On A Deserted Beach

Jack slowed the motorbike as they rounded the last bend in the road and the beach came into view. The long curving stretch of sand was pristine, newly-washed by the night tide and gleaming in the soft dawn light. It was completely theirs. They had travelled all night to ensure they arrived before sunrise, their aim to savour the solitude and watch the rising sun before the heat of the day brought out the tourists and the locals with their parasols and deckchairs for hire and their coconut drinks.

Jack turned to Sara with a broad smile of pleasure. He felt like the first man, like Adam in Paradise when the whole bright world belonged to one man and one woman. Sara seemed pre-occupied with gazing out to sea, her hand shading her eyes against the ascending sun. Stripping off sweat-soaked clothing as he ran, Jack half-tumbled and half-hopped across the beach until he hit the sea and the sudden coldness of the water made him gasp. Recovering his breath, he struck out strongly into the deeper water, aiming at a boat tied to a buoy some way out. He kept up the pace for several minutes before, realising the distance was too far for even a swimmer of his strength to reach, he turned onto his back and let himself float wherever the current took him. Looking skywards, he watched the heavens turn from dawn pink to the burning blue of another Phuket day. At length, feeling refreshed, relaxed and above all ALIVE, he suddenly missed Sara and, turning onto his front again, swam the short distance to shore.

As he picked his way towards her, retrieving discarded clothing as he went, he registered her hunched figure and a shadow seemed to fall across the sun. She averted her eyes as he reached her and flung himself down beside her on the sand. He watched her profile as she chewed on her lower lip and folded her arms more tightly around herself. She was silent. He remembered that she had barely spoken all through their journey the night before but he had assumed she was tired and had thought nothing of it. In any case, he had had his work cut out for him as he negotiated the winding and poorly-lit roads in the darkness.

“What's wrong?”, he asked at last, dreading the response he already knew was coming.

“I want to go home”, she said in a tight little voice.

He couldn't look at her face; his eyes were rooted to her hands, twisting a tissue into a grey sodden ball. He ached with love for her and yet he hated her too – he hated her for letting go of their dream and for breaking the perfect connection between them. She had spoiled Paradise. Suddenly the emptiness of the beach echoed the void opening up between them. It was then he knew that nothing would ever be the same again.



Phuket 2011



Entertaining Angels




Angel

 
On Christmas Eve, James stepped out of his detached bungalow and double-locked the front door behind him. One couldn't be too careful, especially during the festive season. He almost took the Porsche - it was gratifying to note the envious glances - but decided against it. The roads would be grid-locked and he would make faster progress on foot. He detested wasting petrol. Smiling, he surveyed his property. The smile waned as he noticed an empty bottle which had dared to sully his pristine lawn. He tutted as he picked it up gingerly and, having binned it, he set off towards the shops.

James was looking forward to a Christmas of sedate and measured enjoyment. He had ringed the programmes he intended to watch on his state-of-the-art TV. That evening, his friends Charles and Veronica would come for a drink. Their friendship, although long-standing, had never really progressed to any degree of closeness. Conversation consisted mainly of comparing home improvements. All three had worked in the same accountancy firm since university. All three had a keen sense of their role as respectable citizens.

Turning a corner, James passed the dilapidated mid-terraced house belonging to his brother, Rick. The broken gate swung in the wintry breeze and the front garden contained an assortment of bikes. James tutted again. Rick had lived in the same house for twenty-five years, with his loud family and a collection of friends who were always dropping in. James rarely dropped in and Rick's visits to James were strictly rationed for fear that the teenagers might dirty or damage something. Rick was going to be fifty on New Year's Eve and had had the temerity to suggest a party at James' house in honour of the occasion. "We'll get the food and drink, of course, Jim. It's just that you've got so much more space for a party." Stung by James' frosty refusal, Rick had added bitterly "It's not like you ever use all the space you've got." The subject had been dropped.

James reached the shops. Having selected two bottles of good, but not overpriced, wine, James left the supermarket and crossed the town square. He ignored the collection boxes rattled by the carol-singers. He never gave to people on the street. He ignored the crazy old bag-lady who handed out religious cards outside the Angel Pub. Such people were not to be encouraged. A group of street performers caught his attention. There were three of them - four if you counted the dog - two men and a girl dressed in eccentric clothing, juggling, somersaulting and playing the violin. They had attracted a crowd and their collecting tin was rapidly filling with coins. James paused to watch the violin player who capered around, fingers moving like quicksilver over the strings. The dog capered after him, to the delight of the watching children. James was enthralled in spite of himself. Time passed until, checking his watch with a sudden start, he realised he had spent forty-five minutes watching the entertainers.

Turning to go, James lost his balance. He felt searing pain as his ankle twisted and he collapsed in a heap, almost dropping the wine. The crowd parted and several people offered him a hand. One of them was the violin player who asked in a cheery voice "Need a hand, mate?" James shook his head. "I'm afraid I've twisted my ankle. I'll have get a cab home." "You'll be lucky on Christmas Eve", said a second voice. This time it was the girl juggler, all piercings, tattoos and spiky black hair. " But we could take you home, if you like. Where do you live?" James was by no means certain he wanted to entrust himself to this motley crew but the shops were closing and he did need to get home. The pain in his ankle made him feel a little faint. He would have to call Charles and Veronica and put them off.

The violin player, who introduced himself as Mick, called to his somersaulting friend Raffi to help him lift James to his feet. The tattooed girl, named Ange, took charge of the dog, the violin and the collecting tin. Together, they helped James to a battered minibus. Ange swept a pile of magazines from the passenger seat and they hoisted James into it. Mick took the driver's seat and the others climbed into the back. The engine spluttered into life and they chugged off towards James' home.

"Nice place you've got", said Mick as they pulled up in the driveway, missing the Porsche by inches. James let out the breath he had been holding and said "Yes". Recovering his manners, he added "You've been very kind. I don't know how to repay you." Expecting polite protestations of "Don't mention it", he was astounded when Mick said breezily "Well, a drink wouldn't go amiss. Something to eat would be even better". Without quite knowing how, James found himself fumbling for the door-key and letting three outlandish-looking strangers and a dog into his cherished house. Ange looked round the living room, taking in the tasteful decor. She twirled. "Lovely room for a party", she said. Raffi did a cartwheel. "Oh, mind the Waterford crystal", began James. He took an involuntary step forwards until a twinge recalled his injury and he sank into a chair. "Don't fret, Jim", said Mick. "You sit there and we'll find something to eat and drink. Very nice of you to invite us in, I'm sure." "But.." said James to Mick's retreating back. Things were starting to seem a little unreal.

Ange seated herself at the corner desk and began folding pieces of James' best white paper. After a few deft snips with the scissors, she unfolded strings of cut-out angels which she proceeded to arrange on James' Christmas tree. "That's better", she said, surveying her handiwork. "You can never have too many angels." "I don't believe in angels", said James. "Really?", asked Raffi, looking genuinely surprised. "What do you believe in, Jim?" James began to say that he believed in order, good manners and people behaving properly in other people's houses but, just then, Mick re-appeared with a tray of James' best glasses and two bottles of his best wine, bought as a retirement investment. Mick had also discovered the Fortnum and Mason mince pies which had been purchased to impress Charles and Veronica. James opened his mouth again but nobody was listening. Raffi was pouring wine, Ange was dispensing mince pies and Mick was playing "We wish you a merry Christmas" on the violin, dancing around the room with the dog in joyous, tail-wagging pursuit. A glass of ruby wine was pushed into James' hand. "Happy Christmas, Jim", said Raffi. James took a sip, then another. It really was very good wine. He wondered briefly why he hadn't opened it before, then remembered his retirement investment. Still, it didn't hurt to open a bottle or two. He drank deeply.

Raffi and Ange clinked glasses. "Cheers!" Raffi started singing "We three kings" and James found himself joining in. Ange refilled his glass and he felt the wine taking effect. "So, what's it like", he asked Mick when the singing stopped, "being street performers?" "Oh, we don't do that all the time," said Mick. "We just felt like having fun today, as it's Christmas. Mostly, we hang around in different places, looking out for people." "Looking out for people?", repeated James, bemused. "You mean, like store detectives?" The three laughed heartily. "No", said Mick. "I mean looking out for people who need help. Like you." "Me?", said James. "You mean, because I hurt my ankle?" "Oh no", said Mick, "I mean because you need a lesson in living." Before James could protest, Ange continued. "Here you are in a beautiful house which you hardly use yourself and rarely open to anybody else. You have wine you never taste. You never take a risk, you never allow anything to take you by surprise." "But", faltered James, "I was only being careful. Life's hard, you know. You have to take care of yourself. You have to plan for the future." His voice trailed away. "Sure, Jim", said Raffi gently, "but when do you get to live? You're so busy being careful, you're missing your own life. If you never take a risk, you'll be safe, but you'll never be surprised or delighted. Now, your brother - he knows how to live..." "How do you know my brother?" gasped James, outraged at the audacity of these down-and-outs and incredulous that they knew so much about him. "You get to know lots of things on the streets", said Mick.

The doorbell rang and James realised he had forgotten to call Charles and Veronica. Ange flung open the front door and beamed at the couple, who took a step backwards at the sight of her multiple piercings. Ange explained that James was incapacitated but they were welcome anyway. Charles and Veronica were surprised to see that James and his strange new friends had already emptied three bottles of wine before 6pm. They noticed James was smiling more than usual and was clearly the worse (or the better) for drink. A couple of glasses later and Charles and Veronica were laughing uproariously at Mick's jokes. Veronica's hair had come loose from her chignon and Charles had removed his tie. James was deep in conversation with Ange about the merits of piercing when the doorbell rang again and Raffi let in James' brother Rick with his wife Sheila and four teenagers. After his initial astonishment, Rick handed James a bottle of champagne. "I hope you don't mind us popping in", he said. "I didn't want us to be on bad terms at Christmas-time. Forget I ever mentioned the party." James was touched by the gesture. Mick greeted Rick like an old friend and soon everyone was laughing and talking. They played charades, made paper angels until the paper ran out, ate, drank and told stories until the clock struck midnight. Charles and Veronica said they really must go and staggered off into the night calling "Merry Christmas" over their shoulders. Rick hugged James. "Thanks for a great evening", he said. Even the teenagers gave Uncle James a smiling thank you as they filed out. In the quiet, Mick played "Silent Night" and James found his eyes closing.

He awoke to Christmas morning and a chaos of bottles, glasses and crumbs on the carpet. No sign of Mick and friends - the minibus had gone - but a card propped against the overflowing collecting tin said "Thanks for a great evening. Happy Christmas, Jim. Live a little." James smiled in spite of his hangover and, for once, left the chaos and went outside to sample the sunshine. His ankle still ached but he could walk if he rested occasionally.

He was resting on a bench when he saw the crazy old bag-lady approaching. She stopped, delved deep into her moth-eaten bag and ceremoniously handed him a card. James thanked her and, on impulse, he fished in his pocket and handed her a five-pound note. "Here", he said, "Happy Christmas!" "So what if she drinks it away", thought James. "It's Christmas." He glanced down at the card she had given him. It was a prayer-card, no doubt filched from a nearby church, and it read "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." James shook his head - he didn't believe in angels - but he had found that welcoming strangers, opening himself up to the unexpected, had made him feel more alive than he had in years.

Back home again, James picked up the 'phone. His brother could hardly make himself heard above his noisy household but he greeted James warmly and James felt it was good to have family. "Hi Rick", he said "When can we get together to discuss your New Year's party?"

Halloween Rhyme



All Hallows Read

 

It's Halloween, when vampire queen,
Ghoul and sprite rule the night
And Pit-Pat, the witch's cat
Slips outdoors on velvet paws
To go wandering, wandering, silently wandering
Under the moonlit sky.

Past churchyard gate, where spirits wait
Longingly for company;
There Pit-Pat, the witch's cat,
Stops a while to nod and smile
Before wandering, wandering, jauntily wandering
Under the moonlit sky.

Within the tower, at midnight hour,
The ghost intones its mournful moans
But Pit-Pat, the witch's cat,
Bows her head to the vision dread
And goes wandering, wandering, fearlessly wandering
Under the moonlit sky.

Through forest glade,in every shade
Pit-Pat spies hungry eyes.
But Pit-Pat, the witch's cat,
Tail held high, saunters by
And goes wandering, wandering, heedlessly wandering
Under the moonlit sky.

On hilltop bare, in the pale moon's glare,
Cats come here from far and near.
And Pit-Pat, the witch's cat
Sings along with the joyful throng.
Wailing a tune to the silver moon,
They go yowling and howling and prancing and dancing
And tripping and skipping and whirling and twirling
And reeling and wheeling and creeping and leaping
Under the moonlit sky.

Reunion

Bloody train's late! Trust it to be late today of all days. Overhead power line failure, so they say. Must be due to the heat. God, it's hot enough to fry an egg on this platform! Must get a grip on myself – check my watch again, stare down the tracks, even though I know there's nothing coming – anything to stop myself bottling it and running.

How long has it been? Must be nearly fifteen years now. No, fifteen and a half to be precise. Fifteen and a half years without a letter, not even a card at Christmas. Not that I blame my brother. I would've done the same myself in his shoes. I mean, what was I thinking? That's just the trouble – I wasn't thinking. Got carried away on the spur of the moment.

There's John in his Navy uniform, off to the Falklands. I can see the fear in his eyes now.

'Look after Chrissie for me', he's saying. 'Just keep an eye out for her while I'm away. You know how she worries. And just in case I don't come back.....'

His voice trails away and I'm rushing in with the reassurance: 'Don't be daft! Of course you'll come back!'

'Ah, well, you never know', he says and claps me on the shoulder, the closest we've ever got to a brotherly hug.

Then he's gone and I don't see him again until five months later when he comes back late one night and finds me looking after Chrissie all right – too bloody well – and in his own bed too!

No shouting, no punching, just that frozen look on his face and then he just turns tail and leaves the bedroom, leaves the house, walks out of both of our lives for good.

And that was that. Silence. At least until three months ago when I contacted the Navy to try and find him. I wanted to let him know that Mum had died. I got a letter from him after Mum's funeral. It didn't say a lot, just that he'd left the Navy and was coming back to see Mum's grave.

Chrissie's long gone, of course. The guilt tore us apart. She's in Australia now, married to some sheep farmer. And I'm here frying myself on this bloody platform, waiting for the brother I haven't seen for fifteen years.

Flash Fiction - Cambridge in June

It's a golden afternoon for the golden boys and girls of Cambridge. Sweltering sun in a midsummer sky as cloudless as the horizons of the graduands as they make their gowned procession to the Senate Hall. The culmination of three years of honing their intellects to perfection, basking in their sense of entitlement. The world awaits them with awe - who knows what they will be? Champagne and strawberries beneath the painted gaze of the worthies who have gone before. Afterwards, photographs and a punt to seal the occasion in memory. Why is anticipation so much sweeter than its realisation? It is these moments on the cusp of something that are the most precious, titillating us with promise, with endless possibilities, with the sense of what might be. We all love beginnings.

Firstborn (For My Eldest Daughter)

There's something about May, when the trees have just burst fully into leaf.  The colours are so vibrant, especially the new green leaves before they darken over the Summer season.  This time of year always reminds me of when I was awaiting the birth of my first child.  I felt as if I was in tune with all of nature at that time ....

Firstborn (For My Eldest Daughter)

It’s Maytime, and nature spreads her freshest green
Over field and forest.  Every garden’s been
Decked with dancing daisies.
All the world’s a scene
Of dazzling newness, buzzing, teeming life,
Shining with possibility.

I wait for you, small stranger who has been
Nestled within me, slumbering unseen
Until your Summer wakening.
All at once you’re here,
You’ve burst into my world, eyes wide and wondering,
Shining with possibility.

Someone To Play With - A Ghost Story

"Go outside and play now, there's a good girl", said Aunt Annie at last.  She had been baking all afternoon and her face was flushed red.  The day was so hot and the air so heavy that even the flies had stopped buzzing.  She had gone through every fairytale and every folksong she knew to amuse me and now she badly needed a few moments peace.  She must have seen my face fall because she added kindly "It's just a short while until tea-time.  I'll call you in when the table's set.  I've made your favourite - Victoria sponge."

Dear Aunt Annie - she tried so hard to make things better.  When Daddy didn't come home from the war, she'd taken us in.  We'd moved from London to her big rambling house in the country, with a huge garden, an orchard and a boating lake.  She'd been like a second mother to me when I was ill.  She'd brought a bunch of the first Spring daffodils to my bedroom and later on had carried me out into the apple orchard to see the petals falling like snow.  She had read to me when my mother, still weak herself from the influenza, had been unable to hold a heavy book for long.  She had been everything that she could be but there was one thing she could never be, one person she could never replace.  I saw her looking at me sometimes, when she thought I didn't know.  She looked sad and worried.  I saw that look again today when she plaited my hair, tying the pink ribbons carefully before she let me out into the late afternoon sunshine.  I'm wandering aimlessly now, kicking at stones on the path.

Aunt Annie's worried about me and I know why.  It's because of Ella - because I've seen her and Aunt Annie says that can't happen.  Mummy says the same.  They say Ella has gone for ever but that's not true because I've seen her.  The first time was in a dream.  I'd gone to bed crying because they had told me I would never see Ella again.  Mummy and Aunt Annie were both crying too when they told me that Ella gone away for ever.  We'd both had the influenza - Mummy too - and lots of people all over the world, they said.  Mummy and I had got better but Ella hadn't.  I cried myself to sleep that night, holding a picture of Ella and me on the big swing in the orchard.  We looked exactly the same, "like two peas in a pod" Aunt Annie had always said.  Mummy always dressed us the same too, except that Ella always had blue ribbons in her hair and I had pink.  That was so Aunt Annie could tell us apart when we were babies.  I'd never been without Ella and Ella had never been without me.
  
That night, I dreamed I was in the garden with Ella.  We were playing hide and seek and it was Ella's turn to hide.  "Count to twenty and no peeping", she called as she ran away to hide.  In my dream, I looked everywhere, behind the potting shed, inside the hollow old oak tree, among the blackcurrant bushes.  I couldn't find her anywhere and I woke up crying until Mummy came and soothed me back to sleep.  The next morning I found a  blue ribbon on my pillow and I showed it to Aunt Annie and Mummy.  Neither of them knew where it had come from.  From then on, I kept it under my pillow and looked at it every night before I went to sleep.  Once, Aunt Annie took it and nearly put it on the fire but I cried so hard she gave it back to me and, after that, nobody tried to take it away.  "Poor little thing", I heard her say to the baker one day when he was delivering the bread.  "She's taking it hard.  They'd always been together, of course.  Right from the start."

The second time I saw Ella, it was almost like a dream but this time I was awake.  I was playing hopscotch on the path near the greenhouse.  As I jumped and turned, I saw my reflection in the greenhouse glass - white dress, white socks, brown plaits and blue ribbons..... something about it wasn't right.  It wasn't me.  I stopped and stared - white dress, white socks, brown plaits, pink ribbons.  Weren't they blue just now?  I stared until Aunt Annie called me in for lunch but, no matter how hard I stared, the ribbons stayed pink.  After lunch, I went back to the greenhouse.  "Ella, I whispered, "if you're there, why don't you come out?"  I stayed all afternoon but nothing happened.

The third time was when I was brushing my hair before bedtime, in front of the big dressing-table mirror in Mummy's room.  Aunt Annie had gone out of the room to fetch a clean nightdress for me and I had been told to brush my hair a hundred times to make it shine.  I had got to fifty-five and then got bored.  I smiled at myself in the mirror and saw myself smile back.  I waved and my reflection waved back.  I put my hand down but my reflection was still waving and I knew it was Ella in the mirror, not me.  Then, Aunt Annie came back into the room and it was just me in the mirror.  I told Aunt Annie what I had seen.  She thought it was a pretend game but when she saw I meant it, she looked sad and gave me a hug.

After that, I saw Ella in the big hall mirror, when I was putting on my hat and coat to go shopping with Mummy.  "They told me you'd gone", I said to Ella.  She smiled and shook her head.  "Then why aren't you here all the time?", I asked.  "I am", said Ella.  "I watch you when you're asleep, I sit next to you at the tea-table, I join in when you play hopscotch.  I can always see you but you don't always see me."  "I miss you, Ella", I said, biting my lip to stop myself crying, "I'm lonely without you."  "Me too", said Ella sadly.  "I've got no-one to play with."  I climbed onto the big hall table to get closer to the mirror.  I was just putting my hand up to the glass to touch Ella when Mummy came into the hall.  Ella vanished and it was my own face that stared back at me from the mirror.  "Sara, what are you doing?", Mummy said sharply, her face cross and frowning.  "You know better than to climb on the furniture.  What if you fall?"  I tried to tell Mummy about Ella but this just made her more angry.  "Ella is gone and she can never come back", she said, wiping her eyes.  "It's awful for me and it's awful for you but we just have to get used to it.  Now, let's have no more of this pretending." 

That was a week ago now and I haven't seen Ella since then.  I'm cross with Mummy for not believing, for making Ella go away.  I don't want to play in the garden.  I've got no-one to play with.  It's too hot to play outdoors anyway and I want to be somewhere cool. 

I wander in circles, pretending that my feet know which way to go and they're taking me somewhere.  It's cool under the apple trees in the orchard and I stop for a moment, looking up into the branches and counting how many different kinds of green I can see.  Tilting my head back so far makes me dizzy and I have to stop counting and look down. 

Suddenly, I see a movement behind one of the trees, the flash of a brown plait with a blue ribbon.  Ella!  I run to the tree and there's nobody there but I hear a laugh in the distance coming from the path down to the boating lake.  She's playing hide and seek with me.  I stop running and  instead walk as softly as I can down the path to the water's edge, looking in every direction.  I can't see her.  I take off my shoes and socks and dip my feet in the cool water.   I wriggle my toes to see if any fish will come and nibble them. 

The sunshine on the lake makes it look blue.  I can see the sky and the clouds reflected in the water.  I can see myself.  I bend closer to get a good look at my face - brown eyes, pink cheeks, brown plaits and blue ribbons....  Ella!  She's hiding in the lake - trust her to find the best place to hide on a hot day!  I smile and bend to touch her.  Just then the sun goes behind a cloud and I can't see her any more but I'm not going to lose her again.  Not when I'm so close.  She must have gone out further into the lake.  I start walking and suddenly the water's up to my knees but I still can't see her.  The next moment I'm up to my neck in water and I can't feel the bottom any more.  For a second or two, I'm frightened.  Then the sun comes out again and there's Ella in the water in front of me, smiling, holding out her hand.  I can hear Mummy and Aunt Annie shouting from somewhere a long way away but I don't answer.  Instead, I take Ella's hand and I hear her whisper in my ear.  "Now we have someone to play with."