The Glue that holds us together.

The Glue that holds us together.

By Rosemary Clarke

We're writing at all moments
and in all kinds of weather,

But there's one person we all know
Who sticks this group together.
To all she offers comfort
In good times and distress
She makes the evenings ring with mirth
And clears up all the mess.
She's always thinking of us
Her poetry is great
We never will go hungry
Doesn't moan if we are late.
She offers good words of advice
And always ones of cheer
She ought to have the biggest prize
For what she does all year.
We're always welcomed in her home
And plied with tea and cake
All of it being homemade
Because she likes to bake.
Yes, the real main person of this group
The one we would all miss
Let's give a roaring cheer
To a V.I.P called Sis.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

The Darker Half Chapter 12

The Darker Half Chapter 12

By Janet Baldey

Part 2

         Oh for heaven's sake!  Anna groaned and covered her ears. She stared down at her desk but she could still hear the overwhelming County bray filling the room; upper class confidence asserting its right to disrupt.  It didn't matter one jot to Celia Hartop that, maybe, some of her classmates actually wanted to learn Spanish, a language she obviously had zero interest in, along with most of the other subjects in the curriculum. From the very start, Celia had made it no secret that she was interested in just one thing, killing time until she was old enough to train to be a nurse. A nurse!  Anna's eyes had bulged the first time she'd heard this. Weren't nurses supposed to be caring?  She shuddered at the thought of Celia with a syringe. She was the last person that should be allowed anywhere near the sick. Anna wondered where she'd got the idea?  Maybe days out with the local Hunt had taught her that she enjoyed the sight of suffering?  Meanwhile, she was alleviating her boredom by taunting the tutor she'd labelled a Commie, partly because of his views on the Spanish Civil War but also because he wore sandals and a Fair Isle cardigan.  For the life of her, Anna couldn't see the connection, other than Celia and her ilk were so prejudiced that any break with tradition was a personal insult. Surely, that was stereotyping to the nth degree.

      "Okay then, Mr Colledge, what do you think about the Hungarian uprising?  Do you think Khrushchev was right to send in the tanks and kill all those people?"

      Sensing blood, Celia's eyes glittered.

      Anna raised her head and looked at her tutor who brushed his floppy hair away from his eyes as he opened his mouth to reply. To her surprise, he seemed to be enjoying the debate - maybe his boredom matched Celia's. In any event, he was parrying her charges, obviously taking delight in exposing ignorance that would have shamed anyone with a thinner hide. He was wasting his time, Anna thought. Celia's resembled a rhino's.  He'd never puncture her innate conviction that she'd been bred to be right.

         Anna couldn't bear it any longer. She loathed the mouthy Celia and her fawning coterie. Most of all she loathed herself for not having the courage to stand up to her. Her chair screeched as she stood up and began to stuff her books into her bag, making no attempt to hide her exasperation. She glanced around the room but everyone's eyes were fixed on the battle being played out before them. All except one - a girl was looking at her and as their eyes collided, the girl winked and gathered her own books together.

         As they left the room, Celia's voice followed them like a bad smell and the girl grinned.

         "Tally-ho," she said.

         Anna flicked her a glance. She didn't know what to say. She'd never had any communication with the girl before although she had noticed her. It was difficult not to.  Always dressed in black, the girl stood out against the froth of pastels and today her shapeless tent dress didn't succeed in hiding her looks, which were spectacular.  At close range, they were no less so and Anna felt a twinge of envy as she glanced at the girl's perfect profile, trying to find even the slightest flaw. Abruptly, the girl turned to face her, a swirl of auburn hair following the sudden movement.

         "Don't tell me you've only just noticed my second head!"

         To her horror, Anna felt her cheeks burn."Sorry." She muttered, "it's just that I was trying to remember your name. Don't remember names very well." 

         "Neither do I, but I know yours - it's Anna isn't it?"

      "That's right. How did you guess?"

         " I have a system. Anna is "A" for angelic - it's because you're nice," she explained.  "Celia is "C" for codswallop - which is what she talks most of the time. I'm Lucinda, by the way, although I prefer to be called Lucy."

         If that was the case, Anna thought she must be "L" for lovely.  At home, her Mum and Dad sometimes had a glass of sherry on special occasions and every time they did,  Dad would hold up his glass." Just look at that," he'd say, "pure amber!" Anna had the feeling he'd say the same thing about Lucy's hair, although, in her opinion, her most striking assets were her eyes: deep blue, almost purple, the colour of bluebells in the shade.  It seemed grossly unfair that she also had delicate features and perfect skin.

         "Come on." Tucking her arm underneath Anna's, Lucinda hurried her along.

         "Where are we going?"

         "No idea, but we're out of that classroom with time to kill, so let's make the most of it."

         Anna allowed herself to be pulled along but she was puzzled. Up until today, the girl hadn't shown the slightest interest in her and Anna had put her down as being a cold fish but today she seemed completely different. It could be that mutual dislike of Celia had united them but it still seemed slightly odd.

      "I know, what about a coffee?" she said.

      "Never drink the stuff, but yeah that's fine by me."

      It was too early for lunch but the cafeteria was open so Anna bought herself a frothy coffee while Lucy fluttered her eyelashes at the youth behind the counter and asked for tap water.  Anna couldn't help noticing that, as the boy looked into Lucy's black-lashed eyes, he turned a muddy beetroot colour. As they turned away, she glanced back and sure enough, he was standing staring as if mesmerised, a goofy look on his face.

      She nudged Lucy's arm.

      "He's going to dream of you tonight," she said.

      Lucinda uttered a shrill yelp of laughter and slightly startled, Anna swivelled her head and saw that the boy's flush had deepened.

      "Ssssh," she said. "I think he heard you."

      Lucy giggled.  "Sorry.  He's sweet but not my type.  I prefer my men more dangerous."

      Anna grinned but later when she recalled their conversation, she'd shuddered. Lucy hadn't known then what really dangerous men could do.

      "Shame we can't get an early lunch," Anna said as they seated themselves at an empty booth.  

      "That's OK by me. I never eat it anyway."

      "Never?  What, not even soup and a sweet?"

      "Nothing.  The food here is rubbish."

      "But what do you do with your lunch tickets?"

      Each student was allowed one free lunch ticket daily which covered the cost of soup and a sweet. It could also be put towards the cost of the main meal but few bothered to pay the extra, preferring to spend their money on something other than food.

      "Sell them. Our beloved Celia is a good customer. She's got to be good for something and she does love her stomach."

      For the first time, Anna noticed how thin the girl was.  If she'd wanted, she could have easily circled her wrists between her thumb and middle fingers and her jutting collarbones were clearly visible beneath the flimsy material of her dress.   

      "But, don't you get hungry?  Even if I have breakfast, I'm starving by lunchtime."

      "Breakfast - what's that?  Couldn't possibly eat that early."

      "So, no breakfast, no lunch - how do you last until supper?  Please tell me you have supper."

      "Sure.  I really pig out."

      "Somehow, I doubt that.  Come on, what do you have?"

      Lucy slumped in her seat while her fingers played with her water glass.  "What's it to you what I eat. I exist, don't I?  But if you must know, sometimes I have soup, sometimes a jam sandwich.  I love jam, especially strawberry."

      "Hardly a balanced diet, is it?"

      "Who are you, my mother?"

      "Now you mention it - doesn't your mum worry about you?"

      Lucy's eyelids closed and when she opened them, her eyes had a queer, metallic glitter.

      "She might, I suppose if she gave a hoot. But as she doesn't and as I can't remember when I last saw her, she doesn't figure in the equation."

      "So, you don't live with her?"

      "Nope.  The YWCA is the place I call home."

      Anna stared, not knowing what to say. Her own relationship with her mother wasn't easy but even so, she couldn't imagine not living with her; although the idea flashed into her mind that it would be good to get away from Alec.  She opened her mouth to probe further but then closed it. Lucy was right. It really was none of her business and obviously, Lucy was resenting what she saw as "nosiness."  All the same, she felt worried about her, although she didn't quite know why, after all, they'd only just met.  Anna wondered if it was possible that they might become friends.  Now that was a novel idea; she found having and keeping friends difficult.  Alec's behaviour always scared them off, although there had been Greta. But then, Greta was different. She had brothers of her own and was perfectly capable of dealing with Alec although he had won in the end.  Her thoughts wandered, it had been a long time ago but she still felt a hot flush of shame whenever she thought about what had happened and even now her nights were sometimes disturbed by small slips of folded over paper fluttering around like a cloud of cabbage white butterflies.  Not as innocent as butterflies though.  She felt sick as she remembered the words -  nasty words, venomous words.  Not hers, although everybody had thought they were.   She came to and looked up as Lucy's chair creaked.

      "Right, I'm off.   Things to do, people to see and all that jazz.  Are you coming?"

      "Yeah, sure.  Hang on a minute."

      Hastily, Anna swallowed the dregs of her coffee.  She followed Lucy out of the canteen hardly noticing where they were going. Without realising it, Lucy had planted a germ of an idea and the more Anna thought about it, the more attractive it seemed.  She was nearing the end of her course now and would soon be looking for a job.  It wasn't one she had mapped out for herself and she knew her father had been disappointed that she'd left school early. She hadn't told him the real reason. The fact that Greta refused to speak to her and the other kids sniggered behind her back - all her brother's fault of course. Alec had scuppered her career before it had even started and her present course was very much a second choice, but at least it led to qualifications which could pave the way to a well paid job. With a bit of luck, she could leave home and be rid of Alex for good.  Suddenly the day was clothed in sunshine as she rushed to catch up with Lucy.

Copyright Janet Baldey

     

THE SWINGING SIXTIES

THE SWINGING SIXTIES         

                                   

                                    By Peter Woodgate

                             

                              Today:

I visited the scenes of my youth.

Paused, in the playground of my dreams and recalled,

The Swinging Sixties.

The magic of Motown the Beatles and Stones

The Mods wearing mohair the Rockers in jeans.

Kensington High, Carnaby Street, and

The Kings Road for clothes and shoes for your feet.

The fashion of Quant, the hair of Sassoon,

The “space race” was on who’d be first to the moon?

The “Beehive”, the Minis, both car and the skirt

The thin pointed shoes and button-down shirt.

The coffee all frothy the jukebox alight

You put in your money and danced through the night.

In sport, so it seems, we were on the way up

Euphoria struck when we won the World Cup.

I felt indestructible, was joyful, not sad

My thoughts were all good ignoring the bad.

For I had a future no one could destroy,

I’d grown into a man from that small timid boy.

Yes, there was turmoil, assassins and war

But life was for living, it wasn’t a chore.

And so as I travelled through life’s ups and downs

I remained optimistic with smiles and with frowns.

But as seasons pass quickly we tend to look back

And I’d wandered those streets seeking something I lack.

I’d sat on a seat, suspended by chain

And gently pushed back,...........................I was swinging again.

  Copyright Peter Woodgate         

Two Limericks

Two Limericks

By Shelley Miller

There once was a pig with 5 trotters
Who used them all up as fly swatters,
The flies drove him mad
So the pig wasn't sad
To be shot of the lot of the rotters.

 

There was an old man from Peru
Who had only one foot per shoe,
In each shoe, a foot
The old man would put
`Till one day, a third foot he grew.

Copyright Shelley Miller

THE BOATHOUSE WORDS Part 2 & Last

 THE BOATHOUSE WORDS Part 2 & Last              

By Richard Banks

                         

There is no logical, scientific explanation for what happened that night. It doesn’t help that Sara won’t talk about it and that Jack has no memory of what he did. But Danny does remember, and so do I. What we saw, we saw and what we saw happened. What follows now also happened. You can believe it or not, more fool you if you don’t.

         Sara dumps Jack and the moron hits the bottle even worse than before. He’s even drinking on the building site where he works. They’re going to fire him but he saves them the trouble by jumping off the sixteenth floor. Three months later Sara goes abroad to a finishing school in Switzerland. Where in Switzerland no one’s too sure and the rumour spreads that she’s somewhere closer to home having a baby that will be put up for adoption. And that’s just how it is except that when the baby is born Sara takes a shine to her black-eyed son and decides to keep him. To her mother’s horror, she arrives back home unannounced in the back of a taxi with little Michael demanding to be fed.

         “Who will want you now?” screams Mrs Eden, too near an open window not to be heard. Her plans to find a suitable husband for her daughter from among the local elite are at an end, but she’s wrong, a new family moves into the area and takes up residence in the Priory, the oldest and biggest house in a gated community outside of town. They are ‘old money’ with political and social connections that reach far beyond Fairmeadow. Within a year Sara marries the son of the house and disappears from sight behind the grey stone walls of her in-law’s house. Her new family have let it be known that they are private people, at home only to friends and relatives; they are seldom seen in public. 

         Little Michael is now five years old, a solitary child who can sometimes be seen at the window of his bedroom staring sullenly – some say with malevolence – at all those who venture by. They say if looks could kill he would, and maybe he has; birds fall lifeless from the sky and in the gardens of nearby houses the bodies of small creatures are often found. A guard dog dies on Priory Hill and on the road just past the house a pony stumbles and breaks a leg. The rider summons help on her mobile and another rider sets off from the farmhouse but gets no further than the first gated house before his mount drops lifeless to the ground. The news spreads like wildfire and makes the front page of the Herald. “What next?” people ask. What next is me?

         I’m out walking. On a warm August afternoon, I should be on my way to the shops in Halesbridge, but I’ve missed the bus and any thoughts I had of waiting for the next one have given way to the need to walk. Where I’m going I don’t know. Why? is another question I should be asking but I’m not, my brain doesn’t want to work that hard, in fact, it doesn’t want to work at all. I’m no more in control of myself than a twig floating down the centre of a stream.

         At last, I’m stopped, on the same white concrete road pictured only days before in the Herald. My head tilts upwards towards the house, sunshine in my eyes. I blink, blink again and through half shut eyes find myself staring at Michael staring down at me from a second floor window. He speaks the words, the boathouse words, the strange rushing words that swirl around me until my head and body is shaking with the force of them.

         A car’s coming towards me, the driver sounds his horn and then twice more as I stand witless in the middle of the road. He shouts at me, revs up his engine as though he means to run me down. Shock waves crash through my brain and collide with the words which falter and for a moment lose their grip. I’m back inside my own head. My thoughts are scrambled, like a bad dream, but something tells me I must run, that only in distance will I be safe. I head off helter-skelter, like a crazy person, blind to every danger save the one I’m running from. 

         The end of the concrete road is first base, after that there’s a tarmac road which after fifty yards bends sharp left but there’s only one direction I’m going and that’s straight ahead. There’s a footpath and I’m down it, a hedge either side and me in the middle. There’s a man coming towards me, there’s scarcely room to pass, we scrape shoulders but I’m still going, running faster than I have ever run before. The words are close behind almost upon me but as the path slopes downwards I run even faster and the words fall back. If I don’t slow I might, just might be free of them. In front of me, at the end of the path, is a country road. A car roars by right to left. I hear another one coming. I should be stopping but I can’t so I plunge across in front of a van that swerves past me horn blaring.

Ahead is another path, a track between two fields.  At the end are houses, red roofed new builds not yet sold.  I’m back in town running down the centre of deserted roads and then along those with lived in houses that gradually fill up with people and traffic. I’m nearly at the High Street. A car narrowly misses me and another slams on its brakes, screeching to a halt in front of me. I can’t stop and go sprawling across the bonnet. I sink down onto the tarmac, blood streaming from my face and arms. A man asks if I’m alright, wants to call an ambulance, but I tell him no, that I’m nearly home. I get back on the pavement, and minutes later I’m in the flat I share with Danny.

*****

         What happened after that I’m keeping to myself, but you won’t be surprised to know that we’re a long, long way from Fairmeadow. No one knows where we are and if we want to stay alive that’s the way it’s got to be. There’s dark days ahead and not just for us, but what can we do? Who’s gonna take any notice of us? Only when he gets stronger when the evil spreads and people see and hear it for themselves, will they know the horror of what is to come. Too late, by then it'll be too late.  

         Danny says I should write the whole thing down and put it in a bank vault only to be opened when we’re dead and buried. So, if you’re reading this, remember us in your prayers. Say one for yourself, you will need it. The abomination of desolation has just begun.

                                                                                                                                                                                      Document DC 127/18                                                                                     lodged by Delia Carr at the                                                                             National Bank,                                                                                                Kaloorlie 

                    Boulder,                                                                                    

                    Western Australia on 28/9/2018                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

         

Prescient

Prescient

 

By Len Morgan

Adam Quest, Psychiatrist in residence, silenced his pager and read the scrolling message:  Dr AQ 2rm24~patient S.Odell.  He winced, he'd not been looking forward to this one, but it couldn't be put off.  The time had come for Sarah's reality check.

She stood at the window, gazing into a cloudless sky.  Dust motes danced unheeded through shafts of bright sunlight entering through the blinds.

"It's a glorious day," he said.

"There's a storm coming," she replied.

He stood beside her shading, his eyes from the suns glare. "There is?"

"I know these things," she said.

"Or you listen to the weather forecast perhaps?"  She didn't reply.  "Shall we sit?" He pulled up a chair for her.

"Not using the comfy couch today?" She didn't move from the window, so he sat down, facing the empty seat.

"How are we today?"

"I'm well thank you, but you will not be if you keep your lunch appointment at 'Gordino's'."

"What have you heard," he spoke in his routine unflappable voice.  He'd arranged to meet his fiance at 'Gordino's' at 2pm.  He'd booked a quiet table for two in the rear.

"Call her and tell her to meet you somewhere else, as far from that restaurant as possible." He ignored her outburst and began writing up her notes.  "Wasting my breath aren't I?  You'll go right ahead regardless of what I say..."

"Hmm," he grunted, shifting in his seat.

"Well I've warned you, so my conscience is clear."

"My dining arrangements are none of your concern.  Now can we proceed please?"

She turned to face him, her auburn hair swishing past her face like an opening curtain, revealing full vermilion lips and deep blue, hypnotic eyes.  She shook her head, "such a waste."

"I'm well aware that you are a voluntary patient.  You can come and go as you please; I have to believe that you want your condition to improve.  So, sit down and let's get started."

She sat, leaning towards him across the table. "It isn't to late, she will understand, just call her!" she spoke in earnest.

"Moderate your voice please, or we will have security arriving from all quarters."

"I'm sorry, Doctor--, Sorry."

"That's better.  If we both keep cool heads we will make progress," he glanced at her notes.  "Now according to your notes, you claim to be 'prescient'?  Can you describe to me how the condition manifests itself."

She smiled, revealing even white teeth, her eyes sparkled drawing him in, "It's quite simple.  I have flashes - like waking dreams - I see something that is going to happen in the future.  Usually, I have no idea when or where the event will take place."

"Mmm, I must say as a predictive tool it's hardly laser technology." he gazed into her earnest eyes.  "So, tell me how it impinges on your life, and what you would like me to do about it?"  His pencil poised, an inch above her notes, its hard dark shadow softened and disappeared.  He heard raindrops against the window; gentle at first, they grew rapidly louder masking her reply.

"Did you know I got disqualified from driving?"

"I'm sorry?" He said.

"I was disqualified from driving," she repeated, her words punctuated by flashes of lightning.  A sharp clash of thunder followed 15 seconds later.

"I had a flash in the middle of the M25 motorway and wrote off my lovely little Ford Fiesta."  He nodded without looking up.  "The judge said I was driving 'without due care and attention'.  Apparently, I was weaving drunkenly in and out of the traffic; I explained it was because I'd had a flash, so he gave me a six month suspended jail sentence and banned me from driving, pending a psychiatric report, he also gave me 6 points on my driving license and a £250 fine." She gave him a wane smile and a resigned shrug. The sky brightened again; the storm had passed over, as quickly as it arrived.

"So, what exactly do you want me to do?" He asked.  

"Why stop them of course, stop the flashes.  The first happened six months ago.  The second happened six weeks after the first.  Then there was a week between the second, third, and fourth.  Now, I'm getting them once or twice a day without warning.  They have destroyed my career, I've had to give up a well-paid job because I can't trust myself."

"Why do you think you are getting these f-- 'waking dreams'?"

"If I knew that I would be happier.  It's not knowing that scares me."

"Has your G.P. checked you out?"  She nodded.  "Did he send you to hospital for tests, in case there is a physical cause?"

"A scan, blood test and ECG, yes.  They found nothing abnormal, no growths or hormonal imbalance just slightly raised blood pressure nothing to cause alarm."

"So, all the preparation work has been done.  Hmm.  So we know it isn't a physiological anomaly."  He took an instrument from his pocket and raised it to his eye.  "Look at the light please," he examined her eyes, "no aberrations there," he closed the blinds, and noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining once again.  He dimmed the room lights.  "Join me over here please," she sat on the couch beside him.

"Have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No, I thought it was just theatrical hocus-pocus," she said.

"Well, it's not the universal panacea we in the profession had hoped for, but it does have its uses."

"Are you going to put me under?"

"Would you have any objection to that?"

She thought for a moment--  He waited.  "No."

"I should warn you that not everybody is a suitable subject, but all we can do is try."

"Will I know when you begin?"

He smiled and shuffled his pen from hand to hand, "it's important that you are comfortable and relaxed.  Would you prefer a nurse to be present?"

"Yes please."

He pressed a button beside his chair, a nurse entered and sat beside the door, out of Sarah's direct line of sight. 

"Nurse White is here to observe and will take no part in the proceedings, do you understand?"  Sarah nodded.  "Do you mind if we record the session?"

"No, it would be interesting to hear just what happens."  Nurse White moved slightly and there was a click.

"Now close your eyes, breath slowly, and deeply.  When I count to three you will sleep.  you will still be able to hear me and respond to my questions, relax, relax, one... two... three."

"For the record, your name is Sarah O'Dell?"

"Yes."

"You're 27 years old?"

"Yes."

"How long have you lived in Barchester?"

"Twenty-five years."

"Do you recall your first 'waking dream'?"

"Yes."

"Would you describe it please?"

"It was 06:55pm on Tuesday evening.  I like to watch 'Holby City' so I went over to switch on the TV.  Suddenly I was in a dark cellar, I could hear running water and feel damp stones underfoot.  It smelt musty - like mushrooms.  I could hear a dog whimpering and a voice 'don't fret Bobby they'll miss us soon, and start a search.  They'll find us, you'll see!'  There followed a low rumble, and the dog started barking in earnest; then the Holby City theme tune began, and I was standing by the TV."

"How did you feel?"

"I was terrified and cold, I could still smell it, and my feet felt clammy.  It wasn't until I sat down on the couch that I began to feel a little more like my old self."  She shuddered.

"What did you think?"

"I felt as if somebody had switched channels, and then switched back again only it wasn't the TV, it was my life that changed.  I was afraid to move in case it happened again.  It didn't, but I couldn't move.  I must have fallen asleep because suddenly it was the early hours of Wednesday morning, there was some game show on.  I live alone, so I had no one to confide in this is the first time I've told anybody about it."

"Thank you!  How did this affect you?"

"I became nervous and fearful in case it happened again.  Other people noticed the change in me.  

"How did this change your life?"

She licked her lips, "I became hesitant, nervy, and uncertain."

"How had you been immediately before the incident?"

"I was a confident, friendly and outgoing, extrovert," she paused and reflected before continuing, "I was getting back to my normal self when it happened again, in the middle of ASDA--"

"Can you share that experience with me?"

"I saw a young woman with a child in a pram, and a toddler dawdling behind her."  She licked her lips, "I noticed them leave the store, then the flash hit!  I saw them heading for the car park and the toddler wandering off between two cars, into an empty parking space.  Two cars were racing for the space.  The winner didn't even see the child but must have felt the bump.  It was so vivid that I abandoned my shopping trolley and rushed out of the store.  I grabbed the child's arm an instant before he ran in front of the parking car.  At that instant, the mother reached her car.  She looked back and gave me a look of pure hatred.  'Hey! Leave my child alone!'  I tried to explain, but she had hardened her mind. She smacked the child 'Don't you ever let a stranger hold your hand!  She yelled.  All eyes turned in my direction when she yelled out 'pervert!'  "I kept walking, the toddler's voice wailing in my wake."

"Did you learn anything from the experience?"

She paused and shook her head.  "No.  If I had I wouldn't have tried to warn you about the explosion at 'Gordino's'..."

"Explosion?  You didn't mention that..."

"I saw you sitting with a young woman wearing a dark business suit, and a pale blue blouse.  She had short dark hair and carried a tan briefcase.  You were laughing together, drinking coffee.  I glanced out the window, the town hall clock said ten past two, then there was an explosion."  She looked straight at him.  "Even if I am wrong, what harm would it do to change your venue?"

"I will change it to a later time, will that make you rest easier?"  He'd decided to humour her, against all logical reason. 

"Yes," she visibly relaxed, "that will put my mind at ease."

"Sarah, I'm going to count down.  When I reach one you will awake refreshed and relaxed.  Three... Two... One."  He clicked his fingers and her eyes opened.

"I'm ready, you can start whenever you like," she smiled at him.

.-...-.

The session was over, he escorted her to the reception desk and scheduled a follow-up appointment for the following week.  Then he called 'Gordino's' to cancel his reservation and see if he could book a later time, but they were fully booked. 

He rang his fiancé, "Angie, something has come up and I can't make 2pm, can we try that small cafe near your school?"

.-...-.

They met at 2:15pm and enjoyed a pleasant meal.  Over coffee, he shared the bizarre story with her.  Angie was vice-principal at the local comprehensive school, so after settling the bill Adam walked her back to school.  It was 3:00pm by his watch when he glanced up at the Town Hall clock, which showed 2:10pm.  He pointed it out to Angie, she laughed.

"That old thing hasn't worked for years," she said.

"Then in theory, the explosion could have happened at any time."

"That's if your story were true."

"I'll have to leave you here," he said.  "I have an appointment at 3:15pm."  He kissed her.

"My god!" She pointed to a plume of smoke rising from the direction of 'Gordino's'.  Then they heard it, and felt the blast of the explosion.

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.