tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38961932157935406232024-03-13T03:39:44.257-07:00Short Fiction Blast Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-53631395696789617832019-11-26T06:56:00.004-08:002019-11-26T06:56:37.549-08:00The Fantastic Mr Fiddlyjobs<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I don’t know how
I could have been so daft.<span> </span>Still, I’d
had a lot on my mind what with moving home to a new town, a new job, the
prospect of new friends and a new lifestyle.<span>
</span>Well, that’s my excuse for what happened that fateful Tuesday
morning.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I mean, how could
I possibly have known?<span> </span>You see, the
minute I rested my eyes on Mr. Fiddlyjobs, the handyman, I think I lost the
ability to think straight.<span> </span>He was just
so gorgeous.<span> </span>Not only that, there was a
very special quality about him.<span> </span>I don’t
know how to describe it, except it was a strange mixture of warmth and charisma
and it seemed to shine out from him even as he stood there, grinning, on my
doorstep.<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’d only moved in
to my new flat the previous day and it was fine, exactly what I wanted.<span> </span>That is, except for about one hundred niggly
little jobs.<span> </span>You know the sort of jobs
that are too small for a big, professional firm to take on, but a bit too heavy
or unsafe for an inexperienced person to tackle.<span> </span>I just wanted to get my flat shipshape and
smart.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>I mentioned to the lady in the newsagent
how frustrating it was having all these little niggly things to sort out and
asked if she knew a good handyman.<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘There’s one in the window,’ she told me.<span> </span>I blinked and stared towards the front of the
shop expecting to see a bloke in green overalls with a hammer in his fist setting
about the display shelves.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">‘I mean a
postcard advertisement, of course.<span> </span>On
the left of the window,’ the woman explained and I felt myself blush for being
so dense.<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Lovely bloke,’ she continued.<span> </span>‘Everyone recommends him.<span> </span>Calls himself Mr. Fiddlyjobs.’</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>Thanking her, I took down the number and
rushed straight home to telephone Mr. Fiddlyjobs.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘I’ll be round soon as I can,’ said the
man.<span> </span>He sounded nice, friendly and
efficient.<span> </span>‘Hang on in there, I should
have an hour or so free this morning.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>So, I waited.<span> </span>And I could hardly be blamed for making the
obvious assumption when there was a ring on my bell.<span> </span>Not that it wasn’t a surprise, I mean, I
really couldn’t believe my luck as I opened the door and there, as I thought,
stood Mr. Fiddlyjobs.<span> </span>Six-foot-three,
wide, happy grin, healthy outdoor tan, bright sparkling brown eyes.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">‘Are you the lady
who just moved in?’<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>I nodded
dumbly.<span> </span>‘Miss Tucker, isn’t it?’ he
asked.<span> </span>It took a moment before I could
stammer out a sensible response.<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Yes, I’m Rachel Tucker.<span> </span>Do come in.<span>
</span>I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you as I have quite a few
problem jobs.<span> </span>This way please...’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Oh, erm, well, all right,’ he said and
ambled up the hallway behind me to the back room, where I kept my computer.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘You can start in here please,’ I told
him.<span> </span>‘The ceiling light fitting needs
cleaning badly and I can’t get it off as all the screws seem bedded in.’ Then I
stared at him.<span> </span>He seemed strangely
unprepared.<span> </span>‘Don’t you need a stepladder
or have you got your own in the van?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Erm, well, if you’ve got one handy,’ said
Mr. Fiddlyjobs.<span> </span>‘I’ll, er, I’ll need a
screwdriver as well.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Isn’t there one in your tool box?’ I
asked, staring at him in amazement.<span>
</span>Surely any self-respecting odd-job-man brought a tool box with him
absolutely bursting with screwdrivers, hammers and nails!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Of course,’ he said.<span> </span>‘Hang on a mo, I’ll get it.’<span> </span>There seemed to be a faint twitch of
amusement in the corner of his mouth and I wondered what had tickled him.<span> </span>All the same, I breathed a sigh of
relief.<span> </span>Clearly, I decided, he wanted to
see what needed doing before he brought his stuff in.<span> </span>Probably thought he’d need to give me a
quotation first and maybe I should ask him for one.<span> </span>Still, the lady in the shop said he was a
genuine sort of bloke, so he’d be sure to charge a fair price.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>I went out to the back of the house to
make a start on tidying the garden.<span> </span>Two
hanging baskets lay on the ground, waiting to be screwed into fence-posts.<span> </span>Perhaps I should make a list for Mr. Fiddlyjobs
while he was here, just in case anything was forgotten.<span> </span>I got my pen and notepad and sat down in the
conservatory.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Excuse me, could I have a word.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>It was Mr. Fiddlyjobs.<span> </span>‘Have you done that light already?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Yes, all fixed.<span> </span>It’s nice and bright in your study now.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Oh good,’ I said.<span> </span>‘Can you come out here into the garden
please?<span> </span>There are a couple of hanging
baskets that need fixing on the fenceposts.<span>
</span>I’ll show you how high I want them and while you’re doing that, I’ll
make you out a list of all the other things that need doing.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Oh,’ said Mr. Fiddlyjobs and he grinned
as though he was a bit embarrassed.<span>
</span>Perhaps he felt awkward coming through the kitchen into the garden.<span> </span>Perhaps he hadn’t been a handyman for very
long.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea before
you start,’ I offered, hoping that might help him feel more comfortable.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Well, I’ll do the hanging baskets for
you, but I think that’ll have to be it for today.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Can you come back tomorrow and finish
off?’</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>Again there was a twinkle of merriment in
his eyes.<span> </span>‘At first I’d been thinking
you were just a bossy sort of person,’ he commented.<span> </span>‘But, as much as I’m enjoying helping you out,
I think I should explain...’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>His words were interrupted by a ring of my
front door bell.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Excuse me,’ I muttered, and then a
terrible realisation began to sink through the top of my head into my
brain.<span> </span>And sure enough, as I threw open
the door, there was an elderly man standing there.<span> </span>Wide grin, friendly-looking.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span><span> </span>With
a toolbox in one hand.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Mr. Fiddlyjobs at your service,’ he said.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>Just as I’d begun to suspect.<span> </span>I sank my head into my hands, feeling really
daft.<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Come this way,’ I said.<span> </span>‘Perhaps you could make a start in the dining
room, the carpet needs.....<span> </span>Excuse me, I
just have to see to something in the garden.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>As I walked out into the garden, Mr.
Fiddlyjobs No. 1 was standing there.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Well,’ I said.<span> </span>‘Those hanging baskets look terrific.<span> </span>But perhaps you can tell me who you are.’</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘I live next door,’ he said, ‘and my
name’s Paul.<span> </span>I just wanted to introduce
myself and ask you if you’d like to come round mine for a coffee.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>Well, that was a year ago and my new house
is looking a treat.<span> </span>Paul’s helped out a
lot although I still use the services of the real Mr. Fiddlyjobs, so that Paul
and I can have plenty of quality time together.<span>
</span>We get on so well and it always amuses us to look back on how we first
met.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>Last week, Paul called round and he was
looking, for a change, rather serious.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘What on earth is it?’ I asked, feeling
alarmed.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Oh, nothing,’ said Paul.<span> </span>‘I mean, nothing bad.<span> </span>It’s just that I thought it might be easier,
instead of having two houses to maintain, if we just settled for one.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>I stared at him and started to laugh.<span> </span>‘You mean sell up and buy a new home
together.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Yeah,’ said Paul slowly.<span> </span>‘I want us to get married, Rachel.<span> </span>I want to have kids and if you agree, we’ll
need a family home.<span> </span>What do you
think?’<span> </span>He paused and my heart ached to
see how anxious he was, how he was staring at me to see how I was responding to
his proposal.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Paul... I can’t believe it,’ I stammered.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>The next moment, I was in Paul’s
arms.<span> </span>Of course, I’d been there before,
and I knew what it was like, I knew how warm, how comforted and how I felt I
truly belonged there.<span> </span>But this time
there was an extra little frisson of excitement.<span> </span>I could feel it in the way Paul held me, as
he waited for my reply.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever
had,’ I told him, ‘and the sooner the better.’<span>
</span>Then I added, teasingly, ‘There’ll be lots of jobs to do, I expect, to
get it just how we want it.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>‘Yes, bossy-boots, but I think we’ll start
with me showing you just how much I love you,’ said Paul firmly and next
moment, he’d pulled me even closer and his lips were on mine. There was nothing
in the least bit fiddly about the way he was kissing me.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I suppose it
would seem too dramatic to say I swooned, but I did feel sort of faint with the
wonderful feelings that ran through me so I did the only thing I could do.<span> </span>I just closed my eyes and surrendered myself
to the sweetest lover in the whole world, my new and utterly wonderful
husband-to-be.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div class="MsoPlainText">
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Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-15579714811421337492014-02-21T16:49:00.002-08:002019-11-26T06:45:03.510-08:00The Lodger<br />
Formerly published in <i>The Sunday Post</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji09hZjqu6jb1MgOB5N7S0va4O0GJFWmmR_0Z58PuWwJrYp0mpfWueoxBO110hEKUFrPFSYFzxKtAY3hYs9X4xyGyysZlKC9Eiv4Y-IHAYxEMUdGz7KXO8wScath4JZs62yYsO337cCkw/s1600/Janet+Cameron+by+Ann+Hamilton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="800" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji09hZjqu6jb1MgOB5N7S0va4O0GJFWmmR_0Z58PuWwJrYp0mpfWueoxBO110hEKUFrPFSYFzxKtAY3hYs9X4xyGyysZlKC9Eiv4Y-IHAYxEMUdGz7KXO8wScath4JZs62yYsO337cCkw/s200/Janet+Cameron+by+Ann+Hamilton.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If I had mixed feelings
about taking a lodger, they disappeared when I first set eyes on Brad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked reassuringly average and even
slightly cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a crop of short
hair, stiff like a nailbrush and a wholesome, fresh-faced bounciness.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘He’ll
do,’ I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I’ll take him.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’d
heard all sorts of lodger horror stories from friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend, Emma, divorced, and lured by the
prospect of a lucrative side-line was driven to pasting notices all over her
house to keep the lodgers under control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When filling the kettle, think
green</i>, said one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Just
imagine - they fill the kettle to make one tiny cup of coffee,’ she
complained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tutted at such wanton
waste, determined that wouldn’t happen to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d make a contract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was the
sensible thing to do, and so I wrote one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The terms included being sure to shut the garden gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also insisted on having privacy when
entertaining.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Brad
arrived with his three thousand DVDs, a pine shelf and two furry monkeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hovered in the doorway of his room as he
poked around the cupboards and inspected the drawer space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I thrust the contract under his
nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brad raised his eyebrows and I
fidgeted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘How
often do you have people to dinner?’ he asked, looking not-quite-so-friendly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Well,
it sort of varies…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’d
find it claustrophobic being cooped up in that little room.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘But
that’s why the rent’s so cheap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>House-shares are much more expensive,’ I insisted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was not an auspicious start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the
same, he was the best of a bad bunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
was neither a woman-hater nor a dog-hater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pedantic perhaps, but I reckoned I’d cope with that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘If
you expect me to keep to my room, I’ll need a chair.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
so I picked up a chair for him in a local second-hand shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How I begrudged that fifteen quid!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brad said it was rather small and more like a
child’s chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, he was right
but his comfort wasn’t my top priority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By this time I was pretty fed up with the intrusion on my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Brad
moved around so silently, in his soft-soled shoes, disturbing nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prefer to hear people coming and
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a spookiness about the
way I’d suddenly feel his presence behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘He’s
such a creep,’ I confided to Emma one day on the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You’ll
have to have it out with him,’ she said wisely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Remember, it’s your house and he’ll have to toe the line.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
how could I tell him he got on my nerves simply because he crept around
everywhere?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Said out loud it sounded
like nit-picking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
few days after Brad’s arrival, Jerry came to dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wine was chilled, the tablecloth pristine
white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opened the glass patio doors
wide onto the garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brad was sitting
there on a deckchair, pretending he could do the Telegraph cryptic
crossword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was wearing a pair of the
longest shorts I’d ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
shuddered, but I wasn’t worried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both
knew where we stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Surely
even an insensitive clod like Brad would not remain there playing gooseberry
while I was entertaining Jerry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jerry
arrived, looking as sultry, dark and gorgeous as ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I glared at the back of Brad’s head with its
nailbrush hairdo and little-boy’s neck and almost burst with the intensity of
my hatred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jerry looked up from spooning
his asparagus soup, and asked about Brad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘He’s
here because his marriage broke up and he needs time to look around for a new
pad for himself.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Poor
chap,’ Jerry muttered tenderly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Poor
chap,’ I repeated through clenched teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jerry
offered Brad a glass of red wine, which he accepted with a broad smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then hovered until Jerry left around
eleven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
phoned Emma next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Do you know what
that numbskull did last night?’ I fumed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Emma was agog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was horrified
when I told her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was cool towards Brad after that and sensing it, he withdrew into himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a couple of weeks all he did was go to
work, come home and sit out on the patio.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘How
Jerry getting on?’ he asked casually one evening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘OK.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Haven’t
seen him around lately.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
shrugged my shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jerry hadn’t phoned but I tried not to get
uptight about trivialities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was only
a man, after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was busy and
needed some space, then he must have it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Occasionally
I joined Brad on the patio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d put
down his paper or novel and pour me a drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was cosy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still considered
him to be arrogant and a creep, but he did have a softer side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once, when I told him about the break-up with
my boyfriend last year, he said, ‘So you’re feeling it too, then…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
brought home bones for the dog and once, some flowers for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friends started making remarks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Oh,
there’s nothing to it,’ I said airily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, how could
there possibly be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jerry
still hadn’t rung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quietly tormented
myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">My social life improved but
Brad’s didn’t and he made no effort to deal with this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, as I was going to a party, I asked
him if he’d like to come along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
accepted and I introduced him to a businesswoman I knew, Melanie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Melanie’s big blue eyes lit up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pleased they got on so well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The next day I asked him if
he’d made arrangements to see her again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I’d like to, but I
couldn’t,’ he explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I’m always the
same when I meet someone attractive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can’t seem to work up the courage.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And so I fixed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The conversation went something like this…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Melanie, if Brad asked you
out, would you go?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Brad, Melanie would love to
go out with you but she’s waiting for you to ask her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s in tomorrow evening if you want to
phone.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Yes, I fixed it for the two
of them, I really did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, out of the
blue, Jerry phoned and took me to an Indian restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His conversation was fast and lively, but I
didn’t enjoy it as much as I expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Brad wasn’t seeing Melanie that night and I’d left him with his novel,
on the patio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked so lonely…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Gradually, Brad got back
into circulation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, to my
surprise, he invited me to a party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a fifties night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to Mum’s and
rummaged in the back of her wardrobe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
dug out the perfect dress with a red top and full white skirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four-inch stilettoes and a purple fringe
completed the look. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
caught my breath when I saw Brad’s get-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His crop was slicked down with gel and he wore a black T-shirt, pink
shirt and skinny black jeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked
amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we stopped at the petrol station, the attendant’s eyes almost popped out of his
face as I teetered to the cashpoint and Brad put air in the tyres. We both
laughed at the effect our gear had on the unsuspecting public.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I loved every single minute of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
was only one thing that marred a perfect evening…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On
being introduced to Brad’s friends, everyone gave me a strange look and
remarked: ‘So you’re the landlady!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What
have you been saying to your mates about me/’ I asked Brad later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked uncomfortable, but then, who was I
to judge <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
told all my friends you were a creep,’ I confided bravely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
told mine you were a dragon,’ he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
began to regret my successful matchmaking as I thought about Brad and
Melanie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, we had more in
common that I first thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a
certain something about our time together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Jerry rang, my response was lukewarm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was Friday and Brad was shortly due home from work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
quite understand if you’ve got something better on the back burner,’ snapped
Jerry, annoyed because I wasn’t immediately available after three weeks of
silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That’s
how it goes,’ I said cheerfully, replacing the receiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put Brad’s favourite DVD on the player and
began to think things over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
worried about Brad, this arrogant guy who loved loud clothes and furry
monkeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the same man who like
opera, but was impatient with Shakespeare and couldn’t do the cryptic
crossword.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
asked me how I was and really wanted to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was going out with Melanie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
could stand it no longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he
arrived home, I asked him outright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Are
you seeing Melanie again?’ I blurted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’m
comfortable with you,’ Brad said simply, ‘and I’d rather stay here.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s all very well, of course, but
now I must prepare a new contract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
essential to start how you mean to go on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Know where you stand, that sort of thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only sensible. No more Jerry-types for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brad’s going to know exactly what’s
expected…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">© </span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Janet
Cameron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First published in <i>The
Sunday Post </i><st1:date day="15" month="9" w:st="on" year="1991">15
September, 1991</st1:date><i> </i>under the title <i>My Uncertain Heart.<o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><a href="https://support.squarespace.com/hc/en-us/articles/206543517-Adding-a-Facebook-Like-button" style="background-color: #dff0d8; color: black; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; outline-offset: -2px; outline: 0px; text-align: start;">https://support.squarespace.com/hc/en-us/articles/206543517-Adding-a-Facebook-Like-button</a></span></div>
Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-82224459827330687832014-02-05T06:03:00.002-08:002014-02-05T06:22:37.951-08:00Meals on Legs<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrKaYwg5up77rEtrAJ7V7xs0WA6rt_GDCxo0B13D1oUipW9fvqhYjiPO5rJKYv18McVWKuFXbx5KgT5Vbv85qfmU70kiBoG0XdXUn3KStDRkeCJwHGiDR4GtpJzZXTcXnqOjtAX2jqzQ/s1600/Feb+91.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrKaYwg5up77rEtrAJ7V7xs0WA6rt_GDCxo0B13D1oUipW9fvqhYjiPO5rJKYv18McVWKuFXbx5KgT5Vbv85qfmU70kiBoG0XdXUn3KStDRkeCJwHGiDR4GtpJzZXTcXnqOjtAX2jqzQ/s1600/Feb+91.jpg" height="242" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h4>
Copyright: Janet Cameron</h4>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<strong>'Here you are, Sindy," says Mum.</strong> "Nan's dinner's ready."<br />
Carefully, she places a dab of mint <br />
sauce beside the lamb and adds a <br />
little broccoli next to the crispy <br />
roast potatoes. "They're not too <br />
crispy, are they?" she worries. "Do <br />
you think Nan can chew them, or <br />
should I put more mash on instead?"<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘They’re fine,’ I
assure her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘<st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
always covers them in gravy anyway.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So Mum pops the
aluminium lid on top of the plate and hands it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘And there’s yours,’ she adds, placing my
dinner on top of <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s exactly the same except there’s no
broccoli.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate broccoli and,
fortunately, Mum understands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘We could all go round <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s with our dinners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It wouldn’t make any odds,’ Mum pops a couple of serviettes on top of
the dinners.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Don’t forget, Mum,’ I
say, ‘We agreed because <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> says not to make
any fuss.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mum smiles her secret
smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘She always was a proud old
lady,’ she murmurs, ‘but then, we wouldn’t have her any different, would we?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘See you soon, Mum.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I whizz off round the
corner to <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mum, Dad, Phil and I live in a three up, two down
in Short Street and <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> lives in Three Meadows
Close in a lovely bungalow <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that’s just
the right size for her with tiny, yellow roses round the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I reach her buttercup yellow door, I
ring the bell, three short rings and one long, so she knows it’s me and I make
a mental note her front lawn grass needs cutting and the roses could do with a
prune.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My young brother, Phil, always
does it for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
has an idea that if you’re doing a tough job, you need lots of cups of tea, and
is apt to get a little agitated if you don’t drink it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Phil spends more time drinking tea than cutting
the grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, sometimes I think
she does it on purpose so she can have more time with him, but I know Phil
doesn’t mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like all of us, he adores
the old lady.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It takes a while for <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> to reach the door, although she’s pretty good for
ninety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Actually, she’s my great-grandmother
on Mum’s side, but Mum’s parents retired to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region> so we look out for her day-to-day,
although Mum’s parents visit as often as they can.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Hi <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>,’
I greet her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It’s Meals on Legs.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
laughs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s become our family joke and
we always laugh at it, even though, with the constant repetition, it shouldn’t
really be funny anymore.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Sindy, what a good
girl you are?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I follow her
inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Why have you brought me two
dinners?’ asks <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, bewildered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I can’t possibly eat all that.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘The other one’s for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to have mine with you,
today.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I told you I didn’t
want any fuss.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the same, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> sniffs appreciatively and then looks anxious for a
moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Now you’ll miss your Sunday
lunch with the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t have to
do that, Sindy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that I can’t get
round to you anymore doesn’t mean I can’t eat mine on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I’m lucky to get such a lovely dinner
every Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, you always come
round and have tea with me.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dear <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s so independent and always anxious not
to be a burden, not that she ever could be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like everyone, she has her funny little ways, but she is the most
unselfish person I know and a fountain of good sense when you need a listening
ear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘But I want to eat with
you, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I eat plenty of meals with Mum and Dad and Phil on weekdays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, I want to talk to you.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘All right, my
love.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
has already laid the table for herself, so she gets another placemat for me and
a knife and fork then hands me a bottle of Rosé and a bottle opener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You’re a nice strong girl, Sindy, can you
get the cork out?’ she says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secretly I
think to myself, ‘But you didn’t want any fuss, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>!’
although I daren’t say so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trying not to
spill the wine, I manage to remove the cork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s little rosebud mouth lifts up
approvingly as the wine gurgles happily into her favourite crystal sherry
glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘That’s the ticket,’ she
says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She has lots of funny
little expressions like that, from when she was a girl and sometimes it really
cracks Phil and me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we sit down, I
notice she’d had her hair done yesterday and it sits in neat little curls on
top of her head and around her ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, am I imagining it, or has she had a silvery-blue rinse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I’m sure I’m not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway,
she looks great with her light hair and her sun-browned, smiley little button
of a face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We both taste a small
piece of everything and have a sip of wine, then I say, ‘<st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>,
there’s this boy I like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if
he likes me, and I’m not sure whether to…well, you know… do anything about it.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Is he really a very
nice boy and worthy of you?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Well, yes, of course
he is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he’s quite incredibly
attractive and gorgeous with black hair and he always talks to me as though he
likes me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loves dancing, just like I
do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just that…well, I’m not sure if
he’s really attracted to me, in a romantic sort of way.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I trail off, starting to feel a bit daft, but
I can see Nan is thinking about it very carefully by the way her head is
nodding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After what seems like forever, she looks me straight
in the eye.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Then of course you
should do something about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course
he’s attracted to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why shouldn’t he
be? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, Sindy, my sweetheart, just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">look </i>at you…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I start to giggle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘But you’re prejudiced, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That doesn’t mean I
don’t know what I’m talking about,’ says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
firmly, spearing a piece of broccoli and inspecting it as though it holds the
answer to the meaning of life, the Universe and everything in it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, who needs therapy for self-esteem
when they have a <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> like that!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You wouldn’t be here
if I’d been lily-livered when I met your great-grandfather.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lily-livered!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a new one!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost choke on a roast potato.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What happened?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘He’d never have asked
me out, let alone asked me to marry him if I hadn’t guided him very firmly in
the right direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Young men don’t
always know what’s best for them and need a little help in making up their
minds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you needn’t worry because
they won’t ever do anything they don’t really want to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just have to make it easy for them and
let them think it’s their idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never
mind all these high-faluting new ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Male psycho…, what d’you call it?... male psycho…ana…lology. well, that
hasn’t changed a bit.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I think about
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suppose I mention to Ben, sort of
casually, as though it was neither here nor there, that I’d really like to see
that new romantic comedy with Hugh Grant, then perhaps he’ll offer to take
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I’m sure he will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more I think about it, the more sure I am
and I start to feel more confident and, yes, even empowered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For a short while, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> and I eat in companionable silence, then I say:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You’re right, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Faint heart never won
fair lady – or gentleman, in this case.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Again, she was
right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something gentlemanly
about Ben, gentlemanly and respectful, although he was no shrinking
violet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shrinking violet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What am I thinking? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s
jargon’s beginning to rub off on me!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That was delicious,’
says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> at last, gathering up our plates,
and, right on cue, there’s a ring at the bell.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Goodness!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who can that be?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t offer to answer
the door for <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, because I don’t want to
spoil the second little surprise of the day for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quickly I take the plates from her, pop them
through the kitchen hatch and follow her to the door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Well I never!’ says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘More meals
on legs!’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Phil, who is standing
on the doorstep with three dishes with aluminium lids on top, begins to
chuckle, setting me off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all troop
back into the dining room with our desserts, Phil ducking his head as he goes
through the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s growing so tall,
he’s left me way behind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It’s Mum’s home-made Bannoffie
pie, your favourite,’ says Phil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘And
the cream’s here, somewhere, in my jacket pocket.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s wedged rather tightly, so it takes him
some time to extract, then <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> gets a little
china jug and pours in the double cream and gets us some forks and spoons.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Yummy!’ says
Phil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phil’s my younger brother and he’s
just nineteen and as little brothers go, he’s pretty cool, although I have to
remind him to take off his baseball cap at the table before <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I said I didn’t want
any fuss,’ says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the same, she tucks in as though she’s
never had Bannoffie pie in her life and has just discovered its naughty delights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You’ll need to cut <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s grass soon,’ I remark, by way of conversation which
has been flagging rather since we started on the pie which, because of its
excellence, demands our undivided attention.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘OK,’ says Phil,
pouring on more cream.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘How’s Amanda?’ asks <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> suddenly and both Phil and I freeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor Phil – he broke up with Amanda last week
and he’s absolutely gutted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him
he should ring her, because it only sounded like a silly lovers’ tiff to me and
I was sure she was suffering too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
so upset about their quarrel and trying to think how to help get them back
together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Phil has gone quiet so
I answer for him, whispering as though it would make it less awful, ‘<st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, they broke up.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Why don’t you do that
thing on your little machine,’ says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘That funny little machine like a writing
telephone.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You mean, text her’
says Phil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Yes,’ says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, ‘test her.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It’s text, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, not test,’ I say, thinking about the strange irony
of <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s little mistake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Text,’ repeats <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Good
gracious, you children do have some funny expressions!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, in spite of the sadness, that set us both
off again into fits of laughter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Talk about the pot
calling the kettle black,’ I remark, pleased with myself for remembering that
one from when <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> told me not to criticise
Phil for being untidy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We are all sorry when
our desserts are finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> gathers up the plates and Phil excuses himself for a
few minutes then they both come back and sit down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phil is looking decidedly smug with himself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What’s up with you?’ I
enquire.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I tested Amanda,’ he
says and winks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lean over and squeeze
his arm in sisterly empathy and he says, ‘Gerroff!’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then the doorbell rings again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither Phil nor I get up and <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> looks at us a little perplexed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘There’s someone at the
door,’ says Phil.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What’s the matter with
you?’ <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place> says severely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Got lazyitis?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In any case, she gets
to her feet and answers the door and Phil and I linger behind her, bristling
with expectation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There on the doorstep
are Mum and Dad, beaming fit to bust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holding
an enormous cake with pink icing and all lit up with ninety gleaming candles
(you need an enormous cake for ninety candles) was Mum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I peered over <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>’s
shoulder and could just make out, beneath the tiny candles, the words ‘DEAREST
NAN’ in a darker shade of pink.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Let us in, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, this is heavy,’ says Mum.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I said I’d carry it,’
says Dad, ‘but she wouldn’t let me.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You might have dropped
it,’ says Mum and it’s true, our Dad, lovely as he is, can be accident prone
with anything remotely related to cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mum won’t let him carry anything fragile, especially since he dropped a
Coq au Vin once when she was having a special dinner-party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the lovely smells that emanate from
Mum’s cooking send him off-balance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I told you not to make
a fuss,’ cries <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>, but there is a beautiful
smile on her face and her blue eyes are glowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I told you and told you but you don’t ever listen.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘We only came round for
the entertainment, ’jokes Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘We want
to see you blow out all the candles by yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, come in and sit down, <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Quickly I get out some
more glasses and serviettes and Dad places all the presents on the floor by <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One or two
candles have gone out, but they’re magic ones and <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>
is intrigued when they light themselves again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just look at that!’ she keeps squealing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We all fall about as we
watch her try to blow them out and she tells us we’re a crateload of monkeys
and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with us all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did she ever do to deserve all this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then, ‘We love you <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>,’ says Phil suddenly and there’s an instant hush and
we all stare at him as he reddens and stares into the cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, Phil is such a loving bloke, but
like many young men of his age, he’s slow in expressing his real feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dad saves the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes, we do all love you <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy, happy birthday!’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then there are kisses and
hugs all round, although we remember to be gentle with <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You know it’s my
ninetieth,’ says <st1:place w:st="on">Nan</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We assure her, we all know that and that’s
why she has ninety magic candles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Why
don’t you count them to make sure?’ suggests Phil, cheekily. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As she cuts the cake, with enormous pride, I
can see she’s almost bursting with the excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even so, she just can’t help commenting: ‘I
told you I didn’t want any fuss.’</span><br />
<br />
Copyright Janet Cameron<br />
Published by People's Friend as <em>I don't want any fuss, </em>16 September, 2006.</div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></div>
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</span><br />
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Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-74871807792890775472014-01-21T04:24:00.003-08:002014-01-22T08:10:10.751-08:00Driving Me Crazy<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Oz_9Bid_4KYs6ULrBUOyBYcGT7bF_Q4csCSuoEoearygw6C-HuQnt-qcCVF62QYhJ8yxJBSuUjt1t5pNZKt5I1iIrJ6-28BsqNgSI2LrQphI4HibLhXguhHgPBQA_JlBwwrbEo3x7f4/s1600/Prague+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Oz_9Bid_4KYs6ULrBUOyBYcGT7bF_Q4csCSuoEoearygw6C-HuQnt-qcCVF62QYhJ8yxJBSuUjt1t5pNZKt5I1iIrJ6-28BsqNgSI2LrQphI4HibLhXguhHgPBQA_JlBwwrbEo3x7f4/s1600/Prague+030.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright: Janet Cameron</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
I’m about to take my driving
test for the second time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Just
think of the first time as a practice run, Helen,” says Glen, my driving
instructor. “And don’t forget, you’re doing great. You just need to work on
your confidence.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
Glen’s
right. He’s a really nice bloke, as well as decidedly dishy and he always does
his best to bolster up my self-esteem. Even so, I’m shaking at the thought of
the ordeal ahead and I’ll be glad when it’s all over and done with. Yes, I have
a great driving instructor, but unfortunately it’s a different matter at work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
My boss, Carl,
is a nightmare. I’ve felt like telling Carl, who happens to be the world’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">smarmiest</i> travel agent, just where to
get off. He’s arrogant and unstoppable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’d think he’d have something better to do rather than try to wind me
up all the time. I try not to let it get to me, I really do, but it’s hard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
"Better warn the
neighbourhood to stay off the roads after 3.00pm tomorrow.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may sound like a joke, but it’s not. Once
a joke is repeated fifty-three times or so, it’s an insult. But I won’t antagonise
Carl, at least not yet. I can’t cope with the extra stress right now, so I
swallow my irritation, realising he’s angry because I refuse to join his harem
of shabbily-treated girlfriends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Lucky
for me, Glen’s encouragement helps to make up for Carl’s negativity. “You’re
coming along very well, just relax into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Think to yourself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can do this.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
I try some affirmations before I
go to bed. “I’m a safe and confident driver”, that sort of thing. Carl says
they’re just old-fashioned popular psychobabble but Glen says that doesn’t
matter if they work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“How
did your lesson go yesterday?” says Carl the next day when I arrive in the
office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you got your six point
turn down to three yet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and I
noticed one of those new little trees the council planted in The Avenue is
looking the worse for wear. It’s been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">collided</i>
with. A certain driving school car’s back bumper, I suspect.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Well,
they do say you can get a blind spot in your wing mirror,” I say, trying to
keep it light. “Besides, it was a very <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thin</i>
tree and difficult to see.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
Carl’s
still smirking. He’s just had his hair done into vertical spikes, with a flat
bit plastered over his forehead, which would be fine except he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> thirty-eight. Oh, what a poseur! I’m
really looking forward to wiping that smirk off his face. If only.</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Big
day tomorrow,” he calls after me as I leave work. “Stay away from my new car
though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a bright red Ferrari with a
personal numberplate. You can’t miss it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>CARL1.”</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
Yes,
well it would be, wouldn’t it!</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
It’s
so terribly hard to like Carl although I know everyone is supposed to have some
redeeming feature. Still, I know I’m a good driver, and Glen’s so patient I
have everything going for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
This is the last
lesson before my test. It’s now or never.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Helen, you’re
getting anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now just take some deep
breaths and slow down, take your time to think about what you’re doing.
Everyone wants you to succeed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
‘Okay, Glen,’ I
try to swallow, as I stare at my driving instructor’s long, slim brown fingers,
lazily adjusting the steering wheel. I imagine him touching my chin with those
beautiful fingers, stroking my cheek. I let out a huge sigh, then I realise
Glen is staring at me rather strangely and I feel myself redden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Oh, cut it out,
Helen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not going to happen!” I tell
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Are you okay?”
asks Glen, clearly wanting me to be okay. He even takes my hand in his and
squeezes it. That’s what I like about Glen. He’s not so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">into</i> himself as a lot of blokes I know. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
I feel a bit
shaky. Probably it was the hand-squeeze. Then I hear a dreaded little clunk as
we pull out of the driving school yard. Can’t believe I did that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Never mind about the wing mirror, Helen,”
says Glen as he slides out to inspect the damage. “I’m sure I can stick the
plastic rim back with Superglue.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“I’m going to do
this. You just watch me,” I say, rather too loudly, but Glen grins his nice
wide grin, the one that crinkles up his bright blue eyes, and I start to feel
better. I’m even beginning to convince myself with my own enthusiasm. I’m a
good driver. I just need truly to believe that inside my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This has been an excellent lesson, Helen,”
says Glen in the end. Then he takes my hand, which seems strange as we’re both
sitting in the car, far apart and stiff-backed. “There’s no
reason you shouldn’t pass, Helen. Your driving has really come together just
lately and your theory is excellent. Try to keep positive thoughts in your
head. You’re going to make it, girl.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
I don’t tell Glen about Carl,
about how he chips away at me every day with his unpleasant comments. The
rational side of me tells me that Carl has little thought for women, that not
all men are like him, and I’d be mad to let him undermine me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, though, when this kind of bullying
is so persistent, it can get to you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Thanks
Glen.” I feel a bit sick, as I can only think how much I will miss our lessons.
It suddenly hits me that I may never see Glen again, at least, except in
passing, rubbing shoulders in the supermarket or a quick hello on the street. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
It comes out,
almost without me realising it. “If I pass I’ll really miss our lessons, Glen,”
I say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
There, I’ve said
it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Yes, Helen, I
will too,” says Glen gently. “Now, let’s get a quick coffee before you meet
your examiner. I’ll tell you all the reasons you don’t need to be nervous.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Well, don’t
hold my hand,” I think to myself. Because I really can’t bear any more
excitement right now! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
It’s great, going into the office
next day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
Carl’s
sitting at his computer and peers over it at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well?” he asks, raising a pair of spidery
eyebrows. He’s had the front flat bit of hair dyed a pinky red.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“I
passed,” I say quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Carl isn’t
pleased. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Well, you had a
nice sunny day for it,’ he growls. “And I expect you dressed up for it, didn’t
you? Men don’t have the advantage of looking all breathless and helpless like
you. Works every time, doesn’t it, Helen?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
What
an insufferable chauvinist! I’m so glad I did pass. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“For
my standard driving test, I actually had a woman examiner,” I tell him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“Bloody women!”
says Carl. “You all stick together.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
Honestly, you
just can’t win! He really hasn’t taken in what I just said. He has no idea
because, as I live locally, I always walk to work. Well, maybe it’s time for me
to explain in simple language that even Carl can understand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
“But this time
it was a man,” I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Carl’s starting
to look confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">"</span>I’m afraid,
Carl, I have my notice right here. You see, I’ve always wanted to be a driving
instructor. And I have now passed my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Advanced</i>
Driving Test. It’s a pretty gruelling test, as you have to control a vehicle at
the same level as police driving. If ever you want any lessons, I’ll put in a
word for you. That is, if you’re up to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyhow, I’ll be giving notice this Friday as I need to begin my driving
instructor training.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
It’s
worth it all just to see the look on his face!<br />
<br />
Published by <em>My Weekly</em>, 18th October 2008 under the title <em>"In the Driving Seat."</em></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-65807137771418374132013-12-29T14:16:00.001-08:002013-12-29T14:44:43.893-08:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></b> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuNE4Iwh3xe_3LZNbOsC5hLZrf5vxmRkj-u8sh2mywnVBiJnGzzvyvRrTeHrRq-Ep2ZPwpzZKU2Ehd9rXzr3t1cK_QUND0qUfVAgl6MpYaVoqLVz6vQkKqbzyStX5hqbQn_tdUFPEaYI/s1600/img069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuNE4Iwh3xe_3LZNbOsC5hLZrf5vxmRkj-u8sh2mywnVBiJnGzzvyvRrTeHrRq-Ep2ZPwpzZKU2Ehd9rXzr3t1cK_QUND0qUfVAgl6MpYaVoqLVz6vQkKqbzyStX5hqbQn_tdUFPEaYI/s320/img069.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jennifer's Hierarchy of Fears</span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Worst Case Scenarios<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s the wrong colour<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s too tight<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 260.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
makes me look fat<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I look fat in
everything anyway<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s too young for me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I look ridiculous in it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Everyone is laughing at
me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I can’t show my face in
public again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hierarchy of
Symptoms<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My mouth is dry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m sweating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I can feel my heartbeat
accelerating<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My knees are giving way<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m trembling<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m weeping<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m losing control<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Conclusion<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m useless and a total
waste of space<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While I’m actually writing down the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hierarchy
of Fears</i> I’m sitting on a wall in front of a church, opposite Waterstones
in the High Street. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get off on the
feeling of satisfaction at seeing the words written down – a means to externalising
thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clarissa will be pleased with
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I’m inadequate, at least I’m undeniably,
totally<i>, </i>almost<i> irreversibly</i> inadequate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, there’s something pretty outstanding
about my <i>Hierarchy of Fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>And
it makes me feel, paradoxically, rather special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My phobia is a complex one, for a number of
stimuli affect me, both socially and personally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sight of the sea convinces me I’m about
to drown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bird might fly in my face; a
spider could crawl up my leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this
fear of being laughed at!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why the
compulsion which forces me to go through complex rituals to avoid
disaster?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do I think stepping on a
crack will kill me? Clarissa intends to find out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Because a phobia is an irrational fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a disease, nor does it mean the
sufferer is mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So says Clarissa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Will-power, morality, ethics, motivation –
all these are nothing to do with a phobia,’ says Clarissa, punctuating each
word with a flicker of her long eyelashes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She tells me a phobia is one of the most seriously undermining
conditions, capable of seriously disrupting the lives of the most highly-intelligent
humans, even restricting personal freedom to such a degree that the patient
becomes isolated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">By the way, do I have the means to pay?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clarissa doesn’t do NHS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I fiddle with the loose hank of light brown
hair that always escapes from the careful swirl on the top of my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I close my pale eyes, as though I’m ashamed
to say.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘My husband will take care of it.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Clarissa makes a steeple of her hands. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘The thing about a phobia is this – that it is
a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">learned</i> response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phobias can be eradicated. However
debilitating these situations might be – they are still learned responses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can be unlearned.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although in the end, it seems to Clarissa, it
all comes down to a fear of losing control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘You have an irrational belief you have to make
everything come right, for yourself and everybody else and that the world is
out to thwart you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You fret over every
action for fear of its negative consequences.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘That sounds just like me.’ </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Some people believe that affirmations can
help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you like to try that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK, this is your affirmation; repeat it after
me, Jennifer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I don’t have to live with
this phobia’,’ says Clarissa.</span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘I don’t have to live with this phobia.’ </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘That’s a start,’ says Clarissa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Well done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’ll help if you can take on board that it’s simply irrational
fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When fear is rational, it is just
that - fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it is irrational, it’s
a phobia.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘OK.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Actually, it’s just mechanics,’ says Clarissa.
‘Straightforward and simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something
must have happened to you, something that made you feel scared and trapped.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘My mother never locked me in a cupboard.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘I’m glad to hear it,’ says Clarissa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘But you need to remember one thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you believe you can get better, you
will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you believe you cannot get
better, you won’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether you believe
you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can’t,</i> you’re absolutely right!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Clarissa clicks off her tape machine.'</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Later, as we are lying together in bed, Gavin
says:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It seems a waste of time trying
to find out why you have the condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What happens when you know what particular childhood incident caused it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will you be cured?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or will you be exactly the same, while your
psychoanalyst gets richer and we get poorer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After all, it’s me who has to pay for it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just swan around all day.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gavin has a point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don’t want to be nagged right
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want a cuddle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I press my hand into his warm side, for he is
lying on his back, his rather noble profile looking even more aristocratic than
usual in the soft glow from the little bedside lamp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ignores the pressure of my hand.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘After all,’ says Gavin,
warming to his theme, ‘If you were bitten by a snake, it would be more sensible
to take an antidote than pay someone to go looking for the so-and-so who did
it.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Are you saying you
don’t want to pay for my treatment any more?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, you needn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go on
the National Health.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Don’t be bloody stupid!’
Gavin explodes, as I knew he would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll
never cut off my private treatment all the while I threaten him with the
National Health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s annoyed, for he
turns his back on me and yanks my share of the duvet to his side.</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘It’s silly of me to be scared of so many
different things,’ I tell Clarissa on my fifth session. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Of course, Clarissa reassures me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The treatment will take some time, but
Clarissa will make a special priority for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It will be expensive, but it will be worth it to alleviate the
pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clarissa will concentrate on the
phobias for now; after all the OCD is merely a symptom of the fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt the problems are buried somewhere in
my childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">I’m about to walk out, when Clarissa
says, ‘I’m going to give you a task.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
want you to write a diary every day, just a few words, jotting down your
feelings, the time of day you had those feelings and where you were at the
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> W</span></span><span lang="EN-US">ill you do that for me,
Jennifer?’</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><em> </em></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I trawl th</span></span><span lang="EN-US">rough my memory for a time when I felt good about myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strangely, although it is easy </span><span lang="EN-US">to remember the
occasions, it’s difficult to recreate the feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can remember but you cannot </span><span lang="EN-US">reproduce it in
yourself. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">Next day, I come across Gavin in the conservatory, where the
sunshine </span><span lang="EN-US">streams in for most of the </span><span lang="EN-US">day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s sitting on the swinging chair with an album on his lap and he’s
</span><span lang="EN-US">staring at a photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">Without </span><span lang="EN-US">needing to
check, I know it’s a photo of <i>him</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He stares and stares for ages, at the photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silently </span><span lang="EN-US">I peer through the sliding glass
door, trying to see which photo is the object of his fascination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s </span><span lang="EN-US">the one of him standing on the top of a
mountain on holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s wearing his
snazzy mountain </span><span lang="EN-US">jacket, the one she always teases him about, calling it ‘the
coat of many colours’, Clearly, he thinks </span><span lang="EN-US">he looks amazing in the coat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He cannot take his eyes off himself.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
I know I <span lang="EN-US">hould leave him to
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shouldn’t embarrass him by
catching him out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somehow the
temptation is too great and I hover and I realize I’m actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">enjoying </i>how ridiculous he makes himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, he continues to gaze, enraptured at
the sight of his other self so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fetchingly</i>
caught on celluloid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shouldn’t stand
here watching, without his knowing I’m there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s mean and unworthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But so is
he, as there are photos of me<i> </i>in that pile, photos he has carelessly
glossed over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clearly I’m not as
fascinating to him as <i>he</i> is to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>I shuffle around a bit, hoping he’ll
look up and see me and blush a little for being caught out in this act of
self-obsession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t tell him to come for his cocoa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I wander out of the conservatory
and up to the bedroom, open his wardrobe door and, distractedly, pull at the
sleeve of the coat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am embarrassed for
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is such a tiny thing, a
pointless foible, but he’s been diminished in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to find a decent reason for feeling
like this, so ungenerous, so pedantic.</span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>I take the coat out of the wardrobe
and slip my arms into the sleeves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stare
into the mirror set into the door of the wardrobe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look like <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Michelin</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">Man.</st1:state></st1:place><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know why he likes it so much, the
colours are not attractive, a vile orange, a vicious blue no self-respecting
bluebell would aspire to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are zips
all over the place securing pockets of various sizes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The collar contains a zipped in hood and it
rises up behind the head, making a sort of domed backdrop, like an alien.</span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US">I fasten the zip at the bottom and
slide the zip upwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the top, I
sense a bump in one of the pockets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unzipping the pocket, I draw out a little sheaf of papers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">I shouldn’t look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even husbands and wives are entitled to their
bits of privacy, have the right to trust that they are not being checked
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t help it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The sheets contain
nothing but some credit card receipts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing
juicy there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I won’t give up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One by one, I unzip each pocket, plunge in
one finger, five fingers, or a hand, according to the capacity of the pocket,
withdraw and zip up the pocket again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This takes some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
brooding about vain men, self-obsessed men, men who find themselves more
fascinating than they find me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve been turned off by his male vanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to find something incriminating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deep inside, I’d welcome an excuse to reject
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I console myself with the thought
that small things indicate trends.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"></span><span lang="EN-US">Actually, I don’t need any evidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How I feel is enough. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
need his approval.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has made himself
pathetic – and that helps<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span lang="EN-US">Next time I see Clarissa, it’s different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">My pale eyes shine like windows and I haven’t
put up my </span><span lang="EN-US">hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I tell her I have had an aha moment. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I'm leaving Gavin. </span></span><span lang="EN-US"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">‘It wasn’t quite what I had in mind,’ says Clarissa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Why are you leaving Gavin?’</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"></span><span lang="EN-US">‘I don’t like him.’</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"></span><span lang="EN-US">‘But what about your low
self-esteem?’ asks Clarissa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘What about
your claustrophobia?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What about your
childhood trauma?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you’re not
thinking of cancelling the rest of your sessions.’</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">I stare at Clarissa pityingly. Sometimes I wonder if that qualification on the wall is genuine.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Something’s happened to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something rather ordinary that’s probably
hard to understand and I have you to thank for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can deal with it. I know I can.’</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">‘It’s not normal to respond that
quickly. Now don’t you think we’d better work this through?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s responsible for this – apparent –
breakthrough?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clarissa’s eyebrows have
scrunched together in the middle of her temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She looks so strange with one continuous eyebrow across her forehead,
I’m distracted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I catch
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She deserves, at least, a
cursory explanation.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">‘A big coat,’ I said
cheerfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘A coat like Joseph’s in the
Bible, of many, many colours, but an awful lot of empty pockets.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-9879025196471564192013-10-12T13:06:00.003-07:002019-11-26T06:34:10.499-08:00The Tree Spirit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">I can hardly breathe. A pair of
lovers is loitering under </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">our </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">tree. I want to scream at them, ‘This tree is
taken; it’s Dean’s and it’s mine’. But
they’re oblivious, absorbed in their kissing and cuddling. As I shuffle towards them and their faces
become clearer, I feel a strange ache inside me which morphs into a violent
rush of anger. In that moment I
understand what is meant by being consumed by rage because I am no longer
myself. I’m just a tight ball of
undiluted fury. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I clench my fists, trying not to pant in case
they hear me. I need to give this
matter some careful thought. Because
one of these starry-eyed lovers is <i>him.</i> Dean.
<i>My</i> Dean. Who the girl is, I have no idea, nor do I
care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> The Tree is an oak, a
very large, very old oak and it grows in a remote part of the South Gardens, a
fenced off area of our local park. This
was where, in the final years of college, we helped each other with our
homework and then relaxed, me nestled snugly into the crook of Dean’s arm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know it’s corny, but we really were childhood
sweethearts. If you’re guessing we met
under the old oak tree, then you’d only be half right. It was autumn and I’d sat down under the
spreading branches with my friend, Annette.
Dean was actually eight metres over my head in the tree. I never knew he was there till he began
dropping acorns on my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I told him to grow up and he said, ‘You gonnna
make me’ and I said, ‘You better believe it,’ and he said ‘You and whose army’
and I said, ‘You just wait and you’ll find out, Ratface.’ It makes me smile, to think how young we
were. But we liked each other
immediately and Dean walked me home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But now I’m dumped and don’t know why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I watch the lovers wander off then I sink down
at the foot of our tree and lean against the gnarled trunk. Dusk is falling – no it’s not dusk – too
early for dusk. Stormclouds are
gathering. I hear the rain pattering on
the leaves above me and soon the tree is weeping fat tears over my head and I
shake out my dripping hair, putting my arms around the oaken waist. In the middle ages, spinsters were actually
married to trees, to avoid the shame of being spinsters. Maybe they weren’t that crazy because right
now I can almost feel the green life-energy throbbing inside me. Legend says that tree spirits are the Lords
of the forest and natural things and somehow I know our Tree’s spirit senses
Dean’s betrayal. How could it not? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Secretly, I name the Tree <i>Shylock</i> – because I sense that, like me, it wants its pound of
flesh.... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Tree was never witness to our quarrel,
which took place one quiet Friday evening three weeks ago while we were
watching the telly with a glass of wine and a box of chocolates. Dean wanted to watch the football match and
I wanted to watch a girlie film with Hugh Grant. The video had gone wrong, so we couldn’t watch one while we
recorded the other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It started as some silly bickering, but then
one thing led to another, the way it does.
Things were said. ‘You always
want your own way,’ and ‘You don’t care how I feel,’ and ‘Alright then, I’ll
get out of your hair.’ Then it got even
more personal and more hurtful. I’m not
kidding myself it was just a lovers’ tiff.
Oh no, we’ve had a few issues, Dean and me and we were spoiling for a
fight. But it was nothing that couldn’t
have been sorted, if he’d just grown up a bit and stopped being such a selfish
so-and-so and done what I told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then, Dean said, ‘I’ve had enough of this, it’s
over,’ and that was that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At least, that’s what <i>he </i>thinks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Next day, I make a
detour by the tree again. Here, feeling
loved and protected and overheard only by squirrels and small songbirds, we’d
planned our future lives. They, Dean
and the girl, are here already, and she has her lips close to Dean’s ear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Didn’t take him long! It’s just two weeks since we broke up. Now look at them, both on their knees and facing each other, nose
to nose, like they’re some sort of romantic tableau. Dean is stroking the girl’s bobbed hair. I feel sick because Dean and I and the Tree
are no longer an item. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My heart gives a little blip as I think of
Dean, the affectionate way he put his head on one side when I talked to him,
the way he waggled his ears to make me laugh.
I teased him once, saying he looked like a mischievous elf, and he blew
himself up like the Incredible Hulk and chased me around the garden, growling
ferociously. Still, Dean was a great
kisser and soon I was swooning in his arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Slipping through all
these delicious memories, I’m missing him so much. I’m painfully envious of the other girl now clinging to my
bloke. My shoulders slumping, I turn
away, hoping they haven’t seen me acting like such a loser. Then I hear a rustling and the crunch of
their footsteps on the path. They’re
leaving. I press up closer to the Tree,
pitting my skin on its gnarled and twisted bark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> ‘I don’t mind sharing
Dean with you,’ I tell it, ‘but I forbid you to share yourself with him now
he’s left me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> This can’t go on. I sink down into the pile of autumn leaves
littering the ground. It really makes
me mad, to think what we’ve both thrown away and it’s time to do something
about it. I get out my mobile. I click on Dean’s number. I don’t get a chance to say a word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘It’s over, Lucy,’ says Dean. ‘I’m with Miranda now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You’re always hearing stuff about hearts
missing beats, but I’ll swear mine actually misses about twenty in that
moment. I just sit there, in the pile
of red, gold and bronzed autumn leaves.
My head feels like a coconut, all woolly and strange. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before he rings off, I quickly say I’m
sorry. I’m not, of course, because he’s
the one in the wrong, but by now I’m desperate so I’ll say anything. He says he’s sorry back and I begin to think
I’m getting somewhere. The mounting
wind knocks one of the lower twigs against my cheek, almost like a warning, and
I gasp with the damp sting of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘It’s over,’ says Dean again. ‘It’s been a long time coming. Deal with it, Lucy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am incensed.
How dare he tell me how to act.
Muttering murderous intentions under my breath I sink back among the
tortured, grey roots of the Tree. I
remember that time Dean slipped his hands under my arms and lifted me onto the
largest branch. Although it was the
lowest branch, it was too far from the ground to jump down, so there I sat there,
helplessly, in the fork between trunk and branch, unable to move. ‘What are you doing? Get me down from here, you big idiot!’ I’d
yelled. Dean put out his arms and I
allowed myself to fall into them and he wrapped his arms around me and pulled
me close to him. ‘Please don’t ever let
me go,’ I murmured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘As if I could! You’re so precious to me, Lucy,’ he’d said. ‘Don’t ever forget that.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huh!
Such insincerity. Such <i>treachery.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Do you remember, Tree?’ I hissed. ‘Do you remember all those <i>promises</i>?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There’s a gentle hissing noise above me, a
rustling of leaves, and I feel as though the Tree is being truly
sympathetic. We are in collusion. Once a threesome, we’re now a twosome – it
and me. I don’t feel alone any more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I pull my jacket around me and close my eyes
and it’s as though the Tree is swaying around me, sensing I need to replenish
myself, coaxing me to sleep. I think I
manage to drop off, at least momentarily, exhausted by fitful nights and
emotional emptiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next thing I know, there’s a high, girlish
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘I’ll see you under the tree again tomorrow.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m awake in an instant. How dare she? Not only does she steal my bloke, she’s also appropriated my Tree
as their special place of assignation.
I know the Tree won’t have it.
It won’t. I won’t let it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I glance up and the girl is standing a short
way along the footpath, hand in hand with Dean. She’s tall and skinny, no figure to speak of, not curvaceous and
sensual like me. Neither of them notice
me and I slide around the sturdy trunk to remain out of sight; they’ll think I
left ages ago. They’ve obviously
enjoyed their walk and now they’re setting off in their separate directions,
with a last quick kiss by the tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘You gorgeous thing,’ he says, bending down to
kiss her goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t know why I swivel my head around and
peer up the Tree’s trunk, but I do. And
I notice the there’s a fissure in one of the lower branches, right where it
forks at the trunk. This shouldn’t
happen. The council’s Tree Inspectors
should spot any irregularity, any unsafe aspect of the trees in South
Park. Maybe it was the storm; maybe
lightening struck while I briefly dozed.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Slowly, I shift my weight onto the balls of my
feet, sliding my body, slowly, up the trunk till I’m upright. I step onto a high, knobbly root-tip, lean
sideways, curling my body around the trunk, placing both hands on the injured
branch and I push. I push as hard as I
can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel the branch give a little so I push even
harder. As the branch creaks sideways,
I lose my balance and tumble downwards among the ancient roots, wrenching my
ankle, but not before I hear a shrill cry.
I wonder if it is me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Deliberate act of revenge on my part? You might think that. The weirdest thing is, when I finally
struggle to my feet, stumble towards the broken branch lying on the ground, there’s
no sign of the girl. She’s scarpered,
terrified and, straining my ears I imagine I can hear her loud crying in the
distance. I can see Dean lying on the
ground beneath the foliage, his body strangely twisted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I edge closer, a strange excitement stirring
inside my stomach. I peer through the
mess of leaves and twigs. It’s true
there’s a graze on the side of the temple where the branch struck him, but it’s
also clear that’s not what finished him off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A thick, gnarled root coils around his
neck. Oh, it has <i>attitude </i>that root! If it
weren’t for the fresh state of the corpse, you’d think it had been growing that
way for years. There’s just no way that
root could cling so tightly and so suddenly to Dean’s neck by some freak of
nature. I can’t help wondering what
forensics would make of it, but the thing that moves me most is that he, Dean,
looks so <i>surprised.</i> If I feel a little smidgeon of pity, I
manage to suppress it. Justice has been
done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Blokes shouldn’t mess with me – I have hidden
assets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel better, stronger, cleverer. I say a little prayer to the Tree. No one can possibly blame me for what’s
happened to Dean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There’s this barman at our local pub I’ve quite
fancied for while. I wonder what the
Tree will make of him. I think I’ll see
if I can wangle an introduction, secure in the knowledge that The Tree will
take care of any complications.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-63237259147503648072013-09-08T13:53:00.002-07:002013-09-08T13:53:25.085-07:00The Nose Job<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>(A slightly soppy romance written for Woman magazine, published in 2004)</i></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLWrdUJIZ7AVhW58DZvYV0K4ryWCrjTm5ved4d6GW-xIvIZg1OeDd0P8YS49vJBLv3Nu4ZVJIhPRg4ROJsR3_uGKdAkrt8A2tliWLbH5rEmuCha1Q1fZKO2sGKb6CWTdQUwO8j4Jdnb0k/s1600/Seaton+1986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLWrdUJIZ7AVhW58DZvYV0K4ryWCrjTm5ved4d6GW-xIvIZg1OeDd0P8YS49vJBLv3Nu4ZVJIhPRg4ROJsR3_uGKdAkrt8A2tliWLbH5rEmuCha1Q1fZKO2sGKb6CWTdQUwO8j4Jdnb0k/s200/Seaton+1986.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright: Janet Cameron</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">I knew Allen
wouldn’t approve. And I was right.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">‘What do you want with a nose job?’
he asks.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">‘There’s nothing wrong with
your nose.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘I hate my nose,’ I tell him, miserably. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘You’d be better off spending your
money on a holiday,’ he says.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> That afternoon, I’m outside my
house, cleaning my little Micra. Allen
pulls up in his new red Ferrari. I
can’t help but comment: ‘Why is it OK
for you to spend thousands on a Ferrari
but not for me to spend out on my nose?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘It’s different. It’s a <i>car</i>.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘It’s the same. You could get a good car for half the
price.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Wouldn’t be the same,’ he murmurs,
running his palm over the shining bonnet.
‘She’s a princess. She’s special.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I stifle the urge to pour my bucket
of dirty window water over ‘Princess.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘It’s not different. How d’ you feel when you’re driving it?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Driving <i>her</i>.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘D’you like it when people stare?
Do you enjoy their admiration? Makes you feel good about yourself, doesn’t
it? Well, that’s why I want my new nose.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘That’s vanity,’ he says.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘So’s that,’ I retort, stabbing my finger at the Ferrari, which
gleams back at me in defiance. ‘If it’s
OK for you to indulge your vanity, it’s OK for me too.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sweep inside the house.
I’m so angry I’m sure steam is coming out my ears. I ring Mum for some moral support, but she
makes me feel so guilty. I try to
reassure her.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘I’ll make sure I get a reputable
surgeon. I’m not daft. I’ll to do my homework, Mum, don’t worry.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Next day, it continues. ‘Honestly, Kate,’ says my friend Ali. ‘It’s not just about your nose. It’s about your self-esteem. Accept yourself as you are. If you want <i>surgery,</i> it’s because something’s
wrong psychologically.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘So what, if there is? I’m human.
Why can’t I indulge myself? If
a nose job helps my dodgy psychology, who’s it hurting?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I see Allen that evening. He doesn’t kiss me hello. I’m hurt.
We don’t mention the nose job at first.
Then he starts:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘When you think of all the people
needing medical attention who can’t afford it…’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I begin to tremble. Leaping to my feet, I plant my hands on my
hips and glare at him mutely. Finally,
it comes out in a rush.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘That’s a most <i>unfair </i>argument
against cosmetic surgery. You spent <i>thousands
</i>on your last holiday. You could
have donated it to charity, if you’d
wanted to. I’m not having a holiday
this year. I’m having my nose
done. And I’m keeping my six-year old
Micra. How are you any more moral than
me?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘If you want to give in to it, that’s your choice.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Allen. I think you should
go.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Allen lets his lip droop, a trick he uses to get around me. But I’m determined. No one is going to talk me out of this. I’m not so stupid I can’t recognize
emotional blackmail. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> How people hate change in their
loved ones. Even an improvement becomes
a threat.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Allen tries to take me in his
arms. ‘Why can’t I stay?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Because,’ I say, pushing him away,
‘I need my space.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Oh wow! I didn’t know I could be so assertive. Allen goes. I don’t
rehash our argument in my mind, like I usually do. Instead, I find the list of recommended surgeons from my GP and
choose a surgeon from my local hospital. I’ll phone tomorrow.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I go to the mirror, stare at my
nose, pushing it down and up, pinching the end.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Surgery? I know it’s the right thing to do.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ***</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The bandages are coming off today.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I’ll be bruised. It’ll take time for the swelling to go. I shan’t panic, knowing what to expect. The surgeon holds a mirror up to my
face. I smile at him before looking at
myself. I have every confidence in him.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I’m not disappointed. I look, not just at my nose, but at my whole
face. I’d forgotten my lovely eyes,
large and heavily-lashed. I’d forgotten
my mouth was full and tilted at the corners.
I’d forgotten because all I’d seen for ten years was my huge,
overbearing nose.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘It’s amazing. <i>Amazing!’<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then Allen rings. ‘I’ll pick
you up,’ he says.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘You don’t have to,’ I retort, feeling
independent.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘I want to,’ he says. ‘I haven’t seen you for yonks.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> This is true. Everyone was banned
from visiting, except Mum.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I’m anxious, taking the lift down to
the main reception. I see Allen before
he sees me. ‘Kate,’ he cries, face
lighting up. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> With a pang, I realise I want his
face to light up for <i>me</i>, not for my nose. How irrational we human beings are! I want my new <i>nose </i>but still want him to love me for <i>me!</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘You look wonderful, Kate,’ he
says. ‘Will you marry me?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Leave off!’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Please, Kate.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"> ‘I didn’t expect my nose job to work
<i>that </i>quickly.’</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">‘It’s not your nose job, you
idiot.’</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">He grabs me, kisses me
hungrily.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">‘It’s you.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">It’s </span><i style="line-height: 200%;">you. </i><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">You’ve got gumption, Kate.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">
</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">You’re feisty and believe in yourself.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">
</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">That’s what I love in a woman, big nose or little nose.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">Although, I’ll admit, the nose </span><i style="line-height: 200%;">is </i><span style="line-height: 200%;">rather
fetching.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘So you’re not marrying me for my
nose.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘No, nor for your bank balance.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Don’t have a bank balance. I’ve spent it on my nose.’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ‘Exactly.’ </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Allen grabs my hand. Then we’re
almost floating across the hospital car park to where Princess awaits us in all
her blazing, scarlet glory.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Copyright: Janet Cameron</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
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Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-19710508950287684452013-07-28T16:43:00.001-07:002016-03-23T10:52:04.843-07:00<div style="text-align: left;">
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Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-16206501728476769562013-07-09T14:41:00.000-07:002013-07-09T14:41:06.546-07:00Agony<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rJORrlBJDSM/UdyDCtBUcFI/AAAAAAAAAsA/nwSlQTSSkHQ/s1600/100_0305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rJORrlBJDSM/UdyDCtBUcFI/AAAAAAAAAsA/nwSlQTSSkHQ/s200/100_0305.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright: Janet Cameron</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Dear
Felicity,’ says the letter, ‘I have two lovers and I like them both a lot. Trouble is the man I really love won’t look
at me. I’m going crazy...’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Fliss
drums her fingers on the dining room table.
‘I’m not going to rise to it,’ she tells herself. ‘I’m just not.’ It’s Fliss’ job to take her readers’ problems seriously. That’s why she’s always bringing work home
and it’s her personal pride to read every single letter sent to the
magazine. Whether it’s about dealing
with anxiety, vague adolescent yearnings or the need to perk up a mature but
flagging sex life, Fliss always specialises in impartial but sensitive
advice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Sometimes,
she wonders what Charlene might say in her place. Fliss likes Charlene, who’s sassy and smart-chatty with black
hair that sticks out from her head in wet-gelled quills. Charlene writes for a rival magazine, but
the two women respect one another as professionals, sometimes even share a
drink and a chat after work. Seldom do
they disagree on how to approach a relationship problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Pushing the tumbled mass of
gold brown hair off her forehead, Fliss sinks her chin onto her hands and tries
to tune into Charlene’s thought-waves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Have
you nearly finished, Fliss?’ asks Matt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘A
few more.’ Fliss gives her husband an affectionate glance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘You’ve
been working non-stop for a week,’ he grumbles, switching on the TV and she
sighs. How can she concentrate, with
that noise? Police sirens, car chases,
gunshots, women screaming blue murder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Nearly
finished. Then we can look through the
brochures for our holiday.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> This
imminent holiday in Austria – they’ve been looking forward to it for ages. Fliss hopes they might go snowboarding,
something she’s never tried before.
Imagining herself slaloming through lovely, slushy snow down a mountain
slope in the bright sunshine is keeping her focussed. She loves trying out new things, preferably
involving speed and a sense of danger.
Not the sort of aspirations usually expected from a sober-looking,
thirty-five year old career woman. For
Fliss, it’s the empowering buzz of a quick thrill, the quicker and more
thrilling the better. In the meantime,
work still needs attention so she puts snowboarding, lovely slushy snow and
gorgeous training instructors from her mind and gets her head down. But the next letter makes her catch her
breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Dear
Felicity,’ it says, ‘I don’t know if I’m going mad, but I’m about to murder my
wife.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
She
flicks through the sheets. The letter
is signed, ‘Yours Agonised.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Oh
my God!’ she mutters and re-reads the letter.
The woman sounds a real monster from the writer’s description: She’s so sexy, says the letter, that any man
who meets her is driven mad with lust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Well, really! That’s a
bit over-the-top.’ But, like Shirley
Valentine Fliss has to tell the wall, since Matt isn’t listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The
awful words leap out at her. ‘I hate
her...could kill her...driving me insane...I’ll get her.’ No indication of identity or place. No date.
She can’t even check the envelope for a postmark because the bin men
have already been. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> From
the letter, it’s clear the writer’s wife is abusive and evil-tempered. Still, that’s no excuse for violence, so
Fliss slips into the hallway to call the local police station. She has to wait for ages to speak to
someone, only to be told they’re short-handed and can’t help right now. An officer will phone her back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Dejected, she snuggles up to
Matt on their lush, leather sofa, but he’s absorbed in something on television
about alien abductions. She teases the
back of his curly ginger hair with one hand, while tracing his clean-cut
profile with the other. He tries to
push her away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I’ve had a scary letter
from a potential wife-killer.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Either he’s loopy or she’s
asking for it,’ mumbles Matt, which makes her angry and his nape hairs get a
tug. ‘Leave off,’ he growls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That night, Fliss lies awake
beside her sleeping husband, thinking how strange that whenever she receives an
unusual letter it seems to mirror her own life problems. She knows she’s been neglecting Matt
recently and he keeps glaring at her, but then he turns away and becomes
distant when she makes an effort to be more loving. Somehow, they can’t seem to connect any more. Still, she knows as well as anyone that all
marriages go through these highs and lows – if you love your mate you just have
to ride them out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Next day, at the office,
Fliss hands in her copy and her assistant, Jonathan, brings more letters. She doesn’t tell him about <i>Agonised</i> whose contribution she’s left
simmering in her pending tray for when the copshop is less ‘shorthanded’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Lots of post for you
today,’ says Jonathan. She glances at
the envelope on top, at the thick, stubby writing. Angry writing! Opening
the envelope, she can’t stop her hands from trembling and there’s a black hole
swallowing up her stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘She’s hard, uncaring. She doesn’t deserve to live.’ And again, ‘I love her but she treats me
like dirt.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She phones Matt at work but
he’s in a board meeting. Annoyed at
being called away, he’s abrupt when she most needs a few words of sympathy. She feels her insides liquify and can’t
bring herself to mention the letter. ‘I
wanted to say I love you. I’m going to
make something very special to eat tonight.’
Hearing the meekness in her own voice fills her with self-loathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘We’ll talk later. I’m busy now,’ says Matt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Agonised</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> seems to take over her
life. The police interview her, make
lots of notes and remove the threatening letters. She prefers to be independent and not bother her editor with her
problems, but now things have gone too far to keep them to herself. He listens sympathetically enough, tells
her to keep an eye on things and inform him of developments. The next letter arrives two days later in a
batch of mail posted direct to Felicity Minns Agony Column, minus the envelope. She sets in motion a frantic but fruitless
search for the missing envelope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Jonathan, make sure you
save the envelopes from my mail and pin them to the letters, so I can show the
police the postmarks,’ she tells him, more sharply than she intends. Jonathan sulks for the rest of the day. Her boss is out for a long lunch with some
advertising clients and Fliss feels unbearably alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">No more letters appear that
week from <i>Agonised’</i>s poisonous
pen. When the weekend arrives, the sun
shines but it doesn’t manage to ease Fliss’ doom-laden thoughts. She can’t get the letters out of her
mind. The poison pen writer must be a
real sicko! Even so, he has to be
somebody’s son, somebody’s brother, somebody’s husband. Some ordinary woman just like Fliss is
related to him. It’s scary! She’s relieved when it’s the weekend at last
and she can safely relax at home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
‘What a lovely day!
Shall we do something special?
Visit a castle or something?’ she asks Matt on Sunday morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Whatever…’ says Matt. Oh, how she hates that word, w<i>hatever</i> when it’s used in that way, like
an insult, as though speaker can’t be bothered to answer you.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘It’s good to be alive,’ she
tells Matt, more to convince herself than him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Not for much longer,’ he
growls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s a twisting in the
pit of her stomach and she spins around.
‘What?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Matt nods towards the
window. ‘It’s black as thunder over
there! It’s coming this way.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hang on, Fliss, she tells
herself, you’re getting <i>paranoid</i>.
What are you thinking of? Making
something out of an innocent remark like that.
Matt’s right. You’re working
too hard. You need that holiday. She bends over him and wraps her arms around
him, burying her nose in his warm neck and feeling that little surge of wanting
that has been lacking ever since Poison Pen Writer struck. ‘Lovely, yummy Matt’, she gushes, ‘you
really are such a sweetie.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Tell you what,’ says Matt,
who hates baby-talk, ‘Why don’t we take a week’s skiing break next week?</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Why not?
Jonathan could cover for her.
What freedom! What utter bliss!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Next evening, she decides to pop over to Mum’s while
Matt watches football. But her mother’s
irritable so Fliss leaves a little earlier than usual, returns home and quietly
lets herself in. As she’s about to enter
the living room, Matt’s on the phone and she hears him mention the name <i>Charlene</i>. Something makes her stop and listen outside the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘So you’ll come and help me,
will you Charlie. We’ll do it next
Wednesday, shall we, halfway through the holiday. I’ll get the maps. You
can persuade her to take the most... <i>appropriate</i> run. One particular section will suit our purpose
very well. She’s bound to fall for it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Fliss starts to shake and her
mouth is dry. She’s shocked to the
depths of her being. Suddenly,
everything is clear; they’re having an affair; their motives are simply lust
and money. Charlene won’t want to
share the proceeds from the marital home and investments with Fliss when she
sneaks off with her husband! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Her husband and her best
friend are planning to <i>murder</i> her.
Imagine! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A terrible rage fills Fliss
and she has to sink into her deep breathing to contain it. It’s lucky I came back when I did, she tells
herself. Now she has to put a brave
face on things and play a careful, waiting game if she’s going to foil their
plans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Taking a final breath, she
cries, ‘I’m back,’ as though she’s just walked in and rushes into the kitchen
for a glass of water. She leans against
the sink, waiting for the initial shock to subside. Trawls her numbed brain for some sort of strategy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The simplest way is not to go skiing with them. Only, if she doesn’t go, they’ll just invent
some other malicious scheme and she doesn’t have any evidence to support her
case. At least with the present state
of play, she’s forewarned. But what can
she do to protect herself? And also produce
some proof of the threat to her life?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The threat to her life! Experiencing fully the ominous meaning in
that clichéd little phrase, Fliss begins to hyperventilate. After Matt puts down the phone, he follows
her into the kitchen, grinning. ‘I’ve
just been talking to Charlene. You
don’t mind if she joins us for the ski trip, do you? I mean, we all get on well and Charlie hasn’t anyone to go away
with since she dumped her bloke. Fliss,
what’s wrong? Are you all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Dumbly, Fliss shakes her
head, telling Matt she has a headache and she sidles off to sleep in the spare
room. He looks confused, shrugs and
then slinks back to watch the television.
She thinks what a good actor he is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Next day, before catching the train for work, she goes
to the police station. She’s
interviewed by a policeman, then another policeman, then a policewoman until
her head is about to explode. They ask
her the same questions in subtly different ways and she’s sure they don’t
believe her. To be honest, Fliss
doesn’t entirely blame them. She
wouldn’t believe her if she were in their place. She gives them the name of the other police station near her
office dealing with the poison pen letters.
Eventually, they agree to interview Matt and suggest a hotel for
Fliss. She hopes they’ll soon realise
she’s terrified, take her seriously and agree with her that the best place for
her husband is safely in prison. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Next day, Fliss is more confused than ever. She rings the police from work and they say
they’ve arrested Matt. Although she’s
thankful her allegations have finally been taken seriously, everything is
unbearable. The terrifying thought of
how close she has come to death, the equally distressing fact of Matt and
Charlene’s betrayal, are simply doing in her head. She can’t believe she’s still sane – and perhaps she isn’t. She hates the hotel room with its blank,
impersonal décor and so she decides to return home, for with Matt held at the
station, she’s fairly safe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She can’t concentrate on
anything, not a book, not the television, not even her favourite classical
music. She’s just contemplating her
wedding ring when the phone goes.
Fliss pushes the cat off her lap to answer it and gasps at Charlene’s
voice in her ear. Fliss has forgotten
about Charlene, but now she’s confused, for if they’ve arrested Matt, why not
Charlene too, who is, after all, his accomplice? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Hi there you,’ says
Charlene, in her rich, brown-velvet voice, ‘it’s me.’ Fliss is amazed she still has that innocent lilt. Fliss can picture Charlene in her executive
chair, with her aggressive black spiky hairdo, her full, purple lips mouthing
the treacherous words over her perfect, white Smile Clinic teeth. ‘I can’t understand it,’ she complains. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Matt at
work and on his mobile, but he’s not replying.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘He’s at the police station’
say Fliss, then slams her hand over her mouth.
How could she be so indiscreet?
She must be losing it big-time.
Now she’ll have awkward questions to answer and she mustn’t convey her
suspicions to Charlene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Oh no! What’s he done?’ cries Charlene. ‘Had one too many and made a fool of himself
in the street or is it something more serious?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I’m afraid the skiing’s
off.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Oh dear! Don’t you have any idea why the police are
holding him?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She’s got to give it to
Charlene, she’s a great actress. Almost
as accomplished as Matt! Charlene
sounds shocked, as if she hasn’t the vaguest notion of why Matt is in police
custody.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘It’s serious. I can say no more than that, Charlene, I’ve
been asked not to.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘How long will they hold
him?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Well, the holiday’s off,
Charlene, that’s for sure.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s a pause as Charlene
processes this information. ‘What a
shame!’ she says. ‘I do hope the
charges aren’t too awful. I can’t understand
why you won’t tell me, Fliss, you know I’d never let on.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I can’t say a word,’ says
Fliss firmly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘And Matt had such a
wonderful surprise planned for you and now it’ll be spoiled.’ Charlene sounds genuinely regretful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Can you believe it, a
wonderful surprise?’ thinks Fliss.
‘Being murdered a wonderful <i>surprise!’ <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Somehow she keeps her voice level. </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Exactly what i<i>s </i>this nice surprise?’ she
asks guardedly, wondering if there’s something else that’s nothing to do with
her being brutally murdered in the cold Austrian snow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I’m not sure if Matt would
want me to tell you.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She waits. Does Charlene need thinking time to come up
with a credible explanation? Or is
there really a genuine surprise? She
knows Charlene, despite her profession, finds it impossible to keep secrets –
it’s a mystery to Fliss that Matt would have shared a surprise for her with
Charlene. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And, sure enough, Charlene
can’t help blabbing</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">. ‘Well, I suppose I may as well tell
you. I’m sure Matt won’t mind, as he’ll
have to think of something else now.
You see Fliss, he wanted help you achieve your ambition.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘What ambition?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘You’ve always longed to
snowboard down a black run. So Matt
planned it for you, for your birthday next Wednesday. I have the snowboard here, in my flat, for safekeeping. The plan was that when you got ready to ski
down your favourite run, Matt was going to spring out on you with the
snowboard. Surprise! Good, eh?
What a shame it’s all spoiled now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Suddenly, Fliss feels
sick. She searches in her mind for
Matt’s exact words: <i>‘You can
persuade her to ski down the most appropriate run. One particular section will suit our purpose very well. She’s bound to fall for it.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
‘Charlene, I
must go,’ she says quickly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Just before you go, Fliss,’
warbles Charlene, ‘They got that man who wrote those poison pen letters? I started getting some too and that helped
nail him. It’s amazing how the police
manage to trace people from a few anonymous letters. I can’t imagine how they do it.
So at least you have no more worries about him.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bleakly Fliss puts the phone
back in its cradle and sinks her head into her hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘No worries!’ she
croaks. ‘Charlene, if only you knew!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-54729574475272182072013-04-15T11:34:00.001-07:002013-07-03T07:25:47.642-07:00Net of Gold <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rose tries to ring Alice again later.
Her niece is kind but can be awkward and takes great and noisy offence
at any possible slight. But Alice still
isn’t there and there’s nothing Rose can do.
So she potters with a duster, reads her book and takes a little nap.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Later, when Aunt Rose doesn’t turn up, Alice
telephones, waking her up. But has
Rose’s chair sunk lower or is she just getting older? By the time Rose heaves herself to her feet and answers, she’s
puffing a little because she always feels compelled to hurry at the telephone’s
loud and peremptory ring. Leaning on
the telephone stand, she lowers herself onto the pouffe and allows Alice to
lead off. Experience has taught her it
is pointless interrupting.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You’d think she would have rung if she wasn’t
coming,’ grumbled Alice. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Maybe she did. Maybe she rang while you were out. You know she’s confused by answerphones. And she’s got a lot on her mind, what with
Russell being poorly and unable to be left,’ said Alice’s husband, Matt. Russell is a cat with a tendency to swallow
bits of furball. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So Alice tells Rose about all the things she
could have done if she’d known her aunt wasn’t coming. Like going to town or to scrabble club or
coffee with friends. Instead, she has
set aside this time for Rose – and Rose has inconsiderately found something
better to do. Incensed, Alice tells
Rose how disgracefully she takes advantage of her good nature.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I shouldn’t give in to you, Rose,’ she
says. ‘I shouldn’t be so
accommodating. You’re just not being
fair on me. It’s <i>awfully </i>ungrateful.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Sorry,’ says Rose, forgetting she remembered
to phone Alice twice and that her niece wasn’t there. All this has gone out of her head and instead, she is suffused
with shame. ‘Sorry I forgot to phone
you, dear.’ Russell, feeling better
now, tabbily twines himself around Rose’s legs and she lets her hand slide
lovingly over his head, along his sinewy back.
</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It can’t be that important to you then, Rose,’
snaps Alice.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What we do is always important to me,’ says Rose
with dignity. ‘It was just – I must
have forgotten.’ But Alice is
inconsolable and refuses to speak another word to her Aunt Rose. When her niece cuts her off, Rose stares,
bewildered, at the ear piece, and, to distract herself, sets to polishing the
grandmother clock in the corner.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It gets Rose down. She’s a smart old lady, witty and intelligent despite her
occasional forgetfulness, and Alice’s coldness brings a heaviness to her legs
and to her heart and her joints become stiffer and creakier. Her eyes get smaller and duller and her
mouth is thin and straight. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She worries, forgets what day it is and misses
church on Sunday. ‘I didn’t actually
forget church,’ she tells the vicar on the phone. ‘I just forgot it was Sunday.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Never mind, Rose,’ says the vicar. ‘We’ll see you next week as usual.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Will you pray for me, vicar?’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Of course I will, if you want me to. Although you can take a more direct route
and pray to Him yourself, you know.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I don’t think so,’ says Rose sadly.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Any particular reason you want me to pray for
you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Please tell God I’m not wicked. It wasn’t that he’s not <i>important </i>to me. I forgot
that’s all.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The vicar stifles a chuckle. ‘I’ll tell him Rose, don’t worry. God won’t hold it against you.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I hope not,’ says Rose. ‘Although he’s the only one if he
doesn’t.’ </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She feels shaky as she replaces the receiver
and forgets to check it’s firmly in its cradle. Instead, she shuffles into the garden to refill the bird feeder
with the special seed balls she makes herself.
It’s an effort because Rose has to stretch out her arms full-length to
reach the feeder fixed high in the branch of the apple tree, well away from the
cat. (Strangely, Russell doesn’t seem
to know he’s a cat and is scared of heights.)
It’s a colourful garden, the pansies welcome her full-on with their
pretty faces, but even that fails to console her.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ALICE:</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When Alice decides to phone Aunt Rose, there’s no answer, not even a
ringing tone.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Silly old coot,’ says Alice. ‘She’s left it off the hook.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You’ll have to go round there, just in case,’
says Alice’s husband.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I know.
I’ve had it right up to here with her,’ Alice slams the side of her hand
against her temple. ‘She should be in a
home.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Alice puts on her Burberry mac and the green
knee-length boots with the buckles and sets off to call on Rose. In time to her footsteps, she mutters under
her breath, ‘Silly old coot. Silly old
coot.’ A light drizzle stings her
cheeks and eyes. She glances enviously
at gaps in curtains in lighted windows.
Lucky people enjoying their evenings in front of Eastenders! Lucky people who don’t have loopy old
aunties to plague their lives!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">But Aunt Rose doesn’t answer the doorbell. Nor does she answer her telephone when Alice
stamps out her number on her mobile.
Alice bangs on the door, shouts through the letterbox, rouses the
neighbours on both sides. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘There’s no sign of Rose. I looked everywhere. Where is she?’ yells Alice. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘A careworker came round and next minute, there
was an ambulance outside,’ said Mr. Herbert.
‘They took her out on a stretcher.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Oh, heavens!’ says Alice.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Sorry not to be of more help,’ says Mr.
Herbert. ‘Our tea’s ready so we must go
now.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Alice is deeply shocked at how casually the
Herberts are behaving. They leave her
punching out the number of the local hospital on her mobile. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Poor Aunt Rose. People can be terribly callous,’ she sobs as she waits for the
call to be answered.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, Rose has been admitted. Yes, as Alice is her niece, she may visit,
but not for too long as the patient needs rest and a number of medical
tests. A tear courses down Alice’s
cheek, making a river on her mascara-smudged cheeks as she writes down the name
of the ward.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Immediately, Alice takes a taxi to the hospital
and rushes along interminable corridors until she finds Aunt Rose, her pale,
frightened eyes flickering above an oxygen mask, her normally curly white hair
lying moist and flat on her forehead.
On seeing her niece, Rose fumbles and pushes the mask away, crying, ‘I
want to come home.’ </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Murmuring reassurance, Alice arranges the mask back into position.
She explains and explains to Rose, but the old lady remains agitated. ‘You have to have some tests,’ insists
Alice, trying hard to be patient. ‘You
have to have an Xray and a blood test and a biopsy.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I feel perfectly all right,’ says Rose, by
now, pumped so full of steroids that this is perfectly true. ‘And I don’t need that. I can’t talk properly through it.’ She rips off the oxygen mask and stares
balefully at Alice. ‘The food in here
is terrible,’ she says with a grimace.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What did you have to eat?’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I don’t know but it was horrible.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What did it look like?’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It was flat and squashed and it looked like
measles,’ says Rose.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly, Alice starts to laugh. She laughs and laughs and laughs. Rose is delighted to have so amused Alice
and puts out her ancient hand, its loose flesh freckled with age spots and
Alice takes it and presses it to her mouth with exquisite tenderness.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I made you laugh, Alice.’ Although Rose can hardly get her breath,
it’s a triumphant whisper.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Oh, Rose…’ murmurs Alice. ‘You know you haven’t eaten, don’t you? You haven’t had all your tests yet and your
bed’s got a <i>Nil by Mouth</i>. You must be thinking of some other time.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Blinking back the tears, Alice spots a framed
verse in calligraphy on the window sill by Rose’s bed, perhaps left by a
previous patient, which resonates, painfully, in her head. </span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">‘The sunlight on the garden </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hardens and grows cold, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We cannot cage the minute </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Within its net of gold.’</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It reminds me of you, Rose’ says Alice, ‘that
lovely verse on the wall. It’s by
Louis MacNiece. Shall I read it to
you?’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rose doesn’t seem to hear her.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You know, Aunt Rose,’ she whispers, ‘I haven’t
always been as kind to you as I should be.’
She strokes Rose’s hand which lies in her palm. Tenderly, she fingers the bent knuckles,
traces tiny circles around the brown age-spots.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Aunt Rose doesn’t respond but there is a soft smile on
her face, as though she’s found Heaven’s own net of gold to be everything she’d
hoped for.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> </span></span>Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3896193215793540623.post-11481394257546157462012-11-23T13:52:00.002-08:002013-07-03T07:26:38.464-07:00Under the Old Stone Wall <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEUarn_VIz6Vv1snci6sslm4-Dw-8e95ui9ItY2_YiMM-1AkJWhOT8woiE6xqsNP1ZkO4o8Djnce3YS-RFQ6ILCebZvDbWyfhx2oRLAMTkL_yODnJeWiwp7_aQoNAdDgYV9B9a7at6-_6/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEUarn_VIz6Vv1snci6sslm4-Dw-8e95ui9ItY2_YiMM-1AkJWhOT8woiE6xqsNP1ZkO4o8Djnce3YS-RFQ6ILCebZvDbWyfhx2oRLAMTkL_yODnJeWiwp7_aQoNAdDgYV9B9a7at6-_6/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image: Copyright Janet Cameron</td></tr>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I know I can’t blame Gary for the wall because we agreed this house is
exactly what we want. But I hate the wall, really, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>hate it. I’m convinced it’s hiding something nasty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We moved in yesterday. This morning I’ve padded downstairs to make tea -
and there it sits, my view from the kitchen window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No point in gazing out, there’s just stonework, raggedy and crumbling
with brown moss and lichen crawling all over it like a disease; a barrier
between me and sanity. We can’t do anything about it because it doesn’t belong
to the house. It runs just outside our boundary palings, about twenty metres of
it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Right now, while Gary’s at the plumbers collecting some new pipework, I
fancy a walk somewhere without walls. Running my fingers through my platinum hairstyle with its vibrant
burgundy streaks, I pull on my white trenchcoat and set off along the lane.
Fresh air, crisp and dry. Lovely. Silent, not even a trill of birdsong. Yet there’s a flash of jay’s wings
in the foliage, while pheasants dart across my path. And there’s a stillness
about the landscape. A wild pig snuffles in the undergrowth. When a meadow
opens up on the other side of the lane, I blink my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maypole dancers!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Entranced, I linger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nine little girls, leaping, skipping, some wearing mob-caps, the others
beribboned boaters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wear smock
dresses, collars fastened with bows; some are barefoot, others shod.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How lovely of the villagers to continue
these English traditions, adopting authentic dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except – and this is well weird - there’s no one watching and
they make no noise; no laughter, no girlish chatter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Spooky!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t actually want to
hang around here, which is daft because they’re probably just an anomaly, a
strange little bunch of unusually quiet village children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I press on, determined to stretch my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I must be approaching the gravel
quarry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hesitating, I see a man ahead in a suit in a violent yellow and brown
check and dark knee-length boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On
his head is a cap, the tweedy variety adopted in past times by landowners for
shooting and hunting. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There’s something going on, a tiny woman in a long skirt and
full-sleeved blouse, a flat maid’s cap pinning her hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s staring up at him, mouth stretched
grotesquely across her lower face as though pleading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Losing her balance, she topples backwards, teetering on the
edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He jerks forward and I’m not sure
whether he’s trying to rescue her or push her over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She falls, her body curving in a perfect arc, hurtling into the
pit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For an instant, I’m transfixed, disbelieving my eyes. Then I yelp,
stumbling forwards. ‘No...ooo!’ I’m retching and screaming and as I draw
closer, the man sees me. Black eyebrows hood bullet eyes, his thick lower lip
curls, his face crumples like a child’s. I gasp, needing to be sick. I daren’t
look up because I don’t want the man to be there. I want him to be a figment of
my imagination. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I stumble, dropping to my knees, staring down at the body. That pathetic
little body is real enough. She’s lying on her stomach and I could, if I
reached down, touch the hair peeping out of her cap. I don’t remember anything after that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gary’s voice pierces my consciousness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Stella, are you okay?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did
you manage to fall down the quarry steps?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I blink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment I can’t
remember then it all rushes back. I start to tremble. ‘I think I saw someone
murdered.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘What?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Where did you find me?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Lying on the quarry steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
d’you mean? Who was murdered?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I try to explain but his forehead puckers in disbelief and I fall
silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Poor darling,’ he says,
stroking my brow. ‘You’re delirious. You’ve had a nasty shock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now just lie still and close your eyes.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I lie still and close my eyes. I guess I sleep for ages because next
thing I know Gary wakes me with breakfast of coffee, fruit and cereal. ‘I’ll
stay home from work if you need me,’ he says, but I shake my head, tell him I’m
fine. Besides, I have things to do. As soon as Gary leaves the house, I get dressed and go through the phone
book. First I contact the vicar about the Parish records. ‘I’m afraid they were
destroyed by fire in the thirties. Why do you want to know? Can I help?’ But I
don’t want to earn a reputation as the local headcase so I tell him it’s not
important enough to waste his time. He sounds relieved. I seem to remember some
historical pamphlets in the village shop so I set off immediately. Soon I’m riffling
through the magazines at the back of the shop. I spot a thin book on the shelf,
a vicar’s mimeographed Victorian journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Promising. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘Nice to see you’re taking
an interest in our local history,’ smiles the proprietor.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Back home, I pour over the journal of the Revd. Arthur Woodruff,
1898.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weather, temperature, sermon
texts, infiltrations of locusts, and then a February entry: ‘<i>What can be
done with young Thomas Elson?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another
young maid fresh from the employ of his father, Lord Elson, is with child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lizzie Geary told me she was taken advantage
of after the Christmas festivities, when Elson’s son discovered her alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her screams were drowned in the general
noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have instructed her to demand
that Lord Elson takes his son to task and makes provision</i> for her.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Finally, on 24<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May: ‘<i>Nobody
has seen Lizzie for the past three weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There have been strange discoveries at the pit near the Elson boundary,
a maid’s cap and a comb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fear we may
never see Lizzie again.’</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I find no further reference to Lizzie or the fearsome Elson son.
Stealing downstairs, I stand at the kitchen window, stare at the stone wall
which stares back, inscrutable as ever.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gary thinks I’m mad, but I insist. But he refuses to take a pickaxe to
the wall. ‘Are you crazy, Stella? It’s very old. It’s probably a listed
structure. Besides, it’ll take a month of Sundays.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">'You could, sort of, dig around at the footings. Then you don’t need to
demolish the wall.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gary gives me his long-suffering ‘whatever next’ look and goes off to
get a spade from the tool shed. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘if it makes you happy.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I stand by the wall. Gary takes the spade to a section at the far end.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Not there, Gary! Over here. Right in the middle, opposite the window.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gary trudges to the middle of the wall, lifts up the spade and makes the
first strike. I watch, my heart thumping in my chest. ‘Keep going, keep going.
But don’t put the spade in too hard, you might do more harm than good.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Okay, okay.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘There,’ I cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Look, Gary,
just there.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gary drops the spade and we both fall to our knees onto the uneven
ground. Together, we gently push away some of the stones and in the rubble. I’m
panting and Gary’s lips are a thin, tight line.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘This is it. There’s something hard. A bone.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Probably a dead sheep,’ says Gary.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But it isn’t a sheep. As we gently brush away the last of the earth, we
expose the tiny female skeleton, bones disconnected and skewed. A tiny jawbone
grimaces up at us. Gary mutters something unprintable. Then, wonderingly, ‘How
did you know this was here?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘I don’t know how I knew. I just did. But it’s definitely her,’ I
breathe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘I never believed in witches but I’m starting to wonder,’ grumbles Gary.
‘Stella, you’re starting to freak me out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘It’s Lizzie.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Who?’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Lizzie. I knew she’d be here. Just cover her up for now. I’m going to
call the vicar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I don’t go into too many details with the vicar, just explain we’d found
some human remains on our property and wanted to give them a Christian burial
under the flowering cherry. But I’d like it done this afternoon. The vicar
sounds incredulous and says he’s busy, but after some persuasion, agrees and I
thank heaven for the course in self-assertiveness I took at adult ed. last
year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I try to explain to Gary something I don’t actually understand myself,
but it’s too much for him and he goes round the pub for a beer. Meanwhile, I
work through Woodruff’s journal and find a July entry I’d missed. Could this be
the last piece in the puzzle? Edward Elson was convicted of Lizzie’s murder and
hanged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A gibbering wreck of a man,
he’d betrayed himself by raving about a strange incident that occurred when he
pushed Lizzie to her death. Reverend Woodruff had copied out the murderer’s
exact words in his pamphlet. For a thug, Edward Elson was pretty articulate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘A horrible apparition in gleaming white, unearthly yellow and red
flames springing from its head, a wild expression.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">All at once, everything was clear. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Me</span></i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> in my mac and streaky hairdo?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Edward Elson was describing <i>me!</i> Bizarre thought! It takes me a
while to absorb this stunning revelation and I need a few glasses of Gary’s
best whiskey to calm me down. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We know history affects the present, but could the present actually
alter the course of history? Certainly, my experience raises awkward questions
about the nature of time. Perhaps Professor Stephen Hawkins could explain it,
but I certainly couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I don’t mention my discovery about Edward Elson to either Gary or the
vicar, sensing discretion would serve me better. So when the vicar arrives, we
wrap the little skeleton in an embroidered tablecloth given to me by my mother.
Gary digs the hole although he refuses to look at me throughout the ceremony.
Then the vicar says a prayer and we all say ‘Amen’. After we have covered the
body, I place a small vase of wild flowers on her grave, hoping that will be an
end to it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Now let’s forget about it and get on with our lives,’ says Gary after
the vicar has gone. I couldn’t agree more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But later that evening, I sense something sinister in the trees at the
bottom of our garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ‘m sure there’s
a hunched shadow very close to Lizzie’s grave.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then these little hooded eyes glinted back at me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>Grim historieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03237953358571914233noreply@blogger.com0