The Daydream

By Janet Baldey

It was a dark and stormy night…. Tommy sucked the end of his pen and tilted his head to one side.

         Yeah, that was good… Original.  Hey, it’s a doddle – this writing lark. Now what’s next…

         He stared at his sheet of paper; the purity of its smooth surface marred only by the black scrawl of his writing.  Puffing out his cheeks, he sighed and looked up again, his gaze wandering around the room.  At the far end, old Wilkie was beavering away writing the word PYTHAGORAS in large letters on the whiteboard.  Tommy snorted. Geometry – who needs it! 

         He thought about the English Lit writing competition. There was a cracker of a first prize – two tickets to the circus!  He wondered who to take with him – perhaps his Mum. He’d already sounded her out, doing his best to sound nonchalant. 

         “Doing anything next Wednesday, Mum?”

         She’d blinked at the unexpected question. Then, with an irritated toss of her head, she’d dismissed him and his query.

         “Since when do I go out in the evenings?”

         Well, perhaps he’d surprise her. Might cheer her up a bit, she’d been very crabby recently.  He thought about the other evening when he’d burned her saucepan making popcorn. She’d gone on and on…. he thought he’d never hear the last of it.  No wonder Dad had done a bunk.  His throat constricted and he swallowed, trying to ignore a sudden pain in the region of his heart. He would never have thought the old man had it in him. Fancy him running off with Mrs Harris from next door. An image flashed before his eyes of a woman with shiny blonde hair, narrow waist and a curvy bum that jiggled when she walked. He swallowed again, trying to ignore a pain of a different sort - he’d fancied her himself.

Tearing his thoughts away, he screwed up his face and dragged himself back to the job in hand. What had his English teacher advised?  “Be meticulous in your description.”

Suddenly, he was there. His body was bent double as he felt the full force of the gale lashing him with rain catapulted from the sky.  His face streamed and he licked his lips, tasting the salt laden wind as he forced himself on through narrow, cobbled streets following the shadowy figures of his companions as they snaked towards the shore. They were almost there when, with a tremendous crash, a bolt of lightning split the heavens and illuminated the scene. Tommy gasped. He could clearly see the stricken ship. Listing heavily to port, it was battling valiantly against the boiling sea whose white tipped waves were thrashing its sides and foaming across its decks. His feet crunched over the sand and now he could clearly hear the groaning of the vessel as it laboured towards them. Suddenly, the calm face of the moon appeared through a gap in the racing clouds and he fancied he caught sight of pale, despairing faces staring landwards.

There was no time to lose if they were to succeed. The group of men separated and ran towards the ocean. Despite hands numbed by the cold, they worked swiftly, placing colza lamps among the jagged rocks until their deadly surfaces gleamed with a beckoning yellow glow. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

Very soon, the moan of the wind was lost in a grinding crash as the ship foundered and screams rent the air as bodies plummeted into the surf. The waiting men raced into the swell rescuing bobbing casks and wooden trunks, working against the tide threatening to sweep their booty out to sea. The waves rolled in and soon bodies were littering the beach. These were ignored save any showing signs of life until an upraised cudgel sliced through the air silencing them forever.

His muscles aching, Tommy was heaving free a heavy spar when out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a young woman staggering towards him. Her soaking dress was plastered to her shape, clinging to every voluptuous curve and around her slim neck was a heavy necklace of large and lustrous emeralds. Tommy’s mouth watered as he reached for….

There was an excruciating pain in his neck as his head was jerked backwards. His eyes flew open and he gasped. An inch in front of his nose, loomed the red and furious face of Mr Wilkinson. With horrified fascination, Tommy studied every open pore and whiskery bristle as the maths teacher leaned closer.

“Back from the Land of Nod, are we Thompson? I suppose it would be too much to hope for if you knew the answer to the question I just asked?” He raised his eyebrows.

Tommy blinked and looked desperately around the room. He was the centre of attention, all his mates had turned in their seats and were staring at him, their faces registering either pity or elation, depending on their natures.

“Er…”

“I thought not.” Abruptly letting go of Tommy’s hair, Mr Wilkinson straightened. Then he stilled, as a piece of paper caught his attention.

“And, what have we here?” With a delicate pincer movement of his fingers, he picked it up. He read its contents and a sarcastic smile wreathed his face. He turned towards the class and in a melodramatic voice intoned the words.

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

“What utter tosh!”

He crumpled Tommy’s incipient masterpiece into a ball and with a flick of his wrist sent it into the nearest wastepaper basket.

“Detention….my room…Six o’clock…Wednesday evening.”

Each crisp word shook Tommy to the core. “Oh no, not Wednesday.”

He drooped behind his desk as, one by one, the multicoloured lights lining the Big Top flickered and died.

Copyright Janet Baldey