 

I peered around. It was dark with a musty smell of gloom. Moisture was heavy on the air making it if feel dank and clammy. I shivered and ran my hands over my arms, as I looked around. I was in a forest! 

Well that makes no sense. Maybe I knocked myself out when I fell over pulling that box down?  

Turning to look behind me, I was completely alone- no door, no house, no boxes.

What the hell?

The ground started to vibrate, just a little. I wasn’t even sure it really was shaking, until I started to feel it shaking up through my sneakers and rattling my teeth. Sudden panic ripped through my gut and I spun around, looking for the door. 

Maybe I’d rolled away when I landed. It’s got to be here somewhere. 

I ran over to the trees at the edge of the clearing andpeered into the dense bushes. 

Oh, those thorns are huge- I definitely didn’t come through that.

I looked at my arms, there were no scratches and definitely no blood.

I quickly searched around the clearing, scrabbling around the edges of the forest, and found nothing but dense trees and thornbushes. I got back to where I’d started and looked behind me again.

Oh, those trees aren’t as close as all the others. And those bushes have flowers not thorns. What are those flashes of light?

The vibrations were shaking my whole body now. And a deafening roar pounded at my ears. I threw my hands up over my ears and spun around to look back at the forest.

Panic was starting to overrun my whole body and I could see why. A wall of Christmas Beetles was advancing towards me. Millions of little beetle feet pounding the ground, and millions more beetle wings hammering the air. Sunlight flashed multi-coloured beams of iridescence from their wings. 

How did they get so close so fast? 

I could see their little beetly feelers and my skin crawled with abhorrence.

It was my worst nightmare- Christmas beetles clawing in my hair, their prickly little feet on my skin and getting all tangled in my hair. The childhood memory that flashed into my mind. I screamed and ran towards the trees with the flowers. 

A door appeared in front of me and I reached out to grab the handle. My scream abruptly cut off as I was pulled back through the wood and I felt my empty lungs about to burst. Everything went black.

My eyes opened to the calm dusty stillness of my basement. I was lying on the floor next to the spilled box. I sat up, feeling a bit dazed. A small black beetle scuttled over my leg and I screamed, the nightmare coming back with horror.

I jumped to my feet and stepped cautiously over the boxes to look at the wall. No door, just a wall. I shivered. 

So creepy. I must have knocked myself out. 

I combed my fingers through my hair and found the sore spot on the back of my head. A drop of blood smeared my finger. 

Shit. That’s it for today. Definitely time to pack it in. 

I climbed the stairs to the basement door, and turned to look back at my very own shop of horrors.

I locked the door behind me, dropped the key into a dish of bits and bobs, and vowed to never clean up down there ever again

Posted in Lesson 5 | Leave a comment

Trust No One But Me

Lesson Seventeen

Trust No One But Me

Zane is desperate to stop Jess from making the biggest mistake of this whole incident. Put aside the fact that he fancies her insanely, and the unhappy knowledge that he wouldn’t have a chance with her because she thinks he is a real player.

 But he wants to keep her safe from the clutches of Richards. Absently revisiting the old school habit of calling boys by their surnames, he considers Richards is slimy and deceitful, but wealthier than he could imagine. Oh yes, he had everything going for him, new model sports car, opulent riverside flat, bespoke suits and casuals with Italian leather handmade shoes and access to a family villa in the south of France. All that is blindingly obvious the minute you see him walk into a room.

But if you look carefully, you can see the infinitesimal pause on the threshold, like a dancer gathering her skirts at the end of the introduction of her music, prepared to launch into opening steps the minute the first note of the symphony begins. The silent command,

 All eyes on me…And…

Like a dancer being directed, not as a natural would perform. Zane catches another glimpse of Jess, it is almost impossible to spot anyone in this crowd of the beautiful and the hopeful. If he squints he can separate the colourful nectar gathering butterflies from the sober purposeful suited men, it is not an equal match, the butterflies outnumber the sober suited men. But that brings the odds of being able to monitor who Jess is with down considerably.

She is currently talking animatedly with unknown female in lilac 1 and unknown female in pale green 1. They are not known to him, as are two thirds of the room unknown, but hovering behind Jess’ group is a small selection of males, Jameson, Richards, Twomey and Twomey’s sister, Natasha with an ‘unknown female’ in coral 1 and another ‘unknown female’ in salmon 1. Natasha is in an unforgiving claret and silver, with a tiara, one of only a handful in the room.

Jess is wearing a soft shade of hyacinth, and it brings out the blue in her eyes. She has even been able to match her dancing slippers, into which Zane has placed a tracker. It is supremely unfair to expect him to keep an eye on one girl in this melee. He prefer to stack the odds in his favour. Jess accepts an invitation to dance, again from Richards. Is it Zane’s imagination noticing that she looks at him and frowns as she dances, or is she just thinking of a piece of porridge, (or worse) stuck on the sole of her shoe?

Jess and Richards skilfully dance the Blackberry Basket round and then await the music for the next number, a cotillon, something that is in Jess’ favourite 3 of the Victorian dances. Zane had practised with her often enough to know.

Soon all others are watching, rather than participating, and only three brave couples choose to join in. He was just thinking that if Jess remained dancing like this, keeping an eye on her would be so easy, when she stopped Richards right in front of him and says defiantly,

“This is a ladies’ excuse me, Mr Willow, can I entreat you to dance the next one with me?”

Zane is completely shocked and barely manages to splutter, “Of course, Miss Cuthbert, it will be my pleasure.” And they are off dancing in the fastest reel that he is able to keep up with.

Breathless very quickly, they are unable to engage in speech for a long while. When they have steadied, Zane begins to try to ask her if she is enjoying this evening, when he is warned by the icy glint in her eye not to continue. She took her hand away from his and urged, “Do I have your auspices to thank for this monstrosity?” She slipped the tracker into his top pocket.

And murmured, “I have disabled it, so you can’t keep tracks on me with it again.”

Zane gulped and looked at her closely.

Her eyes blaze! “If you want to keep tabs on me, you only need to ask me to dance and you will know where I am. Then, perhaps ask me to take the evening air with you and come outside with me. Stay with me, while we get a drink and some food and then converse with me at a table for an hour or two, before dancing with me again.

Otherwise, if that all sounds too boring for you, remember the limits on dancing with others on a night like this and go cross eyed watching me dance with every man in this room and enjoying your confusion, as you try to work out which one of those dressed in hyacinth I am.”

Zane’s eyes widen in what might be taken for terror, confusion, or panic. He might say a mixture of all three. All around the room, ladies are releasing a panel of hyacinth from their dresses, on the bodice with coral, lilac and pale green; on the skirt for salmon and claret with silver; as a waistband with primrose, apricot and buttermilk, until every woman in the ballroom has a partial colouring of hyacinth in their apparel, which would render keeping an eye on her impossible.

Jess is almost tapping her toes, as the sheer futility of keeping an eye on her from a distance reaches the ‘Dinggg’ stage of Zane’s brain and he bows over her hand, still in his, and gently brushes it with his lips, something he has never done before, to anyone.

“Would you like to take the air Miss Cuthbert?”

A tight pressure on his hand, still holding hers, provoked a response, “I mean, would you like to take the air with me, Miss Cuthbert?”

Satisfied that she had him just where she wanted him. Jessica Cuthbert smiled like the cat with the cream and walked towards the open French window door.

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Your Mission

Lesson 14

Your Mission

My friend Zoe is super optimistic, she buys a lottery ticket every week, and works out how she will spend the money, dependent on projected jackpot amounts. Every week! Most of us have realised that it’s not people like us who win and only buy one if we see a sign unexpectedly, meaning that we were ‘meant’ to buy one, because ‘it could be us’! Or if we are in a syndicate and it’s too much hassle to leave. When it comes to men, however, she is a hopeless case, forget the fact that her first husband slept with the bridesmaid on their wedding day and felt so guilty that he had to confess, just as they were taking off for their honeymoon. That went well…

 Zoe got to her destination and left her groom to carry on and have the honeymoon and found a flight to Morocco instead. She used his credit card for her whole 10 days holiday, she had so much fun, hot-air ballooning, camel riding, nights in the desert, anything that was offered was taken up, providing they accepted her (his) credit card. She flew back to Spain and had a couple more days in the sun and surf on the beach, this time with a man she met on the hot air balloon ride.

She was so sure of her luck, she nicknamed him her second husband. Unfortunately, two days later, he absconded with her first husband’s credit card and her wedding ring.

And this hasn’t put her off! She has been engaged twice since, but has not gone through with the wedding, nor been robbed again. As all of this has been documented on Instagram, most of our groups of friends know about her previous romances. Her most recent foray into the dating game has been kept much lower key. In fact, I only got to hear about it yesterday, when she asked me to do her a favour. I listened to what she wanted of me and immediately swiped my hand across my body, saying.

“No. I can’t do that! I wouldn’t do it for me, let alone anyone else!”

I kept resisting. She is very persuasive and as hard as I declined, she countered and gave me three reasons why I should.

Finally, I agreed to think about it. (I had absolutely no intention of agreeing to do it, but it was worth letting her think I was amenable.)

I lay in bed last night, trying to work out how to get Zoe to change her mind, or not to go through with it. Early this morning, I had a Eureka moment and discovered my latent acting talent. I have to thank an old episode of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ for the inspiration.

Making the most of the adrenalin circling in my system, no sleep and such distaste for the task ahead will stir this up. Having checked if they were online, I messaged the target,

“Hi handsome, I am intrigued at your profile on Tinder, I am staying not far from your pin. Do you fancy a hook up tonight? We don’t need to get heavy; I don’t even need your real name…”

Added to that was a very heavily filtered steamy photo of me. I put my finger in my mouth and nibbled my nail. I do that when I am nervous, but I took it straight out and twisted my fingers instead. Stuck for something to do while I wait for a message in return to mine, I filled the kettle and switched it on. The answer to any morning problem is, (as my mother would attest), a nice cup of tea, (or coffee, I don’t think she is that fussy).

A response was soon in my inbox, (or my character’s mailbox,)

It read “Hello there. I had plans, but I can shake them off. I would love to catch up with you. Tell me a time and I will be there.”

I leapt up as if the iPad had stung me! He had taken the bait. Now to mobilise Zoe and her friends.

We had to get into decorating my flat and especially my bedroom, or ‘boudoir’ as it would become.

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Lesson 2 – Reggie

As I walked through the door, I got a whiff of the glorious, yeasty smell of baking bread coupled with a heavy dose of garlic and onion.

Reggie rose to greet me with open arms. He was taller than I remembered, a little leaner but more man than boy. He wore a backward baseball cap, and the outer corners of those large, brown Cavalier-spaniel eyes crinkled as he smiled. I noticed the dark circles beneath them. He hugged me fully and held on a beat longer than I did. I was giddy, not so much with joy as with relief.

“Oh my God,” he said, “you’re finally here.”

“Yes, and exhausted. But getting your note perked me up.”

“Did you use the dime?”

“No, the switchboard put me through. I still have it.”

“Keep it. Everybody in New York needs a dime for the pay phone.”

He gestured toward the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I could eat everything in this place,” I said. “And it smells heavenly in here.”

“Have you ever had a bagel before?”

“No, never, but they look delicious.”

“You’re in for a treat. Once you’ve tasted a bagel, there’s no going back to bread.”

We walked past the glass cases displaying wire baskets filled with bagels: shiny, golden rings, some with raisins and cinnamon, or topped with sesame or poppy seeds. At least a dozen different varieties. Farther down there was a deli section, where you could turn your bagel into a sandwich of any kind.

“You can have it toasted or warm from the oven, topped with just a schmear or my favorite, a combination of cream cheese, lox, red onion, tomato, and capers,” he said as if he were a waiter reciting the specials.

“Schmear,” I said as I looked up at him. “I see your Yiddish vocabulary has expanded.” He shrugged it off.

We sat down at the table.

“Once you’ve decided, you order at the counter,” he explained. “It’ll be ready by the time I’ve paid the cashier,” he said with a laugh.

“What are you having?” I asked.

“I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll get a plain bagel with nothing on it and a coffee. This place has good coffee, and it’s only a quarter. Best deal in town. But you order anything you want. It’s on me.”

“Okay, well, let’s see… I think maybe a toasted cinnamon raisin with butter,” I said.

We went up to the counter and ordered. “And a coffee,” I said.

“Regulah coffee?” the counter man asked me.

“Yes, not decaf.” He gave me a strange look.

Reggie was right. By the time he finished paying, we both had a tray with a bagel on a paper plate and coffee in a cardboard cup.

“Thank you,” I said to him as we made our way back to the table.

I took a sip of my coffee and grimaced. “Oh dear, he put sugar in it.”

“Yeah,” said Reggie. “If you get regular coffee, that means with milk and sugar. You have to tell them if you want just milk and no sugar.”

“Oh. Okay,” I responded, a bit puzzled.

He smiled at me and my obvious naivete.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

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Lesson 13 – Abby’s Return

My eyes shut and beyond my power, am I sedated? I was without a clue where I was or why I was here. My hearing was picking up voices, distant at first but now clearer. “Ben is showing signs of awakening, let me call Dr. Berg and his family.” I couldn’t respond other than a finger wave at someone who sounded like a hospital nurse. “Dr. Berg to room 604, Dr Berg to 604.”

“Family, what family?” I thought. No one has visited me since the divorce. Just lawyers, always those damn lawyers. The day Margaret handed me the separation letter, my 55th birthday no less. On lawyer’s stationary to be official, signed Patrick Thompson LL.M.. I had no tears in me, no apologies, just resentment. I was glad it ended but horrified at how Margaret ended 28 years of marriage. “It’s the way now,” James, my lawyer, explained to me. “We’ll negotiate a settlement, quick and easy.” Six months of weekly meetings, still without settlement and Margaret in tears every one of them. 

Dozing off again, mind wandering. We were having our first child, Abby. “Ben, I’m feeling movement, contractions, take me to the hospital!”  In the car we went but fully stopped within ten minutes. “I’m doing my best, Honey” I repeated. Rush hour in Toronto, cars backed up the entire highway. “I’ll wave down that police car.” Margaret gets more upset, “You’re always late!” She was right. I waved down a cop who radioed an ambulance which came just in time. Margaret didn’t talk to me again until two days after the birth. It was just the first fight about Abby, our most rebellious daughter. There were the parent-teacher meetings, the homework never getting done, dropping out at age sixteen, the boys with hoods and tattoos, and then the drugs. The drugs that turned our house into a war zone. Abby stopped talking to us, left home and left us speechless. 

Voices in the background again, I’m hearing Margaret and someone else. “Dad, it’s Abby, I’m here in the hospital. Can you hear me?”. My body still barely able to move, I motioned my index finger and felt tears on my cheek. 

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Lesson 2 Precious White Truffles

“Welcome back Mrs Baker, your friend is just over there.” The waitress took my coat and pointed toward the table next to the tall glass window. The October mist was restricting the view across the bay. Carol is not going to like that!

Carol was staring at the mist; a glass of sparkling water held in her hand.

“Hi Carol,”

“Finally, Jackie, I’ve been waiting ages. I was thinking you had forgotten what time we’d agreed to have lunch.” Before I could respond, Carol swept her hand across the window. “Look at this terrible mist blocking our view.”

“Oh, autumn mist has its moments, Carol. Sorry, I’m late. I did text you.” I pulled the cushioned chair away from the table and sat.

“You did?” Carol retrieved her iPhone from her Mulberry handbag. “Oh yes, apologies, I have it on silent during lunches.”

“David’s carer was a little late, and I can’t leave him until he is settled and calm. This morning, he was a little more confused than usual.”

“I’m glad he’s okay.” Said Carol as she pulled the menu from the glass ‘seal’ shaped holder. Okay? Is that what I just said?

“Gosh, look, Jackie, they have imported truffles from Alba.”

“They have what?”

“Truffles, from Piedmont in Italy, the Precious White Truffles. They are wild, and dogs hunt them, not pigs. But of course, I don’t think you’ve been to that part of Italy.”

“You’re right. I haven’t, but truffles are not for me, thank you.”

Carol pulled her compact mirror from her bag and meticulously checked her reflection. Then snapped the compact shut with a sharp click.

“Going back to David…you mentioned he was a little confused. Is that his Alzheimer’s thing? Brian told me about that.”

“Yes, it is, and I have also told you…several times.”

Carol reached across the table to pat my hand. Her fingers barely touched. Then she pulled it back to her napkin. I looked down at my hand. Had I forgotten to wash after helping David? No, of course I had not.

“It really is a tragedy, darling. And just when you finally managed to secure a husband too. In your late forties, no less! We all thought you and David getting together was an absolute miracle.”

Here we go again…I pulled a menu from the seal, flipped it open, and held it up between us.

“David is a wonderful man. It’s just…it’s a lot of work. The cognitive decline is happening faster than we were expecting.”

Carol let out a dramatic, radiating sigh. She waved at the waitress.

“Oh, I completely understand the stress of a demanding household. When Brian was managing the bridge infrastructure project in Tokyo, the domestics, Philippinos’ I think they were, spoke absolutely zero English.”

“Phillippino’s? How did you know their heritage if they couldn’t speak English?”

“Back on your orange box, Jackie?”

The waitress arrived at the table holding her iPad.

“Do you know how impossible it is to explain to a Phillippino maid that Egyptian cotton cannot be tumble dried on high heat?”

The waitress cleared her throat. “Are you ready to order?”

“In a moment, yes,” said Carol, her eyes not straying from the menu. “The dining room is not full. I’m sure you can wait just a few seconds?”                                                                                               

I turned to the waitress, “could give us 5 minutes please?” She nodded and stepped away.

“So, you did your own laundry in Japan?”

“Gosh, no, they understood how to do it, eventually.”

“Right. Well, I’m doing all the actual laundry. And the cooking. All the gardening. And the bathing.”

Carol started laughing. Did I just make a quaint joke?

“Well, yes, but that’s the life you built, isn’t it? I suppose it’s a good thing you had all those years raising your son on your own. You must be used to the grind. That’s probably why you continue doing what you do, even though you don’t have to.”

“You’re right, Carol. I don’t have to, but it helps me live day to day…”

“I’m with you on that one, Jackie. Honestly, if I didn’t keep myself active, I’d lose my mind. I’ve just taken up tennis again. My backhand is back to lethal. And, I’ve joined this absolutely divine choir group. We are rehearsing Vivaldi for a Christmas concert.”

“I barely have time to shower most mornings. Let alone sing Vivaldi.”

Carol tisked, loud enough to hear above the wind brushing against the window. “See, that’s exactly what I mean about letting yourself go. You need an outlet! Next Thursday my Red Hat Ladies’ group is hosting an evening do at the manor house. You really ought to come as my guest. Oh wait…” Carol paused, tapping her chin with a manicured nail… “I suppose you couldn’t possibly leave David, could you? And the theme is ‘gilded glamour,’ so you’d have to find something quite lavish to wear. I could lend you something, but you have expanded recently. It’s a shame. Just not realistic for your chosen situation right now.”

Jackie stared at Carol for a long quiet moment. Before slowly setting her menu flat on the table. “You know, Carol, you are right.”

Blinking with a smug look emerging across her face, Carol jumped in. “Well, of course I –“

Cutting her off, Jackie raised her finger. “For thirty years, you’ve paid other people to raise your children, clean your messes and handle your husband while you drifted around the world like a piece of Louis Vuitton luggage. You never actually had to care for a single soul in your life. Now your husband has his own life.

“That’s…” said Carol, her face flushing crimson. “That’s incredibly ungr-“

Jackie trapped Carol in an unblinking stare. “I am losing the man I love, who loves me, to a horrific disease. But even as his mind fades, he has more warmth, dignity and humanity left in him than you ever had.”

“He was Brian’s CEO, Jackie. You have plenty of money. Stop being horrible to me. I’m your friend.”

“No, at last, I am being honest, Carol. I’m going back to my husband, the man I adore. I will change his clothes and do the laundry. So, enjoy your truffles. And enjoy returning to your empty house.”

I picked up my handbag, stood and walked away, leaving Carol speechless beside the window, now covered entirely in greying mist.

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Lesson 3, The Forgotten

His eyes had always traced a woman’s body. It raised his heart rate and caused butterflies in his stomach. Even married women were subject to his lust.
“Hey Craig,” Samantha and Erik came and sat down in the booth and ordered a beer. Craig ordered a ginger ale. He ignored the passing feelings going through his body from all the women in the bar. He was very interested in comparing and contrasting all the women with their unique beauty. It was always temporary though. Eventually he would start to doubt he was even worth anything to women, as if they would never see his value.
Craig focused his attention on his friend and his wife. “So Samantha what’s new with you?” Craig asked. She had been quiet while Erik, her husband, and Craig caught up after several years of not seeing each other.
“Jack and Steven are old enough to go to school, so I’ve been looking for work. I’ve also been going to the gym. Ive almost got a six pack.”
Erik jumped in,” her butts bigger too,” Craig and Erik laughed with each other while Samantha blushed and looked down.
Craig was aware of how beautiful Samantha was. He could feel it when she blushed and when she smiled. I would do anything for her if she asked, Craig thought. He knew she was fiercely loyal to her husband and children though, but still.
“So Craig, Have you met anyone yet?” Erik asked
“No… Not like Sam. No keepers.” Samantha and Erik looked at each other and laughed.
Erik responded encouragingly,” Keep looking man, you’ll find someone.” But Erik didn’t know Craig’s situation. He didn’t know how damaged he was. His mental illness and his body. He had aches and pains like a 50 year old but he’s only 28. Craig suffered from hallucinations. Every time he was out in public he had paranoid delusions too. He couldn’t tell whether women were into him. He couldn’t trust his instinct. Most of the time instead of thinking he was feeling chemistry, he thought he was lusting. How could he know different? He had too many feelings for too many women he thought were beautiful and he could only hope someone would make it obvious one day that he is worthy.
——————————————————————————————————————————————–

Erik and Samantha were walking to their parked car in the parking garage. Erik sighed,” Are you ready for this honey?”
“Yeah, why? What’s gonna happen?”
“He always projects exactly what he’s feeling. By the end of the night he had you on a pedestal, wished he could have you, and started feeling sorry for himself.”
Samantha blushed and smirked.”I have that effect on many men.”
Erik and Sam laughed. They kissed each other and got into the car.. Erik was protective of his wife. He looked around, casing the area for potential problems. He was used to much bigger cities with much more sophisticated crime. Here in my home town, the night will be easy going, he thought. Their night wasn’t over. They had dinner plans and were meeting up with their other friends later on.
“Should we have invited him to come along with us?” Samantha felt guilty for just having a drink and leaving.
“No honey, he will zap all the energy out of you. Trust me. We were good friends once but something happened to him.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“He just stopped being who he was and became a coward. He started feeling sorry for himself. Oh… it was after his shoulder surgery sophomore year.”
“Erik, you two wrestled together right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, did he seem lost after his surgery?”
“If he did, he hid it well.”
Samantha asked,” What was he like?”
“arrogant . Oh! He was overcompensating.”
“ He acted all big and tough and made a joke about everything. They weren’t always funny but people laughed anyway, if only at him.” Erik thought he understood what Sam meant now about Craig’s overcompensation but he asked to make sure,” So you think he forgot who he was?”
“Doesnt that make sense?”
“Yeah,” That explains a lot, Erik thought as he turned the key and put the car in reverse. He looked at his wife as he was preparing to look behind him.” There’s nothing we can do about it honey. He’s on his own now.”
She said,” I hope that doesn’t happen to our kids.”
Erik backed the car out of the space and as he put the car in drive he said,” It wont honey, I promise.”
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Hospital Bed Story

Lesson 13

Lynne’s eyes felt as if they should open, but that was too much effort. She was restricted, not restrained, but there was a tube taped to and up her nose, one to her neck and one on the back of her hand. She could feel them pinching her skin and holding her back. She tried to work out where she was, but despite having been spoken to about her love of Take That and Enya, about half an hour before, and by a nice pretty blonde lady too, she couldn’t get a fix on where she was.

She was so tired, she had been working hard yesterday, she had been actively assisting in hiding smuggled people. She had to keep them safe, then allocate them to separate launches, to be integrated into communities further down the coast in fewer numbers and therefore less easy to track. And the day before, she had been in training for catching spies. She had been part of a cell who identified a business that was doctoring the statistics for a pharmaceutical company. She had been really excited that she had been chosen to complete the task with the other two. She had never been chosen for teams at sports, or been popular, at work, or play.

None of the things that she had been spending her time doing over this past week related to her usual jobs, but the memory of her real job was nebulous, she had no guesses to make for what it was. But the day before the other two jobs, she had been on a long shift in the chocolate factory, where they were running a day making Caramac mint bars. It had been arduous and tedious, but she could see how production could be improved.

That took her memory off at a tangent – she remembered being on a photoshoot, for a coffee table book, about unusual sights on the Isle of Wight, photos in out of the way places. She had been dressed in a fairy costume and had to jump off rocks and pose in the air, so as to look like she was flying. That had been a very long time ago, but she could feel the rush of air like it was yesterday.

Lynne became agitated, because she couldn’t be sure it was a long time ago, it could have been yesterday. She began to struggle for breath and pulled off her oxygen mask, suddenly feeling confined and lonely and desperate for some conversation. But most of all to gain some context. Where was she? The light was really bright through her eyelids. Why couldn’t she open her eyes?

She became aware of a circular sign with three coloured lights chasing each other, then a voice,

“Lynne, Lynne, do you know where you are? You are in Blandmouth Hospital, you have been very poorly, but you are on the mend.”

Lynne stiffened then stopped struggling with her tubes and lines – she was in hospital, how had that happened? She must have had a car accident. How bad was it, she wondered? Was she lying in bed? At no time recently had she felt difficulty in getting around, she had been walking, unless she had dreamed it. She was suddenly overcome with such tiredness, and she was so thirsty. She needed to sleep.

Succumbing to the desire to hide from questions, she became aware of a voice that she recognised. She willed her eyes to open, and they did, she turned her head, first one way, then the other. A nurse was beside her immediately. But she couldn’t speak. Her fingers pulled at the nurse’s cardigan and then pointed at her own ear. The nurse asked if she wanted her hearing aids, she shook her head. Then pointed at her ear and then nurse’s ear. The nurse asked if she had heard something, Lynne tried nodding, which made her whole head thump alarmingly, then stuck up her thumb.

The nurse said, “If it was a person, there was a lung consultant here looking at your notes and adjusting your meds. Don’t worry, you are in good hands. Mr Whittaker is very kind and gentle.”

Mr Whittaker, who was he? Why did she know his voice? Her eyes drooped again, and her thoughts knotted themselves again. Just as she was dropping off, she half dreamt, half realised who he was. He was the man who had cut her mum’s lovely birch tree in her mum’s garden down, the day after her mum’s funeral. There had been a number of bad things about that action. Not least that it didn’t belong to him and that he was being terribly sneaky, plus the fact that he had asked her if he could cut it down or trim it back and she had said no and explained that the tree had an existing Tree Preservation Order on it.

When challenged, after the dastardly deed, he had laughed and said that he couldn’t put it back now, and it had dropped thousands of little sticky resin pods across his deck and firepit area, which was very inconvenient.

She had sobbed, at the time, being inconsolable. Her mum’s house was going to be sold anyway, but it felt like sacrilege, that he had no right to do such a thing on her mum’s property, just because it inconvenienced him and his guests.

Sleep overcame her at that point and she slipped back into unconsciousness, albeit with a niggle in the back of her mind.

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Lesson 1

“Annabelle,” Mum’s voice drew me out of my book with a jerk. “Come, zip me up, please.”

I stood and walked, listening to my hollow footfall as I past the bathroom door to the back bedroom in our caravan. Mum opened the door and turned her back to me.

The zip on her black velvet dress was halfway down her back. She was holding her blonde hair in a bunch to the side of her head. I zipped her up.

“Thank you, darling,” she turned to me, kissed her hand and pressed it on my forehead. I wiped it, knowing she must have left red smudges.

Mum went out every Saturday night. Dad didn’t. He was at work at the sandwich place down the road. He knew Mum went out; but didn’t mind. He just worried about me. All the time! But I’m far too old to be worried about. I’m sixteen. I can take care of myself. I can even read now and cook…well, I can cook easy-to-cook food. They’re teaching me how to do that at the Independence Club.

“You look lovely, Mum,” I said, stepping back to the table and sliding into the seat.

“Do I? That’s nice of you to say.” Mum twirled in the narrow gap between the table and the sink.

She reached into her handbag, pulled out a bottle of perfume and sprayed the flowery scent on her neck. Turned it toward me and sprayed some on my hand. I wiped it away. Now it was on my other hand as well! Yuck!

“Annabelle, I will be back before midnight. You don’t have to wait up for me. I promise I will come in quietly and won’t wake you.”

But we both knew that if she woke me after I fell asleep, I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. So, I had to wait for her to come back to the caravan before even attempting to sleep.

“Don’t go out onto the Downs tonight, Annabelle. Stay in the caravan and keep the door locked.”

“Okay, Mum.” I waved goodbye as she picked up her coat and handbag, opened the door and stepped out.

By eleven, I was feeling tired. Mum would be back soon. Hopefully. I opened the curtains above the table. It wasn’t raining, and the trees on the common weren’t swaying too much. The moon was a full circle. It was almost light enough to read. I was hungry. I went to the fridge; It was humming, so the car battery was still working. Opened it, phuff, horrid Camembert…Mum told Dad not to bring back Camembert sandwiches.  I took out the sandwich. Grabbed my coat and book. I’m going to eat the sandwich next to Pedro, the pony, my friend in the clearing near us.

I took the key from the table, put on my coat, popped the sandwich into my pocket and stepped out of our new home, locking the door carefully before I left. I stood still, unmoving for a few seconds. The smell of the night air wafted past in swirls of leaves, grass and moss. In the distance, toward the city centre, the sound of music leaked through the trees.

Mum and Dad didn’t like the caravan, but I loved it. I loved where it was. Up on the Downs. Next to miles of grass and hundreds of trees. Maybe the fox would come to share my sandwich? Or that owl would again, silently swoop past me?

Pedro was standing where he normally was. Well, he couldn’t go away from there because he was tethered. Dad said he belonged to the gypsies. But he didn’t. He belonged to Mr Cooper. His caravan was six caravans down the road from ours. He told me the pony’s name and let me stroke him when we first met.

Pedro snorted and stepped across as soon as I stepped into the clearing. I began petting him, stroking his soft, long face. “Hello Pedro.”

Then…from the other side of the trees came an ear-splitting, rising and falling screech, a wail.

So loud it made me shudder, made my eyes fall back and made me feel sick.

The pitch climbed high, for a second, then swept back down to a deep rumble.

Then it started again.

Then again.

Pedro turned, ran. The rope tightened. He fell. I ran to him. Holding my hands over my ears.

I looked around. The sound, the siren…felt louder. “Stop. Stop. Stop.” I cried.

“Anabelle, are you alright?” I turned and looked toward the voice. Mr Cooper, was limping fast across the clearing toward me.

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