Body in the Thames

 Body in the Thames

Jane Goodhew

As she opened the curtains to let the sun shine through she noticed that her garden was covered in a carpet of snow.  How beautiful it looked, glistening and sparkly like diamonds with no footprints to spoil the image, how unfortunate that she would be the one to destroy it.

She needed to get a move on if she was to be there on time for her first day in the office of Hartman & Sons as Private Secretary to the executive of overseas   purchasing.   If there were two things she liked most of all it was travel and clothes, this position would fulfil both.  As she went up in the lift she recalled the first time she'd entered the building.  She had looked like a bedraggled, drowned rat, with windswept hair plastered down by the rain.  Today was different she had her hair swept up and held in place by clips and hairspray and her makeup was subtle but flattering.  Her outfit was navy with pink piping around the wrists and neckline complimenting her silk blouse.

Good morning, Miss said the concierge as he held the door and showed her the way to the lift. Good morning she responded with a smile that would melt frozen butter.  She could not help but marvel at the view she had from her office especially on such a day as today.  The Thames looked splendid with the boat taxis going up and down taking people to work or just on sightseeing trips on the river.   She thought about the people who had travelled along it over the centuries and in winter when it froze over how the children would go skating on it.

How many people had ended up sinking into the murky waters when a crack appeared in the ice without warning, and they were swept away by the undercurrent.  Swept out to sea never to be seen again, no goodbyes, just gone.   What was wrong with her thinking in such a negative way on this her first day at work?  Who knows the workings of a mind once it goes into fantasy land but it was time to snap out of it as Mr Hartman had just entered extending his hand for her to shake. She was not used to such manners she blushed, feeling like a teenager on a first date.   Wake up, this is not a date, its work, and time you came down to earth and showed him how efficient you are.

The days passed and turned into months and now it was summer and the Thames was busy with holiday makers and she was often distracted by all the toing and froing on the river.  It was during her coffee break, she was sitting stareing out  the window when she saw what looked like a large black bag, it was stuck by the steps leading down from the tow path and what was that sticking out the side?  It looked like a hand but it couldn’t have been, because if it were the bag must contain a body and that was just too gruesome to contemplate.  It was probably a mannequin from one of the shops and children had found it amusing to toss it into the Thames.

 She called Mr Hartman over and asked him what he could see on the other side of the river?  His face went white as he too had seen what looked like a body in a bag.  He picked up the phone and called the police. Within minutes they arrived,  a police boat arrived soon after.   They dragged the ‘body’ up onto the boat and sped off leaving onlookers wondering what was going on and how long had the body been there.  Also, who was it, surely someone would be reported missing? 

The police asked the usual questions of those in the office, but nothing of any consequence came to light. It would seem that this morning was the first time the bag had been noticed by anyone, either in the office or anywhere else  along the embankment.  It hit the headlines, ‘Body in a bag found in the Thames.’  Anyone knowing of a missing person please contact Detective Spencer 07778 675 433 with details.   Weeks turned into months and no one heard who the person was or even their gender.  It bothered her that someone could go missing and no one show any interest.  Perhaps it was a foreigner, someone on holiday who hadn’t been due home for several months.  Perhaps no one cared enough to make inquiries.   After awhile she too stopped thinking about it and then there it was, body named and case re-opened.  It was a young woman from Switzerland and several months pregnant which made it even more tragic.  There was also a photo of the young lady, smiling happily on a bright Spring morning as daffodils could be seen along the Embankment.  She stared long and hard at the photo and then it came back to her, where she had seen the face before.  It was here, the day of her interview, the young lady had entered the cloakroom, just as she was leaving. They had smiled and exchanged pleasantries then gone their separate ways.   She looked in her purse for the detectives card and rang the number.

 ‘Detective Spencer can I help you?’  She explained why she was ringing and he thanked her and said he would be there straight away to talk to the staff so make sure she made herself known and he would meet her at the reception desk.    It seemed like an eternity before he appeared and they went into an empty office to discuss what she knew which really wasn’t much.  It was strange that no one else had recognised the lady as others must have seen her.  Perhaps she too had been there for an interview, but if so, why had Mr Morgan not mention it? He must have seen the headlines...   

Copyright Jane Goodhew   

I Said to the Man…

  

I Said to the Man 2…

By Jane Goodhew 

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the  year.

“I don’t suppose you could move your rear.

As I need to get through and you are spoiling the view”

He looked at me with disgust and then with a huff

He moved to the side and said

“I am your guide”

And without further ado took me for a ride.

Over the lawn and around the lakes

On his oversized mower

For it was his garden that had won prize of the year!

Oh dear!

Too Short for Comfort ~ (300 words)

 Too Short for Comfort

By Jane Goodhew

Rain was not forecast for today but that did not seem to stop it from tipping it down and now I looked like the combination of a drowned rat or a severely depressed person in need of some tender loving care!   There was nothing I could do about it as my interview was in ten minutes and I still had to find the correct building.  Of all days for me to be late in leaving home it had to be today.   Finally I saw number 300 so pushed the door open and went straight to the receptionist to introduce myself and apologise for my dishevelled appearance.  She gave me a look that said it all and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.  Instead, I smiled sweetly at her and asked if I had time to use the washroom before my interview?  She nodded and gave me directions but said to make sure I was on time because Mr Walker was very punctual.   With lightening speed I was there and back again and she looked in amazement when she saw the transformation the use of the hand dryer and some fresh lipstick could make.

“Miss Taylor”?  I turned in the direction of the voice and a tall, distinctive man was standing in the doorway, “please come in”.      The office was bright with natural light from the wall to ceiling. The windows had a view across London to the Thames.  He pulled the chair out for me and asked if I would like a drink, tea, coffee or something stronger.  I declined the offer and asked if perhaps he would like to give me more information about his expectations and if I was suitable when the start date would be?  Smiling and without further ado said “Tomorrow?”

Copyright Jane Goodhew

  

 A Fantasy Nightmare

By Jane Goodhew

The snow crackled as I made the first footprints into what looked like winter wonderland and wandered around the lakes to the house on the other side of the hill.  It was so beautiful, the snow was frozen onto the trees and the icicles hung like large diamond earrings or over excessive glitter on a Christmas card.  Blue skies and a bright sun that reflected its rays on everything it touched meant that it did not appear to be cold even though it was minus 14.5 degrees.  It was magical and my mind began to wander and imagine all sorts of things not the usual Santa on his sleigh with his elves helping but of people from the past who had long gone; of mythical creatures that flew through the air and then skimmed across the ice to see if there were fish below.

So jumbled were my thoughts and changing so rapidly that I was not paying attention to what was really around me until thud I landed and banged my head on a jagged rock that was projecting out from the side of the hill.  When I came too I really thought I must still be dreaming as I was in a house and not one I recognised and several vertically challenged men were staring at me as if I had grown two heads like something out of a Greek or Roman Myth.  It was the seven dwarves from Sleeping Beauty and behind them was the three bears and yes Goldilocks.   I had entered into the land of make believe, all I needed now was Alice from Wonderland to appear.

As if by magic she did and smiled as if to say I know how you feel I have also been there is a dream but this was no dream it was real.  I could see them, hear them and feel them as they tended to my needs, fed me chicken soup and tucked me up in their small bed.  The fire glowed bright and warmed me as I felt sleepy and closed my eyes again and hoped that when I opened them I would be back home and this would have been nothing more than a strange fantasy after reading my children fairy tales and watching sentimental films.

The darkness took over and I slept like a baby well until the morning when I could hear the birds singing but not ordinary tweet tweet or chirping but in time to ‘I know you; you walked with me upon a dream’.  Beautiful sweet songs which filled my heart with happiness but as in my own world it was short lived.  A loud cackle came from the kitchen and a wizened old woman bent and haggard looking hobbled over with as you guessed an apple in her hand.  This really was too much how on earth could anyone be expected to endure so many jumbled stories rolled into one’s nightmare which this was becoming impossible to imagine let alone believe.  She looked at me through her beady eyes which reminded me of an eagle about to dive at it’s prey and she stepped forward, almost glided, her feet made no sound and before you knew it she was bending down over me her hand outstretched with an apple perched upon it.

                                                       

 ‘Manger, manger’ she kept saying, why was she speaking French, I was not in France or any French speaking country.  Then I remembered my first Mother-in-law forcing me to eat chicken curry which I would have enjoyed had she given me the breast meat but instead she gave me the bones of the carcass! Why was I thinking of her now, she had been dead for years and I can’t pretend to have missed her and anyway that was in Mauritius and I was not there.  Come to think of it I am not so sure that I am anywhere I seem to have lost the plot and the will to go on.

The sun moved around and was no longer shining in through the window so I could see the outline of a face, of one I recognised from the present time, not from years long gone.    It was my old friend and walking companion who must have come to save me.  I tried to sit up, to wave my hand, to call out but nothing, no movement, no sound, just stillness and the old hag staring.  My friend had not seen me and for reasons best be known to her did not bother to knock or ask if anyone had seen me.  I had been overlooked, deserted, stranded in this living world of fantasy.

 

     Copyright Jane Goodhew                                                         

 Love at first sight

By Jane Goodhew

Dark eyes, long lashes

Love at first sight

How could I resist

The gentle way she moved

The way she just accepted her fate

And on their first date

Fell pregnant with a wild and unmanageable child

The first of several who skipped through the grass

Until it was time for them to leave

But then my favourite one had a son

being a September birth

He was named Virgil

It was not a name that suited for he was a large and clumsy male

Who even when fully grown would run to his mum to be pampered and spoilt

She loved him so much she just gently obliged his every whim

But now he’s alone for dear Pixie died a tragic death and was taken unceremoniously legs in the air to her resting place.

The knackers yard

For my beloved Pixie was a cow but oh how I cried the day I heard she had died.

Copyright Jane Goodhew

Virgil and Pixie

A Ghost Wore Knowing

A Ghost Wore Knowing

By Jane Goodhew

The trial was finally at an end after several long months due to being held up more times than a bank.  The verdict, guilty to murder in the first degree, tomorrow she would be hung by the neck until dead.  I wanted to laugh as it was such a stupid statement what else would you be if someone hung you?  It was no laughing matter I had less than 24 hours of my life left and what had I to show for it.  The past 10 years I had worked in an office as a shorthand typist.  All very mundane, one day pretty much the same as the other.  Then I saw the advert for a travel companion and decided to take the opportunity to do something that might be exciting and who knows I could even meet Mr. Right, there had certainly been enough that were wrong. I typed up my CV and enclosed a hand-written letter setting out why I wanted to be given the chance to become the perfect companion.  The words flowed as I wrote my interests, my dreams and my appearance.  Admittedly there was some exaggeration to my finer points and I omitted my more negative aspects but poetic licence must be allowed if one is to succeed.

 

                                 

 

 

I then waited for the outcome and to make sure I did regardless of the answer I enclosed a SAE.  A week passed and then I saw the envelope written in my own fair-hand, trembling I opened it and I had to sit down, subject to a week’s trial before the start of the trip the job was mine.  I was to start immediately.  I was owed some holiday and so I handed in my notice and left at the end of that week and so began the adventure of a life time! I had never been happier, my companion was a widower who had been on his own for over a decade and decided that before it was too late he would go on a round the world cruise but not alone hence advertising for a companion.  He liked what he imagined I would be like and once he met me he knew he hadn’t made a mistake as I was just like his late wife.  He talked endlessly about her until I believed she was there with us, a threesome.  At night I could smell the aroma of Knowing by Estee Lauder it had been her favourite perfume and he still kept a bottle so he could envisage her there.  It lingered for hours and I began to feel ill as it wafted around the cabin, there was no escape.  He even brought her dresses for me to wear in the evening; it would seem we were the same size, how convenient!

One evening I met a couple who had known the late Mrs St John and it seemed I was a remarkable resemblance to her, spookily so they said.  I began to wonder what I had let myself in for; if only I had known I would not be sat here awaiting the hangman.

I suppose you must wonder who it is I have been accused of murdering; I am reluctant to use the term murder as I do not consider it as that as it was he who had doctored the drink and it had been intended for me. It was the last night before we returned to England and we had stayed up late drinking and talking to other passengers. He had ordered a brandy coffee to help him sleep and one for me as we were not docking until midmorning so there was no early start.  I don’t know what made me swap the cups but something did and the next thing I knew he had collapsed back into his chair and was quite dead.  The post mortem showed arsenic poisoning and there were dregs of it in his coffee cup, the cup that had been intended for me.  In his cabin they found a copy of his last will and testament and he had left all his estate to me, his travel companion. That was what convinced the jury that I had poisoned him, motive Greed.  None of it made sense why would he want to leave everything to me and then poison me, there was no logic to it but then it made me think of his wife and had he done the same to her?  I felt her presence in the cell as if she had decided to keep me company until the end as if she were thanking me for changing the cups as yes it was exactly what he had done to her and now she had her revenge she was just sorry that it meant I had to die too. 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

The Wheelbarrow

The Wheelbarrow

By Jane Goodhew

 

It was still early Spring, but the sun was shining and the birds singing. So, time to make use of it and get out into the garden which was in a very sorry state after a long and wet winter.  In the corner, hidden beneath years of growth and garden refuse, I'd kidded myself was a nature reserve for wildlife, like the resident hedgehog and anything else that cared to live there I spied the remains of my beloved, but past its prime, wheelbarrow.  Unfortunately, it was rather dilapidated with its wheel missing so not much use as they were rather hard to replace but, waste not want not.   I dragged it out and hosed it down and already it began to look more presentable after a good scrub and with all the debris removed. In the shed was an old pot of paint so out came the sheet which I spread over the patio and placed the barrow upon it and started to sand it down and then give it a coat of paint.  That wasn’t enough so rifling through the cupboards and finding more pots of unused paint I got them all out and began with a mural on the sides.  Flowers, trees and fairies floated around the sides and the inside was a vivid green that rose in layers till it ended in the deepest blue for the sky.  Left in the sun to dry I went off to the garden centre to buy some potting soil, plants and new pots. By the time I returned my wheel barrow had taken on a new lease of life as the paint had dried and the mural looked like something from an Enid Blyton book combined with the Flower Fairies or at least it did to my biased eyes.

 

Now to decide where to place it before putting in the newly potted plants to finish off my project.   After some deliberation, I decided near the Weeping Willow overlooking the pond and near the rustic bench was the perfect spot especially as I had some left over patio slabs that I could put down for it to stand on and not sink into the lawn or topple over into the pond.   The end result was just what I wanted so with a freshly made cup of tea I sat down to admire my handy work and catch the last rays of sun before it left for the day and listen to the birds sing.    Bliss.                  

                                       

       

                                                                                     

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew                                                                                                                   

 Pandoras Box (Revisited) 

By Jane Goodhew 

Pandora often thought about the day Zeus had left and told her he was entrusting a box into her care and under no circumstance should she open it.   Of course, the worst thing he could have done was to tell her not to and needless to say she did and all the world has suffered the consequences ever since. 

Although Pandora had desperately tried to shut the box she did not succeed and only hope was left and many see this as a curse not something to give people the will to continue in whatever it is but in fact as a cause of ‘deceptive expectation’. How a person interprets it will depend very much on the individual and frequently we hear people say, ‘never give up on hope.’  Is this leading the person to further pain and suffering or is there a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.  Who knows all we do know is curiosity killed the cat and he/she unlike humans has nine lives.  

‘Pandora, Pandora why could you not listen and contain that natural curiosity of yours but then why did I give it to you when I knew full well you could not?  So perhaps I, Zeus, the greatest of them, as I defeated the Titans, am to blame for the misery that has been brought into the world not you Pandora.   Forgive me, I have no excuse and it is wrong that mankind has tortured you for eternity by blaming you for all the woes here on earth.   Perhaps if I take it back and fill it with the good there is in the world, with love and peace and harmony and of course hope can remain for it seems people do so like to hope and see it as a symbol of good not bad?’

‘So, my dearest Pandora tonight whilst you sleep, I shall gather all those evils together and replace them then next time when you open it which I am sure you will only the goodness will escape and we will all live in paradise again?’

Unfortunately for Zeus, Pandora had been too traumatized by what had happened the first time that when she saw the box next to her bed she ordered her servants to take it far out to sea and drop it to the bottom of the ocean but first they were to have it set inside a stone slab so that it would never again float to the surface and contaminate the world.

 

        Copyright Jane Goodhew                                                    

 The Last Word

By Jane Goodhew

The weather was abnormally hot for the time of year instead of an average 23C it had remained in the high 30s even at night it had not dropped below 26C.  They were not complaining it was why they travelled abroad especially at this time of year when in the UK the weather was becoming cold and wet and the nights were drawing in so they seemed to be in perpetual darkness.   She hated the dark days of winter and would love to be able to live permanently in the sun but in reality that was unlikely to happen.

They decided not to spend the days just going to the beach or by the pool, tempting as it was just to laze in the warmth and enjoy the sight of blue, blue skies and be thankful for the occasional breeze.  They got up early and by 8.20 am were on the first local bus to Varna 100km away.  As she sat on the bus looking out the window she noticed a young man sitting on a bench, his head in his hands and a look of total despair and rejection on his pale face.  She wondered what could be so bad to make someone who was only in his mid-twenties look so lost and as the bus pulled out she realised she never would and also that it really was none of her business.

The miles passed and the bus continued to climb the steep road until it reached the top and the view was spectacular, fields, woodland and in the far distance the sea.  What more could a person ask for?  The sound of a snore told her, as it would seem her daughter preferred to sleep than to enjoy the scenery but at least she was there and had not refused to go with her.  Nearly two hours later they had reached their destination but had not a clue what they really wanted to do as although they had done their homework and looked up on Trip Advisor ‘things to do in Varna’ she had completely forgotten any of it so they just wandered.  They started at first at the shopping mall as it was next to the bus station but there was nothing of interest so they moved onto the many streets that led???? Exactly were did they lead as instead of remaining on the main routes she kept taking shortcuts in the direction that she believed must lead to the coast.  They did not really want to go to the museums or to the Opera House and although Emma had mentioned the beach prior to leaving the hotel as someone had told her of Golden Sands which was meant to be one of the best beaches in Bulgaria when we started to walk in the direction that the sea must be in, she started to complain, but I ignored her as I think it was all part and parcel of her being on holiday with me.

We stopped at a café well we actually stoped at 3 as the first two were either not suitable or we were just ignored as the other customers were young mothers with noisy children so we decided to move on.  The third was a small place frequented by locals, on the corner of a back street, a young boy and his mother sat eating and laughing at something the other had said.  A very young girl came to give us a menu, the only snag it was completely in Bulgarian and the girl try as she might could not understand that we just wanted a drink and some small snack.   She went away with a smile and came back with a lively, older girl who had been to London and could speak some English, so we were sorted and enjoyed a cup of coffee and blueberry cheese cake before starting on our way.

Emma was becoming more irritated by each passing moment as we walked further and further yet seemed to get no nearer the sea just one dead end after another.  Her phone informed her that she had walked 12,000 steps, not that that meant anything to me and anyway walking is good for you although perhaps not in this heat and not when the last dead end seemed to drop down onto a motorway!   The consolation prize was that the sea could be seen in the distance so keep positive and walking.

Finally, we found a tourist information and were shown the correct directions to get us to the beach and just in time for lunch we found the ideal restaurant right on the sandy beach, overlooking the crystal clear, turquoise sea and unlike our resort not completely taken over by sunbeds and umbrellas.  The cost of the afore said at 28 Lev per day would be an unnecessary extravagance when there were so many places to explore and public transport reliable and cheap.  Once again we seemed to be invisible as waiters went to other customers and continued to ignore us, that is until I helped myself to a menu.  It had the desired effect and the most charming as well as tall, dark and yes, handsome waiter with a smile that would melt the hardest of hearts asked if we were ready for him to take our order.  If I were 20 years younger I would be more than ready but back to reality, we both ordered and then just sat back and watched as the world went by and we appreciated the end result of our long walk.

A few tables down were a glamourous middle aged couple; they sat and ate in silence barley looking at one another or at the beautiful surroundings.  If one were a cynic you might assume they were married as for so many once that ring was put on your finger all the sweet nothing whispering and long, lingering looks seem to vanish and be replaced by a stoney silence.  She was made up immaculately, as if she were going to the theatre, her dress was pure silk in a pale lilac with a long scarf draped over her delicate shoulders.  He was in a light coloured day suit not the way one would dress to be literally down on the beach but more at one of the expensive restaurants high up on the cliffs overlooking it with a far reaching view to capture the sunset over the horizon and watch the moon and stars as you sip your wine late into the night.  She looked up at him and a sad expression crossed her face as she put down her knife and fork and reached across at him and holding his hand whispered into his ear.  He pushed the chair back with such force and he turned and went but before he did he could be heard saying ‘Morte’.   He did mumble something else but it could not be heard and he was gone.  She tried hard to look as if nothing had happened, the waiter came and put the chair back into place and took away the plates and returned with her desert of a simple fruit cocktail.

Sometime later the waitress went across to ask if she required anything else or would she like the bill, it was then that the silence and peace was disturbed by a shrill scream and the waitress cried out for assistance.  Something terrible had happened to the lady, people went over to see if they could help and eventually an ambulance arrived but nothing could be done, the lady in lilac was dead.  We all had to remain where we were so that we could tell the police exactly what we had seen or heard, I remembered quite clearly her husband's final words but then I also recalled as her head had been lifted up to see if she had choked on something, a wasp had flown out.  Therefore, the verdict anaphylactic shock.  What an ending to a day out. 

 

                                          

Copyright Jayne Goodhew

 Dancing Light

By Jane Goodhew

I drew back the curtains to let the sun shine through

And the colours danced across the room

As the light caught the crystals hanging on a thread

They reminded me of delicate butterflies

flying from flower to flower

Or a rainbow in the sky after a light April shower

The beautiful colours so vibrant and clear brought back memories of you all my dears

                           

                  

The love of the friends who had given them to me

 so many years before

Time stood still and I saw their faces again

 even those that were a long time dead

Memories are the gifts they leave 

of the colour they gave to our world

so if in the present you are feeling alone

Just remember that they are always still here

 

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

Cheap Lives

 Cheap Lives

By Jane Goodhew

If you are reading this then you have either purchased or picked up a copy of the magazine which contains the sort of stories that you would expect to find in an X rated movie or cheap novel but never to have been written by yourself.

Yet, this is my story; it may sound familiar to some of you who are reading this in the hope of finding inspiration and I do not mean to write for a group that you are in but the motivation to move out of the situation.  The one that so far you have not had the power to leave or anywhere to go that you will not be found and returned to the hell you were living in and continue to live and will do until you decide enough is enough.

There will be others of you who have such boring, mundane lives that this is how you get your cheap adrenaline rush, reading other people’s sordid, sad lives of sex, depravity, violence or even murder. You may think that this could never happen to your or any member of your family, but it can and does even to those who you think are in a happy and stable relationship they too can have their secrets.

Those who have high-powered and highly paid jobs, they are not exempt they can just disguise it more by sending you to a health spa until you have recovered or if really serious to a plastic surgeon to fix that broken nose or displaced jaw or to remove the scars from your wrists where you tried to kill yourself or just to replace one pain with another.

I can almost feel you cringe and blush as you realise, I am talking about you, and you wonder how many more are sitting at home thinking ‘Oh my god that is me! Yet you do not like to see yourself as a pathetic victim, so you allow such demeaning, despicable behaviour to continue and you continue to make excuse after excuse.

So, what do you intend to do? Continue reading in the hope I will save you from this hell by giving you permission or the method to leave. There is no magic answer, no fairy wand to wave away your misery, no wishing will make it happen, it must come from you. You could stop now and go upstairs and pack a bag, get your passport and any small treasured items you can carry and just leave but no you continue to sit there and imagine it will all go away so make more excuses such as it is coming up for Christmas and you don’t have relatives to take you in, you are not yet at the stage of desperation where a doorstep is preferable to being in your comfortable home so you continue to sit and sip your tea and read on until it is time to pick the children up from school. 

For others of you the children are all grown and moved on and have jobs and family of their own. They no longer bother to visit very often as their lives are too busy and anyway, Australia, the USA and any other far flung country is about as far from you and your situation that they could go as they knew no matter what they said you would not leave.   You had dedicated your life to being a martyr as you believed in the sanctimony of marriage and the vows you had taken. Harsh you may think, who is this person to say such things. But are your vows the real reason you stay?

Well, I cannot share my sordid pathetic life with you so pick up the phone and ask for help, find that refuge, I don’t say women’s because there are many men out there who are physically and mentally abused by the woman in their lives but are too ashamed to admit it.  They consider it a failure, that it would not be manly to admit that a woman hit them, or ridiculed them until they lacked self-esteem and believed that no one else would want them or love them as she did when she was not tormenting or goading or proving he was not a man as he cowered in the doorway as she moved towards him with that smile that meant she was about to strike.

The night before I had been prepared to leave, he came home struck for the final time. The police are here now and are about to take his body away. I had just the strength to type this concluding chapter and press send to wish you all a Merry Christmas and may your New Year be without fear, filled with love, health, and happiness even if it means alone. I am going to be at peace for the first time in years, for an eternity because they will find a second body and it is mine.

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 

Your Words on Spring

  

Your Words on Spring

By Jane Goodhew

 

Listening to your words on Spring

As I walked past a tree bare of leaves                  

I heard a cacophony of sound

That could have filled the Albert Hall

Looking up I saw so many birds happy that they were back    

 

                

 

And looking down there was green

Of stems pushing through the once frozen soil

And soon a flower would bloom

 

If you wander through the woods

You may already spot

The snowdrop standing bold upright

Like a guard outside the palace

But being shy they prefer to stay protected

Beneath the sturdy oak

With a white cap upon their pretty heads

So, they may blend in with any lingering flurries of snow or fros 

                                     

Unlike the golden daffodil

So bold and bright      

Who reminds you of the sun

That is trying so hard to shine

Go further out and in the fields

Lambs are suckling from their mothers breast.

 

                                   

 

If they hear you, they may run as startled by the sound

But she just stands her ground knowing they will soon come skipping back

So, they can snuggle up to her At night 

when they will be disturbed by blood curdling howls of Foxes

As he prowls the land looking for his mate

Or a tasty meal for his first date

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 

 It’s a week before Christmas

By Jane Goodhew

It is a week before Christmas and there is so much to do but first, I shall sit by the tree and remember. Your first steps, your sweet smile, the laughter in your eyes and the sparkle that shone around you where ever you went.  Life was magical with you in it, and I wanted so much for you to love me as I loved you and not just because I was your mother. I had waited so long to have a child of my own but finding the perfect man was not that simple or easy to do.                                                         

  I eventually did when I wasn’t even looking, he walked into the office and as he strode towards me my heart missed a beat, and I felt as if I would faint.  It sounds far fetched and straight out of Mills & Boon but that was how it was. From that day forth he was mine and I was his. We were married within a year and by the end of the next, Sebastian our son you were born. You was perfect as perfect could be in every way and rarely cried, so life was bliss. We had moved into a cottage in the village and the garden seemed to stretch for miles with a small lake towards the bottom. Trees grew along the side, so we were secluded and protected from the rest of the world. It was idyllic especially for the first few years, I had remained at home to be a mother and wife and keep house. I never thought it would be enough to satisfy me, but it was, as I learnt to cook and sew and make jams and preserves for the autumn. I joined the mother and baby club and took you swimming and for walks in the park. We had it all but that was all about to change.

  Your father started staying out later and later until he stopped coming home at all. Whilst we were out, he would return and take his belongings and then he left a note saying we were over. He was sorry but he realised that marital bliss was not for him, and he would leave us the house and enough income to last until you finished full time education and then a small amount to keep me going until I found appropriate work. I sat on the sofa totally stunned by what I read after all we had only been married a few years and we had always seemed so happy together. We didn’t row, we were loving and romantic and had time to ourselves, so it was not all divided between work and being a parent.  What had happened to make him just walk away? Perhaps I will never know and a part of me didn’t want to find out, so I didn’t, I just accepted it and got on with life, just you and me. 

The years past quickly and you enjoyed school and made many friends who often came over to play. We built a tree house, and you would spend many happy hours in the evening playing with your friends and imagining far away places that you would one day visit. I tried to show you as much of the world as I could, and we would holiday in a different country every summer and Christmas. I never liked the idea of Christmas at home just you and me and the tree. I know you sometimes would have wanted a more traditional time with family and friends and presents around the 'over decorated' tree, with a plate left out for Santa. I just couldn’t do it; it was too painful as your father, and I would be like children with presents and surprises for one another.  We laughed and sang and played charades and Scrabble and occasionally invited the neighbours in for a drink or two.

  One year we even threw a New Years Eve party and had lights all through the garden, it was like a winter wonderland, and I loved all he did to make our life perfect. If only I had known what the following year would bring but I didn’t as I had worn rose coloured glasses and lived in a dream, a fantasy.   I had thought of selling our home once he had made it perfectly clear that he would never be returning but I didn’t know where I   would go, and you were happy here.

  Your Grandparents would visit once a year and bring family photos and videos so we could see what your father was like as a child. The years blended one into another and your teenage years were filled with nights out and parties. I hoped you would work harder at school as you seemed to be an academic rather than a craftsman. Although you did like painting and music so had piano lessons, but they soon went the way of everything else and became part of your past. You did enjoy sport, and weekends were filled with rugby and football and in the summer cricket or tennis. Then the girls started to call, and you would drive off with the roof down and the wind in your hair and I wouldn’t see you until late Sunday night.

                                                                  

  I guess that just about covers your life in a nutshell.   I look around the room at the photos of you over the years and the smile on your face the day you graduated and wanted to get all those moments back. There were no more moments, no more memories, no photos just letters of condolence and flowers and mumbling messages left on the answer phone. How sorry they were for my loss. How tragic that his life had been cut short just as his future was opening up for him.

 

All I have now are my memories of life as it once was before that fateful day when you leapt into your car and without a care in the world drove off never to return until the hearse bought you home in a box.                                         

 

That was a lifetime ago and now there is just me and this rambling old house filled with memories of you my son and the tears stream down my face when I realise you will never walk through the door again.  You have no tomorrow, you only had your yesterday and I hope they were happy, that you were and that one day I will see your smiling face and your sparkling eyes and hear your laughter fill the air once more.  Til then I shall just sit here and remember a Christmas when life was good and we had fun.  

 

                  Copyright Jane Goodhew                                                                                                        .                                                   

                                      

                                                                                                                                                             

 

 

 Are we there yet?

By Jane Goodhew

“Are we there yet, are we there yet?” they repeated the words over and over until I thought if I heard them one more time, I would open the car door and shove the pair of them out!  What was I thinking of, not about shoving them out the door but in taking them to a pantomime.  A pantomime used to be exactly that a mime meaning actions speak louder than words but how they have changed and now they are loud, brash and not my idea of comedy or fun in any shape or form.  I tried to control my temper, to refrain from taking the next left and going back home after all it was Christmas.  The season to be loving and giving and suffering, after all isn’t childbirth suffering and Mary had given birth to Jesus, which was why we celebrate, isn’t it?  Although I think the meaning has been lost in translation over the last century and now it appears to be a time for greed and overindulgence and pantomime.  I could almost hear myself say “BAH Humbug” as I was beginning to sound like Scrooge.

“Which one are we seeing,” they ask in unison, and I have to think hard for which one we are seeing.  “Cinderella” I say and then the song Cinderella rock a fella keeps on repeating itself in my head and how I long for the Sound of Silence.  I keep driving telling myself to still be calm, and at peace, it will soon be over, and they will be back at school and normality will prevail.  For they are not even my children but my sisters, away at the moment taking a restful holiday in the sun with her workaholic husband who could only take this period off from his busy schedule.  How convenient!

I remind myself to be more charitable and less hostile towards them after all they are delightful, polite, well mannered, no problem at all.  Who was I kidding they were little monsters, they awoke early,  and even when sent to bed they continued chattering away until late and if I went upstairs to ask them to be quiet they just looked at me as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths and as soon as my back was turned begin again.

“Aunty, Aunty” they scream in delight, as they see the sign for the theatre.  We are almost there but, first we stop off to buy some sweets at the corner shop; as they are always extortionate in the foyer.  I am Scrooge!  They stock up on all that would be banned the rest of the year, and they look so angelic when they smile sweetly and say, “Thank you Aunty, we do love you and enjoy staying with you.”  How they manage to say it with such a straight face I don’t know perhaps they are psychopaths in the making.

Back in the car, they resume their game of Eye Spy and that was when I spied another sign, the billboard for Cinderella and a poster straight across it with the words CANCELLED DUE TO SICKNESS.                                                                                                                                         

                                                                                                        

My prayers had been answered as I turned the car around and headed back home with two very subdued and forlorn children who would now have to finish decorating the tree instead and go to bed early whilst they waited for Santa to call.  

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew