Bill for the use of a body.

Bill for the use of a body.

By Len Morgan

   The case was cut and dried; he was caught with the loot in his possession.   He was tracked all the way by surveillance camera’s as he entered and left the Hartington estate.   He was a professional thief.   Jason had just completed a two-year sentence, for a similar offence.  Unfortunately for him, a lot had changed in two years.  He’d spent three months following his release casing and planning this job but, none on checking technical advances.

 “Jason Ruffus Gadding you have been convicted of burglary, an archaic crime.  This is your third conviction and you show no inclination of mending your ways.   We are actively seeking to keep habitual criminals, like yourself, off the streets indefinitely; you are therefore sentenced to ten years without remission,” Said the judge.

“Ten years?   No remission?” said Jason aghast.  “Why that’s inhuman… I’ll be 35 by the time I get out!”

“Be silent!”  The judge commanded.   “There is an alternative; you could take part in a trial rehabilitation program.  We can offer you 6 months on the CRAAM re-education program; the choice is yours, six months or ten years!   Take him down…”

“I wanna see my brief!   Ten years is crazy.” 

“Calm down Mr Gadding, you know what they say; If you can’t do the time don’t do the crime.”

“But, ten years?   Nobody got hurt, nobody is destitute, the insurance company would pay—“

“Mr Gadding it has long been known that crime is a compulsion, like gambling, it’s an illness.   It can be curbed, modified, eradicated even.   But, you have to be willing to cooperate.   You must get on the CRAAM program!” 

“I don’t even know what that stands for...”

“A CRAAM is a memory cube it stands for “Cryo-Random-Auto-Active-Memory” it will be a temporary home for your mind during re-education…”

“Stuff that!  I’ll pass…”

.-…-.

  “Prisoner JG10967438 you have been here for two months.   Had you joined the CRAAM program upon sentencing you would now have served a third of your sentence,” said the warden.   “But, you currently still have nine years ten months to serve.

“My name is Jason Gadding, I do not answer to a number it is a violation of my human rights to steal my identity, you can’t change my mind against my will.   I refuse to be a guinea pig if the CRAAM program would cause me to act against my nature!"

“Is it your nature to live outside these walls free and unencumbered by your prior history?  To leave with a clean sheet?  If so, you should embrace the program.   Your refusal tells me that you have no intention of reforming.   You have all the literature, the statistics, and you have met people who have completed the program successfully.   Did they behave normally or are they now automatons?”

“I’m sorry but I cannot allow my mind to be polluted with indoctrination.   I’m afraid of what might happen to my body at that time.  Will it be taken care of?   I am a fit active man; I will not allow it to be misused!” 

“Take him back to the cells—“

.-…-.

“Mr Gadding you have now been incarcerated for four months.  You complain about the lack of exercise, because of the overcrowding.   You complain of inadequate stimulation for your mind.   We are duty-bound to point out to you that all of this could be remedied any time you choose.   Just agree to joint the CRAAM program.  Had you subscribed from the start you would now be two-thirds of the way through your sentence.   You would have just two months to go.   Your deteriorating body would still be in tip-top condition and your mind would be actively engaged in some collaborative manner to help improve this overcrowded world of ours.”

“I-I'm sorry, I cannot bring myself to trust people I don’t know, to act in my best interests, I just can’t!”   The answer is No!”

“Mr Gadding…”

“I’m Jason, my name is Jason!” he yelled.

“I’m sorry.  Jason, calm down now.  My client, Mr James Hartington, was your last potential victim.   He is concerned that you are wasting your life needlessly with this ridiculous fear of intrusion.   The young man sat apart from the committee.   “Jason, my name is Arthur Stanley; I am a lawyer representing the interests of the Hartington Estate.   I have been instructed to make you a most generous humanitarian offer.   If you will agree to take part in this program James Hartington will personally find safe active employment for your body.”   He turned to the committee, “might I have ten minutes alone with Mr Gadding please?”

The chairman nodded and a guard opened a side door into a small interview room.

.-…-.

“Now we are alone I am instructed to offer you the sum of fifty thousand euro's and assured employment with the Hartington Organisation upon your release..."
   "A hundred thousand!"
   "OK!"
   "Two hundred."
   "I will have to take advice on that figure; it's more than I have been authorized to pay."
  “Mmm, what would James expect of me for such a sum?”

“He is concerned, no; he is obsessed with security and the workings of the criminal mind.   He wants somebody on his team who can think like a criminal, who will be capable of unearthing scams in his organisation.   In his view the criminal has a totally alien mindset to normal law abiding citizens; it is akin to that of the entrepreneur,” said Arthur.

“But, if I enter this program all those tendencies will be eradicated completely so wouldn’t his theory become academic?   I don’t think I would be the man I am today, that’s for sure!” said Jason.

“Don’t you be so sure about that said Arthur with just the faintest closing of his left eye?   James has fingers in many pies.   Re-education can take many forms.   You could leave here with advance IT skills and a business degree, six months is a lifetime as a ‘CM’, it’s a unique opportunity, what do you say?”

“Two fifty,” said Jason.

Arthur smiled, “I think I can persuade James to pay that.”

.-…-.

  Even as cube JG10967438 was being connected to the correction system, the mindless body was in transit to a private facility; about to become the ward of James Hartington.

.-…-.

Three years pass and cube JG10967438 is released into an ageing body, with a different name and ID.   Once outside the facility, he looks into the mirror at the gates, their closing still ringing in his ears.   His eyes slowly focus.   A stranger is gazing back at him through sad watery eyes.

“My God!   What have they done to me?”   He hammered and rang at the gates but nobody answered.   A horn sounded nearby and he turned to see a limo pulled into the kerb.   The horn sounded, more insistent this time and somebody waved at him from the open rear window.   He headed towards it and the door opened.

“Get in Jason,” said the familiar voice of Arthur Stanley.

“Mr Stanley.  What have you done with my body?”

“Relax, all will be explained,” Arthur said smoothly.   And they drove on in silence for half an hour into the country. 

“Well?” said Jason, as the car pulled off the main road into a wilder overgrown lane.

“There is a perfectly simple explanation, but James would prefer to tell you himself.”   They pulled up at a set of wrought iron gates set in ten-foot high granite walls.   After a few moments, the gates opened.  

“Is it a prison?”  He asked a half-hearted attempt at humour, he got no reply.

As the car pulled into the drive of an impressive converted seventeenth-century house, Jason saw a familiar figure standing at the top of the steps leading to the heavy timber front doors.

“Well don’t just sit there, come on up he called,” waiting patiently as they climbed a dozen stone steps

“This is James Hartington,” said the lawyer introducing them.

“I know who you are, but why are you still in my body?” Jason challenged.

“There were some technical problems that caused your stay in prison to be longer than expected.   You were found to be resistant to the programming.   Come inside and we will explain,” said Arthur, taking his arm.

They sat in sumptuous brown leather club chairs in an artificially lit room soaking up the heat from an illegal fossil-fuelled coal fire.   They chatted over coffee, cheese, and biscuits.

“You were held for three years Jason, four times your legal sentence.   Arthur has already sued for false imprisonment.”

“You will receive compensation for the period of illegal detention, have no fear of that,” said the lawyer.

“Unfortunately, when you came up for release, by a three to two majority, I was out of the country.  So, Arthur decided to seize the opportunity and get you released before they could rescind the decision.   You are currently in the body of my valued head gardener.   I need him back as soon as possible, the gardens are already missing his magic,” said Hartington.

“Well, if you are both ready we can go to the lab now and effect the final transfer,” said Arthur.

They travelled through a series of corridors deeper into the building, down below ground level, walking with only the sound of echoing footsteps.

Then they stopped and entered a white antiseptic room.   Jason was led to a chair, by two orderlies in white coats.

“Ah!   I nearly forgot,” said James Hartington handing Jason an old fashioned paper cheque for Eur250,000.  He held out his hand and they shook.   Nice to meet our newest recruit he said as they strapped Jason into the chair.   “I must leave you now I have other matters to attend too.”

.-…-.

 By mid-day his mind was once more inside a CM cube, on his way to becoming the controller of a Fish Farm Submersible referred to affectionately as ‘fishdogs’ by the land staff at Hartington North Sea Fisheries.

 James Hartington gazed into the mirror and smiled, “250,000 Euro, worth every penny,” he said as he shredded the cheque.

Copyright Len Morgan

Daydream

Daydream 

By June Druce

I sat there mid the suns warm rays,

absorbed in natures finest gifts.

Autumn leaves adorn the earth,

and floated into rainbow drifts.

 

Silhouetted through the trees,

sunbeams dancing in her hair.

She stood upon the rustic bridge,

swaying in the morning air.

Aphrodite swathed in white,

cherubic arms clasped her soft body.

And barefoot, she came towards me floatingly.

She smiled; her warm red lips moving.

She spoke; her voice was soft as snow

I’ve waited so long for you to come.

Evading me wither I must go,

She held my hand as we walked.

Through rustling paths,

she looked deep into my eyes.

So sweet and yet so hauntingly sad,

So young and innocent, so very wise.

I felt her lips so warm on mine,

Her tears just like the dew.

Remember me, my heart is yours,

I have to stay beside you.

I oft sit there in that lonely glade,

I know she’ll come, my own cellmate

My hair is white, my days ill spent

she is the mistress of my fate.

Copyright June Druce

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS – PART THREE

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS – PART THREE

By Bob French

Padma collapsed onto the ground just as the Head of PE, Mr. Beverington, came around the corner.  When he saw Padma, he rushed to her side and started to question her.  He could only hear a few words in between floods of tears and..…  “Mohammad… knife… vile and wicked threats.” Then she fainted.

Beverington instantly called the Head, who had only just got rid of the police and the McGregor girl and was now a little confused as to why Mr and Mrs Mohammad and their Imam had suddenly arrived for a 2pm appointment with him. He snatched his phone up off the desk and listened.  Then without thinking who was sitting in his office, he swore into the phone, then told Beverington to get hold of Miss bloody Mohammad and bring her to his office immediately.  The mentioned of their daughter’s name brought Mr and Mrs Mohammad and the surprised Imam up out of their seats and without being invited, followed the Head out of the office and down the main corridor towards the gymnasium. 

The Head’s secretary stood behind her desk in a state of shock.  In all the year’s she’d been at the school, she had never witnessed such goings-on.  Her office fell into silence, then without warning, the police sergeant popped his head around her door and nodded towards his hat, which he had forgotten during the arrest of McGregor.

He smiled and raised his eyebrows.  “More trouble?”  All she could do was nod and point towards the gymnasium.  The police sergeant collected his hat, and with a nose for trouble, followed the crowd.

By this time a small crowd of teachers and students had gathered around Mr Beverington, who had a very firm grip of Miss Mohammad.  They met the Head just outside the science department.  The Head spoke only one word to Beverington. “Explain!”

Beverington took his time, explaining what he had found.  The Head looked at the tearful and dishevelled Padma and asked her if what Mr Beverington had said was true.  Padma, sniffed, dragged her sleeve across her dripping nose and nodded.  She was doing her best not to grin as she watched the Head’s face slowly darkened and the veins in his neck started to bulge.

He then turned to Rashi Mohammad who stood very calmly, ignoring those around her.  Well, Miss Mohammad. There has been a very serious allegation made against you.  It would appear that you not only battered a student, you verbally abused her, insulted her religion and used racist language against her.”  He took a deep breath, “Then, to crown it all, you used a knife to threaten her.  What have you got to say for yourself?”

Rashi Mohammad stood her grown and without the slightest change of expression denied everything.  “I don’t know what you are talking about Sir.”

Mrs Mohammad, who had invited her Imam to the meeting with the Head, in the hope of gaining credence for the family, rushed forward to comfort her daughter just as Franky pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

“Sir, I..”

The Head frowned at him and waived him away, but Franky had rehearsed his part of the plan to a T.

“Sir, I was in the PE storeroom looking over some basketball equipment when I heard the rumpus outside the storeroom doors.  When it got ugly, I decided to film it on my mobile phone.  If you want to look at it Sir, I can show you.”  Before the Head could take it out of Franky’s hand, the police sergeant stepped in and plucked it out of his hand, then switched it on.  The film lasted no more than a minute or so, but Louis had doctored the short video in favour of Padma. it clearly showed Mohammad slapping and kicking the defenceless Padma, then threatening her with a knife and verbally abusing her in a very nasty racist way. 

There was total silence in the corridor, then the Imam spoke quietly to Mr Mohammad. “This behaviour of your daughter is most disgraceful.  You have clearly not been good parents.  I think you need to visit me in the morning with your daughter where we must discuss what action to take.  I must warn you it may mean sending her back home for re-educating and corrective action.”  He shook his head in shame as he looked at the Mohammad’s.  “Most distressing Mohammad, most distressing indeed.”

The police sergeant politely stepped forward.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but before any action, you or your church may wish to take, Miss Mohammad had broken UK law and as such, must first face the consequences.”  At this point, Mrs Mohammad collapsed.

Once the police had returned to the school to take Rashi Mohammad away, accompanied by her parents and a very disgruntled Imam, a degree of calm settled on the school.  Mark’s elder brother, who was still wearing Jimmy’s school blazer as part of his disguise took him aside and asked what’s next. Mark shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t know.  Jimmy kept each part of the plan a secret from everyone else. He only told me to tell you to be at Dalton’s early on Friday morning, then get up to school for the rest of the plan.”

It was nearly three o’clock by the time the Head finally got back to his office and as he slumped back into his chair, after begging his secretary for a nice cup of tea, the phone on his desk ran.

“Good afternoon This is…..” A broad scouse accent cut him short.

“Hi, this is Baz Macintyre from the Gazette.  Would you like to make a statement about the conduct of a Miss Miriam Smith, a student from your school?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t know.  Well, Smith was arrested this morning for public disorder, shoplifting and being in possession of stolen credit cards.  The police are viewing CCTV cameras to see if they can add the charge of assault to the ticket.  Do you want to make a….”

The Head slammed the phone down and lunged for his cup of tea which had just been placed on his desk, spilling it all over the end of the weekly finance reports. 

Just then he heard a woman screaming at the top of her voice. Still suffering from mild shock, he stood and rushed out of his office only to be impeded by the students who were making their way to the lunch area for their afternoon break.

He arrived at the bottom of the stairs just in time to see a middle-aged woman grab hold of one of the female students and give her one hell of a slap across the face.   The Head raised his voice and students quickly parted to let him through.

It took him a few seconds to identify the woman.

“Mrs Thriftwood! What in God’s name are you doing?”

By this time, the age-old playground chant of ‘fight, fight, fight’ had begun from those who now formed a circle enclosing Mrs Thriftwood and her daughter Mandy.

Mandy stood, expecting her mother to stop once the head had intervened, but instantly regretted it as she caught a good backhander from her mother and went down.  The cheering grew louder until the head blew his whistle, instantly bringing silence to the public flogging.

In an attempt to stop the violence, the Head stepped in between Mrs Thriftwood and her daughter. Mr Beverington seeing the danger leapt forward and tried to warn the Head, but it was too late. Mrs Thriftwood was already swinging her hand-bag like an Olympic champion shot putter, catching him on the top of his head and causing him to collapse.  Instantly the cheering started again.

Mrs Thriftwood realized that she had pole-axed the headmaster stopped.  The Head staggered to his feed.

“Mrs Thriftwood, please madam.  Kindly settle down.  Now, what is this all about?”

Mrs Thriftwood, whose face was still flush with anger at her daughter’s behaviour, ripped open her handbag and took out a rather long shopping till receipt.

“This is what the bloody hell’s the matter.  My excuse for a thieving and conniving daughter has gone behind my back and order an extra £370 worth of extras. The supermarket wouldn’t take my card, because we had exceeded our limit and when my husband tried to pay by cheque, it bloody well bounced.”

The Head carefully raised his hand and asked to see the list.  Silence descended upon the masses as they crept a little closer to the action.  He slowly read down the list.  Then looked up and at Mandy.

“Six bottles of Krug 'Du Soliste a l'Orchestre' Champagne? My word Miss Thriftwood a bit extravagant.”  He continued, then paused. “Condoms….500 packets of cigarettes… twenty cases of Carlsberg lager.  Were you intending to have a party or something?”

Someone, hidden within the crowd, shouted out that she was going to attend the rave, that Josh had talked about.  Before Mandy had a chance to defend herself, her mother landed two beautiful slaps across Mandy’s face again.  The place went ballistic as teachers tried to separate the two women and the Head who was now in the middle of the wrestling match.

The weekend edition of The Gazette was packed full of articles surrounding the behaviour of the four girls and their parents.  There were some really good photographs of Mandy, her mother and the Head rolling on the floor in what appeared to be a three way tag-wrestling match in the school foyer.  A full-blown article with photographs of Mr McGregor, an upstanding person in the local community and his daughter Philippa, being dragged off to the cells for possession of drugs, and some really good shots of Miriam Smith lying face down on the floor outside Dalton’s, whilst being handcuffed for shoplifting amongst other things.  Lastly, a sensitive article about the behaviour of a Miss Mohammad who had been expelled from school for racist and threatening behaviour against another student.  The photographs of her parents and a short, bearded Iman outside the police station did not do them justice.

The following Monday, the school seemed a really jolly place to be.  Everyone was talking and laughing as though they had just been told that today was a half day. Julie found Jimmy sitting by himself on the side of the sports field with the face of someone who had just lost a winning lottery ticket.

“Hi Jimmy, thanks for sorting out Thriftwood and her thugs.  I think everyone really appreciates all the hard work you put into it.”  She was hoping to see a smile, but Jimmy’s face remained serious.  “What’s up. I thought you’d be over the moon, but you seem down in the dumps.  Can I help?”

“Not really.  I promised Alex that if she helped me out with part of the plan, I promised to take her out on a date of her choosing next weekend.”  He paused, then took a deep breath. “I think I can put my mood down to having to pay the price of success.”

Copyright Bob French

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS – PART TWO

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS – PART TWO

By Bob French

Monday morning, Jimmy was in high spirits.  He had decided that, as the coming Friday was the thirteenth, he felt it an appropriate day to bring down Mandy Thriftwood and her bullies, much like the fate of the Templar Knights of days gone by.  

That afternoon, he asked Alex to spread the news that Dalton’s, the fashion shop in town was having a huge ‘end of season’ sale on Friday and Saturday of this week.  He knew two things; that Miriam Smith, a fashion nut, would get to hear of it, and secondly, so that she would be first in the queue, she’d pull a sicky by informing the school secretary that she had a doctor’s appointment on Friday morning.

Jimmy made a point of getting detention on Monday evening so that he would be one of the last, other than the cleaners, to leave the school building.  As he made his way out, he swung past the school secretary’s office and helped himself to a sheet of school headed paper and an envelope.  That night he used his father’s computer to write a letter to Rashi Mohammad’s parents inviting them into school to discuss their daughter’s chances of being accepted onto a fast-track course for high flying students earmarked for university.  The letter asked them to turn up at 2pm on Friday the 13^th.  On the way to school on Tuesday, he posted it.

Josh and some of his cronies had been watching the McGregor’s home every day since  the meeting with Jimmy and had ascertained that Wednesday afternoon, McGregor’s Dad was away at work and Mrs. McGregor was attending her Zumba Classes down at the local gym.  It took him fifteen minutes to gain access to their home, hide a quantity of heroin in Philippa’s bedroom and her father’s study. 

Once the McGregor’s house had been ‘fixed’, one of Josh’s mates joined the people who were mingling around the canteen area prior to attending the adult education courses that ran on Wednesday evening at the school.  As the bell warned students to report to their respective classrooms, Josh’s mate slipped away and dropped the plain envelope containing the stolen credit cards into Jimmy’s locker then went across to Philippa McGregor’s locker; opened it, lifted the photo of Ed Sheeran, pasted four small bags of the good stuff against the door of her locker then resealed the picture.  He left the school having given the briefest of thoughts of staying on for a little further education.

By the time Jimmy reached the school gates on Thursday morning, he had come to terms with the fact that he had to sit with Alex at lunchtime to ensure this particular part of the plan would work.  Alex had been very chatty whilst Jimmy grunted and nodded at the appropriate times.  As they exchanged parts of their lunch, Jimmy slipped across the plain envelope to her with specific instructions that she was to give it to her sister that evening.  Alex nodded and continued to talk about a film she would like him to take her to see over the weekend.

The sound of the bell brought a mad rush as students hurried to their classes. Jenifer moved up behind Jimmy and quietly informed him ‘that it was all fixed.’  Alex spun around, but Jenifer had melted into the crowd before she could be noticed. When Alex looked back at Jimmy, he just smiled at her and said, “what?”   

Jenifer felt very pleased with herself as she sat down in the classroom.  Her part of the plan required a little ingenuity on her part to ensure that she could never be implicated in the plot but was pleased that the end result would be catastrophic for the Thriftwood’s.

There was something in the air on Friday the thirteenth; a buzz of excitement, a feeling of change? For some strange reason, no one could put their finger on it.  Then all hell broke loose.  Three police cars with sirens blaring, came screaming into the school grounds; screeched to a halt at the front door of the school. A policewoman, a police sergeant and two policemen came charging into the school.  Everyone on the south side of the school saw them arrive and within ten minutes, the whole school knew that something was amiss.  Then within minutes, the Headteacher burst into the Geography class and yelled at the top of his voice.

“McGregor! Follow me!”  Philippa slowly stood, showing her defiance at her treatment.  The policewoman was having none of it and roughly spun her around, grabbed her arms behind her back and clamped a pair of handcuffs on her.  As she left, everyone in the class started cheering. 

She was frog-marched in front of the students, who were now chattering with excitement, down to the student locker area and ordered to open her locker.  The second she opened it she was pushed aside by the police sergeant who began to search it.  He quickly found the drugs hidden behind the photograph and spun around and holding up the four little bags, asked her to explain what they were.  By this time most of the students had emptied from their classrooms and were watching the proceedings.  The cheering was starting to spread around the congregated masses.  The police sergeant had to raise his voice.

“I am cautioning you, Miss McGregor, for being in possession of what might turn out to be drugs.  Anything you say may…. The rest was drowned out by the cheers from the rest of the students who were now enjoying the downfall of Philippa McGregor.

By lunchtime, the food hall was still buzzing with excitement at the morning’s events.  Padma took a deep breath, then slowly moved towards the table where Thriftwood and Mohammad were sitting. As she put her tray down, Thriftwood stared at her, then glanced at Mohammad in amazement.

“Get lost and go find another stone to hide under you little git.”  But Padma ignored Mohammad’s threats and carried on with settling down to eat her lunch.  The two girls ignored her, then with her mouth full, Mohammad asked where Miriam was?

“Doctors appoint she told me.”  At which point Padma looked up and smiled.

“What’s so bloody funny runt face?”

Padma ignored the barrage of abuse, bad language and threats aimed at her by Mohammad and continued to eat her lunch.  When she finished, she stood, turned her back on them and left.  Mohammad, by this time, was fuming and cursing under her breath.  “How dare that little insignificant brat of a girl ignore me like that.”

Padma made her way through the crowded tables, then frowned as young Mark gave her the thumbs up.  She paused and wondered why he should be doing that to her, then she caught sight of a young man sitting next to him who was wearing a school blazer that was clearly too small for him.  She smiled, then made her way out of the dining area.

Without looking back, Padma made her way down the passage to the gymnasium and storeroom corridor. Just as she reached the mark on the corridor floor where Franky had told her she had to stand, she slowed. As predicted, Mohammad came racing up behind her and grabbed her hair and started to pull it, screaming abuse at her, criticizing her religion and her race.  Padma took the first slap across the face but then she felt the kick to her leg and went down.  As she sat with her back to the wall, she slipped out the replica knife Franky had given her and pushed it across the floor.  Mohammad laughed, stooped down and picked it up, then dragged Padma up by her hair and pushed her up against the gym wall, threatening her with the knife and continuing to verbally abuse her.  She only stopped when she heard heavy footsteps approaching, then quickly left.

Copyright Bob French

The Darker Half Chapter 13

The Darker Half Chapter 13

By Janet Baldey

CHAPTER 13

          “Mum, are you sure Dad’s all right?”Anna wiped away the condensation clouding her view and peered out of the kitchen window.

         Her mother tutted.  “Mind what yer doing.  Now there’s soap all down the winder.” 

         She raised her arm to swipe at the window with her dishrag and Anna saw the circular patch of sweat staining her jumper and the tired lines crisscrossing her face. She felt a twinge of conscience. When had her mother started to look so old?  And why hadn’t she noticed it before?  She knew why but pushed the thought away, as she pushed away all other thoughts of Alec. Gently, she took hold of her mother’s shoulders and steered her away from the sink.

         “Mum. Why don’t you go and sit down?  I’ll finish the washing up and bring you a cup of tea in a minute.”

         Her mother grunted but didn’t argue and Anna poured away the old water, slimy with grease, and watched as freshwater steamed into the bowl. That done, she looked out of the window again; her father was still sitting on the garden bench but now his face was clenched,  He doubled over, arms laced around his middle and she knew that if she had been outside, she would have heard him groan. Quickly she turned off the tap and ran outside.

         “Dad, are you OK?”  Her father raised his head and the greyness of his skin frightened her.

         “Sure love, I’m fine. Just a bit of indigestion. It’ll be gone in a minute.”.

         He didn’t look fine. Anything but and she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she sat down beside him, both watching in silence as the rays of the failing sun burnished the treetops. Despite her nagging worry, Anna gradually felt peace stealing over her; they hadn’t been alone together like this for a long time. Her hand crept towards his and she squeezed. As she did, the years melted away and she felt as close to him as she had as a child. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, not wanting to reveal their film of tears. She didn’t visit enough, and guilt suffocated her.  Her father had hated it when she’d left but she’d gone anyway. She’d had to. The drip, drip, drip of Alec’s poisonous behaviour had worn her down until she couldn’t stand the ratmosphere any longer. Even now, she had to force herself through the front door, not knowing whether he was going to be there and whether she could bear the sight of his face.

         Suddenly the harsh sound of a blackbird’s alarm call startled her, and she opened her eyes. She was just in time to see it swoop over the lawn and although it was gone in an instant, it was enough to shatter her abstraction. Brought back to the moment, she shivered, realising the clouds had engulfed the sun and the warmth had gone out of the air.  Gently, she let go of her father’s hand.

         “Come on, Dad.  Let’s go in. It’s getting cold.”  “Bugger Alec”, she thought.  “From now on I’ll visit Dad every week”.

She took his arm and they walked slowly towards the house. He was so thin, she realised feeling his bones beneath her hand, birdlike and stooped as well. Almost like a stork.

“Are you eating, Dad?”

He smiled.  “Haven’t got much of an appetite, love.  Price of getting old, I suppose.”

But was as it just old age?  She asked herself.

Anna ached to have a quiet word alone with her mother but instead was forced to sit in the lounge and listen to her talk whilst her father silently sipped his tea. Very soon, her mother’s monologue veered towards its favourite subject, as Anna knew it would. It appeared that since she’d had left home, Alec had morphed into the perfect son. 

“Got himself a good job, pays well and e’s smartened himself up no end.  Looks proper handsome. You wouldn’t recognise him.”  She shot a look at Anna.  A look mixed with bitterness and triumph. “Yeah. I always knew he’d turn out good. Since you’ve been gone, ‘e’s come out of his shell.”

Anna couldn’t help herself. Although she’d vowed not to ask, think or talk about Alec ever again, curiosity got the better of her. She looked over at her father and saw a shred of vitality in his eyes.  He winked at her and his lips curled into a slight one-sided smile.  A feeling of warmth floated through her. She hadn’t been mistaken, it was like the old times; she and her dad humouring the delusions of her mum.

“So what does he do then? What is this wonderful job he’s got?”

Her mother bristled. “There’s no need for that sarky tone, my girl. ‘E’s doing well and ‘e hasn’t needed a lot of fancy certificates to prove it. That’s all I need to know.”  Putting down her cup, she hoisted herself up, looking meaningfully at the clock.

“Sorry, mum. I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. If Alec is doing well, I’m pleased for him.”  It was a lie, but a white one. She needed to keep the peace to help her dad. Anyway, she’d got her answer, her mum hadn’t a clue what Alec did, only that he brought in money. 

She saw her father was struggling to rise as well.

“Right now,  I just need to be a gentleman,” he said. “Please don’t leave before I get back.” She watched as he threaded himself through the furniture in the direction of the lavatory. As soon as he’d disappeared, she seized her chance.

“Mum, do you realise how frail dad is? Has he seen a doctor?”

“Doctor!  Don’t make me laugh girl. You know your dad. At least you should.  ‘E don’t believe in doctors. Not been near one since I was misdiagnosed.”

“Well, I think he should. Can’t you persuade him? You must see how ill he looks.”

“E won’t listen to me. Never has done since the day we were married. You were the only one he’d pay attention to. Why don’t you talk to ‘im?”

After she said goodbye, Anna thought about what her mother had said.  She was right, Dad could be very stubborn. All the same, something needed to be done. Next week, when she went home again, she must try to make him see sense. It was only a week, she consoled herself, a week wouldn’t make much difference.

        

         Although she didn’t live all that far away, her journey back took some time.  It was complicated, she’d deliberately designed it that way to put Alec off the scent. She knew he must be burning with curiosity about where she lived so she’d worked out an obscure route involving the underground, buses and trains. It was a nuisance but even when it was dark she usually enjoyed the walk from the house to the station, along a winding lane bordered by thick bushes deep within which she’d occasionally hear the secretive rustle of night creatures. On clear nights, she’d watch the flickering array of stars while, all the time, enjoying the sound of her own footsteps knowing full well that at least for the next week, they’d be drowned by thousands of others all pounding the same grey city streets. 

         Tonight, she was enjoying nothing because, although he was physically miles away, Alec was stalking her. She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mother had said. That Alec had bloomed since she’d left. Surely that couldn’t be right? 

         Anyway, who cared? She shrugged off all thoughts of Alec. He was the past, he didn’t matter. But there was something that did matter, something that had to be faced sooner or later.

         She reached the station, automatically paid for her ticket and made her way onto the platform where she stood waiting for the train which would whisk her away to the source of her problem. If it was a problem - it might just be a blessing in disguise and she metaphorically crossed her fingers. Although Lucinda hadn’t said anything to her, Anna was pretty sure she was seeing someone. She had started to add an extra layer of glamour to her beauty; experimenting with make-up and buying new clothes.  Several evenings recently she’d disappeared into the night without telling Anna where she was going and although she had been evasive when questioned, it was the look in her eyes that told all.

         Anna smiled to herself, for the past few weeks she had been wondering how to break the news to Lucy that she and Romeo were romantically involved and now it seemed the tables had been turned.  Her smile faded, although Lucy had been much more stable recently, she knew from past experience that it didn’t take much to set her off and Anna prayed that she wouldn’t get hurt.

         She also had the idea that Lucy had guessed her own secret. She’d had a speculative look in her eyes as she watched Anna getting ready to go out the evening before.

         “Hot date?” She’d asked as Anna came down the stairs wearing a new dress.

         “Not really.  A colleague from work. Won’t be late.”

Anna had checked her makeup in the hall mirror and made her escape to where Romeo was waiting for her. As usual, he would be in the White Hart, the restaurant where they’d had their first date and which they now thought of as ‘theirs.’ They always chose a round table in an alcove at the back of the room, a table at which they could both see the rest of the room but not ‘be seen.’  Mellowed by good food and love they would sit huddled together in a delightful conspiracy discussing the things that had become close to their hearts – writing and the group they belonged to. Romeo had told her that she had a gift for editing and that when the present course ended, he’d asked for her help coping with next years’ group of hopefuls.

          As she made her way into the restaurant Anna had never thought it possible to be so happy. When she was with Romeo she felt complete, without him something was missing. She looked towards their table and felt a warm glow as she saw him, bent over the menu.  Immediately, he looked up, as if sensing her presence.

         “Hi, love.” He stood up and drew out her chair. “How are you?”

         “Good,” she answered. “Have you decided what we’re going to eat tonight?”

         “Food,” he said. “I’m starving. How are things at home?”

         “Okay, I haven’t said anything to Lucy yet. In fact, I have an idea I was worrying about nothing. ” 

         She looked at him waiting for a reaction but he didn’t say anything. In fact, it seemed that he was distracted. She waited for a few seconds and then asked.

         “Is anything wrong?”

         It was then that he’d taken her hand and held it firmly. “Anna, you know I care a lot about you, don’t you?”

         She nodded, her heart had become to beat really fast; perhaps he was going to propose.  He looked serious and Romeo was never serious. Their meetings were characterised by laughter. Romeo cracked her up and his sense of humour was infectious, releasing her own sense of fun. Together they bantered their evenings away, making the mundane hilarious. Hesitantly, she smiled but his expression didn’t change, instead, he looked down at the table.

         “Anna, you do know I’m married, don’t you?”

         She opened her mouth but not a sound came out, all her joy evaporated in a sigh.  She struggled to remove her hand but he gripped it tighter, anchoring it to the table.

         “It’s not a real marriage,” for the first time he really looked at her. “Just let me tell you what it’s like to be married to Helen.”

         There was a long pause during which Anna stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. At last, he swallowed and continued while she sat there, part of a nightmare, harrowed by every word as he recounted the story of his marriage. They were both too young, he longing for an escape from his mother and attracted by her quietness, whilst she had her own reasons. Nevertheless, happy in fits and starts, their marriage continued for five years. Then came disaster. Helen was mugged when coming home from a game of badminton she played once a week. Shocked rather than seriously hurt, nevertheless, its effect was life-changing. She refused to leave the house which became her castle and place of safety which every single speck of dirt threatened. From morning until night she cleaned obsessively and only allowed Romeo into the house when he had changed into a fresh set of clothes which she kept, shrouded in plastic, by the back door. Upon gaining entry he was required to shower and change into more fresh clothes.

         “She keeps a plastic box on a special table and I have to put my ‘phone, wallet, book and anything else I have on me. They mustn’t sully the surfaces. It was only with difficulty that I managed to persuade her not to sterilise them.” He laughed but with none of his usual humour. “We don’t live together now but I spend the weekends with her. It’s mostly to keep up appearances – her parents are strict Baptists and I am fond of her.

         So now, you know.  I do love you, Anna, truly I do but I can’t hurt Helen. She’s been through too much already and it’s not her fault.”

         His voice was as flat as the table her hand was pinned to but he needn’t have worried.  All the time he’d been talking she had been watching his face. While not missing a word he’d said she’d been imagining a future without him. A dreary round of work and home, one day limping after the other – no hope, no retrieve. Romeo painted her life with colour and the thought of that colour vanishing forever, filled her with horror. She looked at his mouth forming words she didn’t want to hear and thought, at least he was honest and she was no home breaker. As long as she had Romeo she could cope: it was far better than the alternative.

         Romeo had stopped talking and their table was a pool of silence amongst the gaiety of the crowded restaurant.

         Breaking that silence, she picked up the menu. “Thank you for telling me, Romeo. Now, what are we going to eat?”

         But although they tried hard, Romeo’s announcement had punctured their mood and the rest of their evening was full of awkward pauses and it wasn’t until she was on the  point of falling asleep later that night, that she realised she’d forgotten to tell him about Lucy.

          As her train hurtled towards Euston, Anna thought that perhaps it would have been better if they’d had a steaming row, at least it would have cleared the air. As it was, they parted with a stiff kiss and a nagging thought, on her part, that she had made it too easy for him.

Copyright Janet Baldey

An Insomniac’s Lament

An Insomniac’s Lament

By Woodham Walter

Why can’t I sleep at night?

My eyes I keep closed tight.

I practice snoring with all my might

I say my prayers, turn out the light.

Why am I denied sleep?  It ain’t right!

Copyright Woodham Walter