Tylywoch ~ 18

 Tylywoch ~ 18  Reaction Force

By Len Morgan 

“Hello sister,” said Soren, smiling broadly.   “Soon after you left, pigeons began to arrive, and the council felt it expedient to send you some additional support.”

“It's good to see you brother,” She smiled warmly. Hildi arrived half an hour later, and Mynach a quarter of an hour after that.   Galt outlined the current situation for them.

“The main force of 36 Tylywoch will be in the throne room with ‘the Divine Light’.   There are a dozen or more detained in the cells beneath the palace, caught out by the speed and ferocity of the Surbatt attack.   There are three quads currently in contact with us and two deep Non-Operational units acting independently who will have been activated by the situation, they will have their own agenda and should be discounted” he explained.

“Galyx has gone in to gain intelligence and to release as many as possible of our people and red guardsmen held below” Weilla added, "We need to know what is happening, whilst providing as much support as possible.   Galyx went in openly, but I think we should employ stealth.  They are guarding against a possible breakout but won’t be expecting a break-in.   We need manpower for guerrilla warfare, and the prisoners will know the territory.   The four of us should be able to get in fast, and clean up the guard as we go…”

 “No!” said Galt firmly, “my daughter Schell is an espionage specialist, she will go with your quad.   You are now the commander and our only remaining Generalist, if Galyx is dead your job will be to coordinate and lead, you must leave the doing to others!" 

“Your right of course I should have grasped the situation immediately.   It's likely there are other ways into the palace, do you know any of them Schell?”

“I do.”

“Good, then you will lead the quad.   Avoid open combat on the way in if possible, we don’t want the Surbatt alerted until we have release the prisoners.   Take out the guards if possible but hide them well.   Get Galyx out with as many of our people as possible, if the red guard want to join us, release them too but leave them in no doubt that we are in charge!   If you have sufficient force to take the palace do so, otherwise, get out, and get back here." 

They slipped past the external guards with ease.   They scaled the turret tower walls and overpowered the guards on the roof, beneath the dome, three levels and sixty feet above ground. The guards hold have keys that would allowing them access to the upper level rooms.   There were five guards to silence, each increasing the possibility that one might be missed.   Descending to the second level they discovered three off duty officers.  Unfortunately, they were silenced before Mynach could listen to their speech and mimic it.   Then, as so often happens, chance took a hand.   They heard raised voices below on the first level, upon investigation, they were coming from the first room at the bottom of the stairs… 

Mynach stopped to listen at the door whilst the other three passed him and entered the second room.

“Don’t be an idiot man!  How long have you been a captain in the 7^th?   Long enough to know that a member of the Surbatt should not be dismissed out of hand, regardless of rank.   He will now report your intransigence to prince Taleen, you could find yourself back in the ranks but then I’m only a simple sergeant what do I know?   Do us both a favour and hand him over to the Surbatt, it would make our lives so much easier…”

“You're right old friend, we’ve been through a lot together you and I.   God, but it's so much easier in combat.   All we have to do is face the foe and kill him.   The problem is he's not just an old friend, he also happens to be right!”

“Then sign the order and let's be rid of him, he may be a decent chappie but he’s political suicide.”   There was a short pause in the conversation when all Mynach could hear was the unmistakable scratching of goose quill on parchment.

“There it's done, but hold onto it and only hand it over as a last resort, after all else has failed, that’s a direct order sergeant Lakei!”

“Aye sir, Captain sir.” Said the crusty sergeant.

“This is how we proceed,” the voices went very low at this point and could not be heard.   The others failed to emerge from the second room, but the lack of an alarm meant they had been successful.   Hearing heavy footfalls approaching the door Mynach retreated up the stairs out of the line of sight.   Seconds later the sergeant, a heavy built man, emerged from the captains quarters and went to the second door.

“Roust yerselves me laddies, Captain Vadeem has a wee job fer us,” he yelled, thumping on the door with a huge hammer-like fist.

He’s a Northerner, from the hills, a career soldier, he isn’t native to the seventh Clan, Mynach noted.

“D’ya hear me!” he yelled opening the door and diving in.

He’s not used to being ignored, Mynach thought as he heard the big man grunt and the sound of him hitting the floor.   Soren’s face appeared and broke into a smile waving Mynach down.   Moments later he was, dressed in the sergeants uniform, strutting as the older man had done.   By then, Captain Vadeem had also been overpowered and bound securely.   Soren fixed the lock so it wouldn’t open to a key and they headed for the lower levels, spending as little time as possible on the heavily manned ground floor.

“Roust yerselves me laddies, Captain Vadeem has need of your assistance in a leetle matter!” said Mynach loudly,  a perfect imitation of Lakei’s voice.  He thumped the heavy wooden door on the lower level.  The bolts were shot sharply, and the door opened.   Mynach swaggered in heading towards the nearest closed cell door, “Open it!” he commanded.   The soldier turned back to bar the main door, then ran to do as the sergeant ordered, taking a bunch of keys from a shelf outside the cell door, it was his last action in this world.   “Tylywoch?” Mynach said in a loud voice.

“Third cell on your right” a voice answered from within.   “There are four guards, one is in the tunnel to the left, and two in the guard room at the end of the passage, I take it the turnkey is no longer with us?”

Hildi headed for the tunnels, the quad would take care of the other two.   “Your name is?” Mynach enquired.

“Lieutenant Veille of the Red guard, cousin to the empress our ‘Divine Light’, at your service.”

“Thank you Lieutenant, we are going to get you all out of here and take back the palace, depending on opportunity and happenstance.   We will have need of your red guard, but only loyal warriors who are prepared to give their lives freely for the Empress.”

“She lives!” Veille said with relief.  A cheer went up from the prisoners.

“As do you and I.   We will need help to release your men quickly and quietly.”

“Sergeant!” he called.   As Mynach and Veille shook hands warmly an older man stepped forward taking the keys.

“Leave it to me, sir.   Outside, quick and quiet” he said to the occupants of the cells, “line up against the far wall out of sight of the door grill.”   They acted swiftly with military precision. 

Hildi acknowledged Mynach with a nod as she passed the cell door, handing him a short sword, which he duly passed to the sergeant.

“Arm yourselves with what you can find.   As we break out, captured weapons will be passed back to those behind you,” said Mynach. 

“Galyx is not here!” Soren reported as the prisoners lined up in the tunnels.   There were twenty cells, with 10-12 occupants in each. 

“They’re all out now” said Schell.

“He's not here,” Hildi confirmed.

“Your seeking Galyx?” asked one of the elder Tylywoch.   “He was never brought here, there must be another location?”

“Lieutenant Veille, where else would they hold an important prisoner for interrogation.” 

“There’s another guard post on the opposite side of the palace,” he answered at once.   “It can be reached from outside the palace, or through the palace.

“There is another way,” said Schell, “over the rooftops, under the dome.”

“Yes, but the tunnels will get you across the palace, below ground, safer, quicker, and with a lot less hassle.   However, you would need somebody who is familiar with the route or you could get lost forever down there,” said the Red Guard sergeant.   “I just happen to have a man who could get us through blindfolded.   Hibbs!”

“Yes sergeant!” said a small mousy man stepping smartly forward.  

“Hibbs, was the ‘subterranean sanitary official’ before the attack.   He ensured that miles of tunnels were clean and relatively clear of vermin.”

Hibbs gave them a gap toothed grin, “Oi know dem tunnels loik der winkles on me babies bum.” He assured them.   “Ders no map, it's all in heer.” He tapped his head three times to emphasise his point.  

“We need to know the numbers and location of the enemy forces.   We need to know who is loyal to the empire, and who we can rely on in a fight.   What are you views lieutenant?” Schell asked.

“The Red Guard are even more impartial than the Tylywoch, they are non-sectarian.   They are the pick of the empire, selected from the very best men of all Clans.   You can rely on my men 100%.  All are loyal to the Corps and fanatically loyal to ‘the Divine Light’.   I will stake my life on that!” 

“You may need to do so, I hope your faith is justified.   We will be sending a quad by each of the suggested routes.   Those who go over the rooftops and conventional routes will be given fifteen minutes grace before we attack the troops in the barracks nearest to us.   The primary objective is to grab arms, supplies, and gain intelligence.   We then allow them to force us back into the dungeons.   We will carry out a fierce fighting retreat, bar the doors, and go into the tunnels.   Our main force will start off into the tunnels even before we set the bars in place.   The rear-guard must be a swift mobile and fierce unit.   They will have to keep the enemy in sight and off our backs until they are completely lost in the tunnels, then they must be able to vanish like smoke.”

“How far would you say we will have to lead them to accomplish that Mr Hibbs?” asked the lieutenant.

“I doubt dem coves could memrise more dan ten er twelve turns, afore dey ferget der modders name.   In der heat o’battle it cud be cunsidrubly less…”

“How long would it take them to find their way out?” he pressed.

“If dey’r extremely lucky six hours, if not two days…   or more...”

“Good!   The fighting should be long over by the time they get out.   The more we can lure inside the better,” said Schell.   “Thank you, gentlemen.”

[To be continued] 

By Len Morgan

 

  IF   [Part 2 of 2]

by Richard Banks           
    

          The last few words slip out before I know I’ve said them. I’ve gone too far, that’s not what I want. I wait nervously for his response. He’s silent and by the look on his face, he hasn’t a clue what next to say. Fortunately for him, the waiter comes over with our meals and our only conversation is with him. Brad takes up his knife and fork and makes an incision in the steak he has ordered before relegating both implements to the side of his plate. He buries his face in both hands and then with a deep sigh begins to gather his thoughts. “I’m not cut out for this,” he says.

 

         What follows could be him talking to himself or him to me; I’m not sure even he knows which. “It shouldn’t be in my job description,” he mutters. He mutters on. Some guys have the gift of the gab, but he’s not one of them. He should be running agents, taking part in covert operations. That’s what he's good at. He’s a doing sort of guy. Pussy footing about sweet talking people out of their secrets is not what he signed up for; at least he didn’t think so. He only wished he had checked-out the small print in his contract. It’s not right, he never wanted to do it, he’s sorry, he couldn’t be more sorry.

 

         My brain’s racing trying to keep up with all this, then the penny drops. He’s CIA and this has everything to do with my job in MI6, but that doesn’t explain Ronnie. How does he fit into all this, whatever ‘this’ is?

         Brad still has his head in his hands and a tear is trickling through his fingers. At last, he steadies himself, gives his face a quick wipe with his serviette and raises his eyes towards mine. “You’re still here,” he says.

         “Yes,” I say, “I’m still here, and I want some answers.”

         “Shoot.”

         “CIA?”

         “Yeah. AMB as well, but that’s mainly a front.”

         “So, why Ronnie, why me for that matter? but let’s start with Ronnie. What makes him so interesting?”

         “He’s a Russian agent.”

         “What?”

         “Been passing-on classified information for nearly two years; then we close in on him and overnight he disappears. Probably back in Moscow by now. His real name, if you’re interested, is Aleksey Platonov. We assumed the two of you were part of the same cell but when we asked MI6 to pull you in for questioning they closed ranks around you. Even when the top brass in Washington got involved the answer was still no, which led us to believe that you were being protected by a high ranking mole in the command structure.”

         “You must be joking,” I say. “I’m just a paper pusher. All the important people work on the fourth floor up. I’m on the ground floor, in the post room.”

         “What about Martin Frost?”

         “What about him!”

         “You know him?”

         “Yes, I know who he is, but so does everyone else in MI6. I’ve never even met him.”

         “But you did, for nearly half an hour at the Department’s Christmas party. By all accounts, he was very taken with you.”

         “I spoke to dozens of people that night. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

         Brad reflects solemnly on what I have said. “Well, you can understand how it looked, so the Agency decided that if the Brits weren’t going to investigate you, then it had to be us. However, we couldn’t do it officially, which is why I was given the job of discovering the truth without the Brits knowing, and, if possible, without you knowing. What a mess I made of that.”

         “So, you never really loved me; it was just your assignment. How dare you!” I take a firm grip on my plate with the intention of covering him with everything on top of it, but his own hand shoots out and closes around mine.

 

         “But I do, I mean love you. From the first time I saw you in Oxford Street, flouncing along in your blue dress and that goofy straw hat I was head over heels. Even if I hadn’t been ordered to follow you into the first bar or restaurant you stopped off at I would have done so anyway. You didn’t make it easy for me. If you had turned out to be the self absorbed, stuck-up bitch I was half expecting I would soon have come to my senses, but you weren’t. You were smart, funny, good company and utterly adorable. When you took off your shades your eyes sparkled like the sea off Palm Beach, and all I wanted was to dive right in.”

         “And what a splash you made. But you were playing me. I thought it was all about you and me. You don’t play with other people’s lives, not if you really care!”

         “OK, but hear me out. I was supposed to have everything sorted in a couple of weeks but I couldn’t go through with it. After three they told me to get a move on or I would have to spike your drink with this new tongue loosener that has side-effects likely to put you in hospital. So, at last, I got down to doing what they wanted me to do; and that brings us up to today. I knew from the off you were no spy but I needed proof, for you to tell me things you thought were going no further than me. It didn’t happen. Mission over, objective not achieved.”

         “So, what happens next?”

         “I make my report and you tell your people what I tried to do. There’s a diplomatic spat, I get fired for telling you what I was up to, and if that’s construed as aiding and abetting the enemy I’ll be serving time behind bars. Probably no more than I deserve.”

         “And what’s the alternative, I imagine there’s an alternative.”

         “There’s always an alternative. You say nothing to your people and I’ll tell mine that my deception was completely successful and that all the things you told me pointed to your innocence.”

         “So, you’re off the hook and I stop being a person of interest to the CIA. Game over and everyone goes back to the way they were?”

         “If that’s what you want. But if not we could let the dust settle, quit our jobs and take-up ranching.”

         “Do what!”

         “You heard. It’s the family business. We’ve got 200,000 acres in Oklahoma state. Dad wants me back home and on the board, thinks I’ve served my country long enough; that’s why he’s jetting over next month. Join me. You will need to earn your keep of course. It’s a hard life ranching, long hours in the saddle and the steers aren’t the best of company, but if that’s not to your liking we could always find you something else to do. We’re diversifying into real estate and retail. There’ll be no shortage of post rooms and who knows what opportunities await you on the floors up above. You can do whatever you want, or do nothing at all. Whatever makes you happy.”

         “If you’re hankering for a cowgirl I’ll be needing more than a ring through the nose.”

         “Is that a yes?”

         “You haven’t asked me yet.”

 

         “You’re putting a lot of pressure on a man who was nearly wearing your dinner. I’m asking, of course, I’m asking. Ladies and gentleman, everyone in the restaurant, I want you to be my witness. I’m asking this young woman to be my wife, to make me the happiest, most fortunate man since Moses was pulled out of the bulrushes by Pharaoh's daughter. And if that don’t count because Moses was a baby at the time then I’m definitely top of the list. Make it happen, honey! What do you say?”

         I decide to keep him waiting. “I’ll think about it.” 

 

[The End]  

 

Copyright Richard Banks      

            

             

                                

Haiga ~ Stumped...

 Stumped... 

by Robert Kingston

Copyright Robert Kingston

IF [Part 1 of 2]

 IF 

by Richard Banks 

        If I had turned left into Regent Street, like I intended, instead of continuing down Oxford Street we would never have met; call it fate, call it an absent minded moment, call it what you will, it should never have happened, but somehow it did. At the time I couldn’t have been more pleased. Well, let’s face it he’s quite a hunk and having just become unengaged I was definitely in need of someone to boost my self-esteem. Not that I was looking for anything serious, well not this soon, but I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, and being out and about with someone else was the best way to avoid that. Anyway, as I say, he was quite a hunk and in the looks department a definite upgrade on the departed Ronnie. Perhaps, I thought, the rumour would get around that I had dumped Ronnie so I could be with him. I wouldn’t say this of course but on the other hand I wouldn’t deny it. 

         The reality was that Ronnie had dumped me but no one knew this for sure except, I guess, his own friends and his friends were not to be found among mine. I was safe to construct my own version of events and with Brad on my arm and the widest of grins on my face, no one was going to mistake me for a jilted lover. Of course, I was not unhopeful that Brad might prove to be the real thing, whatever that is. He was good looking, in a Ryan Gosling sort of way, charming and wearing all the right labels. He was also American and had come to London to set-up a new office for a company called AMB. What AMB did I never really found out but it must have been a thriving business for they were paying Brad more dosh than he knew what to do with. So, why shouldn’t he be spending some of it on me? No reason at all, I thought, and if he’s single, like he says he is, who knows where this might end up. 

         But if is a big word. One ‘if’ had brought us together and the next might well see us apart. Was there a band of skin on his ring finger that was slightly less tanned than the rest of his hand? It was a fine judgement that was soon rendered impossible by the additional colouring of a warm summer sun. If he had a ring he certainly wasn’t slipping it on and off to suit the company he was in, and when he said that his father would soon be visiting and looked forward to meeting me I was,  needless to say, reassured. Indeed, I rather hated myself for doubting him. Why shouldn’t Brad be for real? Of course, he was attracted to me, and for all the right reasons, or at least all the usual ones. 

         Well, why shouldn’t a man appreciate an attractive woman? I like to be looked at, and admired. I take a lot of trouble over my appearance, I dress well, make the most of what I have, and on a balmy July day the sight of me in a summer dress, high heels and expensive shades will always be worth a second, lingering glance. Of course, I don’t rely entirely on my looks, I don’t have to, I’ve been to college, got the equivalent of a degree. If a man wants clever conversation, then no problem. I’m a chameleon, and for the right sort of man, I can be anything I need to be which makes me wonder why things ended so badly with Ronnie. What was it I did wrong? He never said.        

       Anyway, why am I still thinking of him? Brad’s my man now and judging by our first few weeks together I’m doing everything just fine. And if he’s thinking the same thing about himself he couldn’t be more right. We’re a team, the dream team and there’s not a west-end club or restaurant that don’t recognise us and treat us like A-listers. Well, why not, and if no one knows what it is we actually do that only adds to our appeal.        

But, what do we know about each other? “It’s important, to be honest,” Brad says, so he starts to unravel his past and how he works for this American company that’s also big in Europe and Iceland. Why Iceland, I’m thinking? Did I hear that bit right, probably I didn’t. What I was really listening out for was the nitty gritty of his personal life. Heaven forbid he has a skeleton in the cupboard that’s going to throw a spanner in the works - if that what skeletons do - but the worse he can come up with is that he was once engaged to a girl who broke it off because he voted Democrat.

         “But that’s wonderful,” I say.

         “Are you sure?” he replies, looking less than convinced.

         “Of course it is,” I assure him, “it’s yet another thing we have in common,” and I tell him about Ronnie and his sad lack of commitment.

         “What a jerk,” he says, and for the next half hour we talk about nothing else but Ronnie, how we met, what he did, what we talked about and, was I possibly still in touch with him. At first this is cute, he’s showing concern, empathy, I think, but after a while it’s sounding like he’s more into Ronnie than me. When the answers to his questions become shorter and occasionally a little tetchy he takes the hint and switches the conversation to his former beau who, he says, wasn’t a patch on me.

         “Wasn’t?” I say, “what about now?” 

         He says he doesn’t know about now having not seen her in over a year, but he doesn’t suppose she’s changed much in that time. “Anyway,” he says, “I don’t care no more about her. Why should I? When you have prime steak in the grill why go out for a burger.”

         While the analogy is less than flattering the mention of food at least reminds him that we haven’t eaten since lunch. If he wants me to stay over until Monday he will have to feed me, and it won’t be at MacDonald's.

         We go to Santini’s. They are fully booked but after a short negotiation involving a £20 note the waiter changes his mind and we are seated in an alcove that’s just big enough to take the two of us. The lights are low and it looks as though everything’s set for a romantic evening. Perhaps he’s going to propose, I think. After only a few weeks together that hardly seems likely but who knows. Best to be prepared, I think, so what will I say? “Yes!” of course. If he was filthy rich and old enough to be my father I would still be saying yes but Brad’s not, I mean old enough to be my father. He’s young, gorgeous and loaded in more ways than one. Of course, I’m going to say yes. But then, what do I say and do next? Should I throw myself across the table and into his arms – probably not a good idea if the food’s been served – or be lost for words and shedding tears of joy, like I once saw Greta Garbo do in that old WWII movie. 

         Fortunately, while all this is going through my head Brad is ordering the wine, the one I like, which he says is, “so so.” Yes, this is it, I’m thinking. He’s looking serious and more than a little nervous. There’s definitely something he wants to get off his chest.

“About Ronnie,” he says.

What! I’m thinking, but manage not to say.

         “I’m sorry to keep on about him but I think we should be totally honest with each other. After all, I told you everything about me and Lana. It don’t seem fair if I know less than you.”

         “OK,” I say, “what do you want to know, but make it quick. I don’t want to be talking about this in ten minutes time.”

         He winces as though this is not going to be anywhere near enough.

         “Cut to the chase,” I say.       

     So he does. He’s heard that our break-up had something to do with the job I do. “Is that so?” he asks. Before I answer he wants me to know that whatever I say is between the two of us, no one else. “Lovers should have no secrets, whatever they might be.”        

    This is definitely not the way it should be. Secrets should be exactly that. But what the heck is this all about? Why is he connecting Ronnie to my job. There is no connection. Ronnie knew nothing about it, apart from what I told him which is what I tell everyone. I’m a clerk in the Civil Service I say. “Oh,” they reply, “how interesting” which is not what they’re thinking and the conversation moves on to other things in double quick time. I explain this to Brad who asks which department I work for. Something tells me that he already knows this which poses the question ‘how,’ swiftly followed by, why does he want to know? This is creeping me out. I thought I knew this man but maybe I don’t. Time to put the ball back into his court, so I have a strop like the one I had before. 

         “Ronnie’s yesterday’s news,” I tell him, “he’s history and I don’t want to hear his name mentioned again, he has nothing to do with my work, never had. Now let it go or I’ll have to let you go.”

         The last few words slip out before I know I’ve said them. I’ve gone too far, that’s not what I want. I wait nervously for his response.

[To be continued.]

 

Copyright Richard Banks

 

Another Haiga

 Another Haiga

By Robert Kingston

Copyright Robert Kingston

 Breakdown

By Janet Baldey

A soft, but insistent, whine gradually brought Nora back.  With an effort, she opened her eyes and realised she was still sitting on her bed, not even dressed.  A wet nose nudged her tightly locked hands and she looked down to see her dog staring up at her, its brown eyes anxious.  Oh God, it had happened again.  She could remember waking up but then nothing.  She’d had episodes like this before and dreaded the spreading darkness that threatened.

She licked her lips, her mouth felt thick and sour as if she’d been eating dry cement. It was the sleeping tablets.  She should stop taking them but then she’d either not sleep or be plunged into terrifying nightmares that sent her body flying upright into the night. They were bad but perhaps the happy dreams were worse.  They’d be together again. She’d awake, cocooned in a drowsy stupor and turn, expecting to see his familiar shape next to her, but his side would be empty, and then she’d remember.

         The dog’s nose thrust deeper into her hand.  He was hungry she realised and forced herself to stand. On unsteady legs she walked into the kitchen, seeing that the sun was up and streaming through the windows, decorating the flagstones with lemon-coloured oblongs of light.  She ladled food into the dog’s dish. He needed a walk.  For that matter so did she.  “They” whoever they were, said that exercise was ‘good for the mind’, it chased away depression and put things into perspective.  She hoped they were right. After all, that was what she and Ian had come here for. Perspective. At first sight, they’d both fallen in love with the old stone cottage set high above the cliffs with the moors an endless mauve haze on one side and the sea on the other.  It was their dream home.  Resolutely, she squeezed her eyes shut damming the tears.

         Outside, she lifted her face to the sky where mares’ tails stretched towards the horizon and after a few seconds, she started to run. Paddy bounded along, leading the way and with a river of wind streaming through her hair, she began to feel better.  Blood thrummed through her veins and the fresh air cooled her cheeks as she followed the dog down the track towards the blue glimmer of the sea.  In better days she’d often followed this route, it led close to the edge of the cliff where it veered right and ran down to the cove.  She blanked her mind and concentrated solely on the track as she ran, a turned ankle would be the last straw.  Suddenly, she heard a high-pitched bark and looked up to see Paddy’s rear end disappearing from sight.  He’d obviously sighted a rabbit, something he couldn’t resist.

         Her heart ratcheted up a notch as she realised they were very near the cliff edge, so near she could hear the booming of the waves as they thrashed the cliffs face.

         “Paddy, no,” she yelled.  “Bad dog, come back.” Realising her mistake she hastily changed tone. “Good dog, come back, Biccy,” she wheedled. Neither had any result and her stress levels soared.  She couldn’t lose him as well, not after everything else.

         Not running now but sprinting, she reached the turn of the path and saw that her fear was very close to fruition.  Paddy was charging full pelt towards the edge of the cliff, chasing something she couldn’t see.  At the last moment,
he realised and tried to skid to a halt but his momentum carried him forward and to her horror she saw him disappear over the edge. 

         “Paddyeee”, she screamed his name but only the wind answered. She’d always been terrified of heights but ran as close to the edge as she dared before dropping to her knees and crawling nearer, her fingers using the turf as an anchor as she peered over the cliff.  Wind flooded her eyes with salt and desperately she blinked the tears away.  She had been hoping that a stray bush had broken his fall but the cliff face was sheer, dropping hundreds of feet towards the grave that all sailors feared.  Suddenly her mouth opened and she gasped as a tiny plume of white foam appeared in the middle of a vast blue stretch of ocean. Seconds later she saw a dark speck appear, battling in and out of the waves.  She shivered as she watched.  Paddy was a muscular springer spaniel and loved the water but even he couldn’t be expected to conquer that amount of sea. Time and again she saw him rise to the surface only to disappear before he rose again.  She also realised he was swimming in the wrong direction, not towards the beach but away from it and her throat ached as she screamed her frustration.

         Desperately she scrabbled in her pocket for her mobile.  The coastguards, they were the only people who might help, but did they turn out for dogs?  She could only hope and she had to do something.  She would beg and plead If that’s what it took.  To her relief, someone answered on the first ring and immediately some of her tension fell away.  The voice was rich, deep and plummy reminding her of long-ago Christmases.  She took a deep breath and tried to marshal her thoughts but her words exploded like a scattergun discharging its contents.

         “Take a deep breath, Miss, and start again.” The man sounded patient, as if he had all the time in the world.

         “My dog….fallen off the cliff.  He’s in the water and swimming out to sea.  Please help him.”

         “And whereabouts are you, Miss?”

         For one terrifying moment, her mind went blank and her nails dug deep into her palms.  Then she remembered.  “St Anne’s Cove.”

         “I’ve got you.  Don’t worry my love.  He’s probably swimming out to the sandbank, that’s just off the shore. He’ll get a bit if respite there and we’ll send a boat round, right away.” Then he was gone.

         For a moment she crouched on the cliff’s top, breathing heavily and drenched with sweat.  Bracing herself, she peered over the edge again, dreading what she’d see. But what she did see was a miracle. A thin brown line had appeared in front of Paddy and as she watched, he clambered onto it.  It seemed that all the breath in her body left in one gush of relief.  It must be the sandbank. She prayed to God it would last until the lifeboat arrived.

         She had to get to the beach.  There was a rough path spiralling down to the cove and in happier days she’d used it often.   Whenever Ian was due back from one of his fishing trips, she’d keep watch and as soon as she saw the white sails of his yacht see-sawing amid the waves she’d stop whatever she was doing and run-on sunshine down to the cove. But today, instead of her heart beating with happiness, it was fluttering with anxiety.  She knew the sea, knew how unpredictable it was and Paddy was at its mercy.

         She ran past blurring masses of Rosemary, Cornflowers and Sea kale until she felt shingle crunching underneath her feet.  At the water’s edge she stood, shading her eyes as she stared seaward.  The bar seemed smaller as if the sea was taking great bites out of it and her pulse hammered.  Her eyes switched to the horizon and to her great relief she saw the lifeboat rounding the headland, a trail of white foam marking its progress as it sped towards the narrow ridge of sand.  It dropped anchor a little way off and her vision blurred as tears of relief welled.  Rubbing them clear, the next thing she saw was a rib leaving the sandbank and heading towards her. 

         He looked god-like as he leaped out of the dinghy and strode through the waves towards her.  His hair was a burnished helmet clinging to his head and as he drew nearer she saw that his eyes were the clearest blue she’d ever seen.  A soaking wet Paddy was cradled in his arms and he was carrying the dog as if it were a feather. 

         “Here we are,” he said, handing Paddy over and she could have warmed her hands on the radiance of his smile.

 She staggered under her dog’s weight and soon Paddy’s tongue was licking away her tears and she buried her face in his salt-caked fur. At last, she raised her head to thank the man and as she did, something wondrous happened.  She looked into his eyes and all her worries disappeared.  While waiting for the tide to lift, they talked and the words came easily.  He wanted to know if she was a local and she told him how they had come to live here. Then, without meaning to, she found herself telling him things that she’d never before discussed with a living soul. She told him about Ian and what it had been like when their love ended.  She told him of how she’d found him clutching his chest and heaving for air, his face deep purple and how she had been holding his hand when he passed and that his last words had been “ I’m dying. I love you.”

He put an arm around her and all at once she felt at peace.  She hadn’t mentioned her guilt but he seemed to know. “Nora.” He said gently, “You were always great comfort to him and never more so than at that time.   All he wants now is for you to be happy. He knows that you feel you failed him but you didn’t.  You did everything you could.  It was simply his time.”

She wouldn’t have accepted this from anybody else.  What did anyone know about what happened and how she felt.  How she would trade the whole world to turn the clock back.  Bitter words rose to her lips but then she looked into his eyes and believed.  Immediately it felt as though the tight wires that had been binding the shell of her body together fell away, freeing her from all mental pain.

As she watched him start to wade towards his boat, she couldn’t find the words to thank him but instinctively felt she didn’t need to.   She would see him again, she was sure of it.  Suddenly, he turned.

“The lads are having an open day in aid of the Lifeboat Association tomorrow.  If you’re free why don’t you come along?  They serve excellent tea and biscuits.  My name’s Gabe by the way.”

The way back to the cottage was steep and rocky but she felt as light as a balloon being towed by a piece of string as climbed up the cliff path.  Happiness, a sense she thought she’d never feel again, folded her in a warm cuddle.  The colours of the day seemed almost overwhelming. The petals of the yellow, mauve and pink wildflowers, muted on the way down, were so vivid as to be almost luminous, and she could clearly see tiny black insects clambering around amongst them. 

Energy pulsed through her.  She would go tomorrow, she promised herself and she’d make some cookies to take with her.  She couldn’t wait to see Gabe again and realised this was the first time in three years that she’d go to bed looking forward to the next day.

 

***

She opened her eyes and for a minute lay still, hearing the tiny birds flirting in the ivy clinging to the cottage.  Her eyes shifted to where a tangle of hair decorated the pillow next to her, and she listened to his soft snores.  As she had so many times before, she remembered what happened and thought that if she lived for a hundred more years she would never get over the strangeness of it.

Armed with a tin of biscuits and as big a donation as she could afford, she’d gone to the Lifeboat’s Open Day.  She and Paddy had been given a warm welcome and Paddy had become quite foolish over all the attention he received. 

“So this is the famous disappearing dog.”  An athletic looking girl bent down to pet him.  “You gave us a real run-around didn’t you, lad.”

At the time, Nora had thought that remark odd but within a few seconds it had become lost in the general turmoil as the crew took notice and turned around. Introducing themselves, one by one.  There was a Harry, a Tom, a Judy, a Pat but no Gabe, she noticed.

“I’m so sorry he caused you all so much trouble,” Nora said, “But I shall never stop being grateful to you and especially to Gabe.”

“Well, we didn’t do much but don’t you worry, my love.  We’re used to false alarms and we don’t mind a bit.  A happy outcome is all we ask.”

False alarm? Nora frowned, there must be wires crossed somewhere.  She looked around the room for Gabe, he would sort things out. 

“Where is  Gabe?” she asked.

“Skiving off, if I don’t miss my guess.  He’s not a fan of crowds. Gabe!” Nora jumped as the man known as Harry, hollered and she saw a slim, dark man detach himself from another group and head towards them. Nora watched him, shaking her head. This was not Gabe.

“Friend of yours, asking for you Mate.  I’ll leave you to it then.” Harry turned away with a knowing smile, leaving the two of them blinking at each other.  “I’m sorry,” Nora said. “Wrong Gabe I’m afraid.  I meant the blond one.”

“We haven’t got another one Miss.  I’m the only Gabe here stupid enough to get involved with this lot.”  The man laughed, then stopped as he noticed her expression. He lowered his voice.

“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea and I’ll try and sort things out.  Something’s troubling you, isn’t it, and you know what they say about troubles.”

But even with the help of tea, he only corroborated what the others later confirmed. 

“I was on duty yesterday and we did go out to help a dog that had got itself marooned on a sandbank.  But when we got there, we couldn’t find it, so we assumed it had got itself off.  They sometimes do that, you know.”

As she listened, Nora felt waves of faintness wash over her, feeling as if she had got trapped in a parallel universe.  Although there was no reason for anyone to lie, she knew, without a shadow of doubt, what had happened yesterday.  Paddy had been saved by a tall, blond man called Gabe and they’d had a long conversation of which she could remember every word.  What on earth was going on?  Suddenly, she just wanted to go home.

She put her cup down and turned, then staggered as the room whirled around her.  

“Hey, hold on.  You’re in no fit state to walk about.  Do you need a lift?  My car’s outside.”  The dark man’s voice sounded anxious and she nodded.

As they drew up outside her cottage, he looked at it and then back at her.  “Nice place, but it’s a bit isolated.  Do you live here alone?”

She nodded again.

“In that case, I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.  Just to make sure you’re all right.”

As she gave him her mobile number, she thought how kind he was.  And good looking too.

She smiled at the memory.  Dark Gabe had called the next morning, and the next and before very long, Nora had found herself in a relationship.  And now - she stretched out a hand, admiring the glittering gold band – married just yesterday and she had rarely felt so happy.

At first, she’d had a hard time convincing him she wasn’t just a crazy lady and in the end they’d agreed on a logical solution. It must have been some passing stranger who had rescued Paddy and that it was just coincidence they had had the same name.   

Dark Gabe was entirely persuaded, and couldn’t wait to find his name-sake.

“After all, I owe the bloke a drink, if it hadn’t been for him I’d never have met you.”

 Nora had smiled, but although she went along with the idea, she was never convinced.  Deep Inside, she knew better.  Although he was not a figment of her imagination, they would never find her mystery man and maybe, that was the way it was meant to be.

 

Copyright Janet Baldey

  

THE JUBILEE

By Margaret Potter

The Jubilee parade was looming.

The Queen was taking part.

Her fancy hat was waiting.

It was a piece of art.

 

She’d piled it high with cherries

red and round and bright.

She’d piled it high with plums

It looked a splendid sight.

 

If only she had a banana

to complete the fruity look.

She sent the King a message.

Please help.  Please go and look.

 

The Banana shop was empty.

The manager quite dismayed.

He sent the King to the factory

where fruit was stored that day.

 

The building was enormous.

The King felt quite in awe.

But beneath the giant structure

was a table laid up for four.

 

A dormouse held a teapot

it looked rather large in his hands.

Sitting patiently waiting

was a monkey dressed so grand.

 

The King sat at the table.

His crown falling over one eye.

He told the present company

the Queen’s request and why.

 

The monkey stood to attention.

He swept off his splendid hat.

There on his head was a banana

yellow, carved and fat.

 

The King handed him a medal.

The dormouse served the tea.

The monkey presented the banana

and the King clapped his hands with glee.

 

The Queen was on the balcony

she really was distraught.

Below the band was playing.

The parade about to start.

 

Suddenly the King appeared

banana held up high.

He plonked it on the Queen’s hat

as the parade was passing by.

 

Hurrah, the subjects shouted.

Hurrah for our stylish Queen.

She waved and smiled from the balcony

a spectacle to be seen.

 

Copyright Margaret Potter