The Darker Half Chapter 10

The Darker Half Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

By Janet Baldey

ANNA

         She made it up with her father, of course she did.  He was the one person in her world that she truly loved. They never spoke about the kitten again but Anna would not set one foot in the workshop and her father must have felt the same because shortly afterwards he laid the foundations for a new one at the far end of the garden.  He said he needed more space but Anna knew the real reason. All the same, Anna no longer spent evenings in his company; something had changed, and Alec had forced the change.

         To avoid her brother, she took to spending a lot of time next door with her friend Greta, until that too, came to a close. But Anna rarely thought about that, it was too humiliating and, as she had grown to expect, Alec had been the cause of her disgrace.

         She had  first met Greta on the day they’d moved house. The weeks before that had been weird and unsettled.  Her mother and father hadn’t laughed or even smiled at each other for a long time and the days were filled with long gloomy silences broken only by the whine of Alec’s voice as he complained, usually about her.

         ‘Mummy, Anna won’t play with me…’ or ‘Mummy Anna’s hidden my train…’ These grouches were usually the result of Alec’s own actions but at the time she had been too young to fight her own corner. Instead, tears of inarticulate rage would flood from her eyes as she struggled to find the right words.

         “ If Alec wasn’t so nasty, I would play with him, and I haven’t touched his train.”

         “In what way is he nasty, Anna? Don’t forget he’s smaller than you. Just be patient wiv’ him. Now, get out of my way the both of you, can’t you see I’m busy.’

         Her mother was always busy recently and so was her father. But in spite of that Anna thought the place was a mess. Doors hung ajar all over the house, even in their parents’ bedroom and once she’d peeked inside and seen every drawer open and piles of clothes spilling across the bed and onto the floor. She was constantly coming across mounds of household clutter with labels stuck to them, but the writing on the notes was so scrawly she couldn’t read it. Nothing was as it should be and they were lucky if they got one proper meal a day. Otherwise it was just the case of grabbing a biscuit whenever they felt peckish.  She didn’t know what was going on and feeling out of sorts and miserable, she’d started another game with Alec despite knowing that it would turn into yet another disaster.

         Searching around for an idea, at last she suggested painting a picture and made the mistake of trusting him to look after her precious box of paints while she went to get a beaker full of water from the kitchen. When she’d returned, her brother was bent over her box carefully spitting into each bright rectangle of colour and using a dry brush to mix his spit into the paint. Alec had looked up, smiling spitefully, as she stared at the brush’s bristle, now splayed like a sweep’s brush and her beautiful colours, every one reduced to a sludgy mauve.

         “I’ll let you into a secret, if you don’t tell,” he’d said.

         That was how she’d found out they were moving to another house. “Mum and Dad were having a row. I heard everything. Mum swore at him,” Alec had said, his eyes alight with malice.

         Anna had stared at him, Alec told so many lies it was a struggle to believe anything he said, but something inside told her that this time he wasn’t fibbing. Her stomach dropped like it had when she once rode in a lift. She didn’t want to leave this house, she loved it here. There were lots of rooms and secret places in which she could hide away from Alec and although it was old and creaky, it wasn’t scary at all. She wondered what their new house would be like. Would it have woods at the bottom of the garden, like this one?  Although she’d never dared go into them she loved watching the big old trees swaying in the wind and once she had seen a fox, although she first thought it was next door’s ginger cat.

         But Alec had put the thought into her mind and in the following days she watched her parents closely and everything slotted into place as she saw they were packing up. Everything was about to change but even so, it was a shock when she was eventually told.  Trying to hide her tears, she took a pencil and went to all her favourite places and signed her name in tiny letters low down near the skirting boards.  ‘I shall miss this house’ she wrote, wanting to leave something of herself behind, after all this was where she had lived ever since she had been born. She belonged here and wanted the house to know she didn’t want to leave it.

***

“What is that noise?” Her mother was upset, Anna had realised. Her face was as red as a fire engine, there was a smudge of something black on her nose and fine strands of hair had escaped from her bun and were floating in the air.  It was the boxes Anna thought, they must be getting on her mother’s nerves and that didn’t surprise her. The big, brown cartons seemed to have taken over, they were everywhere, piled up in corners, littering the floor and even blocking doorways so you had to climb over them to get out.   Her mother was standing in the centre of the room, in one of the few clear spaces, her hands bunched into fists, her eyes rolling in a helpless sort of panic. Every now and then she’d turn towards one box, change her mind half-way and wheel-round to another. Anna cocked her head and heard the faint sound of hammering.

         “Daddy’s putting up shelves.”

         “No, not that noise; that squeak.” Anna listened again, there was a faint and scratchy sound as if someone’s fingernails were clawing down something hard, over and over again.

         “Don’t know,” she said at last, but her mother had lost interest.

         “Where’s your brother? I thought you was looking after ‘im?”

          Anna shrugged her shoulders. “I was, but he ran off.”

         “Well, for Chrissake go and find him. Quick, this minute. The last thing I need is for ‘im to get lost again.”

         Anna turned and squeezed through the door. She noticed that the removal van had gone.  She’d thought it exciting when it first arrived, panting and growling up the hill, like an enormous dinosaur, but had changed her mind when it started eating all their furniture. She’d felt frightened then, wondering where they were going and what their new house would be like. To try and calm herself, she’d wandered around re-visiting all her favourite places for the last time but that had only made her feel sad.

         Alec didn’t want to move either and as usual he made his feelings quite clear. When they were all packed up and ready to go, her mother called up the stairs, “Anna, Alec, we’re ready. Come and get in the car, quickly now.”

         Anna poked her pencil into a crack in the floorboard and went to the top of the stairs.

         “Where’s your brother?”

         Anna shrugged, and her mother raised her voice. “Alec, come down here at once.”

         Her voice echoed in the hollowness of the empty house and Anna knew he wasn’t there.  She could always sense when her brother was missing, the air felt lighter somehow.

          “I don’t think he’s up here Mum.”

         “Well, where is the dratted child then. You’d better go and make sure. Check every room and don’t forget to look in the cupboards. You know what he’s like.” But although they searched the whole house, upstairs and downstairs, there was no sign of her brother and her mother started to blubber with panic.

         “Oh, Gawd, I hope he hasn’t gone into the wood. He could get lost in there.”  She raised her voice even more until it was almost a scream.

         “Len, Len, We can’t find Alec anywhere. I think ‘e must be in the woods.”

         Anna was sure he wasn’t; he was too nosy for that. She’d bet he was hiding where he could see but not be seen, that was more Alec’s style. Suddenly, she had an idea and ran out of the house. There was a broken-down shed at the bottom of the garden, it was too full of spiders and creepy-crawlies for her, but she knew her brother spent a lot of time there, doing what she couldn’t imagine.

         The door squealed as she pushed it open and a fine drift of dirt fell into her hair, with a shudder, she brushed it away hoping no spiders had fallen on her.

         “Alec,are you here?” Silence, but it wasn’t an empty silence, she was sure she could hear the sound of him breathing, her mother was always worried about his adenoids.

.        “Alec, come out now,” she yelled.

         “No, shan’t!”

         She poked her head inside the shed and immediately recoiled.

          “Phew it stinks in there. Alec have you done a poo?’ 

         There was no answer but she didn’t think he had. It wasn’t an Alec sort of smell. She knew that because Alec often came into her room and farted, just to annoy her. This smell was worse, the sort that clogged up your throat, a dead sort of smell. She definitely wasn’t going in there and anyway she couldn’t pull Alec out. Although he was small and skinny, he was very strong.

         “Dad,” she called “I’ve found him.”

         Her father and mother had both come running and her Daddy had burst in and yanked him out. Alec had screamed and bawled all the way to the car. Her Daddy had almost thrown him into the back seat without saying a word but Anna knew he was angry because, as he drove away, she saw the back of his neck was all red and the car jumped and jerked like a kangaroo, so she guessed her Daddy was being rough with its pedals.

         Now he was missing again. What a pain he was, he only did it to annoy but somehow it was always her fault and as always, she had to go and find him.

         Anna hadn’t taken to their new house. It was much smaller and shabbier than their old one and as she went through the front door, she noticed the grubby blue paint was faded and chipping off in places, so you could see the bare wood. But the worst bit about it was that there was no wood at the bottom of the garden, only a rickety old fence and beyond that somebody else’s garden. She looked around then ran down the path that cut through the long grass that was supposed to be a lawn, and towards the gate. To her relief it was closed, so she guessed Alec hadn’t left the garden. She still couldn’t see him but she could still hear that squeak, it was louder now so perhaps it was Alec up to some mischief or other.

         “Alec,” she called.

         “He’s up there.”

         Anna almost jumped out of her shoes. The voice was coming from next door’s garden and as her head swivelled, she saw a girl of about her own age sitting on a rusty swing that squeaked every time she propelled herself backwards and forwards. The girl  had curly blonde hair tied back with a pink ribbon that matched the colour of her dress and her eyes were very blue. As Anna stared, the girl let go with one arm and pointed upwards. Following the line of her finger, Anna gasped as she saw Alec half-way up a crooked old  tree, his body wedged in a cleft of the twisted trunk and a branch. She ran to the foot of the tree and stared upwards.  Alec stared back at her.  His muddy brown eyes looked huge and his face was paper-white. He looked, Anna decided, like a very bad-tempered owl.

         “Alec!” She yelled. “How did you get up there? You come down this very instant before Mummy sees you.”

         Shan’t.” Alec yelled back. “Shan’t, shan’t, shan’t…”

         “He means can’t.” For the second time that day, the girl next door made her jump. Without Anna noticing, she had hopped over the sagging wire fence and was now standing by her side.

         “He’s stuck.” The girl explained. For a few second there was silence as they both thought about it. Anna’s stomach was churning. If they had to call the fire brigade, she was in so much trouble. After all, she was supposed to be looking after him.

         “He your brother?” the girl said. Anna nodded.

         “I got brothers too. They’re such a nuisance aren’t they?” Just at that very moment there was a commotion next door as two whooping and yelling boys barrelled out of the house and charged down the path.

         “See what I mean? They’re going to the park to play football. Sometimes, they play at home, but they always make me be in goal and aim right for me, ‘though they say they don’t.  Look.”

She pulled up her dress and Anna saw a big bruise flowering just above her knee. It was swollen and looked as purple as the wicked queen’s cloak in the Sleeping Beauty panto she’d seen last Christmas.

“Wow. I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah. I told Mum and she yelled at them but it never seems to make any difference.”

She looked back at the tree.  “Tell you what, I’ve got an idea. I’ll climb up and try and get him down. You stand at the bottom and catch him if he falls.”

         Anna’s eyes widened but before she could say anything the girl was swarming up the tree like a monkey, her plimsolled feet skilfully finding footholds in its gnarled trunk. Hoisting herself up onto the same branch as Alec, she edged her way towards him and there was a long, muttered conversation which Anna couldn’t hear, although she was straining her ears as hard as she could. Eventually, to her great surprise and relief, they both started to move, Alec wriggling along the branch while the girl helped him, pointing downwards at the footholds that she had used. Slowly, they both clambered down. Alec clutching at the trunk for dear life as his good leg searched for crevices while the other one swung uselessly. Anna gaped at his clumsy descent, amazed that he had managed to climb that far in the first place. His arms, she realised, must be very strong. At last he was on the ground and she stood watching as he clutched at the tree for support. His chest was working like a pair of bellows and she could hear it whistling as he fought to catch his breath. Leaves and twigs decorated his hair, his face and hands were filthy and there was a bright red graze running down his good leg. Usually, he was so fussy about his appearance that he’d fly into a hysterical rage if there was so much as a smudge of dirt on his face or clothes but now he looked like a dirtier version of Dennis the Menace in The Beano comic that her Dad bought for them. Anna felt the beginnings of a giggle at the back of her throat and clamped her lips together as tightly as she could.  At last, Alec managed to straighten up and turned to glare at her.

         “What are you staring at?” he wheezed, and not waiting for a reply, shoved past her and rocked his unsteady way back towards the house.

         “Aren’t you going to say thank you? And why did you go up there anyway?”  She shouted after him but if he heard, he didn’t reply.

         “Typical,” the girl said. She looked at Anna and grinned. Anna grinned back and then their grins widened until they both exploded with laughter, tears of helpless merriment streaming down their faces.  At last, the girl wiped her eyes and, her voice hiccupping, said “my name’s Greta, by the way. What’s yours?”

Anna always remembered that day as clearly as if it was yesterday because it started a friendship that lasted for years. She and Greta sat next to each other at primary school, both went to the local grammar and would have been friends even now, she was sure, if it hadn’t been for Alec.

Copyright Janet Baldey

Gollum Reincarnated

Gollum Reincarnated

By Peter Woodgate

He thought it oh so precious

it’s power, so extreme,

he would be master of the land

and so fulfil his dream.

Others then heard of his goal,

became consumed with hope,

devoured the power, perceived,

whilst clinging to the rope.

Divisions, driven by disdain

caused hatred amongst friends,

no doubt, the morals, waived aside,

would justify the ends.

Despite all efforts, warning,

the dangers of the dream,

his thoughts were overpowered

by obsession, it would seem.

Alas, those hanging on the rope

and hoping for perfection,

are used, but not because he cares,

but for an election.

At last, he grasps, the toxic ring

and prays that it will fit,

he reads the word, engraved thereon,

it spells, in red, “BREXIT”

Copyright Peter Woodgate

The Legacy ~ Part 2 of 3

The Legacy ~ Part 2 of 3

Part 1:

By Len Morgan

  I had hoped Elaine would soften and join me, after a few weeks, even for a few days.   But she adamantly refused to set foot inside the place, and so my lonely monastic existence continued without remission.  

I plotted, planned, and schemed, increasing my stash; it’s harder than you'd think even when your activities are not illegal.   I was neither producing forgeries nor passing off reproductions as being originals.   The duplicates are as authentic as the originals.   When I realised this I began buying and selling things at auction.   Then somewhere around my fortieth day, I heard that a number of rare Victorian cash boxes had been discovered at a local tip, and had been sold on through the local antiques market.   I reasoned it would only be a matter of time before they were traced back to me, so I destroyed and disposed of the two remaining boxes.   I placed their contents in identical plastic bags.   Unfortunately, they were not identical enough; I wound up with four stacks of money, £120,000.  Ok?  I admit it, I started to panic; it was all getting out of hand.  So I purchased an incinerator and burned two stacks, you wouldn't believe how long it takes to burn sixty thousand quid!   Duplicates are bad enough, quadruplicates plus those I had already put into circulation, cash had become far too rich for me.   So, I went back to antiques, a game I’m familiar with.

Several weeks later, a delivery van arrived at the front gates with the rest of my personal belongings.   Not only was Elaine's job too important for her to miss, she'd invited Jerry, a friend from her health club to move in with her.   It was then self-evident that I had neglected her.   So, on Saturday I drove home to surprise her.   Elaine had neglected to tell me that Jerry was a 6ft 6" muscle-bound ape suffering from acute testosterone poisoning.   She was apologetic; she explained that she had needs…

Another week passed and I reached my lowest ebb, I visited the Slater's Arms, where I’d become a regular, for my usual two to three pints in convivial company.

Laura and her friends were out on a hen night.   She was a student at the local polytechnic; her course was applied aromatherapy, physiology and massage.   We started chatting, one thing led to another, so I invited her back for coffee and some hands-on experience…   She came around six or seven times in the next two weeks, that was when I noticed the stash of cash I kept in the top drawer of my dresser was dwindling.   I asked her outright if she’d been helping herself, she didn't deny it.

“But, if you need money, all you have to do is ask,” I said.

"What do you think I am a prostitute?” she yelled, slamming the door behind her as she left.

It was two more lonely weeks before I met Dawn.   She was the proprietor of a select local antique shop.   I purchased a few incomplete and damaged sets of china from her.   I placed the good pieces in the box and smashed the damaged pieces, hey presto I had complete and matching sets.   This effectively doubled their value overnight.   I explained I had contacts in the trade who were happy to acquire pieces for me or purchase the incomplete sets from me.   Within the week she was supplying me with some quite rare singles, and one-offs.   By then, we both knew we had something special going between us but, with women, you’re never really sure if 'the something' is the same for her as it is for you.   She wanted me to go home with her, so I had to explain the stipulations of Perry's will.   She then offered to come home with me instead.   She got up for a drink in the night and found all my priceless china.

"Why do you keep it in there," she asked, curiosity piqued.

"Who would think to look for valuables there?" I asked.   A week later somebody broke-in during the day.   When I returned home the cupboard was bare.   It was then I noticed the shelves were later additions, so if I removed them I could get larger pieces inside.   Such as Tables chairs and motorbikes.   Dear grandpa had some very interesting furniture and it wasn't cheap.   As a precaution I had all the locks changed and installed a sophisticated alarm system, at the suggestion of the local crime prevention officer.   I found several of my stolen pieces at Dawn’s shop, when I confronted her she asked me to leave.   That was when I decided I could make it on my own.   

Ten days to go, and I was coasting, then Laura arrived at my front door in the early hours.   I told her to go away and leave me alone.

"I need your help Clive, It's a matter of life and death!" She sounded distressed so I opened the door.   Laura stumbled in, stoned out of her skull, closely followed by a heavy set 'man-cum-mountain', reminiscent of Jerry.

"Hi babe," she said in a false theatrical voice.   I just looked at her.

"I owe this guy, and I need a loan?"

"Whose he?"

"The names Percival Fitzroy Hammond, Fitz to my friends, you can call me Mr Hammond."

"How much," I asked.   I had already decided to pay him off.

She gave a silly laugh and hesitated, immediately I knew it would be a lot.

"Five K?" she said quickly in a whisper.

"Five thousand?" I said incredulously.   "I don't keep that sort of money in the house, not since you were here last," I said.

"What about your fridge?" she asked.   Her face puckered and tears slid down her cheeks, filling her slightly parted lips.   "He's going to kill me Clive," she whispered, looking so vulnerable.   "You’re my last hope.   Please?” she begged, trembling like a fawn.

"I was burgled, it's empty," I said.

"I ain't got time fer dis shit!   Are you gwina cough up?   Where’s dis box yoo talknabout?"  He yelled producing a telescopic police baton.

"Sit Down!   Chill,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.   I emptied my pockets how much do you have," I asked.

"Whas dis," he began.

"You’re in my home, am I likely to run off with the contents of your wallet?   Where would I go," I asked.  

He removed a fat wallet from his inside breast pocket and laid two-fifty on the table,

"Is this a scam?"He eyed me suspiciously, taking a packet of white powder from his jacket and placing it beside the money, on my 'fifties' glass coffee table.

"What's that," I asked.

"Snow," he said.

"What’s it worth?" I asked.

"Wholesale, a thousand."

I picked it up together with the cash, "Coffee or tea?" I asked moving into the kitchen.

"Whiskey!" he answered, "I never allow non-alcoholic beverages to pass my lips."

I returned ten minutes later with five packets of powder, £1,750 in cash, a bottle of Glenfidich, and three glasses.

"This is the best I can do on the fly," I said.

He eyed the powder suspiciously and tested it, "How'd ya do dat," he asked.

I tapped my nose conspiratorially.

"I aksed yo a question!" he snarled.

"I aksed you first," I said, glaring right back at him, with a mean attitude to match.

"It’ll do," he said deliberately, "But, we ain't finish, by a long stretch."   He stood up and they left.

"Thank you sweetheart, I'm forever in your debt," she said kissing me clumsily.

"Just don't come back," I replied, "I don't need this aggravation."   Even as I uttered the words, I knew the flood gates were about to open, just a matter of time I thought.

"He loves me really," I heard Laura tell Fitz, as I reached for the phone.

.-…-.

   Next morning Hammond's face stared back at me from the front page of my newspaper, large as life.    He was dubbed ‘Public Enemy No. 1'.   He had been apprehended the night before carrying two pounds of pure Heroin with a street value of half a million pounds. 

To be continued/...

Part 3:

Copyright  Lern Morgan

MIX UP

MIX UP

by Rosemary Clarke

Love is
Never having to say you're sorry.
Abuse is
Always having to say you're sorry.
Love is
When Christmas is a time of cheer.
Abuse is
When Christmas is a time of fear.
Love is
When all you've ever wished comes true.
Abuse is
When all you've ever dreaded comes true.
Love is
The freedom to choose.
Abuse is
A cage of doubt and worry.
Love is
Opening the door.
Abuse is
Trying hard to keep it closed.
Love is
Reading the violence in the papers at breakfast.
Abuse is
Knowing it every day of your life.
Love is
Looking out of the window at hope and the future
Abuse is
Looking out of the window and seeing only the past.

Every cut is happening to you even though you know it's not true.
Don't choose abuse in anything it's what smashes up this world.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

He called it docklands...

He called it docklands...

By Robert Kingston

Being a local back in the day,  we never identified it as such. To us it was known as the posh bit of Canning town. 

Custom house not Canning Town is what some would say. Still here we were on a part victorian, part modern council estate in East London.

Barely into short trousers was I, when our world was rocked

gas explosion

pixilating people

out of the dust

Ronan point was the first of seven tower blocks that rose up twenty two floors out of the bomb sites created by the blitz.

Cutting edge for the day.

I remember watching the cranes move panels of concrete, one by one into place. Thinking how it resembled dad's playing card towers. 

knocking his leg-

a wooden legged veteran 

adjusts his cap

Losing a whole corner of the tower, resulted in four deaths that day, Seventeen injured. Though in reality it hit this relatively small community hard. Most people knew someone, who knew someone that had been affected, 

grape vine-

how juices flow

when crushed

Of course the majority of us bounce back, as it was after the war I'm told.

We have no choice but to pay our respects and move forward. 

We must soldier on, was / is a common saying after such events.

nursery garden

round and round 

the people go

picking themselves up 

each time they fall 

They call it docklands now. 

Little change to the road layout, but everything else has seen vast changes; our old schools, shops, playing fields; Even the docks and industrial landscape that lined both sides. All changed!

Gone too are the ships and their horns that assisted the bells and our pots and pans in ringing in the new year and served as a major source of income to the flat capped donkey jacket wearing community.

There is an airport and posh homes towering over the docks. The docklands light railway stretching further east with a direct line west into the financial sector. 

Gastro bars, where pubs stood with their divided bars. All built to serve the city.

gentrification -

an old man kicking a can

scratches his head 

"Riķki Jay" I believe was a stage name. 

At the time of our meeting he was a stand up comedian of channel 5 fame. Not that I'd seen or heard of him until he rocked up in the dinner queue at a Pontins holiday camp in Southport. There he was featured amongst the nighttime entertainment. 

After 5 minutes of conversation he mentioned he had moved into the docklands of East London. Living in the shadows of where Ronan point stood.

fresh air

become old

becomes ?

Our exchange went on until we reached the till.

He having an interest in what was, and I, in what is.

I had the pleasure some years later of meeting Rikki again! This time at a holiday camp on Hayling island, Hampshire. We reminisced about our past meeting. 

He mentioned he had moved from Docklands to more leafy parts somewhere in Surrey, and that he was still working the circuit. 

Each day turning up in a new town for one night only.

missing a joke...

a famous tea clipper

in dry dock

(C)  Robert Kingston 2018

Pink Rabbit.

Pink Rabbit.

By Len Morgan

A beer bottle missed my head by inches smashing on the path behind me. Something shattered in front of me spraying shards that hit my calf and fanned out before me.  I felt a sharp pain, "Ugh!  You cow Jenny."  A three-foot floppy-eared pink rabbit hit me square in the chest and my hands grabbed it instinctively.  The front door slammed as I retreated to the front gate.  I could hear her clomping up the stairs. It sounded like mayhem, glass breaking cupboards slamming.  The window flew open and the corner of a suitcase peeked over the windowsill.  "No!" I yelled as all my clothes and worldly goods flew in the wind.

"Sod off Brad!" she yelled.

"This is all your fault!" I yelled at the pink rabbit.  He just grinned back at me, as I read the label ~ 'To Allison, love Brad'.

"Jeanette.  Be reasonable.  I can explain..."

MAVIS AND THE ADA’S

MAVIS AND THE ADA’S

by Richard Banks                        

It was unfortunate, if understandable, that the first recorded words of the red petunia were, “Get away from me, you bitch.” Unfortunate, in as much that great events should, whenever possible, be accompanied by an apt, well turned phrase suitable for inclusion in histories and scientific manuals.    Neil Armstrong’s first words when stepping onto the moon is one of many such phrases. His, “Small step for man, a giant step for mankind,” was neither spontaneous or inspired but at least it attempted, and to some extent succeeded, in expressing the public perception that a new space age, more important and significant than any other age, had begun. Had he, on stepping out, unexpectedly encountered a large lunar creature of unfriendly intent his first words may well have been similar to those of the petunia.

         I mean, look at it from the petunia’s point of view. You have been growing for several months in a window box on the balcony of Mavis Adkin’s flat on the twelfth floor of an unlovely tower block in the unlovely suburb of Grimthorpe. Mavis wants a splash of colour to relieve the monotonous greyness of the building and those about it. This she has said several times to her husband, Sam, and the flowers, on overhearing her, have done their best to oblige. Although not in receipt of detailed instructions as to how they should grow they have listened attentively to everything Mavis has said and learned that her favourite colour is scarlet and that she is particularly fond of a perfume called Evening Delight. Anxious to please, the petunias have produced blooms of the brightest red and breathed out an odour so delightful that Grimthorpe was attracting thousands of visitors wishing to, ‘take the air.’ When Mavis saw a magazine illustration of the hanging gardens of Babylon and imagined herself living in such a place the petunias immediately set to work and within a week made their way down to the tenth floor.

         They had done well, no petunias could have done better which is why Mavis’s savage attack on them was as unexpected as it was alarming. In fairness to Mavis, she had not intended to be alarming, she was merely wanting to cut off one or two blooms for display on her dining room table. The idea that in so doing she would be inflicting pain and emotional distress was no more in her thoughts than garotting her dull and sometimes irritating husband. While she was naturally taken aback to be called a bitch it was not so much the petunia’s choice of words that startled her but the discovery that it had words to speak; she had cultivated many plants from many parts of the world and found them all to be silent witnesses to a world in which disease, drought and the ravishes of plant eating insects frequently threatened their well being.

         Having taken several steps back and inadvertently allowed her secateurs to clatter to the floor, Mavis recovered herself sufficiently to realise that the next few moments were likely to be pivotal in the future relationship between man and plant. Deciding that her mission on behalf of the human race must be to establish peaceful and cordial relations with the petunias she smiled her most ingratiating of smiles and in her best voice introduced herself as, “Me Mavis.” She pointed at the petunia, “and you?” The petunia, quivering with indignation rather than fear, replied that he was well aware of who she was and that he was a Petunia Hybrida Grandiflora Ada. There was an awkward silence which Mavis brought to an end with the revelation that she once had an aunt called Ada. Another of the petunias volunteered the information that he too was called Ada as were all the other petunias in the window box. A third petunia joined the conversation by asking if she could have a drink of water. It had, she said, been rather warm of late, and if Mavis could give them a good sprinkle flavoured with that delicious liquid feed she sometimes treated them to this would greatly assist their downward journey.

         Needing no second bidding Mavis filled her watering can to which she added fifty millilitres of super enriched ericaceous plant food. She returned to the balcony and on asking the plants if they were ready and receiving the reply that they were emptied the entire can onto their bright redheads. For the first time, she was aware of an audible sigh of pleasure.

         “Is that enough?” she asked. The plants assured her that it was probably more than enough and that they felt quite tipsy as a consequence. After a whispered consultation the first petunia to speak expressed his regret at his intemperate language and Mavis graciously responded by assuring the petunias that she had no greater wish than to live in peace and harmony with them all and any other talking flora there might be.

         With these words, an entente cordiale was established that might have been the wonder of the world had not Mavis decided to keep the momentous events of that day to herself. Her reasons for doing so were both selfish and practical. The petunias were her petunias and she had no intention of sharing them with anyone, assuming of course that she be allowed to keep them. In the lawless streets of darkest Grimthorpe, there were criminal gangs who would undoubtedly try and steal them while the Government was likely to insist that their care be transferred to scientists who might subject her new friends to unpleasant medical probing.

          Consequently, she conversed with the petunias only after her husband had departed to his work and no one else was present. She found them convivial companions who having nothing to do but grow were particularly keen to expand their minds by learning all that Mavis could teach them. As she knew very little that was worth knowing and her knowledge of that was very incomplete and confused she chose instead to read them an improving book each week. Of these, she found more than sufficient for her needs in the Grimthorpe Public Library where the most improving books were generally the dustiest. Selecting one on geography that had last escaped the library in 1997 she hurried back to the flat and regaled her students with a comprehensive account of the world’s countries and the oceans between them.

         She found the petunias to be eager and attentive scholars whose prodigious memories absorbed and retained everything that was read to them, and when they learned that the world was just one of many and that some of the others could be seen in the night sky they beseeched Mavis to return to the library for a book on astronomy. And so it continued, one book leading to another until the petunias’ knowledge exceeded everything that could be found on the world’s most powerful computers. They took a particular liking to medical science and through their frequent debating of the principles they had learned were able to dictate learned papers to Mavis on cures for the world’s most prevalent diseases. Sensing that these might be useful to someone who ‘knew about such things’ Mavis presented them to her GP who later won a Nobel Prize and the accolade of, ‘Doctor Cure All’.

         The untroubled passing of long summer days continued until the petunias turned their attention to a book called, ‘Hislop’s History of the World’ in which they discovered that the human race had an unusual and alarming propensity for destroying each other in unfriendly encounters called wars. They recalled the incident involving Mavis and the scissors. Dismissing their earlier thoughts that this had merely been an unfortunate misunderstanding they concluded that their relationship with the human race required immediate reassessment. Their uneasiness concerning their situation was only increased when a group of hooded youths known as the Grimthorpe Scum Boys attempted to set fire to the first petunia to reach the ground floor.

         Having generously concluded that the human race probably had as many virtues as faults they sought a solution to their dilemma in a book of chemistry that had already enabled them to prepare for the winter to come by increasing their resistance to sub zero temperatures. After several days of diligent study a further biological adjustment enabled them to supplement their divine odour with a chemical element that when inhaled by human beings not only erased their aggressive tendencies but removed their capacity for independent thought.

         Henceforth the world was ruled by the petunias who appointed Mavis to announce their many proclamations through a loud hailer from the balcony of her flat, occasionally correcting her faltering pronunciation of long words. As a consequence of their many ingenious and beneficial laws poverty and disease were ended, the world saved from global warming and the nations united in peace and prosperity. Grimthorpe became capital of the world and its unlovely greyness replaced with beautiful new buildings that radiated warmth and light making even the dullest winter day seem like summer.

         A new golden age had begun that might have continued as long as the planet had it not been for the invasion of Agro-Supertroops from the planet Zorgon. But that, dear reader, is a story for another day.

 Copyright Richard Banks