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Friday, 2 October 2020

Len's Diary Excerpt (1) 1999

 

Lens Diary ~ Observation ~ (01) ~ 01/06/99

Shop doorway Romford Market Sat 29/05/99 Time 13:33.

 A swarthy unshaven young man in his early twenties sits on a worn grey felt blanket.  His grubby hands held out to the bustling shoppers passing by.

A black & white collie-cross dog, sharing his blanket, gazes up at him with adoration in its eyes.

He opens his battered Army surplus pack, removes a pop bottle filled with clean water.  He looks into the dog’s big brown eyes and smiles.  The dog licks his face as he produces a tin soup bowl.  He fills the bowl with water.  The dog drinks greedily.  Their eyes meet again and the man pours more water, taking a shallow swallow from the bottle himself.  A third of the water remains and at a telepathic entreaty, this too is emptied into the bowl.

“Ere you are mate,” a cheery Cockney voice chirps and a hamburger is wedged into the Youngman’s hand.  He waits until the dog has finished drinking, then he breaks the burger in two, offering half to his companion.  He watches as the dog swallows, then breaks his half again; half to the dog and half for himself.  He eats slowly, relishing his portion, licking his fingers.

A passer by wrinkles his nose – Judging.  A young woman smirks – Judging      

(Judge not less ye be judged?)

 Answer some/all the following questions in a story between 300 & 1000 words send them to Len:

(a)          What are you thinking?  What feelings does this invoke in your mind?

(b)          What do you think the passer-by is thinking?

(c)           What is the smirking woman thinking?

(d)          What is the young man thinking?

(e)          What is the dog thinking?

(f)            Why are they there?

(g)          How did they get there?

 

Into my mind comes strains of the Joan Baez song (1961) ‘There but for fortune…’

Alexander and the folk next door Part 1

 

Alexander and the folk next door ~ Part One

Janet Baldey

Chapter One 

The dog was howling again.   The mournful sound woke Alexander up.  For a moment, he couldn’t think where he was.   He blinked and lifted his head from the pillow, his eyes squinting in the sunshine that poured through the window.   He frowned, wondering why he was in bed in the middle of the day, then he remembered.   That morning, when he’d tried to eat his breakfast, his stomach had gurgled and rolled and he’d felt sick.  His mother had put her hand on his forehead and sighed.

         ‘You’d better go back to bed.  I’ll let your teacher know.’

         Now, Alexander lay, listening to the dog.      He felt sorry for it.  Day after day, it was chained to its kennel at the bottom of the overgrown garden next door.  He’d never seen anyone go near it and it must be very lonely.   He got up and walked over to the window.   The dog was quiet now.   Through a gap in the hedge, he could just see its nose resting on its paws and the glint of the thick chain that was fastened to its collar.   

   All of a sudden, Alexander had an idea.  He didn’t feel ill any more so he would take the dog out for a walk.  The dog would like that and if he was quick, he’d be back before his mother realised he’d gone.

         He started to feel excited; this was going to be an adventure.   He’d been given a pair of combat trousers and matching shirt for his birthday; he would pretend he was a soldier, on a mission to rescue the dog from the enemy.   His first task would be to get out of the house without his mother hearing him. 

He opened his bedroom door and tiptoed out onto the landing.   Downstairs, his mother was in the kitchen washing up, he could hear the chinking sound of china as she stacked the plates in the drainer.

Slowly, Alexander re-traced his steps.   His mother had very sharp ears.   She would be sure to hear the stairs creaking as he crept down them.  Somehow, he would have to think of another way to get out of the house. 

           He opened his bedroom window and stuck his head out.   The ground looked so far away, it made him feel dizzy but when he turned his head, he could see a drainpipe.  It was fixed to the wall very close to his windowsill and ran all the way down to the ground.   He suddenly had a great idea.   He would climb down it.  It couldn’t be that difficult, they were always doing it in films.   Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the window ledge and shuffled along until he could wrap both arms and legs around the rough metal pipe.  Clinging on tightly he wriggled his bottom until he started to slide downwards.   Cool air whizzed by him as he went faster and faster until his arms ached and he couldn’t hold on any longer.  He yelled, let go and dropped like a stone towards the ground. 

 

Chapter Two 

Oof.   All Alexander’s breath was knocked from his body.   He lay flat on his back, gasping.   When he got his breath back, he moved his arms and legs gently.  He didn’t seem to be hurt.   He was lying on something soft and suddenly he realised what it was.  It was the pile of sand left behind after the builders had built the patio.   He grinned with relief.   It could have been a lot worse.   He could have landed on the concrete.

         He gazed up at the bright blue sky spreading like a huge umbrella above him.   Then, he remembered the dog and rolled onto the ground.   His legs felt shaky as he walked towards the fence.  It was old and worn and the planks leaned against each other as if they were tired.  There were plenty of spaces big enough for him to squeeze through.

         As he got near to the kennel, the dog sat up and watched him.   Its tail started to thump the ground, sending little puffs of dust up into the air.  Alexander thought its eyes reminded him of the buttons sewn into the face of his little cousin’s teddy bear.   He decided to call the dog Button.

         ‘Hi, Button.’

         The dog opened its mouth and licked Alexander’s hand with its wet tongue.

         Alexander laughed and wiped the slobber onto the back of his trousers.

         He patted the dog’s bristly fur and it whined with delight and tried to jump up but the chain held it firmly.   Alexander examined its clasp and decided it wouldn’t be too difficult to undo but he would need some sort of lead.  In the end, he looped the belt of his trousers through the dog’s collar.  That should work, as long as his trousers didn’t fall down.

         The dog started to yelp with excitement.  Alexander put a finger to his lips.

         ‘SSh, Button.  We don’t want anyone to hear us?’ 

         Alexander looked at next doors’ house at the far end of the neglected garden: every one of its windows was covered by a thick, dark, blind.    It looked as if it was sleeping.  There were no signs of life.   He had never set eyes on the people who lived there.   Nor, had his parents.   They called them ‘Our mysterious neighbours.’

  He glanced down at Button.   The dog’s eyes were fixed on him adoringly.  He noticed that its thick golden fur was covered in a greyish fluff.

         ‘They don’t even bother to groom him.’  Alexander thought.   He bent down to undo the chain. 

 

Chapter Three 

 As soon as Button was released, he was off.  Alexander just had time to grab the lead as Button tore past him, down the driveway and out of the gate. 

‘Button, slow down!’

 But Button took no notice and pulled Alexander along behind him.   They were heading towards his house and Alexander started to panic.  He’d never meant to go this way.  It would be awful if his mother happened to look out of the window and saw him.  His legs barely keeping up with the dog, Alexander bent his head and stared at the ground as they raced past.   He fully expected his mother to give a yell and bang at the window but to his relief, there was silence apart from the thud of his feet on the pavement.

Soon, his house disappeared from sight and Alexander could see the park in the distance.  Bordered by high metal railings, its winding paths trailed across brown grass withering in the sun. 

‘Oh, so Button wants to go to the park,’ he thought.

 But, to Alexander’s surprise, Button ignored the park gates.  He zoomed past them and shot down a side road.  Alexander had never been that way before.   Alexander’s legs started to ache, he began to puff and sweat rolled down his face.   As

he struggled to keep up with Button, he noticed the neighbourhood had changed.  The houses on this road looked as if they needed painting.  They were crammed close together, separated only by chain-link fences that sagged in the middle.   

All of a sudden, Button changed direction and whizzed down an alleyway between two houses.   The narrow passage eventually led on to a path bordered by thick clumps of ryegrass.   Nestling between the coarse grass, discarded bottles and cans shone in the sun and Alexander sighed.   Button seemed to have a taste for rough places.   But soon, they left the rubbish behind and the path became a winding track.   As they charged along Alexander’s mouth dropped open in horror as he suddenly saw a thick mass of stinging nettles blocking his way.  

‘Button.  Stop!’

Alexander hollered at the top of his voice but Button took no notice.  Before Alexander had time to think he was being pulled straight through the nettles.

‘Ouch!  Ouch!  Ouch!’

Tears of pain ran down Alexander’s face.   Then, just as he was thinking he couldn’t hold on any longer, Button stopped so suddenly that Alexander ran slap bang into him.   They both fell sprawling onto the ground and for a moment Alexander saw stars as his head hit the ground.    Button turned his head, gave Alexander a sloppy kiss and wriggled out from beneath him.   He plonked his bottom down and sat staring straight ahead, his whole body quivering with excitement.

  Alexander struggled to his feet.   The path led to the edge of a steep slope.  At the bottom of the slope, there was a field of maize stretching as far as his eyes could see.   The tall heads of the corn were swaying in the light breeze.  They shone a metallic purple in the sunshine.   He thought they looked like the massed spears of  Roman warriors waiting to go into battle.

 

Chapter Four

As he stood looking down at the field, Alexander heard the harsh sound of heavy breathing.   He looked around.   No one was in sight but now he could hear footsteps and his heart began to beat very fast.  Somebody was following them.

 Scary thoughts flashed through Alexander’s mind.   He and Button were all alone and a long way from home.    Who could it be?  Perhaps it was the Police coming to take him back to school, or it might be the stranger that he had been warned never to talk to.      He looked around for somewhere to hide.   The only place that he could see was the field of maize and quickly he slid down the steep slope, his feet skidding on the pebbly surface.

         He was just in time.    No sooner had he crouched amongst the tall stems, than a huge figure appeared.   Alexander’s father was tall but this man was even bigger.   He was also very hairy.   His head, and most of his face, was covered by thick tufts of coarse brown hair, and he had a long jutting nose.   Without glancing to right or left, the man rushed on down the path and crashed his away along the side of the field.   Alexander held his breath until the sound of his footsteps faded into the distance.

         ‘Phew.  That was close.’

         He pulled on Button’s leash.

         ‘Come on boy.  Time to go home.’              

         Button gave a low whine.  Without warning, he lunged forward and the lead was wrenched out of Alexander’s hand.

          Alexander gasped.  Button was streaking into the field as if powered by a motor.

         Alexander opened his mouth to yell but then closed it again.  If he made a noise, the strange man might hear him.   

He didn’t know what to do.   He could go home alone but then he would worry in case Button couldn’t find his way back and he knew that even a bad home was better than no home.   He realised he would have to follow Button into the field.

He stood for a moment trying to remember which way the dog had gone.  Very faintly, he could hear the sound of stems being crushed as a furry body bounded through them.   He took a deep breath and took a step in what he hoped was the right direction.

  

Chapter Five 

The further Alexander went into the maize the darker it became.   Broad, green leaves twined around stems, much taller than he was, blocking out the light from the sky.   Alexander was reminded of the church his Mother took him to every Sunday.  It was dark and gloomy but also quiet and peaceful.   He soon realised that one corn stalk looked very much like another and even worse, he couldn’t hear Button any more.    Just as he was starting to worry that he was lost, he tripped over something and landed with a bump on the cool earth.

The ‘something’ gave a squeak and sat up.  

Alexander stared.   A white face with enormous eyes stared back at him.     Alexander sighed with relief.   A small girl was huddled amongst the corn looking at him.  She looked very scared.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

‘Hiding.’  The girl said in a tiny voice.

‘Why?’

‘Some boys from school were chasing me.   They said they were going to put a mouse down my dress.’

‘Why would they do that?’  

‘I don’t know. I don’t think they like me.  They’re always pulling my hair’.

Her eyes began to shine with tears.

‘What’s your name?’ 

‘Becky.’

‘I’m Alexander.   I came into the corn because I’ve lost my dog.   But now I think I’m lost too.   Do you know the way out?’.

Becky shook her head.   Her tears overflowed and trickled down her face.  

‘I’ve been trying to find my way out for ages.  It’s getting late and my mum will be worried.’

Alexander realised the girl was right.  The little bit of the sky he could see above the corn was a very dark blue.   It was starting to get chilly too and he realised the sun must have gone down.

He made up his mind.

‘We’ll go this way.’

It was almost as if the corn didn’t want to let them go.   Their thick stalks crowded together making it difficult for them to squeeze through and their rubbery leaves twined around their legs.   After Becky had fallen over for the third time, Alexander started to worry.   It seemed to him as if they were walking round in circles.   He was sure they had passed that oddly shaped stone before.  He knew what it was, his father had told him.   It was called a puddingstone and Alexander thought it was because it had tiny pebbles, like raisins, embedded in it.

‘What’s that?’  Becky cried in a scared voice.

Alexander heard a crashing sound that was gradually becoming louder and louder.   Something was coming.   Alexander just hoped it wasn’t the hairy giant.

  

To be continued tomorrow

 

Copyright Janet Baldey

Thursday, 1 October 2020

Out of Character

 

Out of Character

By Len Morgan

In the locker room of the eleventh precinct, Officer Clyde Kowalski badge #D6593 hung his uniform at the end of a long twelve-hour shift. He was unconsciously whistling a tune from his mothers favourite musical. 

Tough cop indeed he thought and he smiled self-consciously at his fellow officers, none of whom looked the least bit cheerful.

"Hey Kowalski, what's with the Mary Poppins, you goin soft on us?"

"Nah! It's Thursday night, and I gotta long-standing date."

"Well, I hope she is worthy of dat cheery dispo-zishun."

"Oh she is Harv," he smiled again thinking of Martha Swan and her flower arranging classes. 

He could just turn up with a bunch of in-season blooms, some leaves, fern and a rock or tree bark and, with her help, create a beautiful arrangement for the local Hospice that had helped his mother through her final days.


Copyright Len Morgan


BEACH BUMMER

 

BEACH BUMMER ( A Parody )

By Peter Woodgate

I must go down to the beach again

With the kids and mother-in-law,

The car will be full of clothes made of wool

Not to mention blankets galore.

 

I must go down to the beach again

To the rocks, the pebbles and sea,

Where tin cans rot and there isn’t a spot

To sit with any safety.

 

I must go down to the beach again

To the noise, the crowds and the queues,

It’s anyone’s guess where dogs leave their mess

And the oil slick sticks to my shoes.

 

I must go down to the beach again

Where lifeguards sit all day,

Deck chairs flap and the wind takes my cap

On a journey across the bay.

 

I must go down to the beach again

To candy floss, ice cream and pies,

With sand in my toes, in my mouth and my nose

In my hair, in my ears and my eyes.

 

I must go down to the beach again

For the journey is forced upon me,

Yet all I ask, is a huge hip flask

Of gin, or scotch, but not tea.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 

Wednesday, 30 September 2020

A TRICK OF TREATS

 

A TRICK OF TREATS

By Peter Woodgate 


It’s Halloween oh what a bore

Bloody kids knock on my door,

Trick or Treat” they shout with glee,

Their silly costumes don’t fool me.

“You’re no ghosts,” I tell them straight,

“I know that you’re from number eight.

“Come on mister, play the game,

Give us a treat or feel the pain.”

“OK,” I say, “I’ve got a treat,

Come inside but wipe your feet.”

I’ll show them I am no ones fool,

I have a plan I think is cool.

“Are you hungry?” “not arf mate,”

“Then help your self, just grab a plate.”

I chuckle as I read their minds

Anticipating what they’ll find.

Chicken nuggets, burgers, chips

Doughnuts, ice cream, Mcflurry whips.

Each lid they lift, reveals a sight,

That makes them heave and turns them white,

Boiled cabbage, swede, parsnips too,

Brussels sprouts and rabbit stew.

They turn and flee the house in fear,

I don’t think they’ll be back next year.

I smile as I walk to the kitchen, where,

My wife has prepared a sumptuous fare

Of treats for the kids and which I like a hog,

Devour with great haste, then feed mine to the dog.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

The World’s Speediest Couch Potatoes

The World’s Speediest Couch Potatoes

By Janet Baldey


‘Mummy, why hasn’t that doggie got a tail?’

The voice of a little girl rose above the clamour of noise marking the annual village fete.  Its clarity cut through the cheers of proud parents and put the metallic whingeing of the tannoy to shame as it ascended into a sky heavily stippled by cloud.

 Monica couldn’t fail to hear it as she stood in the arena holding her dog’s lead.  She’d entered Hermes into the Dog Show on a whim, when the judge had picked up a megaphone and announced the next class to be ‘The Best Rescue Dog,’ She felt confident that Hermes qualified.  The other classes she wasn’t so sure about.  He certainly couldn’t be described as ‘The Happiest Dog’ for greyhound’s faces aren’t designed with humour in mind.  

Nor, although she loved him deeply, could he truthfully be called ‘The Most handsome,’ unless one’s definition of handsome included a gaunt, ribby body and strongly muscled limbs. Furthermore, as had been pointed out by an unknown child, ‘The Dog with the Waggiest Tail’ class was completely ruled out.

‘Why Mummy?’ the shrill voice persisted.

Monica could have told her but it wasn’t a story fit for children.

Brutal men with hearts made of the same material as their wallets, cut off the tails of greyhounds past their prime to ensure they were never raced again.   If the dogs had been earmarked, they cut off those as well. Then the mutilated animals would be dumped; often by the side of motorways, leaving them to take their chances with the traffic.

         Monica had learned all this, and more, when she approached a greyhound sanctuary searching for a docile companion to accompany her into old age.  As she sat in a functional room, decorated only by pictures of greyhounds, the re-homing secretary told her all she wanted to know about the breed.

‘Greyhounds have a long and aristocratic lineage. They are the only dog mentioned in the Bible and throughout history they’ve been prized for their speed and agility.  Flat out, they can reach speeds of 45 mph.  In ancient Egypt, the birth of a litter of hounds was second only in importance to the birth of a son and the whole household went into mourning if a dog died.  When they were first brought over to England, commoners were not thought worthy of owning such an animal.’ 

The lady drew in a deep breath and looked at Monica.

‘And maybe, that was right.  Because the moment common man learned they could make money out of them, greyhounds were in deep trouble.  They were taken over by the gaming industry and became commodities. Unscrupulous owners and breeders flooded the market with surplus animals, searching for the perfect winning machine.  Every year the rejects, thousands of faithful, intelligent animals with not a mean bone in their bodies, were abandoned, shot or drowned. The rest were sold for vivisection, ground up and used in the pet food industry, or sent across to the seas to places like China or Spain.  And if you think China has a bad record when it comes to human rights, their animals fare even worse. And, as for Spain!’  

Monica gasped as she learned what happened to greyhounds in Spain.   She saw her anger reflected in the other’s eyes and warmed to her. How dare people treat animals like that?

   ‘Even if they were chosen, their careers were short.  At the age of between three and five years they were judged ‘over the hill’ and suffered the same fate as the others.  Eventually, people like us stepped in. We drew people’s attention to their plight and lobbied for more regulation but it’s still an uphill fight.  One of our main jobs is to find good homes for them when they’re retired. And they do make excellent pets. They’re quiet, clean and need surprisingly little exercise.  They’re nicknamed speedy couch potatoes, with good reason, so they’re ideal for the elderly and….disabled.’ 

She’d glanced at Monica’s walking stick, and a faint bloom had flushed her cheeks.

         In fact, Monica had needed little persuasion.  As soon as she clapped eyes on Hermes she’d felt an instant affinity. They were both ex-athletes, albeit they didn’t have the same number of legs. Her joints were now shackled by arthritis and she’d also recently retired from running.  She and Hermes had things in common.  Each was pinioned now and never again would either of them feel the joy of flying round the track on feet attached to wings.

Now, as Monica stroked the dog’s snakelike head, Hermes gazed up at her with eyes luminous with devotion.  His hindquarters shimmied as he wagged his non-existent tail. He’d been one of the lucky ones. He’d been found minus his tail, rigid with shock but otherwise intact, chained to a gate outside the Rescue Society.

Often, in the evenings when a melancholy wind crooned down the chimney, Monica would watch the rise and fall of Hermes’s chest as he lay flat out on the sofa, and never failed to thank her lucky stars that, against the odds, she’d found him. Her companion for life.

         The judge, still working the circle, was looking for a sob story and when she reached Monica that was what she got.  But it was also one that Monica was determined to bring to a fairytale ending.

         ‘I don’t think that doggie deserves to win if he hasn’t got a tail.’  

         It was the little girl again.  A sudden burst of sunshine illuminated the onlookers and Monica could see her now, a strawberry pink blob with flaxen hair.

         Her hand, creeping over the dog’s head, caressed a velvety triangle and Hermes’s ears twitched.

         ‘Oh yes.’ She thought, watching as the judge walked towards them, holding a bright yellow rosette.

         ‘Oh yes, he does.’

Copyright Janet Baldey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

Tuesday, 29 September 2020

What could go wrong?

 

What could go wrong? 

By Len Morgan

She was a staff nurse, so taking his life was easy, she slipped him a mild sedative at breakfast. Sat him in his favourite chair, with a glass of fine whisky. When he succumbed she injected 25cc of potassium chloride into a melanoma, on his neck, using a fine 'double awt' needle. 
She watched him convulse, checked his pulse, then went to visit her sister for the weekend.
Monday morning the doctor would pronounce him dead of a heart attack, the potassium chloride would be undetectable after 72 hours. She would discard the needle and syringe in the cloakroom at Victoria station, and continue on to her sisters as planned and, she would be free...

It was a good plan, what could go wrong?

                                            .-…-.

She entered the restroom, took the syringe and vial of Potassium from her purse and heading straight for the overflowing rubbish bin.

"What's yer poison Missus?"

She turned, a reflex action, "What the fuck..."

"Come on Missus, you can spare some of yer stash for a fellow user, watcha got, snow, smack, hash, stardust, pills?"

She looked closer at the filthy young man with dust in his straw-coloured hair sitting on a threadbare pile of grey blankets. He rose and looked down at her menacingly. He held out his hand. She handed him the syringe and vial. "And the Bag!" he said.

She looked into his swarthy face, mesmerized by his dark brown eyes. She turned to run but he grabbed her bag, pulling her off balance. "Help me!" she yelled. "Help, heeelp!" She could hear passers' by, but nobody came to her aid.

"Watcha got in ere then?" He put the syringe and vial beside a half-empty bottle of vodka, opened her bag and tipped the contents out on the ground. He brushed things aside lippy, compact, lighter, ID card, mobile phone... He opened her purse and put her cash and credit cards in his pocket. She tried to run again but he grabbed her coat and dragged her roughly to the ground, "Yer lookin for a bit of rough ain't yer? Give us a kiss." He grabbed her hair and drew her face towards him.

"Leave me alone she screamed," hitting out, headbutting him in the face. His blood sprayed her clothes her face and her shoes.

"Bitch!" he screamed pummelling her with blows to her head and torso continuing his frenzied attack long after she'd lost consciousness.
                                          

                                                   .-…-.


A crowd gathered at the restroom door, attracted by the presence of railway police.  One officer surveyed the scene and took charge, he called out "Is there a doctor here?"

"I'm a doctor, let me through." The small crowd parted to let him into the restroom.

"Hello Doctor, I'm John Carpenter, railway police. I was the first responder. He's dead I'm afraid, it could be murder or an OD. Looks as if he gave her quite a beating, she's been unconscious since we arrived about five minutes ago."

"Well she's still alive, have you called an ambulance John?"

"They're on the way."

"Your right, he's dead, there's a syringe in his arm, whatever he took knocked him out cold. There's a vial of something under his arm," he produced gloves and a plastic bag, and carefully lifted the bottle, "There are some letters on the base 'KCl' could just be the manufacturers mark or it could..." The penny dropped, "Potassium chloride! Harmless if taken orally, fatal if injected."

"The ambulance has arrived! Let them through," the crowd parted and two green-clad paramedics entered,

"Are they alive Doctor?"

"She is pretty beaten up but alive, he's gone I'm afraid, tell them to check for potassium specifically."

"Her purse is empty, ah there's an ID card on the floor here." John picked it up carefully, by its edges. "Name: Margaret Graham, Address: 11 Watery Lane, Hullbridge, Essex. NOK: Harry Graham husband."

"Does she have a mobile?" John cast around careful not to disturb the scene. "No luck. I'll try his pockets. Yes, he has a pink iPhone, not his style I would guess." So, all we can do now is wait for the Crime scene investigator,"

A man dressed in white coveralls carrying a white case came in.

"Winston Dawes, CSI, what have we got John?" He knelt to check Margaret's vitals,

"I'll call her husband, Doc. She'll need his support when she regains consciousness."

John dialled, he tried several times, "there's no reply on the home number or from his mobile. I'd say he's either asleep or at work.  I'll get on to the nearest station; Rayleigh I think. Get a PC round to roust him out, or maybe speak to a neighbour, we need to know his place of work."

WPC Jackie Martin knocked and rang several times before peeking through a side window. She saw him slumped in his armchair. "Hello? Mr Graham," she rapped on the window "Hello! Mr Graham, come to the door please." No reply, he didn't move but a whisky tumbler fell from his hand and smashed on the tiled floor. He still didn't move. "Mister Graham!" she yelled and rapped on the window with her knuckles. She checked all the windows and doors, they were all secured.

"Yoo hoo constable, I'm their neighbour, can I help?"

"Yes, I need to get into the house, do you have something I could use to break a window?"

"I can do better than that I've got a spare key.  For emergencies you understand."

"Well, I would definitely call this an emergency."

"I'll get it for you right away."

"Can you also call an ambulance please?"

The neighbour returned in minutes. "Here's the key, and an ambulance is on its way."

Jackie went directly to Harry and checked his pulse, there was none, and he wasn't breathing. He was pale and cold to the touch, he was dead.

Jackie accompanied his body in the ambulance.  At the hospital, the cause of death was confirmed to be poisoning. 


One week later, still in her hospital bed, Margaret Graham was formally charged with premeditated murder, procuring and supplying a lethal injection to a second party.

Copyright Len Morgan