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Saturday 28 November 2020

IT'S LOO-DI-CRASS!

 IT'S LOO-DI-CRASS! 

by Rosemary Clarke

Heard the latest on Southend
The councillors are round the bend
This is the most important news...
THEY'VE GONE AND CLOSED ALL OF THE LOOS!
So if for edibles you shop
Southend's not the place to stop.
And don't you be caught out in there
Or you will soil your underwear.
Make quite sure of your bus I think
Or you will make a dreadful stink!
 
It seems I have just made a mistake
If to the loo you wish to take
An open one on Southend beach
From open shops, it's out of reach.
So, if a penny you will spend
Don't go looking in Southend.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 

The Sweet Man

 

The Sweet Man

By Janet Baldey


‘Soul mates.’ 

‘We were made for each other.’

‘You bring colour to my life.’

Well used phrases, frayed around the edges yet they sounded brand new as he looked into my eyes, his hands cupping my face.   They (he) made me feel special.   They (he) made me feel that, at last, I’d found the man I’d been waiting for.

Both married, although not to each other and not happily, he told me about his wife the first time we went out together.   Tucked into a dim alcove of a local pub, our knees touching as a log fire spat and distant laughter swirled towards us, his face was solemn.   

‘Agoraphobic.  Terrified of germs.   She hasn’t left the house for fifteen years.   Her mother used to live a few doors down the road and just before she died, Rachael forced herself to visit.   When she got back, before she entered the house, she stripped off all her clothes and hosed herself down in the back garden.   Then she spent a full hour in the shower, scrubbing herself sore.   I wasn’t allowed to bring her clothes back in - had to burn them.’

In turn, I told him about Aleck.    He was twenty years older than me, a violinist who lived for his music.   I suppose I was sort of trophy wife, someone he could feel proud to have on his arm but then I fell pregnant and it all changed.  When our daughter was born I couldn’t go away on tour with him and when he got back, he couldn’t stand to hear her cry;  he had sensitive ears, couldn’t bear ugly noise, he said.   As she grew older it didn’t get any better, whenever her prattle disturbed him, he snapped like a vicious dog and retreated to his study.   Soon, he began to stay away for longer periods.   I’m pretty sure he had another woman but by that time I was past caring.   Amelia and I were better off on our own.   Even now, with Amelia married and Aleck retired and back home, I still don’t care although I’ve a cold spot deep inside that nothing can warm.

Joe had nodded slowly and sipped his beer.

‘I think we’ve got a lot in common. I’m so glad we met.’

But I hadn’t been.  Not at first.  I didn’t like change and when my previous boss left for pastures greener, I’d worried and asked around.  

‘What’s he like, this new chap?   The one that’s taking over from Bob.’

‘Oh, he’s nice.  You’ll like him.  He’s a sweet man.’

His looks didn’t impress, tall and stoop-shouldered, with pale eyes that had spent too much time staring at a computer screen, he certainly wasn’t the sort to bowl a maiden over.   But, when he smiled it was as if he’d been lit from within and that was all it took to change my mind.

Joe reached across the table and as his hand covered mine, I felt a delicious tingle.  

‘Of course, I could never leave Rachael.  It would destroy her.’

As for me, who could leave a 70-year-old man without a domesticated bone in his body?  

Seven years is a long time and I have so many memories.   Stolen nights spent together when Aleck was on tour and Joe was supposed to be at a conference.   Every Tuesday was special.   I took an evening course in Spanish simply because they were held on that day when Joe was supposed to be at his camera club.   Needless to say, I didn’t progress in Spanish and Joe almost forgot how to take photographs.  Instead, we spent the evenings tangled together in the back seat of the cinema like the couple of teenagers we felt ourselves to be.   Romantic candle-lit suppers long walks in the country, the occasional lecture on ancient history, we were happy just to be together.   And when we weren’t, there were always the text messages.   I learned to live for my Nokia.   In the early years, the little yellow envelope would pop up hourly, sometimes more.   We had long-running ‘themes’ in which we’d each try to outdo the other in frivolity, the messages zipping through the ether like quickfire only falling silent when our imaginations failed.   Once, I remember going on holiday with Aleck and missing Joe so much that I sent him a text.   ‘I’M MISERABLE.  SAY SOMETHING FUNNY’.   I got a one word reply - ‘MARTIN’ -   the name of a pompous colleague we used to laugh at.   And always, last thing at night, those twin messages ‘CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN.’

He always said he could talk to me about anything and know I’d understand.   One day in the park, a small boy had fallen over just in front of him.  

‘He just lay there red-faced and bawling with pain and shock.   Without thinking, I picked him up and brushed him down.   I heard a scream and looked up to see a woman running towards me.   She shouted something and, for the first time, I saw myself through someone else’s eyes.   A shabby, middle-aged man who might just as well have had the word‘PAEDO’ branded on his forehead.    I just turned and walked away feeling as if I’d done something wrong.’  

He’d looked at me and his eyes were raw.  

‘I can’t tell Rachael.  It would upset her.’

I’d squeezed his hand, not knowing what to say.  The sad thing was, I could imagine what had been going through that woman’s mind and even worse, I sympathised.   Joe had never cared about his appearance, just threw on whatever was to hand and as he did his own laundry, it tended to be crumpled.   If I’d been that woman maybe I would have reacted in the same way.  

The end, when it came, was insidious.  Foreboding tottering on baby steps towards realisation.  When he could, Joe gave me a lift to work.  I’d meet him at the ‘bus stop so as not to arouse suspicion.   It always gave me a thrill to see his car parked up waiting for me and he never let me down.   One day I got in and started prattling on about something, I forget what now.   He made a slight noise and when I looked at him my world teetered on its axis.   There was an expression on his face I hadn’t seen before.   Exasperation?   Irritation?  Boredom?   I stared.   Then his face cleared, he grinned and was his old self again.   But unsettled, I watched for other signs and when they came, dwelled on them obsessively.  

He told me about a man who fell asleep at the wheel because he’d been texting his girlfriend all night.  

‘All night!’

‘Must have been the start of their relationship.’  

His voice was bitter and a chill worked its way down my spine.   His text messages to me had been steadily dwindling.

His very last was one that read ‘FEEL SO DOWN, SO LOW’.   Immediately, I replied.

‘WHAT’S WRONG DARLING?  DON’T WORRY.  I STILL LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS EVER.’

I never did get a reply.

The next day, I accompanied Aleck on a planned holiday to Venice and trailed around after him, wilting in the heat, my face aching from holding a fixed smile in place.  In the evenings, I sat in silence while he argued with the waiters, feeling sick at heart and worried to death.   I still hadn’t heard from Joe and at last, in desperation, had asked him outright.   ‘DO YOU WANT TO END OUR RELATIONSHIP?’    Minutes, hours, days, my mobile remained dead and I knew I had my answer.   Even so, I couldn’t quell a faint flicker of hope – after all, ‘phones do malfunction.

I thought everyone could hear the thudding of my heart as I walked into the office on my return.   The first thing I did was to look towards his desk.   It was stripped bare and I felt the blood leave my face.     People looked at me strangely when I asked.   Early retirement - it had been planned months ago.

I still don’t understand why.   Had I grown too demanding, perhaps tedious?   Was there really such a thing as the ‘seven year itch’ or was it simply that we’d been on a train going nowhere and it had just reached the buffers?

‘Get it all down on paper.’  My counsellor said.   ‘Write it out of your system and when you’re done, burn it.    It’ll help, I promise.  It’s cathartic.’

I strike a match and hear it sizzle just before I feed it the paper.   The edges blacken and curl before being consumed by the hungry orange mouth and soon only a mound of silvery ash remains.  I reach out a finger and poke it, seven years of my life - the happiest ones.  I wonder if the counsellor is right.  If she is, why am I still crying and why can’t I forget that look on his face?    

 Copyright Janet Baldey

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

     

        

 

 

Friday 27 November 2020

Abbalar Tales ~ 10

 Abbalar Tales ~ 10 Meyam 

By Len Morgan


Skaa grabbed their last ride-able mount and took up the chase at speed, leaving the rest of his men way behind.   "You’re mine boy," he yelled as he dismounted, and headed in pursuit, seeing his mark a quarter of a mile ahead and two hundred feet above him.   He started to climb and almost immediately, felt the fear churning in his guts.   He stopped in surprise, then uttered an angry curse "Where you go, I can follow!"   He continued the climb.  

Aldor glanced back, a grim smile on his face.  

"You're becoming distinctly tiresome boy, I'm going to have to kill you," Skaa yelled into the wind.

"I am not a defenceless woman Skaa, you will have to work hard to accomplish that you overweight windbag," his hand brushed the hilt of his knife somewhat foolishly; it was no match for a sabre.   He climbed over the lip of the plateau, onto an area of level ground, he gazed down at the older man puffing hard but, grim-faced and determined, his eyes still confident and business like.  

Aldor looked around him.   There was a small copse nestled in against the next face to be climbed.   Selecting a substantial sapling he cut and stripped it of branches cutting a five foot length with the heavy knife he'd acquired from the guard.   He returned calmly to confront his shadow, waiting patiently, as he breasted the lip of the small plateau.

"Nice of you to join me for some healthy early morning exercise," he smiled.

"Healthy for me," Skaa replied.   "You've led me a merry dance," he added in a matter of fact voice as he drew his blade.   "We can do this the easy way, you can come with me, or I can take your head back as a trophy.   Either way I still get paid," he looked askance at Aldor.

"I have never done anything the easy way, do not think I am going to start now," he said assuming the en garde stance, stave to the fore.

Skaa chuckled, "I hoped that would be your answer," his voice a whispering menace.   He darted forward with speed and grace that belied his heavy frame.

"By Phaedra's light, you’re ugly!"

Skaa chuckled again and slashed a crisp feint left to right, a swift move, without warning and a lightning change of direction.   Aldor was not surprised, he was ready, he'd learned early in his life to always respect a man with a blade and to expect anything.   He sidestepped neatly striking the flat of the blade with his stave "Ha!"

The older man reversed direction like a bow released under tension, cutting six inches from the stave.   But, could not totally avoid the follow through he received a deep gash, across his ribs, from the now sharpened stave come spear.  

"First blood," Aldor called out displaying his old arrogance.

"You've never fought a man to the death have you boy.   If that were a sabre I might be concerned," he lunged, as Aldor stepped back, slightly overextending.   The stave cracked hard and sharp against his skull.   He just grinned, "Little turd!" he growled, "you can't hurt me with a stick, any more than your little Corvalen whore could with her gutter talon's, she was even better than Eldoriel, squealed like a pig when I took her…"

'Genna!’ he thought, his heart turned to ice.   "Aaaagh!" he yelled like a madman, rushing in to attack an armed man with a green stick.   He aimed a blow at Skaa's head, with all his strength.   The older man, displaying his experience, sidestepped with ease and neatly cut the stave in two.   They were eye to eye, and Aldor saw the triumph in his eyes.   He stabbed out with his remaining stick, pushing it hard into the heavy gut, and backed off rapidly until his back came up against the cliff face; his next climb if he survived.   He darted sideways into the copse where the density of young saplings inhibited the use of a sword.   Skaa was reduced to stabbing ineffectually until in his frustration he swung a heavy speculative cut which succeeded only in severing a dozen or so saplings.   Aldor ever the opportunist grabbed one and quickly stripped off the extraneous branches.   He jabbed with the severed end just as Skaa advanced, catching him squarely in the solar plexus, winding him.   He gasped and retreated, tripping over a severed sapling and sat down heavily just inside the circle of the copse, he continued slashing with the blade to keep Aldor at a distance while he was down.   Aldor grasped a springy sapling with both hands, just above head height, and launched a two-footed attack on Skaa using his own momentum and the spring of the tree to good effect.   The element of surprise worked in his favour, and the strength of the attack brought a grunt from the older man, the sword cluttered from his hand.   Aldor released his grip and landed his full weight on his opponent’s chest.   They both went down awkwardly, and they heard a sharp crack.

"Aah!"  Skaa cried out involuntarily, as he felt a sharp pain in his left leg, as he reached out instinctively to retrieve his blade.   Aldor read the intention and rolled off him reaching the sword first.   A look of anguish came over the old man's face, as he instinctively went for the dagger at his belt.   Even as he did so, a picture came into his mind, of his knife ringing as it struck the rocks on its way down the face of the recent climb, the sheath had hooked up on an outcrop a third of the way up.  

He flashed a disarming grin "You seem to have me at a disadvantage boy, Mayhap you could lend me…  No?"   He smiled again as he attempted to rise "Aaah!" he cried out, in genuine distress, as he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his lower left leg.   "I think my leg is broken," he said.   He reached down gingerly.   A sharp branch, probably cut by his own sword, had penetrated deep into the flesh of his calf, it was protruding an inch through his blood stained hose.   It had lodged between his tibia and fibula and stuck fast.

"You'd better finish me quickly, no sense leaving me for the buzzards…"

"What about your men, they can't be far behind?"

"Use your brains boy, this place has an enchantment on it.   Do you think my mangy band of throat slitters will venture up here, braving the feelings of fear that we faced?"

Aldor nodded and took a pace backwards.

"Help me up boy, I'd like to die on my feet like a man, is that too much to ask?" he held out his hand.

"Why did you kill Eldoriel," he asked, ignoring the proffered hand.

"I didn't, I thought you were the killer, right up to the moment you accused me, but then was not the time for explanations or doubts."

"If it wasn't you then who?"

"My feeling, and that's all it is mind, is Grym-Baal…"

"Her husband Why would he..?"

"He was eaten up with jealousy, even before she met you.   If he couldn’t have her to himself, then nobody else could."

"Then what was all that talk about Genna!   You say you raped and killed her."

"Ah!   That was her name, I never met her, I heard she arrived with you and you were living together, I guessed at an association."   He looked at Aldor's face, he was not convinced.   "Come on boy, you’re not that naïve.   It was just an old soldier’s trick, to rile you, to anger and make you act reckless.   Nearly worked didn't it?"

Aldor nodded, he made a decision and reached out towards Skaa…

'His leg is not broken; the crack was a branch beneath him.’    The words came to his mind unbidden.   He stepped back quickly, just as Skaa lunged forward with one hand swinging a rock in the other.  

Aldor ducked and it flew harmlessly over his shoulder.   He looked down and shook his head with a pained expression on his face.   He stepped on the branch, noting with satisfaction the grimace on the old man's face.   He grabbed Skaa's left boot and wrenched sharply upwards.

"Aaaagh!   Lyandra's teeth!   I didn't know torture was one of your specialities, ooah!" he sucked in hard with the pain, but his leg was free.   "Can't blame me for trying, eh?" he said with that same childish grin on his face.

‘He was telling the truth about the women, he didn't kill either.   Wizomi confirms she is still alive and living in Mandrell,’ said the voice in his head.

‘Who are you?’   He thought.

‘You were sent to find Orden?   I am he.   Climb up, to the next plateau, I will await you there.   He will not follow, his muscles are too badly torn but, he will, however, be able to make his way back down unaided.’

   "If you want your sword, you had better climb down and get it," said Aldor hurling Skaa’s sword over the cliff edge.

"You're going to let me live, after all my ruses?" he answered in surprise.

"If you can survive the climb, but answer me one thing first, did you know there are no ants in the Land of the Dead?"

Skaa’s face creased into a grin, "I thought it was a nice touch.   My men didn't know, Grym-Baal didn't, and you didn't know either, your face told all."

"Mayhap I should climb down with you to see your face at the bottom," said Aldor his grin mirrored Skaa’s.

"Heh Heh, best of luck boy, if they ask me, you got clean away.   None of them would hazard a chase up here anyhow."

"I would consider it a kindness if you would leave my horse at that farm,” he said pointing to a thin plume of smoke in the distance.

 "Consider it done boy," said Skaa offering his hand.   They shook, and then he painfully lowered his torso over the edge.

Aldor watched awhile as he made his way slowly and painfully down the cliff face.   Then he climbed up to the next plateau.   At the top, he looked down again but, Skaa was out of sight.

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

It’s November

 It’s November

by Rosemary Clarke


No we DON'T want mistletoe
Santa's sack or ho, ho ho!
There is one thing to remember
THIS MONTH IS FLIPPIN' NOVEMBER!
We've just finished Guy Fawkes night
Fireworks zooming, what a sight
But the media have a myth
That we want the 25th!
In November, it's all wrong
STOP THE FLAMIN' CHRISTMAS SONGS!
If I hear one more ho, ho ho
I'll strangle them with mistletoe
Put holly in their undershorts
Then see if they are such good sports.
Leave Christmas in its place and then
November has ITs place again.

Copyright  Rosemary Clarke

 

Thursday 26 November 2020

Abbalar Tales ~ 9

  Abbalar Tales ~ 9 Meyam

By Len Morgan

  They took the new road to Hartwell, a major artery of trade between the Meyam and Corvalen states.   They quizzed for news, of their young friend, from passing travellers.   They explained he had gone on ahead but, thus far, they had received no news of him, now they feared for his wellbeing.   A succession of travellers shook their heads, none had seen a youngster fitting his description.   They stopped for ale at an Inn where the Inn-keep, after learning they had come from Mandrell, suggested their friend may have taken the old road.

“It runs parallel to and merges with the new road some twenty miles further on,” he explained.

"He must have gone another way," said Skaa.   "Either to Pylodor or as the Inn-keep suggests, he took the old road.   Either way, we will not split our group further and, we will not be returning the way we came.   We will remain on this road for the rest of today and continue to make enquiries, of the travellers we meet, then after the roads merge, if there is still no trace, we will wait a few days.  If we still do not hear of him we return to Mandrell by the old road.   Are we all agreed?"  

Each gave a cursory nod without comment.  Skaa took up point, and they moved on, stopping for the night at a wayside hostel.   In the morning, whilst breaking fast, one of Skaa's men overheard a traveller newly arrived, via the old road.

"Yester-even, I stopped with an old comrade in arms who owns a farm ten or so miles back.   I'd oft promised to lodge wi him if e’er I chanced this way.   Last eve, there was a young story teller stayin, who tole the best tales I e’er heard.   A youngster in his teens, wi no more experience o'life n'a mayfly and yet, he tole tales like a vetran.   If ye close yer eyes ye was there…"

"Your pardon sir was he five-eight with black hair, slim, and riding a black stallion?"

"Can't rightly vouch fer is orse, but the rest is accrate enough.   Ye know the lad?"

"He's a comrade.   He obviously took the wrong road; we've been worried about him so you've set our minds at rest.   Tell me, did our friend leave before you?"

"Ha ha no!   Youngsters these days prefer to stay a’bed til first light, when the best part o’the day is near past.   I left two hours a’fore Sun-up, and will likely be long gone a’fore he arrives here.   Hopeflee, we'll meet again at the next waterin hole.   Tell im Neddo is lookin for'ard to hearin more o’his tales."

"We're ahead of him, so we move on and stay ahead.   We entice him into a convenient Inn.   If we push on we will have time to pay off the Inn-keep, and then take our quarry completely unawares, with minimal expenditure.   I have a little potion that should do the trick, compliments of Jazim” said Skaa.

.-…-.

Ten days he’d been on the road, and Aldor had seen no signs of pursuit. He was beginning to suspect Wizomi had an ulterior motive for getting him out of Mandrell.   He’d become more familiar with his surroundings, the land had opened out into fertile farmland and small rural communities, dotted about every five miles or so.   He'd got into the habit of stopping for a flagon, at the occasional wayside Inn, before riding on to his next destination. Thus he entered the village of Tordalle late in the afternoon, and chose a hostel bearing the sign of a wild boar; purely because it promised the first drink would be free of cost to passing travellers.   There was something familiar about the waiter who served him, but he dismissed it as of little consequence and quaffed his ale thirstily, 'that fellow definitely did look familiar' he thought taking a second pull from his foaming flagon of ale, but he was unable to concentrate, ‘he looked like…’, but he felt, of a sudden, so tired…

.-…-. 

"Cap'n, I think you'd better take a look at this," said the man who’d administered the sleeping draught to Aldor.

"Lyandra's teeth!   Heh heh, slippery little elver isn't he?   Put him in the sack and drape him over his horse, this does complicate things somewhat.   You don't say a word about this to the other's mind if you do I'll find out,” Skaa warned him, “we are the only ones who know and I won't be telling anyone."

"I'll be silent as the grave cap'n," the man assured him.

"Come on man, I'll give you a hand with him."   They hoisted the sack and the unconscious Aldor onto his saddle and tied him on securely.   "Has anybody settled with the Inn-keep?   He will need to be sweetened if we are to keep this quiet."   He received a curt nod.

"Ok then let's get out of here."

.-…-. 

Aldor awoke, bound and gagged once more.  Jostled rhythmically with the gait of his cantering horse, he groaned involuntarily, the sound was masked by the hooves of the horses.  He was suffering from a king-sized hangover despite consuming less than a third of the ale.   He eased his hands carefully around his lower body to confirm both his knife and his pouch were gone.   He attempted to peer through the coarsely woven sacking that covered his head and body down to waist level.   It was night outside, which meant he had slept the whole of the previous day and night.  he didn’t feel stiff enough for that, so assumed he had not been unconscious long.   Possibly the sleeping draught was unfamiliar to the person administering it.   Whoever was holding him obviously knew his identity.   On impulse he checked his throat, not all news was bad. The amulet Genna had given him still hung around his neck.    Obviously, they only had time for a cursory search.   He would, of course, have to continue faking unconsciousness until an escape opportunity presented itself, possibly after they stopped for the night.

His horse was reined in, "OK!   We camp here for four hours then we move on."   There were groans of protest from three mayhap four voices, his heart sank, he recognised the speaker immediately, it was Skaa.  

"Why can't we use the Inn, it was less than a mile back…" Frek appealed.

"Not with this cargo.   Were in Meyam territory, our warrant is invalid here, it may even guarantee his freedom.   Fiercely independent people are the Meyam's." Skaa said.   

He waited over an hour for the camp to settle, receiving a prod every half hour or so to ascertain that he was still sleeping.   When the fire died down, the embers retained only a faint glow and the only sound was the occasional errant knot exploding, in a shower of sparks, Aldor made his move.   He had already loosened the rope around his wrists; he had only to slice through one strand with the amulet blade.   He carefully slit the weft of the coarse sacking and stuffed it with a few rocks and a heavy blanket somebody had draped over him earlier in the evening.   He viewed his handiwork with satisfaction; it would pass all but close scrutiny.   He crawled from the clearing and circled around towards the horses.   They became skittish and nervous as he got closer and he nearly overlooked the guard, sitting on a stump close by, watching them.   After a few minutes his chin slumped down on his chest and his breathing became audible.   Aldor took no chances; he found a heavy rock and laid him out with a single blow, relieving him of his purse and his knife.   He untied all the horses and led his own away from the clearing.   As he mounted he noted, with amusement, the other horses had followed him.   He turned in the direction of Hartwell, and as he rode away heard angry shouts from the clearing.   He smiled and kicked the horse into a canter, "Let's go," he urged, "the chase is on!"

"If he isn't caught, we have endured two weeks of rough living for nothing.   Retrieve the horses and let's get after him!   You get up and earn your share of the bounty," Skaa growled at the unfortunate guard, rousting him with his boot.

   Skaa grinned, this was the part he enjoyed most of all, the chase.

 They chased hard, and they learned the lad was an excellent horseman, against all their attempts, he maintained his lead.   He kept his mount going whilst they drove theirs to the point of exhaustion without getting more than an occasional, glimpse of him in the distance; always that tantalising half mile ahead. 

 When Aldor got as close as he could ride he dismounted, allowing the horse to roam free, knowing he might never return.   The ground was uneven but he still had to walk some distance before reaching a serious gradient.   As soon as he began to climb towards the middle of the three mountains in the range, he felt a sense of fear and foreboding and began to think seriously of reasons not to continue.   Then he remembered, Wizomi had urged him to go on, and ignore the fear.   With each step his doubts grew stronger, the climb seemed more daunting, just one more step he thought, and for the first time in his life, he experienced sheer blind panic.   He turned to run and Wizomi's words repeated earnestly in his mind over and over, ‘you will feel an urge to avoid them; resist!   Just head for the highest peak.'    He stopped and took several deep breaths, he didn't like these feelings were doing to him, but he would not let them win.   He turned to face the peak once more and stepped forward determined to leave all fear behind him.

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

Wednesday 25 November 2020

SOMETHING EVA THIS WAY COMES ~ Part 2 & Last

 

SOMETHING EVA THIS WAY COMES ~ Part 2

by Richard Banks


         The President glanced across at his wife. “So, you do remember, I can see it in your face. Now close your eyes or we’ll be stopping off at the first burger bar we come to.” She did as she was told. This she had found was the best way of managing him. It pleased him when she played along with his little games, and when he was in a good mood he was usually receptive to whatever she needed his approval for.

         A few minutes later they came to an abrupt halt in a courtyard that, on the opening of her eyes, she instantly recognised. This was not the first time she had been to The Grand since their first date but none the less the thought of being there filled her with a sense of pleasure and excitement that few other things could rival.

         The President observed her unforced smile and the animated gleam in her eyes. “Happy anniversary,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

         Although her next reaction was one of puzzlement she managed to hide it from him. Anniversary, she thought, anniversary of what? He couldn’t be meaning the anniversary of their marriage; that was months off. Her brain rapidly considered and dismissed the other possibilities until she was left with just one, their first date, but that wasn’t for another week. Had he made a mistake? Surely not. If he thought this was the anniversary of that day then it must be, but deep down she knew that it was not.

         The Manager and Chief Waiter came scurrying out to greet them. In their wake followed two liveried attendants, one of whom was directed to park the President’s car while the other stood ready to unfold a king-size umbrella in case an unexpected rain drop should fall from the cloudless sky. Their table although not in the centre of the dining room, where the most important guests were served, was none the less set-out and decorated with a style and precision that was almost an art form. The waiter presented them with their menus and, having been told by the President to fetch them a bottle of champagne departed post-haste to the bar.

         “Recognise him?” Said the President, the look on his face suggesting that this was another of his little games. His wife lowered the menu she was holding-up and peered over it at the waiter who, she decided, she had never seen before.

         “Is he a good waiter?” she asked.

         “Good at his job?” replied the President.

         “Of course.”

         “He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

         “Then of course, I wouldn’t know him. A good waiter is unobtrusive, scarcely noticed.”

         “So, you’re telling me you don’t recognise the waiter who served us on our first date?”

         “It can’t be,” she said, “he was at least a foot taller and had a full head of hair.”

         “So you did notice him!”

         “Well, I remember that. Anyway, why do you think it’s the same waiter?”

         “I don’t think, I know,” growled the President. “Had him brought out of retirement just for us.”

         “What about the Manager?”

         “What about him?”

         “Is he the same Manager as before?”

         “No, the old one died five years back.”

         “Oh well, in that case, best left where he is. I hope you didn’t try to..”

         The President suppressed a grunt of disapproval and consoled himself with a cigar which he had no sooner placed between his lips when the waiter appeared, as if from nowhere, to light it. That he managed to do so while holding above his head a silver tray containing the champagne and two crystal glasses was a feat of dexterity that the President and his wife could only admire and wonder at.

         “Tell me, Raymond,” said the President. “It is Raymond, isn’t it?”

         “As you wish, sir.”

         “Am I right in thinking that this is the very same table that the First Lady and myself sat at all those years ago?”

         “It is indeed, sir. It is a handcrafted original by Rinaldi, the elder. It is over four hundred years old and made from the finest Peruvian mahogany.”

         The President turned up the table cloth in front of him to admire Rinaldi’s work. The First Lady sensing that she was expected to do the same followed suit. It was indeed a very fine table and for a few moments, she felt a genuine pride that she and the President had played a small part in its long and distinguished history.

         The waiter asked if they wished to order now and the President replied that they would have the roast beef twice with all the trimmings and the cheeseboard to follow. The waiter poured the champagne and retreated to the kitchen.

         “I was going to order the duck,” said the First Lady, displeased but not surprised.

         “Come on, go with it. This is what we ordered all those years ago. Let’s relive the past, just like it was. Now, what about the string quartet? Recognise them?”

         “Well, they’re even older than the waiter, so I suppose it stands to reason that they were here on our first visit.”

         “You bet. Every one of them. See the old guy on the base. Had him brought over from an old folks’ home in Lichtenstein.”

         The First Lady was about to make a disparaging remark about their combined age when she realised that her husband was being romantic and had gone to considerable trouble and expense to recreate this opening scene from their life together. She decided to play along. He deserved it. How many other husbands after so long would have taken such pains. But this was also an opportunity she could exploit. When he was in a good mood there was little he would deny her, except perhaps for what she was about to ask.

         She smiled and made her eyes sparkle in the way she could when trying to engage a man’s attention. “And this was one of the tunes they played that evening. How clever of you to remember.” She was by no means sure that this was so, but given her husband’s attention to detail, she had little doubt that this would have been one of them.

         The President’s craggy features creased into a broad smile. “What an evening that was.”

         “But how disappointed you must have been when I didn’t invite you up to my apartment. Never mind. We’ll make up for it tonight. Thirty years on and even better.”

         He smiled again but inside felt a deep void of disappointment for what was not going to happen.

         “And there I was thinking I might be losing you to the Justice Minister.”

         “What Juliana! You’re kidding me.”

         “Well she is very young to be a Government Minister and you have been spending rather a lot of time with her.”

         The President frowned, unsure if his wife was being serious or frivolous. “We’ve had meetings, yes, in my office, Government business. I have to see my Ministers. Can’t do it all down   a phone.”

         “No, of course not, but no one seems to know what the business was. Could it be true what people are whispering?”

         “Whispering what?”

         “That you are about to change the Constitution so you can stand for President again. Our first three term President.”

         “Juliana has other duties to do with this damn asteroid. We weren’t talking about a third term.”

         “So, you’re keeping to our agreement?”

         “Have I ever welshed on a deal, even one that’s thirty years old and which no third party witnessed?  Of course, you’re next in line. Why do you think I had you elected to the Executive Council. It’s a done deal. Satisfied? Now, can we get back to enjoying the evening.”

         The First Lady looked suitably chastised as if the victory was his rather than hers.

         The waiter arrived with their meals and they began their delicious exploration of The Grand’s unrivalled cuisine. They had no sooner finished than the waiter reappeared to ask them if they wished to go up to the roof garden to watch the asteroid swing by on its projected course between the Earth and Moon. To mark the occasion there would be fireworks and special cocktails.

         The President replied that he was sick and tired of the asteroid and wanted nothing more to do with it. The First Lady and himself would be staying below. If asteroid watching was going to delay their dessert they would be needing two more bottles of champagne.

         The waiter departed as the other diners began to take the lift to the roof. By the time he returned with the champagne the restaurant was empty of its other diners apart from the two Government minders seated inconspicuously at an unfavoured table near the kitchen door. The waiter was about to leave them again when the President signalled him to delay.

         “Raymond, would you be so good as to pass-on my compliments, and those of the First Lady, to the Manager. When we first came to this establishment thirty years ago I thought it impossible for any restaurant to exceed the standard of excellence we enjoyed that evening. I was wrong. The Grand has risen to new heights. My congratulations to everyone responsible.” The President nodded his head in agreement with himself and grinned broadly at the waiter as though he was now an esteemed friend. “Oh, Raymond, one more thing, would you make sure that you give him that message in the next nine minutes.”

         The First Lady wondered at the significance of the nine minutes and correctly surmised that a further surprise was to follow. That it had something to do with the two bottles of champagne he had ordered was confirmed by the President taking hold of one and, without a word of explanation, taking it across to his two minders. After several minutes in which he was seen to fill their glasses and convivially slap one of them on the back he returned to his wife with the air of a man who had discharged a necessary but not unpleasant duty.

         “Is that wise?” she said in the teasing way she sometimes used when registering minor concerns. “You know they shouldn’t be drinking on duty. It could cost them their jobs.”

         “Thank you!” he said.

         “For what?” Clearly, this had nothing to do with his minders.

         “For everything. For the last thirty years, every one of them. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

         “Of course you would.”

         “No way. Now stop arguing and get drinking. This stuff costs more than most people earn in a week. In fairness to them, we shouldn’t be wasting any.”

         The First Lady replied that she had no intention of wasting it. Good champagne must be sipped and savoured.  There was no hurry, the restaurant didn’t close for at least two hours.

         The President looked at his watch and considered the luxury of two more hours. “Let’s play thirty seconds,” he said.

         “Thirty seconds?”

         “Yes, it’s a new game. You start. You tell me a joke. If you make me laugh you get a surprise and if you don’t make me laugh you still get a surprise.”

         “That sounds like a rather pointless game. Can’t I just have my surprise now?”

         “Joke first. Remember the one you told me thirty years ago? The one I didn’t get and only pretended to laugh at. Tell it again, Sam. I want to do better.”

         The First Lady, as usual, decided to play along. She was only halfway through her joke when the President laughed so loud that his minders were visibly startled.

         “I haven’t got to the punch line,” protested the First Lady.

         “You haven’t got time,” replied the President, “you really don’t have...”         

   Copyright Richard Banks

Old Winters Song

 

Old  Winters Song

By Sis Unsworth


I heard old winter’s song so clear, as autumns glow did fade,

an orchestral haunting melody, that echoed through the glade.

The falling leaves so picturesque, ignored old winters song,

but cold north wind through barren trees, seems to hum along.

As nature made its promise, to protect and try to keep,

a habitat so softly, through the winters long dark sleep.

So accept our fate, and patiently wait for time to bring,

the sound of birds, as nature wakes the symphony of spring.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth