Cheilin Saga ~ 03

 Cheilin Saga ~ 03 Sabretooth Mountains

By Len Morgan

Five days on, Aldor dismounted and handed over the reins of his mount to the quiet horse trader, with whom he had forged a firm friendship, in spite of their rocky beginnings.  

"May chance never be a factor," said Wedex as they parted.   He watched as his young friend started the ascent, waving a final time just before Aldor vanished from sight.   He would be heading for a mountain village known as Sudoren where he had been advised the Inn-keep would be expecting him.   From there, things would progress; others would collect and escort him to an unknown destination, home to the secret sect known as the Tylywoch.

   For three more days, Aldor traveled slowly but steadily upward wending his way along on narrow paths that would have proved exhausting to any normal man.

 

.-...-.

 

"Ho friend, where are you bound?"   The strange echoing voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"Who asks," he replied, throwing his mind-scan wide so as not to miss anything.

"You travel my road, and I asked first, it would be polite of you to answer my question,” the voice replied. 

Aldor stood in the centre of a narrow path less than an arm-span wide. To his left a precipice and loose scree a hundred feet below.   On his right was a sheer cliff face, its base obscured by scrub and stunted trees narrowing the track even more.

"If you want my life history you might at least show yourself and look me in the eyes to see if I lie.   I would not expect less," he said casting his mind-net wide once more for any signs of human presence.   Almost immediately, he was viewing himself from a clump of bushes ten yards behind him.   He stopped and sat on his haunches.   One by one, other minds appeared from nowhere.   There were four of them; he proceeded to isolate one mind for investigation.   Its owner displayed a high degree of tight control, hard and unyielding.   The person was knowledgeable in combat techniques tactics and weapons.   The mind was young strangely feral yet focused as if life and death issues were constant bedfellows. 

 

 He skipped quickly from one mind to another, looking for one slightly less reserved, he drew on those scant gleanings…  

"Tiger quad," Aldor said aloud, "you have been sent to test me, but I am also testing you.   I make your numbers, four very young warriors, that is what you are.   I respect your temperament, restraint, and control."   He sought for them again but suddenly all signs of their presence had vanished.   They were not hidden, or masked by distance, neither were they shielding, they were gone.   He investigated their hiding place, beyond the bushes; he discovered a narrow fissure leading to a cavern inside the mountain.   He was unable to follow; he was much too large to slip through the gap.

 

He stopped to eat, and quench his thirst, seemingly to take his ease.   All the while, as he continued up the narrow path, his mind was focussed to the front and rear, seeking any signs of life.   He became aware of birds and other small creatures as ‘Beastmaster’ he could use them to his advantage, as advance sight of what lay ahead.   He proceeded quicker now, and with more confidence.   From a kestrel's eye view he fancied he saw movement on the path half a mile ahead, this happened several times but he never actually caught sight of anything.   He continued his journey for most of the day, ever upwards, finding it easier to flit from the mind of one small creature to another, yet, even that proved surprisingly tiring.   Eventually, he learned to restrict his forays to the occasional quick peek.

   As the sun edged towards the horizon he laid the dried twigs and sticks he'd gathered, in passing, and struck a spark to set them a'flame.   He prepared to spend another night beside the cliff path, his constant companion.  The air became colder and the fire gave of scant warmth.  He drew on his mind to radiate heat to his outer clothing set his internal sentinel to watch, and relaxed.

 

   He awoke with a start, no moon in the sky, he cast around sensing a young mind devoid of emotion but, unlike a wild animal, it was disciplined.   Suddenly he was seeing through other eyes, viewing himself from his right.

 

   Meillo of Bear Quad raised a missile and threw it in his direction.   He rolled rapidly towards her, opening his eyes as the missile flew harmlessly beyond his moving form, landing lightly where he had been lying an instant earlier.   He made a grab for her but, even as his hands closed on her leg; she twisted and evaded his clutches with ease.   The maneuver was accomplished at incredible speed.   He was completely surprised, he'd never seen another human move so fast, he looked for her but, she was already gone.   However, at the moment he made contact he received a burst of information.   So, immediately he cast around for the other three.   They were six or seven years old, trained as warriors from their first steps.   They were testing him, he returned to see the missile Meillo had thrown at him.   It was a small green crab apple.   He had no time to dwell on the matter; further similar objects were already in flight towards him.   Dropping to his knees, he noted their trajectories and cast his mind out in four directions, and he had them.   "Meillo, Tavis, Kellor, and Fugel, you can stop this now and show yourselves.   The test is over, and you have passed with distinction," said Aldor.

He waited expectantly, but there was no answer.   Several minutes passed, and he started to feel apprehensive.   Somebody was consciously using his senses against him, in a very cool and calculating manner.   Gradually he became aware of an adult standing at the edge of the trees.   At first, he simply watched from afar, then as he slowly sauntered towards Aldor who turned slowly, to face him.

He began to speak. "We walk a narrow line between life and death.   Had any of my students responded, in any way, to your words they would now be dead," he said in a matter of fact tone of voice as he continued to close the distance between them.   "Had your death been ordered, the deed would already have been done; you would have heard and seen nothing.   "My name is Lomax, I am thirteenth warrior and Kebu master of the Carnivores.   Your first meeting was with the Tigers.   Tonight you met with the Bears.   The third quad you have yet to meet."   He gestured to Aldor's right, where four young child warriors stood within touching distance; he had not been aware of their approach.   "These four are Wolf quad,” he said.   He nodded an acknowledgment to each then his gaze returned to Lomax, who now stood directly before him offering his hand.

 Aldor smiled and they shook formally.   As if this were a signal, eight more young warriors materialized behind and beside him.

"Brother Wedex is a good judge," said Lomax.

"Are you here to escort me to Sudoren?" Aldor asked.

"We will not be going to Sud at this time," Lomax replied.   "You will instead be traveling home with us,” it was not a request, and compliance was not optional.   "Meillo, your Bears will assume responsibility for educating Aldor and teach him the ways of the Tylywoch."   It was the first confirmation of their identity.   "Aldor, please learn well, because they will be held responsible for your actions."

The four acknowledged him; "You will become our fifth" Meillo smiled.   Please do obey our instructions; until you are told otherwise, your life and ours may depend on it.   This boy is Kellor, this is Fugel, and this girl is Tavis."

"Welcome little cub," they chanted ritually as one,

"May chance never be a factor," he said to their, well hidden, surprise.

"I will try to prove worthy of your acceptance," he said.

"You will do better than try," said Lomax, "I note you use the word acceptance rather than trust.   The former is given, the latter must be earned."  

His education began immediately.  

"We do not camp in open spaces such as this," said Meillo, "It is easy to attack and hard to defend.   We light fires only when we want to be found.   We carry our own travel rations and water and wear our capes at all times in exposed areas.   It protects us from the elements and from watchful eyes.   We take to the high ground close in on sunset, then move, after the light has faded, to a previously selected spot.   Unless we are in a hurry we stop, for eight hours, each takes a turn to stand vigil for two hours.   We always move on before Sun-up."

"Here are your cape and rations for the journey," said Kellor.   "Your pack will be left here and retrieved later so if you need anything from it you should get them now."   He retrieved the letter of introduction.  Kellor then instructed him on the proper uses for the cape, as a groundsheet, tent, a means of camouflage, and a water collector.   He then pointed out preferred places to site it when they stopped.   The ration was pressed fruit and honey cake, a hard block of cheese, a bag of dried fruit, nuts & seeds, and a long strip of hard dried meat.   "You cut off a one inch cube with your knife and chew it on the journey; we never stop to eat.   These are three to five day rations" said Fugel "we supplement them with wild foods foraged from the land, as we travel."

"We will start to show you how and where to find them tomorrow," said Tavis.

"This will be your first night with us.   You are both a probationer and Gaijin, so will not be required to stand vigil."

“I would prefer to do my share of the work," Aldor began.

"And, so you shall,” Meillo replied,   “When you have proved your worth and earned our trust."

 

"He did not sleep immediately despite the heavy pace that had been set; there were no concessions made, on his behalf.   They journeyed overland, never touching a beaten track, taking great pains not to leave a single blade of grass out of place as they passed.   He was always in the middle of the quad, never allowed to make tracks or to hide evidence of their passage; though he was repeatedly given the theory for both.

"Repetition is a good teacher," Meillo explained, ‘over and over…’

So, instead of sleeping, he lay awake reliving the journey step by step.   He then tried to scan the minds of his companions to augment his learning.   But, even at rest, their minds were rigidly disciplined displaying their iron will.   He learned little and was unable to penetrate beneath their superficial surface thoughts, which as always were centered on survival.   He did however discover that they held him in low esteem.   They were the top quad, which was why they had been given him as a project but, they were all aware that he was the Bears handicap, to even things up for the Tigers and Wolves.   He resolved to keep his head low and learn quickly in order to minimize the adverse effect he was having on them.   Lomax was twice their age, and nearer to Aldor’s age.   He was a natural leader;   Knowledgeable and totally aware of everything that went on within the Kebu.   It almost seemed as though Lomax possessed a special sense, like that of a beast-master. 

 

(To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

I STOOD TIP-TOE

I STOOD TIP-TOE (A VISITATION BY THE SPIRIT OF KEATS)

By Peter Woodgate 

I stood tip-toe upon a little mound

Of rubbish-strewn upon the ground,

There stretched as far as eye could see

The product of man’s lunacy.

I gazed awhile, then felt a shiver,

Rising from the toxic river

As bloated fish with dark glazed eye,

And rotting fins, went floating by.

In amongst the withered green,

Of seedy plants, there could be seen

The spiteful jaws of jagged tins

That should have ended up in bins.

Plastic bottles lay awry

Their necks extended to the sky,

And bygone news, with faded words,

Was pierced, and hung upon the swords,

Of bramble bushes, black and keen

To catch the eye and spoil the scene.

The eye, in wandering, did pass,

Refracted light from broken glass

And tin-foil wrappers’ garish sheen

Reflected ugliness, now seen

Instead of beauty; in its place

Mindlessness had shown its face.

Thoughts of peaceful meditation

In God’s wondrous vegetation

Were dispelled, the mind now blue,

I spied a rubber tyre, then two,

Deposited in gay abandon,

The relic of a disused tandem.

To think that two had passed this way

Whilst life was innocent and gay

And knelt upon the lush green ground

And laughed, and played, and heard the sound

Of skylarks, linnets, and the thrush,

Before extinction, with a rush,

Drew its final veil across,

Mankind oblivious, to the loss.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 COVER UP?

By Rosemary Clarke

I like the mask, people are quieter and it gives me time to think.
People crowd you, want to know all about you in such a short space of time.
Everything has to be NOW, that their questions overrule your answers and they end up only knowing the 'you' they themselves have created which is not you at all, only a shadow.

That's what writing is; expressing, in the quiet of our minds, what we feel about the world and what sense we make of other's plans for us.
We do not ONLY need to go onto the streets and shout. For those who can, our words shout for us, for everyone who reads them.
Who knows, they may carry a torch into freedom.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 Haiku of the week:

By Robert Kingston

The poem is about the 1953/4 flooded oak wood at Mundon, known as the petrified wood.

Visited it a few weeks ago.

Quite chilling.

 

Earth song...

through the oak wood

a line of salt

 

First published Japan society 

 

It's Sport 2?

Teams get rich

By Rosemary Clarke

No more the fans they need
Are you ditched?
For this new Superleague?
Oh no, no
You helped to build this group
So how low
Can some big managers stoop?
Anger burns
Flares up and catches fire
As destroyed
Will be fans great desire.
Fans will win
Loyal and ever true
It's a sin
What bigger clubs can do.
Football should
Be for just anyone
Kicking balls
Can be a lot of fun
Competition
Also is great fun too
If you don't
Let the greed take over you.
So bosses
Playing away or home
Save football
Just leave the game alone!

By Rosemary Clarke

  IN THE NIGHT 

by Richard Banks           

The gnarled face at the window had yet to arrive, but it would not be long. With the setting of the sun the old man made one final round of the house, checking locks on doors and drawing each curtain tight with a practiced precision that allowed no glimpse of the gathering darkness. He could sense the nearness of his enemy as it traveled westwards hiding in the black sky that would soon replace the remaining strands of twilight.

      The old man retreated to the kitchen and prepared his evening meal, taking comfort in the familiar kitchen noises. Outside, in his garden, the uneasy stirring of a eucalyptus tree heralded the arrival of the creature. For the moment all was quiet and might remain so, for there were many uneventful stand-offs in this long war of attrition. At worse the creature would roar its unreasoning malevolence and shake windows and doors in its frenzied attempts to gain entry.

      The man took his meal into the small front room that served both as his library and dining room. He read while he ate, while he listened to the night sounds outside. In his heightened state of awareness, he heard and understood every small sound - the impact of falling leaves on the concrete path, the subdued cooing of a wood pigeon, the shallow breathing of the creature as it bided its time. Once it had forced itself through a half open window and the man had fought it off with a hammer that he always kept within reach. What a battle that had been before he splintered the gnarled face into a hundred pieces. The victory had brought him a week of precious peace and then it had returned ever more determined to destroy him.

      The man continued reading past the midnight hour when the creature was at its strongest, and through the early morning until the sound of bird song announced the arrival of dawn. He waited half an hour, just to be sure, and then drew back the curtains in each room, half expecting to see his enemy at every window, but the creature was gone.

      It was safe to sleep now, time to retire to his bedroom where the curtains were always drawn, the room where he had done battle with his enemy and where the shattered remains of a mirror lay undisturbed on the bloodstained carpet.

 

Copyright Richard Banks

 Yellow Roses

By Janet Baldey

         The day after the funeral I knew I would have to leave the village.   Its crooked streets, that I had once thought quaint, were now sinister, as if dark secrets festered around each bend of the road.

George, of course, didn’t understand.  But then, he couldn’t be expected to.  He had no idea of the part I had played in Harry’s death.

         ‘What do you mean?  I thought you liked it here?’   With an irritated shake of his newspaper, he stared at me over the top of his spectacles.

         I lowered my head in a mute and miserable silence.  I couldn’t meet his eyes and I couldn’t explain.   Things had changed.   Every day, the scent grew stronger and now it permeated the whole house.   I clamped my lips together, fighting an urge to scream.   Abruptly, I turned away, staring out of the window at the maze of streets that seemed to have a single purpose.  They all led to the church on the hill.   The place where I had first met Harry.

*  *  *

Arriving back in England after many years spent abroad, George and I both fell in love with the small village, nestling in a valley surrounded by wave upon wave of forested hills.  Too far away from the coast and lacking a river, it was largely ignored by tourists.  It was, we agreed, a forgotten jewel and both of us thought it was our lucky day when we managed to find a house that suited our budget.

A few days after moving in, we decided to take time out from unpacking to explore our surroundings.  Eventually, our wanderings led us to St Etheldreda’s, the church on the hill.  As we pushed open the heavy oak door, its quiet beauty delighted me and suddenly I felt so happy, it was as if I’d come home at last.

‘It’s idyllic.’  I said.  ‘I swear I shall go to church every Sunday.’

George laughed but I was determined to play my part in the life of the village, after all, this was where I intended to end my days.

True to my word, the next Sunday surrounded by the swelling chords of the organ, I sat lost in the music as the service ended.  Gradually, I became aware of the congregation rustling as they rose, shuffling along the uneven stone aisle towards the entrance and the waiting vicar with his outstretched hand. When it was my turn, I found his handshake firm, he seemed genuinely pleased to see me and I walked out into the chill afternoon insulated by the warmth of his greeting.

 I stood looking at the gravestones tilting towards the earth. Encrusted by lichen their lettering was difficult to decipher and as I bent to peer closer, I felt a light touch on my arm.

‘Excuse me, madam.’

The voice was soft and as I looked up, I saw it belonged to the verger who had been standing in the porch when I arrived.

‘May I?’  He extended a hand.

Blood rushed to my head as I realised I was still clutching the hymn book he’d handed to me as I entered the church.

‘I’m so sorry!’

He smiled.  ‘Not at all.  At our age, we tend to get a little forgetful.’

Taken aback, I looked at him.   A pair of baby blue eyes met mine.  Although his face was unlined, it had the translucent quality of either the very young or the very old.   A light breeze set his fine, white hair dancing about his head like thistledown and, at a rough guess, I calculated his age to be at least eighty.

‘I look forward to seeing you next week.’  His eyes twinkled into mine.

 As I walked down the hill, I thought again how lucky we were to live here.  As if agreeing, the sun came out for the first time that day and the mellow stone houses glowed in the sudden light.  Surrounded by lush green hills, the village reminded me of a drop of honey in an emerald spoon.  Strolling on, I became aware of light footsteps tapping along behind me.  I resisted the urge to turn around but the sound intruded on my thoughts and I couldn’t help wishing my follower would take another route. As I reached our gate, the footsteps slowed a little and just before I turned, I heard a familiar voice.

‘It seems that we are neighbours.  Goodnight my dear.’

Recognising the soft voice of the verger, I stood watching as he trotted past me and vanished up the overgrown path of the cottage next door.

* *

A few days later, the weather turned hot and humid, perspiration trickled down my arms and my shopping bags chafed against my sweaty hands as I struggled home from the Wednesday market.   

‘Wine, garlic, rosemary, scallops, pasta, chocolate, candles….’  I ticked off the items in my head as I puffed along. Then, I stopped dead. ‘Damn and blast!  I’ve forgotten the flowers.  There must be yellow roses.  They’re Jenny’s favourite.’

  Tonight, was a special occasion.  My daughter Jenny was coming to dinner, together with her husband.  They had some special news and I had guessed what it was, there could be no other reason for their excitement.  At long last, I was going to be a grandmother.

But now my heart sank. I would have to go back for the roses. That would mean a rush to prepare the meal and I wouldn’t have time for the long, cool bath I had promised myself.  Irritated, I pushed open the front door and rushed into the kitchen feeling hot, sticky and thoroughly out of sorts.  Dumping my bags on the table I made for the sink and filled a glass with water.  Just as I began to drink, the doorbell shrilled and I started, spilling water all over myself.

Fuming, I started to dab at my blouse.  Stalking towards the door, I wrenched it open.

‘Yes?’  I said.

 Shivering in the doorway was a huge bunch of yellow roses, their perfume wafting towards me.  Then the flowers shifted to one side and a pair of sparkling blue eyes appeared.

‘Sorry to bother you, but my rose bushes are running riot this year and I wondered if you would like some.’

I recognised the soft voice of the verger and gasped in disbelief.

‘This is amazing. How did you know I needed roses?  You must be a mind reader,’

Overcome, I took him by the arm and drew him into the house.

For the next half hour, he sat in my kitchen as I plied him with tea and told him all about my daughter and the dinner party and how his gift would make all the difference.

He said little, but sat perched on a stool, his head on one side, looking for all the world like a benevolent sparrow.

At last, I ran out of steam and realised that I had been monopolising the conversation.

‘I’m so sorry.  I’ve been gabbling on.  You must be bored to tears but thank you for listening. Now it’s your turn.  Tell me about yourself.  Do you have a family?’      

‘I did, my dear. I had five beautiful children.  They are all dead now.’

I stared and my mouth opened, but no sound came out.  Through the stunned silence, the tick of the kitchen clock counted the seconds.

In shock, I couldn’t think of a thing to say and he didn’t elaborate.  Instead, he slipped from the stool.

‘I feel I have outstayed my welcome.  Do have a very pleasant evening.’  With an inclination of his head, he lifted the latch and let himself out.

I sat at the table for a long time after he’d left, trying to make sense of what he’d said.  I felt crash and boorish, I had rabbited on about yellow roses to a man who had lived through tragedies that would have broken most people.  To lose one child was bad enough.  To lose five was unimaginable.  I wondered what had happened.  A house fire maybe?  He hadn’t mentioned his wife.  Perhaps she was dead as well.  I eventually roused myself but his words nibbled away at my mind; I prepared the meal as if I was an automaton and all through the evening what he’d said cast a shadow.

Jenny had clapped her hands with delight when she entered the dining room and saw the table. Its centrepiece was the huge bowl of yellow roses gleaming in the candlelight, with  its double reflected in the polished mahogany.  My guess had been right and as we raised our glasses to the baby the sparkle of the wine mirrored our jubilation. But, even when I should have been so happy, my mood was depressed.  Jenny’s baby was just starting its long journey and I couldn’t help thinking of Harry and all the things that could go wrong along the way.

As the days passed, I thought about Harry more and more. I felt desperately sorry for him and worried that he was lonely so I invited him around for tea. To my surprise, I found him good company.  He’d been a verger at the church for many years and knew everyone connected with it. Garrulous and witty, he regaled me with spicy bits of gossip and offered to introduce me to the Ladies’ Circle, extolling the stimulant properties of flower arranging and tea making.  He also started to talk about his family and I encouraged him in this because I had noticed that he seemed to float around the periphery of the church society and was mostly a solitary figure seemingly with no close friends. I also learned a great deal about his children, Arthur, Tom, Mary Jane and Louise, although I never pried into the causes of their deaths as I didn’t want to re-open old wounds.

Gradually, with Harry’s help, I began to carve a niche for myself in the village and rarely had I been more content. My main worry at this time was that George had not taken to Harry.  At first, he was polite, then icily polite then he made himself scarce whenever Harry called around. On hearing the doorbell, he’d glance out of the window and then look at me sourly.

‘The boyfriend’s here,’ he’d grunt and bury himself back into his book or decide the garden needed weeding.

***

Just before Harvest Festival, I picked the last of our home-grown vegetables to donate to the church. Harry helped me and also raided his allotment so that now the table was laden with knobbly potatoes, carrots, squashes, beans and ripe tomatoes.  The low rays of the sun slanting through the window highlighted our efforts and I smiled with satisfaction.

‘Right, now for a well-earned cup of tea.’

As I turned towards the sink, Harry perched himself on top of a stool.

‘Would you like to see a photo of my children.’  His voice was barely audible over the rush of water into the kettle and I froze for a second before turning off the tap. This was a breakthrough.

‘Of course.’ Wiping my hands, I went back to the table and sat down.

Shyly, Harry handed over the photograph.  The edges of the small snapshot were curled and its surface was creased, it was obviously very precious.  I peered at it and groped for my spectacles. As the blurred outlines swam into focus, I gasped and sat frozen to my chair, listening to the blood pounding through my veins. Then I felt sick but I still couldn’t tear my gaze away.  The faces of five children stared back at me. But what faces and what children!

With misshapen limbs and lolling heads, they sat limply, slumped against one another as if propped up by the photographer. Drool decorated their chins and their eyes  were vacant. I dropped the photo as if I’d been burned.

‘Aren’t they lovely?’

The sound of Harry’s voice brought me back and I stared at him. I thought of all the times we’d talked about his children. He’d told me that Mary loved to read, Tom drew like an angel and Louise ran with the speed of a gazelle. He had painted a picture of lively, happy children but he’d lied.  I felt a surge of anger as I looked at his bland enquiring face. What I had taken for shyness on his part was obviously slyness. The children in that picture were obviously totally helpless, clearly incapable of living independent lives. Then a new horror occurred to me, was this kindly man, who had taken me under his wing, actually a hopeless lunatic?  My head began to drum.

‘I think you had better go now, I’m getting a migraine.’ Unable to look at him any longer, I blundered out of the kitchen.

For weeks, I had nightmares about that photograph. I stopped going to church and didn’t answer the doorbell, indeed I hardly dared leave the house for fear of bumping into Harry. I couldn’t confide in George, partly out of pride that I had been so wrong about him and also because I didn’t want to explain the picture. So, I moped around the house, mourning my happy life which seemed to have disappeared forever.

Eventually, my depression lifted. After all, I was soon to become a grandmother. Jenny’s pregnancy was now well advanced and early in December George and I decided to throw a small drinks party before it became too difficult for her to travel.

The night was fine and dry, with just a hint of frost, the guests had arrived and the party was in full swing when I heard our front bell chime once more.  I looked around for George but he was weaving his way around the room, a plate of canapes in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it,’ I called.

I looked at the wavy outline pasted against the frosted glass and without a thought, pulled open the door feeling the rush of cold air freshen my cheeks.  I’d already had a glass or two of wine but the alcohol evaporated in an instant as I stood staring at Harry. 

‘Good evening Rose.  I haven’t seen you in a long time and wondered if you were well?’  He started to rummage in his pockets. ‘I’ve brought a small gift for you both.’  He brought out a small package.  He peered at the crowd and then looked back at me.  ‘Tell me, is that lovely young lady your daughter?’  He stood expectantly, obviously waiting to be invited in.

Fury consumed me.  How dare he try to gate-crash our party?  I glared at him as he stood cringing on my doorstep.  Dread replaced my anger as I guessed what he had with him and I imagined what would happen if he were to join the party; at some point in the evening he would invite my daughter aside.

‘I see you are expecting a happy event.  Would you like to see a picture of my family?’

The very thought made me feel ill.  Jenny’s peace of mind would be destroyed when she should be at her happiest.

 

I stepped towards him, slamming the door behind me.  With the thunder of blood in my ears,  I pushed him backwards down the steps.  He tripped and fell on one knee and  the pale glimmer of his face staring up at me fanned the flames of my rage.

‘Go away.’ I hissed, ‘you are not welcome here.’

‘But….’  He scrambled to his feet and raised his hands entreatingly.  Suddenly I saw it.  A small scrap of white peeping out of his pocket.  A scarlet tide almost completely blotted out my vision. I made a grab for him and snatched the photograph, flourishing it wildly.  Never again would it destroy someone’s peace of mind.

‘See’ I screamed.  Shredding the picture into confetti, I threw it at him.  Then I turned and marched back into the house.

Of course, the party was ruined for me.  After a while, I pleaded a headache and went to bed where I lay staring into the darkness, seeming to hear the faint sound of sobbing.

I never saw Harry again.  Months later I came across a knot of women gossiping in the High Street.  Their faces were shocked.  It seems that Harry’s body had been found in the outside privy of his cottage.  He had hung himself months ago.

George was puzzled when I refused to attend the funeral.

‘I realised you must have fallen out,’ he said, ‘but you were great friends once.’

I didn’t answer.

It was on the morning of the burial that I first noticed it.  Faint, at first, daily it increases so that now the whole house reeks of it.  When I first recognised the smell for what it was, I scoured the whole house searching for its source.  Not one fallen petal could I find but daily I am suffocated by the suffocating perfume.  Yellow roses.  Jenny’s favourite.

Copyright Janet Baldey