A Story worth Telling

Jenny watched the frantic dance of snowflakes outside her father’s upstairs window. Each one is different, she remembered as a sudden flurry peppered the glass. She sighed as their fragile forms distorted, melted, and slid to obscurity - their unique beauty lost forever.

A chill crept through her like rising damp, and she pulled her father’s chunky Arran cardigan tightly around her. Jenny rubbed her face against the collar, inhaling the familiar comfort of better days. He’d had this cardigan forever.

She felt her energy sapping away, and the old rocking chair creaked in protest as she flopped down in it suddenly. Pushing back, Jenny set the chair in motion and closed her eyes against the darkening sky. Her hands cradled the mound of her belly, and she slowly stroked her unborn child as it turned, stretching the round, distorting the form of her shape.

A voice calling her name woke her. Jenny opened her eyes and found that it was night. Immediately furious with herself she struggled to her feet, she’d not intended to sleep at all.

She hurried to the next bedroom and opened the door.

“Dad, did you call, are you alright?”

“Ha-ha! Now we both know that’s a daft question,” her father said, the effort of laughing causing him to cough into a handkerchief.

Jenny pulled a chair up to the bed and took his hand, a hand that was almost skeletal, a hand that felt paper- light, a hand that full of strength, used to hold hers when she skipped alongside him.

“Well you know what I meant, are you feeling any worse, I thought I heard you call me?” she said anxiously scanning his face. She definitely thought he looked more drawn, and his skin seemed almost translucent in the yellow glow of the bedside lamp.

“Aye I did call you, but I‘m feeling not too bad as it goes,” he leaned forward and squeezed her hand. Even this was too much for him, his breath rattled and rasped in his chest, and he sank back down onto his pillows like a deflated balloon.

“Dad, just lie there and try and get some sleep,” Jenny said blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. Life could be cruel, you’d think at the end there’d be some respite.

Her father shook his head and looked at her, the old flame was suddenly lit in his eyes, and he wagged his finger from side to side.

“Plenty of time for sleep soon. No, I want to tell you something, and if I don’t say it now I may not get the chance.”
“No need to say it dad, I know what...“

“No you don’t know what I’m going to say. You think I want to say I love you and stuff, well there’s no need because you know it,” he wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “No I wanted to say that I read one of your stories a while ago and it was good, really good. I forgot to mention it with all the tests and hospital trips, but I think you should do something with them.”

Jenny flushed with pride. He had never been one to praise her for anything really, so this meant a lot. She’d never really imagined doing anything with her scribbling. She had written for pleasure almost as long as her dad had owned that cardigan, but had only shown her stories to family and friends.

“Well, I suppose I could send one or two off somewhere and see what happens?”

“There’s no suppose about it. Do it, and do it soon. Too many of us go through life and never leave our mark. I’ve done my best, worked hard and looked after my family, but I won’t be remembered for anything in particular.” He took another painful breath. “My story will remain untitled Jen; don’t let the same thing happen to yours.”

Jenny couldn’t blink fast enough, or swallow hard enough, and the tears escaped, chasing each other over her face like melting snowflakes on the pane. They held hands in silence as no words were necessary.

She thought about her dad, their old life, and the new life growing inside her. Lastly she thought again about how each snowflake was unique and beautiful, and how unbearably sad it was that some melted without ever been seen at all. Jenny edged nearer and placed her father’s hand on her belly.

“I promise you dad, I’ll try my best to leave behind to this little one a story worth telling, and I’ll make damned sure he knows that you handed down the tale.”

Happy belated New Year

Gosh so sorry 2011, not really acknowledged you on my blog. In fact I haven't been on here all year!

OK, what have I done so far this year? Well I have become grumpy due to getting up in the dark and rain and wind and hail and snow and cyclones (well that's pushing it a bit), and going to work. That's been the negative bit. But on the positive side there's lots.

1) Finished my novel and am currently sending out into the world on its own. It's still tottering on its wobbly little legs but hope it will learn to walk soon. Running? - well you can but dream:) Book deals only happen to others...or do they?

2) Colette Caddle acclaimed novelist, my Twitter friend and now real friend came over to see me a few weeks ago. She is just the same as she is on Twitter - well not quite as she is bigger than her avatar (though not much) and is very warm, funny, and caring...well sometimes. I am really lucky to know her and she cheers me up and slaps me when I need it too. Her hands are quite small so I don't need medical treatment afterwards.

3)I was shortlisted in two comps - one still pending. Yes I know always the bridesmaid never the bride, but you never know - one day I gotta win don't I? (why I suddenly descended into the Bronx circa 1955 speak I don't know.)

4) And last but certainly most exciting, it is only 3 weeks to the day that my first grandchild is due!! Yes can't wait - seems to be taking ages and I am quite an impatient person sometimes! Well yes alright ALL the time. I am going to be at the birth unless my daughter kicks me out for getting on her nerves.Wonder what it will be - I'll stick my neck out and state right here and now that it will be a ...baby! Slight cop out there. OK I reckon it will be a girl.

So anyway WW aside (work and winter) I feel optimistic and positive about 2011 so far. Little rays of sunshine in the shape of all the above are shining through the January gloom and lifting my spirits to the clear blue beyond!

Long may it continue I say :-D

Time’s Up

“Time and tide wait for snowmen I think,” Angelica said looking into the void.

“Not quite, but almost,” Minuteman murmured. “Look stay still and I’ll see what Hourlenion says.”

Angelica watched him fly to a taller snootier Time lord. Momentarily Hourlenion frowned. She couldn't believe it really. Safe passage to the next life depended on getting time related phrases correct.

Minuteman returned. “Look, one last chance, ‘Time flies when..?’

“You’re in the sun!” Angelica said. She was sucked into the black folds of infinity.

Hourlenion shrugged. Technically true but cuts had to be made and the void was cheaper.

No Pasaran!

“So no pasaran means they shall not pass?” Jack said leaning forward so his great-granddad could hear him.

“Yes, it was a phrase of defiance against the Fascists. It started in the Spanish war and lots of us used it to boost our morale when we landed in Normandy in 1944,” Harold croaked watching Jack’s pen dance across a notebook. He was pleased that Jack wanted to record his thoughts and deeds. Youngsters today needed to know the lessons of the past.

“Make sure you don’t tire Harold young man, he is ninety you know,” a carer said placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

Jack shrugged her hand away. “Yes I do know that - he is my great-granddad.”
A fake smile slid off her face like melting ice-cream. How dare this kid be so rude, little shit looked a bit dark skinned to her too.

“Ok, only a few more minutes we have to get him fed and washed,” she spat and marched away.

As Jack wrote Harold watched the carer pick up cups and straighten cushions in the day room. She was unremarkable apart from a pock marked face, very short hair and a tattoo which made Harold’s stomach churn in disgust every time he saw it.

Her neck was defiled by a swastika.

The first time he noticed the tattoo it was just sticking up slightly from her collar so he couldn’t be absolutely sure but he’d been ninety nine percent. He’d seen that outline so many times during the war and in his dreams ever since.
When she turned up in a lower neckline he’d seen it in all its foul glory. It throbbed with a life of its own as a vein in her neck delivered putrid blood to her pea brain.

Harold had stared transfixed as the horror of the DD landings trampled blood- shod across his memory. Friends blown apart before his eyes, the stench of shit blood and vomit, inhuman screams of pain curdling his senses.
Harold had at first hoped that she was just very stupid, but last week he’d overhead something that had chilled him to the core. She’d assumed he was sleeping and was on the phone as she sorted his washing.

“Yeah bloody Paki’s deserved it coming on my street thinking they own the fucking place, a few burns will teach ‘em a lesson.” She folded and sorted as if she were talking about the weather.
“Yeah I helped...what did I do?” she lowered her voice, “I’ll tell you...I only poured the petrol didn’t I? Then Gazza lit the thing...went up like a fucking bonfire,” hatred chuckled from her depths. “Serves ‘em right... there ain’t no black in the Union Jack.”

Later after Jack had gone Jez came over and whispered in his ear, “Come on you old bastard, let’s get your filthy arse wiped. Half-cast grandson gone home eh?”

As she bent to release the brake on his wheel chair Harold mustered all his strength.
His walking stick shot out and she fell heavily. Her head smacked down on the marble hearth, and an almost black rivulet of life-blood trickled down her neck blotting out the swastika.

“No Pasaran!” Harold hissed, “No Pasaran!”

Not The Man I Married

Inspector O’Keefe drove out of his street and into the gridlocked traffic. He looked at his watch. 7:50 He should be at his desk by now...he would have been but for his wife.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and though about her. Emma’s pasty face swam across his consciousness and then bobbed on a gentle swell like a great fat Flounder.
He’d grown to hate that face, to despise every wrinkle, every pore, every...
Red... amber... green ...green...GREEN!!!

A cacophony of car horns blasted her face out of the water triggering O’Keefe into action. He raised a hand in a half-hearted gesture of apology to the car behind and accelerated through the lights.
He rolled his eyes and cursed Emma. She was still causing trouble even though she was at home in the kitchen sitting on her huge fat behind.

She had a degree in sitting on her arse, a Masters in stuffing her face with crap, and a PhD in moaning.

The moaning recently consisted of her saying that he’d become a different man since he’d joined homicide, that he had no time for her, was obsessed with the job, and his favourite – had become psychologically damaged by his daily immersion in murder. Stupid melodramatic cow!

O’Keefe chuckled with cold humour and pulled into his parking space. Well at least when he got home tonight the hole in her face would be silent...but definitely larger than normal.

The twelve bore had seen to that.

Destiny

Suspended in the heavens by black velvet thread, a night like any other heaved a sigh and shed tears of despair.

It was time.

Wood- smoke escaping the campfire snaked around trees as gentle rain caressed two figures silhouetted against the flames.

“Dance with me again,” she pressed play and moved her body seductively against his.
“No you must go now. The old tales are true ...I can feel the change in me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, how could they be?” she smiled up at him.

His eyes glowed yellow, and his lips peeled back revealing dangerous canines.

She stopped smiling.

Nice Guy

The condensation formed droplets on the cafe window chased each other south. Teardrops spilled from her eyes mirroring their path.
Cally’s gaze strayed to his photograph then back to the window.
A waitress came over and picked up her tray.
“Are you alright? I couldn’t help noticing you’re upset.”
Cally shook her head.
“Five years together. We were engaged...”
“What happened?”
“He’s married, wife’s expecting.”
She held up the photograph. “Nice guy huh?”
The waitress looked at the photo.
Cally looked at the waitress’s swollen belly.
Their eyes locked as tragic realisation dawned.
The tray clattered to the floor.