No, I am not there to put my arms around you
and hand you tissues when you are sad...
but you are always in my thoughts.
No, I am not there to whisper in your ear
“It's going to be okay...."
But I pray that it will be
for you and for me.
No, I am not there to smile and laugh at your jokes,
but I still think you are a great guy and very amusing.
No, I cannot tell you face to face
that you are a special friend and mean a lot to me
and always will... but you know it's true.
No, I can't always be online when you need me...
but you can always write me a note
to let me know how you are.
You know you will always get a response.
No, I can't pop round at the weekend
when things are going well for you
and share a beer or a night at the movies...
because distance is too great
and responsibilities get in the way.
That doesn't mean I don't want to do
all of those things for you,
and have you do them for me sometimes too.
Because that is what friends are for.
But think of the things we can and are
doing for each other right now.
We are thinking of one another...and when we can,
we talk to one another.
When one of us is too hurt or depressed to talk,
the other is here for when they feel well enough to speak.
We laugh at one another's jokes
and smile for one another.
We cry together,
about one another's heartaches and fears.
We hold each other in our minds... we care.
I hope this gives you as much comfort as it gives me.
Even though we may meet and possibly marry other people...
we will always be friends.
Because we care.
About Me
Friday, 21 August 2009
Leave Me Be
I don't want to know if there is anybody there
I don't want to feel again... to think.. to care
Leave me be
I have nothing left to show for all that I have spent
in loving those who couldn't feel the same as I have felt
or free me
It is enough for me to know I did my feeble best
even though my efforts were misunderstood, maligned
Thrown in my face
I can't keep on crawling on the ground beneath your feet
and hoping you will forgive the wrongs I've done,
bestow your grace
An insect in your view.. despicable.. pathetic.. worthless.. crass
brought low where I belong, no higher than the grass
you trample down
No words can heal the wound, no sorrow mend or satisfy
the howl of righteous anger ringing in my ears
I hang my head
What use sincere apology? What hope, if one called friend
refuses to accept our outstretched hand?
Would I were dead.
I don't want to feel again... to think.. to care
Leave me be
I have nothing left to show for all that I have spent
in loving those who couldn't feel the same as I have felt
or free me
It is enough for me to know I did my feeble best
even though my efforts were misunderstood, maligned
Thrown in my face
I can't keep on crawling on the ground beneath your feet
and hoping you will forgive the wrongs I've done,
bestow your grace
An insect in your view.. despicable.. pathetic.. worthless.. crass
brought low where I belong, no higher than the grass
you trample down
No words can heal the wound, no sorrow mend or satisfy
the howl of righteous anger ringing in my ears
I hang my head
What use sincere apology? What hope, if one called friend
refuses to accept our outstretched hand?
Would I were dead.
Homage
In Homage to Voznesensky
I am Edward's Rose!...
I am the voice of victory,
the quiet voice of certainty
after the years of doubt...
the shout of joy,
born out of suffering,
of heartache...
I am Edward's Rose!
I am Edward's Rose!...
I am the voice of victory,
the quiet voice of certainty
after the years of doubt...
the shout of joy,
born out of suffering,
of heartache...
I am Edward's Rose!
Edward's Rose
Edward sent me a dozen roses
to last as long as his love
I can see them every day...
As unchanged as his heart
Beautiful now as his words to me...
Fresh as his delight in me...
Perfect as his unfailing love for me
I want to be Edward's Rose...
Beautiful inside
Fresh and new to his eyes
Perfect in every way for him
to last as long as his love
I can see them every day...
As unchanged as his heart
Beautiful now as his words to me...
Fresh as his delight in me...
Perfect as his unfailing love for me
I want to be Edward's Rose...
Beautiful inside
Fresh and new to his eyes
Perfect in every way for him
At The End Of The Day
There's a part of my heart
you stole away
Took it with you to where
I can't be today
But I dream of your kiss..
it's your touch that I miss
At the end of the day
And everywhere I go,
everyone I see
Makes me long for your face..
have you here with me
Your the light in the dark...
and life's most precious spark
Nothing more I can say...
you stole away
Took it with you to where
I can't be today
But I dream of your kiss..
it's your touch that I miss
At the end of the day
And everywhere I go,
everyone I see
Makes me long for your face..
have you here with me
Your the light in the dark...
and life's most precious spark
Nothing more I can say...
Volunteers
You gave me hope
A chance to try again
To find my independence that was lost
A way to cope
A way to cast aside the pain
A hand to hold, someone to lean on, and to trust
You may not all
recall my name or face
You are not all as well known yet to me
But when I call
I know you'll find a place
To care for my belongings while you set me free
The liberty
to go where I would go
No need to ask another for their help
The time for me
To wander off alone
the choice to mix with others or be on my own
You give your time,
Your smiles, your listening ears
your helping hand
your laughter, friendship and your care.
Who can I mean?
Who else? The Volunteers!
Without whom.....?
Oh! What would we do without you there!
A chance to try again
To find my independence that was lost
A way to cope
A way to cast aside the pain
A hand to hold, someone to lean on, and to trust
You may not all
recall my name or face
You are not all as well known yet to me
But when I call
I know you'll find a place
To care for my belongings while you set me free
The liberty
to go where I would go
No need to ask another for their help
The time for me
To wander off alone
the choice to mix with others or be on my own
You give your time,
Your smiles, your listening ears
your helping hand
your laughter, friendship and your care.
Who can I mean?
Who else? The Volunteers!
Without whom.....?
Oh! What would we do without you there!
Saturday, 15 August 2009
One
There has to be one,
Surely?
For everyone,
For each one,
Of us.
Someone,
To complete the whole,
To fill the hole,
In us?
When they’re gone,
The one,
The only one,
For us –
How do we go on?
On our own,
Alone?
TELL US
Surely?
For everyone,
For each one,
Of us.
Someone,
To complete the whole,
To fill the hole,
In us?
When they’re gone,
The one,
The only one,
For us –
How do we go on?
On our own,
Alone?
TELL US
Combination Lock - A Play in One Act
Characters
- Valerie
- Justine, her daughter
Description of characters:
Valerie is 50 years old. She was happily married for nearly 30 years to Ron, her late husband, who died in the same car accident which left her paralysed from the waist down.
Justine is 25. She is Valerie's only child. She has recently divorced Barry, to whom she was married for just over four years. Justine has returned to the family home to care for her mother.
SCENE 1 Morning.
[Valerie is alone on the darkened stage, head and shoulders illuminated by a dim spotlight which gradually brightens.She addresses the audience.]
VALERIE
Last night I danced the tango. I wore that lovely, tight, black, silk dress with the feathers round the skirt. My hair slicked back, black, with a red rose pinned in the nape. I caught my reflection in the studio mirrors.
[The music for the tango plays very softly in the background.]
VALERIE (continued)
I was Carmen, in the opera. Lithe, proud and full of life. Ron and I had practiced for weeks for this competition. I didn't expect to win, but I wanted to dance my best. "Who knows?" I thought we might do well. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly get my breath as we walked hand in hand onto the dancefloor and the music began.
[The music comes up. Valerie closes her eyes and moves her head and arms in time with it. The light onstage is now bright enough for the audience to make out Valerie, sitting in a wheelchair. A knock on an interior door is heard. The music stops and Valerie slowly opens her eyes.]
JUSTINE (heard from offstage)
Mum?
[Justine enters and the stage lights come up]
JUSTINE (continued)
Mum! For goodness sake! I’ve told you to wait. It’s not even seven. What if you had a fall?
VALERIE
Stop fussing. I’m okay.
JUSTINE
Today, you’re okay. What’s the point of me being here if you don’t call me? I can’t lift you, you know.
VALERIE
I don’t like to wake you.
JUSTINE
It’s what I’m here for, remember?
VALERIE
I’m perfectly okay. I just can’t walk. You treat me like I’m an invalid.
JUSTINE
I’m doing my best. I’m not trained for this.
VALERIE
I told you, there was no need for you to move back in here.
JUSTINE
I’ll bring you a cup of tea.
[Justine exits. Valerie addresses the audience.]
VALERIE
This place is far too big for us. I want a small place, all on one level, where I can do things for myself. I don’t need a garden but I’d like a place to sit in the sun, if we get any. I don’t need a minder. She should be out enjoying herself. Working. Being young. Being silly. I was, at her age. Ron and I were like a couple of schoolkids when we were first married. That’s another thing. That Barry. I know you can’t choose for them, but he really wasn’t right for her. She wouldn’t listen. She never does. Stubborn, like her dad. He wouldn’t have stood for her taking over. Fussing. Making me feel like I can’t do anything.
[Justine returns.]
JUSTINE
Here you are. I’ll sort out your clothes.
VALERIE
There’s no point in getting dressed.
JUSTINE
Now Mum...
VALERIE
I’m not going anywhere.
JUSTINE
You’ll feel better after you’re showered and dressed.
VALERIE
Don’t tell me how I’ll feel, Justine. You have no idea.
JUSTINE
I’m only trying to help. Here, how about this lovely dress? It’s always suited you.
VALERIE
It doesn’t fit me anymore. Nothing fits me anymore.
JUSTINE
There must be something. We’ll sort out your wardrobe when I get back from lunch.
VALERIE
I don’t want to.
JUSTINE
You won’t have to do anything, just say what you want to keep and what you want to get rid of.
VALERIE
I said I don’t want to. I have to be in the mood for it.
JUSTINE
If you ask me, you’re in a right mood. Come on. Let’s get you in the shower. I don’t have all day.
VALERIE
I do.
SCENE 2 Later that morning.
[Justine fusses over Valerie.]
JUSTINE
I won’t be gone long.
VALERIE
Be as long as you like.
JUSTINE
I have my mobile with me.
VALERIE
I’ll be fine.
JUSTINE
I know you will, I’m just saying, I have it with me if you need me.
VALERIE
You’ll be late.
JUSTINE
Claire won’t mind. She knows I can’t always get away on time.
VALERIE
You could, if you didn’t fuss so much.
JUSTINE
Have you got everything? Flask of tea? Mobile phone?
VALERIE
Yes, yes. Go. Oh.. the T.V. remote. Where is it?
JUSTINE
I don’t know. Where did you leave it?
[Justine starts searching the room for the remote control]
VALERIE
I didn’t leave it anywhere. You put the television on earlier, dropped the remote somewhere I couldn’t reach it and left me watching that stupid chat show for an hour while you were in the bath.
JUSTINE
Why didn’t you call me?
[A taxi horn sounds outside]
JUSTINE (continued)
The taxi’s here.
VALERIE
You always do it. Put the television on then leave me with no way to change the channel. It’s like a refined form of torture.
JUSTINE
Don’t be silly, Mum. I don’t do it on purpose.
VALERIE
You just don’t think. It’s something you take for granted, being able to watch what you like. Because you can get up and change it if you want to, but I can’t. You should think. I pay the licence, after all.
JUSTINE
I have to go.
VALERIE
I don’t know why you don’t just leave it with me instead of dropping it wherever you happen to be sitting at the time.
JUSTINE
I will do, when I find it.
VALERIE
Now you’ll blame me because you’ll be late and it’s not my fault.
JUSTINE
Here it is.
[Justine hands the tv remote control to Valerie]
VALERIE
Thank you.
JUSTINE
Are you sure you’ll be okay? Call me if you need anything.
VALERIE
Okay, I’ll call.
[Justine exits. Valerie addresses the audience.]
VALERIE (continued)
I know she doesn’t do things deliberately to annoy me. She doesn’t understand. She does things without thinking. Things she takes for granted, like that stupid television remote control. I don’t watch it much. But I like to listen to the news. She puts the remote all sorts of places. Sometimes by the phone, if she’s got up to answer it and turns the volume down from there. I can’t get to it there. Then she’ll forget about it and disappear into the kitchen to make a meal or something and leave me with the television on but no way to put the volume up again or change the channel. It’s not that she doesn’t care whether I can hear or not. She doesn’t think about it.
I’m glad she’s finally gone out. I’m used to my own space. Ron worked, of course. Retiring was still a few years off for both of us. We had so many plans. I was going to do less writing and we would travel more. We talked about visiting the Far East together, doing a tour. Maybe I’ll do it for both of us, one day. If Justine doesn’t have me in a straight-jacket first. If I could get into the kitchen I could make my own tea. If I could get into the shower on my own i’d have my privacy back. That’s the thing, you see. No privacy. Take any normal person and put them somewhere where they can’t do things they are used to and where they have no privacy and you’ll soon have them climbing the walls. Only I can’t. Climb them I mean. And if I sell this place and move somewhere suitable, where is she going to go? Back to that tiny bedsit she was in when she first left him?
SCENE 3 Late afternoon.
[Justine and Valerie sit watching television. Valerie changes the channel.]
JUSTINE
Claire suggested I get a job.
VALERIE
Oh? Doing what?
JUSTINE
Secretary. They have a vacancy in her office.
VALERIE
Will you go for it?
JUSTINE
I have the qualifications, Mum.
VALERIE
I know that. I just wondered. You’ve been out of the workplace for nearly five years now.
JUSTINE
Not by choice!
VALERIE
I know that, too. Barry was always saying no wife of his would ever have to work. Seems to me it would have been nice if he’d have given you the choice, though.
JUSTINE
I don’t want to talk about Barry.
VALERIE
Neither do I. Never liked him, anyway.
JUSTINE
Mum!
VALERIE
Well I didn’t. Okay, I’m sorry. So. This job. Tell me about it.
JUSTINE
Claire says one of the managers needs a new secretary.
VALERIE
What did he do with the old one?
JUSTINE
I have no idea. He needs a new one and that’s all that matters.
VALERIE
That depends on why the old one left. Did she jump or was she pushed?
JUSTINE
Do you want to hear about this or not?
VALERIE
Sorry.
JUSTINE
They are offering a good salary and conditions, and are looking for someone to start at the beginning of next month. Claire says it’s mine if I want it. Of course it’s completely out of the question.
VALERIE
Why? You could probably do it standing on your head.
JUSTINE
I’m sure I could. But I don’t see how I can go back to work and look after you as well.
VALERIE
I’ve said it before, Justine. I don’t want you looking after me here. It isn’t necessary. I want to move somewhere I can be independant.
JUSTINE (continued)
It would be great to get back to work.
VALERIE
It would be wonderful to have a home to myself again.
JUSTINE
Not that I’m exactly idle here, but I would like to have my own money again.
VALERIE
I could pay someone to do the cleaning, and not have them ‘organise’ me all day.
JUSTINE
Barry hated the idea of me spending all day in an office where there were other men. He made it impossible to stay.
VALERIE
So that’s why you gave up your job in the first place, just because he didn’t like his wife to work. You have a mind of her own, don’t you?
JUSTINE
He wanted his wife at home, he always said, where I could look after him. Where he could keep me locked up is more like it. He never wanted to go out anywhere together.
VALERIE
It would be great to have my life back. Well, some of it. There’s no way to bring Ron back, but he would have hated me to give up.
[Valerie turns off the television.]
JUSTINE
I was watching that...
VALERIE
For goodness sake, Justine! Can I not decide whether or not to have the television on in my own home?
JUSTINE
Fine. Watch what you like.
VALERIE
I will. Since you have actually bothered to leave the remote where I can reach it for once.
JUSTINE
Mum! We went through all this this morning. I don’t do it on purpose. How many more times?
[The phone rings. Justine gets up and answers.]
JUSTINE (continued)
Oh, hi Claire. No, I’m fine thanks. Thanks for lunch, by the way. Oh? Really? That’s wonderful. Of course. How soon do you need to know? Okay, thanks again. No, in the morning. I’ll call you. ‘Bye.
[Justine rejoins Valerie.]
JUSTINE (continued)
That was Claire. They’ve offered me the job. I have to let them know in the morning.
VALERIE
Will you take it?
JUSTINE
How can I?
VALERIE
I’ll manage. I’ll make other arrangements.
JUSTINE
It’s impossible. Everything’s impossible. And it’s your fault.
VALERIE
Mine?
JUSTINE
Yes! If you hadn’t been driving, Dad would still be alive. All this is your fault. And I’m having to pay for it.
VALERIE
That’s not true! It was a stupid accident... an accident.
JUSTINE
You’d been drinking. You weren’t as experienced at driving as he was. Why did he let you drive home? It should never have happened.
VALERIE
Your father had far more to drink than I had. He couldn’t have driven home.
JUSTINE
He was always careful, safe.
VALERIE
It wasn’t my fault. The road was wet. The oncoming driver lost control and ploughed into us. There was nothing I could do.
JUSTINE
It’s still your fault he’s dead.
VALERIE
If you believe that, why are you here?
JUSTINE
For him. He loved you. He would have wanted me to take care of you.
VALERIE
I don’t need you to take care of me! I don’t need anyone!
JUSTINE
Yes you do.
VALERIE
Just because I took pity on you in that poky little bedsit and asked you to come back here doesn’t mean I need you to run my life!
JUSTINE
Pity? It’s me who acted out of pity coming back here! You need me. You always will. I’m stuck here with a cripple of a mother who is never grateful for anything I do and finds fault with everything. I wish Dad was here and you weren’t!
[Justine exits swiftly.]
VALERIE
So do I, Justine. So do I.
SCENE 4 Later that evening.
[Valerie is alone. She addresses the audience.]
VALERIE
Ron insisted on having a bottle of champagne, to celebrate winning the competition. I had a glass. One glass. Ron had the rest. I was high on the evening without needing anything. Nearly thirty years married, and every time he held me it was like the first time. How could she ever understand what he meant to me? Now i’m a burden to her. Looking after Mum for Dad’s sake. What about looking after Mum for Mum’s sake?
I don’t need looking after. There are homes specially built for people who can’t get about. Wider doors so the wheelchair doesn’t take all the paint off the frame. Bathrooms you can use on your own. Even the shower. Gardens they look after for you. If I sell this house I’ll be able to afford to move into one, no problem.
If I sell this house, it will be goodbye to the last place Ron and I shared.
[Justine enters.]
JUSTINE
Mum? Are you okay?
VALERIE
Yes.
JUSTINE
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all those things I said.
VALERIE
It’s okay.
JUSTINE
No, it’s not. I was frustrated and angry and took it out on you.
VALERIE
I get frustrated and angry too. It’s okay.
JUSTINE
Yeah, but I can go for a walk to cool down.
VALERIE
I can play my music loud and annoy the neighbours.
JUSTINE
Is that what you’ve been doing?
VALERIE
No, actually I’ve been thinking things over.
JUSTINE
Me, too.
VALERIE
What have you decided?
JUSTINE
No, you first.
VALERIE
Okay. I’ve decided to sell the house and move into somewhere where I can manage independantly. I’ll have a cleaner come in once a week to keep things straight, and I’ll be able to go out shopping with you if I feel like it. Or do it online.
JUSTINE
Online?? You?
VALERIE
I’m not senile, you know.
JUSTINE
I know, Mum.
VALERIE
It’s time I began organising my life a little better, instead of having you do it for me.
JUSTINE
I didn’t mean to take over.
VALERIE
Let’s not get into that now. I think you should take the job and make a fresh start.
JUSTINE
Mum...
VALERIE
You said, me first.
JUSTINE
I know, but..
VALERIE
I haven’t finished.
JUSTINE
Okay.
VALERIE
It will take several weeks to sell this house even if I find a buyer straight away. You can start work at the beginning of the month, and by the time I sell the house you will have your salary coming in and we can get you fixed up with a rented flat. How does that sound?
JUSTINE
It sounds.... like I have my old mum back.
VALERIE
I’m sorry.
JUSTINE
So am I. I do love you, you know.
VALERIE
I know. So, what about that job? Will you take it?
JUSTINE
I’ll call them in the morning.
VALERIE
Justine? I loved your Dad more than anyone in the world, apart from you. I have blamed myself and second guessed everything that happened that night. I’m sorry he’s gone. But nothing will change that.
JUSTINE
I know. At least I still have you.
THE END
- Valerie
- Justine, her daughter
Description of characters:
Valerie is 50 years old. She was happily married for nearly 30 years to Ron, her late husband, who died in the same car accident which left her paralysed from the waist down.
Justine is 25. She is Valerie's only child. She has recently divorced Barry, to whom she was married for just over four years. Justine has returned to the family home to care for her mother.
SCENE 1 Morning.
[Valerie is alone on the darkened stage, head and shoulders illuminated by a dim spotlight which gradually brightens.She addresses the audience.]
VALERIE
Last night I danced the tango. I wore that lovely, tight, black, silk dress with the feathers round the skirt. My hair slicked back, black, with a red rose pinned in the nape. I caught my reflection in the studio mirrors.
[The music for the tango plays very softly in the background.]
VALERIE (continued)
I was Carmen, in the opera. Lithe, proud and full of life. Ron and I had practiced for weeks for this competition. I didn't expect to win, but I wanted to dance my best. "Who knows?" I thought we might do well. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly get my breath as we walked hand in hand onto the dancefloor and the music began.
[The music comes up. Valerie closes her eyes and moves her head and arms in time with it. The light onstage is now bright enough for the audience to make out Valerie, sitting in a wheelchair. A knock on an interior door is heard. The music stops and Valerie slowly opens her eyes.]
JUSTINE (heard from offstage)
Mum?
[Justine enters and the stage lights come up]
JUSTINE (continued)
Mum! For goodness sake! I’ve told you to wait. It’s not even seven. What if you had a fall?
VALERIE
Stop fussing. I’m okay.
JUSTINE
Today, you’re okay. What’s the point of me being here if you don’t call me? I can’t lift you, you know.
VALERIE
I don’t like to wake you.
JUSTINE
It’s what I’m here for, remember?
VALERIE
I’m perfectly okay. I just can’t walk. You treat me like I’m an invalid.
JUSTINE
I’m doing my best. I’m not trained for this.
VALERIE
I told you, there was no need for you to move back in here.
JUSTINE
I’ll bring you a cup of tea.
[Justine exits. Valerie addresses the audience.]
VALERIE
This place is far too big for us. I want a small place, all on one level, where I can do things for myself. I don’t need a garden but I’d like a place to sit in the sun, if we get any. I don’t need a minder. She should be out enjoying herself. Working. Being young. Being silly. I was, at her age. Ron and I were like a couple of schoolkids when we were first married. That’s another thing. That Barry. I know you can’t choose for them, but he really wasn’t right for her. She wouldn’t listen. She never does. Stubborn, like her dad. He wouldn’t have stood for her taking over. Fussing. Making me feel like I can’t do anything.
[Justine returns.]
JUSTINE
Here you are. I’ll sort out your clothes.
VALERIE
There’s no point in getting dressed.
JUSTINE
Now Mum...
VALERIE
I’m not going anywhere.
JUSTINE
You’ll feel better after you’re showered and dressed.
VALERIE
Don’t tell me how I’ll feel, Justine. You have no idea.
JUSTINE
I’m only trying to help. Here, how about this lovely dress? It’s always suited you.
VALERIE
It doesn’t fit me anymore. Nothing fits me anymore.
JUSTINE
There must be something. We’ll sort out your wardrobe when I get back from lunch.
VALERIE
I don’t want to.
JUSTINE
You won’t have to do anything, just say what you want to keep and what you want to get rid of.
VALERIE
I said I don’t want to. I have to be in the mood for it.
JUSTINE
If you ask me, you’re in a right mood. Come on. Let’s get you in the shower. I don’t have all day.
VALERIE
I do.
SCENE 2 Later that morning.
[Justine fusses over Valerie.]
JUSTINE
I won’t be gone long.
VALERIE
Be as long as you like.
JUSTINE
I have my mobile with me.
VALERIE
I’ll be fine.
JUSTINE
I know you will, I’m just saying, I have it with me if you need me.
VALERIE
You’ll be late.
JUSTINE
Claire won’t mind. She knows I can’t always get away on time.
VALERIE
You could, if you didn’t fuss so much.
JUSTINE
Have you got everything? Flask of tea? Mobile phone?
VALERIE
Yes, yes. Go. Oh.. the T.V. remote. Where is it?
JUSTINE
I don’t know. Where did you leave it?
[Justine starts searching the room for the remote control]
VALERIE
I didn’t leave it anywhere. You put the television on earlier, dropped the remote somewhere I couldn’t reach it and left me watching that stupid chat show for an hour while you were in the bath.
JUSTINE
Why didn’t you call me?
[A taxi horn sounds outside]
JUSTINE (continued)
The taxi’s here.
VALERIE
You always do it. Put the television on then leave me with no way to change the channel. It’s like a refined form of torture.
JUSTINE
Don’t be silly, Mum. I don’t do it on purpose.
VALERIE
You just don’t think. It’s something you take for granted, being able to watch what you like. Because you can get up and change it if you want to, but I can’t. You should think. I pay the licence, after all.
JUSTINE
I have to go.
VALERIE
I don’t know why you don’t just leave it with me instead of dropping it wherever you happen to be sitting at the time.
JUSTINE
I will do, when I find it.
VALERIE
Now you’ll blame me because you’ll be late and it’s not my fault.
JUSTINE
Here it is.
[Justine hands the tv remote control to Valerie]
VALERIE
Thank you.
JUSTINE
Are you sure you’ll be okay? Call me if you need anything.
VALERIE
Okay, I’ll call.
[Justine exits. Valerie addresses the audience.]
VALERIE (continued)
I know she doesn’t do things deliberately to annoy me. She doesn’t understand. She does things without thinking. Things she takes for granted, like that stupid television remote control. I don’t watch it much. But I like to listen to the news. She puts the remote all sorts of places. Sometimes by the phone, if she’s got up to answer it and turns the volume down from there. I can’t get to it there. Then she’ll forget about it and disappear into the kitchen to make a meal or something and leave me with the television on but no way to put the volume up again or change the channel. It’s not that she doesn’t care whether I can hear or not. She doesn’t think about it.
I’m glad she’s finally gone out. I’m used to my own space. Ron worked, of course. Retiring was still a few years off for both of us. We had so many plans. I was going to do less writing and we would travel more. We talked about visiting the Far East together, doing a tour. Maybe I’ll do it for both of us, one day. If Justine doesn’t have me in a straight-jacket first. If I could get into the kitchen I could make my own tea. If I could get into the shower on my own i’d have my privacy back. That’s the thing, you see. No privacy. Take any normal person and put them somewhere where they can’t do things they are used to and where they have no privacy and you’ll soon have them climbing the walls. Only I can’t. Climb them I mean. And if I sell this place and move somewhere suitable, where is she going to go? Back to that tiny bedsit she was in when she first left him?
SCENE 3 Late afternoon.
[Justine and Valerie sit watching television. Valerie changes the channel.]
JUSTINE
Claire suggested I get a job.
VALERIE
Oh? Doing what?
JUSTINE
Secretary. They have a vacancy in her office.
VALERIE
Will you go for it?
JUSTINE
I have the qualifications, Mum.
VALERIE
I know that. I just wondered. You’ve been out of the workplace for nearly five years now.
JUSTINE
Not by choice!
VALERIE
I know that, too. Barry was always saying no wife of his would ever have to work. Seems to me it would have been nice if he’d have given you the choice, though.
JUSTINE
I don’t want to talk about Barry.
VALERIE
Neither do I. Never liked him, anyway.
JUSTINE
Mum!
VALERIE
Well I didn’t. Okay, I’m sorry. So. This job. Tell me about it.
JUSTINE
Claire says one of the managers needs a new secretary.
VALERIE
What did he do with the old one?
JUSTINE
I have no idea. He needs a new one and that’s all that matters.
VALERIE
That depends on why the old one left. Did she jump or was she pushed?
JUSTINE
Do you want to hear about this or not?
VALERIE
Sorry.
JUSTINE
They are offering a good salary and conditions, and are looking for someone to start at the beginning of next month. Claire says it’s mine if I want it. Of course it’s completely out of the question.
VALERIE
Why? You could probably do it standing on your head.
JUSTINE
I’m sure I could. But I don’t see how I can go back to work and look after you as well.
VALERIE
I’ve said it before, Justine. I don’t want you looking after me here. It isn’t necessary. I want to move somewhere I can be independant.
JUSTINE (continued)
It would be great to get back to work.
VALERIE
It would be wonderful to have a home to myself again.
JUSTINE
Not that I’m exactly idle here, but I would like to have my own money again.
VALERIE
I could pay someone to do the cleaning, and not have them ‘organise’ me all day.
JUSTINE
Barry hated the idea of me spending all day in an office where there were other men. He made it impossible to stay.
VALERIE
So that’s why you gave up your job in the first place, just because he didn’t like his wife to work. You have a mind of her own, don’t you?
JUSTINE
He wanted his wife at home, he always said, where I could look after him. Where he could keep me locked up is more like it. He never wanted to go out anywhere together.
VALERIE
It would be great to have my life back. Well, some of it. There’s no way to bring Ron back, but he would have hated me to give up.
[Valerie turns off the television.]
JUSTINE
I was watching that...
VALERIE
For goodness sake, Justine! Can I not decide whether or not to have the television on in my own home?
JUSTINE
Fine. Watch what you like.
VALERIE
I will. Since you have actually bothered to leave the remote where I can reach it for once.
JUSTINE
Mum! We went through all this this morning. I don’t do it on purpose. How many more times?
[The phone rings. Justine gets up and answers.]
JUSTINE (continued)
Oh, hi Claire. No, I’m fine thanks. Thanks for lunch, by the way. Oh? Really? That’s wonderful. Of course. How soon do you need to know? Okay, thanks again. No, in the morning. I’ll call you. ‘Bye.
[Justine rejoins Valerie.]
JUSTINE (continued)
That was Claire. They’ve offered me the job. I have to let them know in the morning.
VALERIE
Will you take it?
JUSTINE
How can I?
VALERIE
I’ll manage. I’ll make other arrangements.
JUSTINE
It’s impossible. Everything’s impossible. And it’s your fault.
VALERIE
Mine?
JUSTINE
Yes! If you hadn’t been driving, Dad would still be alive. All this is your fault. And I’m having to pay for it.
VALERIE
That’s not true! It was a stupid accident... an accident.
JUSTINE
You’d been drinking. You weren’t as experienced at driving as he was. Why did he let you drive home? It should never have happened.
VALERIE
Your father had far more to drink than I had. He couldn’t have driven home.
JUSTINE
He was always careful, safe.
VALERIE
It wasn’t my fault. The road was wet. The oncoming driver lost control and ploughed into us. There was nothing I could do.
JUSTINE
It’s still your fault he’s dead.
VALERIE
If you believe that, why are you here?
JUSTINE
For him. He loved you. He would have wanted me to take care of you.
VALERIE
I don’t need you to take care of me! I don’t need anyone!
JUSTINE
Yes you do.
VALERIE
Just because I took pity on you in that poky little bedsit and asked you to come back here doesn’t mean I need you to run my life!
JUSTINE
Pity? It’s me who acted out of pity coming back here! You need me. You always will. I’m stuck here with a cripple of a mother who is never grateful for anything I do and finds fault with everything. I wish Dad was here and you weren’t!
[Justine exits swiftly.]
VALERIE
So do I, Justine. So do I.
SCENE 4 Later that evening.
[Valerie is alone. She addresses the audience.]
VALERIE
Ron insisted on having a bottle of champagne, to celebrate winning the competition. I had a glass. One glass. Ron had the rest. I was high on the evening without needing anything. Nearly thirty years married, and every time he held me it was like the first time. How could she ever understand what he meant to me? Now i’m a burden to her. Looking after Mum for Dad’s sake. What about looking after Mum for Mum’s sake?
I don’t need looking after. There are homes specially built for people who can’t get about. Wider doors so the wheelchair doesn’t take all the paint off the frame. Bathrooms you can use on your own. Even the shower. Gardens they look after for you. If I sell this house I’ll be able to afford to move into one, no problem.
If I sell this house, it will be goodbye to the last place Ron and I shared.
[Justine enters.]
JUSTINE
Mum? Are you okay?
VALERIE
Yes.
JUSTINE
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all those things I said.
VALERIE
It’s okay.
JUSTINE
No, it’s not. I was frustrated and angry and took it out on you.
VALERIE
I get frustrated and angry too. It’s okay.
JUSTINE
Yeah, but I can go for a walk to cool down.
VALERIE
I can play my music loud and annoy the neighbours.
JUSTINE
Is that what you’ve been doing?
VALERIE
No, actually I’ve been thinking things over.
JUSTINE
Me, too.
VALERIE
What have you decided?
JUSTINE
No, you first.
VALERIE
Okay. I’ve decided to sell the house and move into somewhere where I can manage independantly. I’ll have a cleaner come in once a week to keep things straight, and I’ll be able to go out shopping with you if I feel like it. Or do it online.
JUSTINE
Online?? You?
VALERIE
I’m not senile, you know.
JUSTINE
I know, Mum.
VALERIE
It’s time I began organising my life a little better, instead of having you do it for me.
JUSTINE
I didn’t mean to take over.
VALERIE
Let’s not get into that now. I think you should take the job and make a fresh start.
JUSTINE
Mum...
VALERIE
You said, me first.
JUSTINE
I know, but..
VALERIE
I haven’t finished.
JUSTINE
Okay.
VALERIE
It will take several weeks to sell this house even if I find a buyer straight away. You can start work at the beginning of the month, and by the time I sell the house you will have your salary coming in and we can get you fixed up with a rented flat. How does that sound?
JUSTINE
It sounds.... like I have my old mum back.
VALERIE
I’m sorry.
JUSTINE
So am I. I do love you, you know.
VALERIE
I know. So, what about that job? Will you take it?
JUSTINE
I’ll call them in the morning.
VALERIE
Justine? I loved your Dad more than anyone in the world, apart from you. I have blamed myself and second guessed everything that happened that night. I’m sorry he’s gone. But nothing will change that.
JUSTINE
I know. At least I still have you.
THE END
Monologue 2
I was relieved it was no longer raining as I strolled through the park after Mo, my dog. He was a rangy, long-haired mixture of several large breeds. I looked around carelessly to see what he was up to.
“Bugger!” I muttered under my breath as I saw he was about to slobber all over the young woman on the nearby seat. She looked more than usually apprehensive of him, and I hurried across to effect damage limitation.
“Sorry! He can’t resist a pretty girl.”
I winced inwardly the moment the words were out. Now why did I say that? I smiled and hoped she wouldn’t think me a complete idiot. I quickly attached Mo’s lead to the collar which hung loosely around his neck and told him to sit. My tone was not perhaps as strict as it could have been, but I had a big soft spot for him and he knew it. It was no use pretending to be cross.
I sat too. Strategically between Mo and the young woman. I smiled and held out my hand. I know she said something but I was concentrating on her face and didn’t register it at the time. I began to think she must be offended and felt embarrassment creep over my face.
The cold had given her a healthy flush to her cheeks. I’d seen her here before, but had never steeled myself to the task of introductions. Hardly likely she would have noticed me.
She asked me about Mo’s pedigree. I shrugged.
“Some sort of mongrel, partly St. Bernard.”
I remembered that I didn’t present a very promising picture in my old coat. People didn’t always understand that animals like Mo could ruin decent things in a moment, including furniture, cars and especially clothes. She was certainly giving me some scrutiny. I hoped she would believe I would clean up really well. I made a quip about it to break the awkwardness. I told her I’d seen her in the park before. Wrong. Now I’d got her all anxious again. Scared her more than the dog.
I quickly explained that I brought the dog here every day at around lunchtime, to get a break from writing. She asked what I was writing, and looked astonished when I mentioned my latest series of novels.
“Yes, it really is me.” I leaned closer. “But, please, don’t tell anyone.”
“Bugger!” I muttered under my breath as I saw he was about to slobber all over the young woman on the nearby seat. She looked more than usually apprehensive of him, and I hurried across to effect damage limitation.
“Sorry! He can’t resist a pretty girl.”
I winced inwardly the moment the words were out. Now why did I say that? I smiled and hoped she wouldn’t think me a complete idiot. I quickly attached Mo’s lead to the collar which hung loosely around his neck and told him to sit. My tone was not perhaps as strict as it could have been, but I had a big soft spot for him and he knew it. It was no use pretending to be cross.
I sat too. Strategically between Mo and the young woman. I smiled and held out my hand. I know she said something but I was concentrating on her face and didn’t register it at the time. I began to think she must be offended and felt embarrassment creep over my face.
The cold had given her a healthy flush to her cheeks. I’d seen her here before, but had never steeled myself to the task of introductions. Hardly likely she would have noticed me.
She asked me about Mo’s pedigree. I shrugged.
“Some sort of mongrel, partly St. Bernard.”
I remembered that I didn’t present a very promising picture in my old coat. People didn’t always understand that animals like Mo could ruin decent things in a moment, including furniture, cars and especially clothes. She was certainly giving me some scrutiny. I hoped she would believe I would clean up really well. I made a quip about it to break the awkwardness. I told her I’d seen her in the park before. Wrong. Now I’d got her all anxious again. Scared her more than the dog.
I quickly explained that I brought the dog here every day at around lunchtime, to get a break from writing. She asked what I was writing, and looked astonished when I mentioned my latest series of novels.
“Yes, it really is me.” I leaned closer. “But, please, don’t tell anyone.”
Monologue 1
Last Tuesday I was sitting on this same seat in the park. It was a crisp clear autumn day, like today. I had come here to escape the routine of gossip-mongering at work.
I noticed his dog, first. A fluffy animal the size of a small pony. I’m scared of dogs, and I was too busy keeping an eye on what it was doing to get a good look at the owner. His voice caught my attention. Gentle and rather deep with a hint of laughter in it. He apologised as he fixed a lead to the dog’s collar and instructed it to sit. It sat.
I mumbled something I can’t now recall, and he promptly sat on the end of the seat between the dog and myself and held out his hand. A calloused hand, with broad squared off fingers, warm and slightly rough to the touch. I looked up at his face. He was smiling. Slightly flushed, possibly because of the cold, his eyes looked rather amused. Probably I smiled back, it would have been difficult not to.
His hair was windswept, dark and slightly curling onto his collar. A touch of grey here and there was a surprise, as he didn’t appear to be much older than late twenties. I must have been staring without realising because he laughed and said I would know him next time. I expect I blushed, but hoped if I did that he would attribute that to the cold.
I asked him what sort of dog it was, just to be polite, and to take his attention off my face, which seemed to be occupying him. He shrugged and grinned. Some sort of mongrel, partly St. Bernard was the response. I nodded.
He was wearing a long coat of dark brown smooth waterproofed fabric that looked like it had seen a lot of wet weather. His black pants and boots were fairly well worn, too. Maybe because he was dog walking and didn’t want to get decent clothes messed up. Maybe because he just didn’t worry about such things, or maybe because he couldn’t afford better.
He mentioned seeing me in the park before. I wondered if he was a stalker, and my expression must have reflected my dismay because he was quick to put me at ease. He explained that he brought his dog here every day at around lunchtime, to get a break from writing. I asked what he was writing, thinking that he was possibly a student or something. He mentioned a series of novels and laughed at the incredulity I felt which was obviously writ large on my face.
“Yes, it really is me.” He leaned closer. “But, please, don’t tell anyone.”
I nodded again, lost for words. I thought to myself he would consider me a complete fool, but he seemed in no hurry to get on with walking the dog, which was now lying down with its massive head resting on its paws.
I noticed his dog, first. A fluffy animal the size of a small pony. I’m scared of dogs, and I was too busy keeping an eye on what it was doing to get a good look at the owner. His voice caught my attention. Gentle and rather deep with a hint of laughter in it. He apologised as he fixed a lead to the dog’s collar and instructed it to sit. It sat.
I mumbled something I can’t now recall, and he promptly sat on the end of the seat between the dog and myself and held out his hand. A calloused hand, with broad squared off fingers, warm and slightly rough to the touch. I looked up at his face. He was smiling. Slightly flushed, possibly because of the cold, his eyes looked rather amused. Probably I smiled back, it would have been difficult not to.
His hair was windswept, dark and slightly curling onto his collar. A touch of grey here and there was a surprise, as he didn’t appear to be much older than late twenties. I must have been staring without realising because he laughed and said I would know him next time. I expect I blushed, but hoped if I did that he would attribute that to the cold.
I asked him what sort of dog it was, just to be polite, and to take his attention off my face, which seemed to be occupying him. He shrugged and grinned. Some sort of mongrel, partly St. Bernard was the response. I nodded.
He was wearing a long coat of dark brown smooth waterproofed fabric that looked like it had seen a lot of wet weather. His black pants and boots were fairly well worn, too. Maybe because he was dog walking and didn’t want to get decent clothes messed up. Maybe because he just didn’t worry about such things, or maybe because he couldn’t afford better.
He mentioned seeing me in the park before. I wondered if he was a stalker, and my expression must have reflected my dismay because he was quick to put me at ease. He explained that he brought his dog here every day at around lunchtime, to get a break from writing. I asked what he was writing, thinking that he was possibly a student or something. He mentioned a series of novels and laughed at the incredulity I felt which was obviously writ large on my face.
“Yes, it really is me.” He leaned closer. “But, please, don’t tell anyone.”
I nodded again, lost for words. I thought to myself he would consider me a complete fool, but he seemed in no hurry to get on with walking the dog, which was now lying down with its massive head resting on its paws.
Exercise 1
Prose exercise 1
Statement: every piece of prose writing has sentences which contain the following number of words in the order of this sequence:-
5,7,4,6,6,4,8,12,7,7,7,5 recurring.
__________________________________________________
Morning always comes too soon. I’m sure that’s not just my view. Most people would concur. If they were honest, that is. No-one leaps enthusiastically out of bed. More likely, they grumble. Slowly stretching, yawning, moaning, one eye opening slowly. Not for me the morning rush for coffee, toast and bracing shower.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes...”
A frustrating refrain to most parents. Or most partners, too, I would suggest.
“Are you out of bed?”
“Just give me a second.”
Statement: every piece of prose writing has sentences which contain the following number of words in the order of this sequence:-
5,7,4,6,6,4,8,12,7,7,7,5 recurring.
__________________________________________________
Morning always comes too soon. I’m sure that’s not just my view. Most people would concur. If they were honest, that is. No-one leaps enthusiastically out of bed. More likely, they grumble. Slowly stretching, yawning, moaning, one eye opening slowly. Not for me the morning rush for coffee, toast and bracing shower.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes...”
A frustrating refrain to most parents. Or most partners, too, I would suggest.
“Are you out of bed?”
“Just give me a second.”
Fireman's Lift
“I do wish you would stand still, Julie!”
My mother’s exasperation was palpable. Okay, all mothers are allowed to be a bit nervous on their daughter’s wedding day, especially when it happens to be their only child who is leaving the nest. However, I wouldn’t be. Leaving, that is. That was the problem.
++++++
It seemed so long ago now, since Mum had moved the two of us down from Scotland to the south of England. A man had been passing the house just as I managed to drop the box of books I had been carrying across the pavement. He helped me repack them, his raised eyebrows the only indication that he had noticed any of the titles.
“They’re my mother’s,” I explained, shrugging.
He stood up and carried the box to the open front door.
“Where do you want these?”
I pointed to the hall table and waited outside while he put them down. It was the first time he had entered the house, and I had no premonition then that my life had turned a corner.
++++++
They say ‘those who can’t, teach’ but then, ‘they’ had obviously never met Stuart. It would be difficult to find a less compatible couple than he and I, at least on paper. He was everything my mother wanted me to be. A teacher of English and Drama at the local secondary school since qualifying eight years ago, he had what she considered a ‘proper’ job for a woman. It was Stuart who had overcome my objections that I wasn’t a teacher and would make a mess of things, and persuaded me to start story readings in the public library for the local children.
Stuart had taken the lead in the city amateur dramatics group and insisted I come along. He knew I would be hooked and would eventually end up painting scenery and making costumes, with my mother’s supervision.
++++++++++
My mother got into the taxi with scarcely ten minutes to spare before the ceremony was due to begin. I would be ‘fashionably late’ - whatever that was supposed to mean.
I waited in the hall. Dressed, made-up, bouquet in hand. I was going to arrive at the church on the ancient fire engine the brigade kept mainly for display and for charity events. It was my colleagues’ gift to me, this outlandish and unconventional mode of transport, for what they considered my ‘happy’ day.
The warning bell on the engine clanged loudly out in the street. I opened the door and walked carefully down the front path on the arm of my chief. There were appreciative glances and a couple of wolf-whistles from the lads as they helped me climb aboard.
“Calm down, you lot. Anyone would think you didn’t know I owned a dress.”
The chief smiled warmly. “Ready lass?”
I forced a smile.
++++++
Stuart had proposed not, as I had always dreamed, on one knee in some quiet romantic place. He had casually slipped it in between the main course and dessert during dinner with my mother and myself one wet Friday.
“I do hope you will marry me, Julie, as soon as your mother and you can organise things.”
I was disappointed. It was so matter of fact. Smug. Not expecting refusal. I felt a numbness spread in my mind as I realised I would be spending the rest of my life with him, if my mum had anything to do with it. I had been expecting the proposal, of course. It had been obvious to me for weeks that someday soon he would be making a move in that direction.
Before I could think of a way to stall him without giving a reply, my mother had grasped his hand and started to cry.
“How wonderful! Stuart you have made me very happy indeed to know you will be looking after my Julie.”
I blinked. I hadn’t agreed to anything.
It seemed like a waking dream over the next few weeks. Stuart and my mother organised everything. I added an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or non-committal shrug when asked whether I liked this shade of oyster satin or had a preference for any particular flowers.
I had dreamed of marrying, of course. Doesn’t every little girl? But then I had grown up. My mother had been disabled and in a wheelchair for the last five years. I had found my niche, to her chagrin, as a firefighter in the local brigade, as soon as I had finished college. She didn’t consider it a suitable occupation for a young woman. The fact that it gave me ample time to see to her needs, whilst giving me the freedom to do the job I had come to love, was immaterial to her. The canker of disapproval stayed dormant much of the time and would burst out into the open if we argued over anything. It was my own fault. I hated confrontation, and felt guilty about being well when my mother had lost her vitality. So many times I lay in bed thinking disloyally of running away. But I couldn’t abandon her. I was still trying to please her, despite years of failing miserably to do so.
Stuart shared her views, much to my disgust. He was happy to ‘empower’ women on his own terms, and talked me into fitting into his life quite cleverly.
The crunch had come the day before, when we finally had our first row. He had asked whether the brigade had given me a farewell send-off. I looked at him, puzzled, uneasy at the question.
“Well, you won’t be returning to work after the honeymoon.”
I raised my eyebrows. This was getting out of hand. “I have every intention of returning after the honeymoon!”
He frowned. He paced up and down, at great pains to explain his view of how my life would be from our wedding onwards. I would have no need to work, since he would be caring for that side of things. I would have far more time to care for my mother, and him, naturally. And we would be able to start a family straight away, since my mother’s house was large enough to accommodate a sizeable family. After about ten minutes of this, I silently stood up and left the room. I desperately needed to think.
++++++
As the fire engine drove sedately in the direction of the church, the Chief’s mobile phone rang. He answered it. Then he turned to me.
“Sorry Julie, we’ll have to make this snappy. There’s a fire at the shopping centre.”
It took me less than a heartbeat to respond.
“Anyone got a spare uniform? Let’s go!”
He looked a bit startled. I grinned broadly back at him.
He nodded to the driver. We sped past the open church with the bell clanging. To the astonishment of my guests milling in the sunshine in the churchyard, I threw the bouquet of pink roses over the hedge towards them. I didn’t care who caught them. I’d never liked them anyway….
My mother’s exasperation was palpable. Okay, all mothers are allowed to be a bit nervous on their daughter’s wedding day, especially when it happens to be their only child who is leaving the nest. However, I wouldn’t be. Leaving, that is. That was the problem.
++++++
It seemed so long ago now, since Mum had moved the two of us down from Scotland to the south of England. A man had been passing the house just as I managed to drop the box of books I had been carrying across the pavement. He helped me repack them, his raised eyebrows the only indication that he had noticed any of the titles.
“They’re my mother’s,” I explained, shrugging.
He stood up and carried the box to the open front door.
“Where do you want these?”
I pointed to the hall table and waited outside while he put them down. It was the first time he had entered the house, and I had no premonition then that my life had turned a corner.
++++++
They say ‘those who can’t, teach’ but then, ‘they’ had obviously never met Stuart. It would be difficult to find a less compatible couple than he and I, at least on paper. He was everything my mother wanted me to be. A teacher of English and Drama at the local secondary school since qualifying eight years ago, he had what she considered a ‘proper’ job for a woman. It was Stuart who had overcome my objections that I wasn’t a teacher and would make a mess of things, and persuaded me to start story readings in the public library for the local children.
Stuart had taken the lead in the city amateur dramatics group and insisted I come along. He knew I would be hooked and would eventually end up painting scenery and making costumes, with my mother’s supervision.
++++++++++
My mother got into the taxi with scarcely ten minutes to spare before the ceremony was due to begin. I would be ‘fashionably late’ - whatever that was supposed to mean.
I waited in the hall. Dressed, made-up, bouquet in hand. I was going to arrive at the church on the ancient fire engine the brigade kept mainly for display and for charity events. It was my colleagues’ gift to me, this outlandish and unconventional mode of transport, for what they considered my ‘happy’ day.
The warning bell on the engine clanged loudly out in the street. I opened the door and walked carefully down the front path on the arm of my chief. There were appreciative glances and a couple of wolf-whistles from the lads as they helped me climb aboard.
“Calm down, you lot. Anyone would think you didn’t know I owned a dress.”
The chief smiled warmly. “Ready lass?”
I forced a smile.
++++++
Stuart had proposed not, as I had always dreamed, on one knee in some quiet romantic place. He had casually slipped it in between the main course and dessert during dinner with my mother and myself one wet Friday.
“I do hope you will marry me, Julie, as soon as your mother and you can organise things.”
I was disappointed. It was so matter of fact. Smug. Not expecting refusal. I felt a numbness spread in my mind as I realised I would be spending the rest of my life with him, if my mum had anything to do with it. I had been expecting the proposal, of course. It had been obvious to me for weeks that someday soon he would be making a move in that direction.
Before I could think of a way to stall him without giving a reply, my mother had grasped his hand and started to cry.
“How wonderful! Stuart you have made me very happy indeed to know you will be looking after my Julie.”
I blinked. I hadn’t agreed to anything.
It seemed like a waking dream over the next few weeks. Stuart and my mother organised everything. I added an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or non-committal shrug when asked whether I liked this shade of oyster satin or had a preference for any particular flowers.
I had dreamed of marrying, of course. Doesn’t every little girl? But then I had grown up. My mother had been disabled and in a wheelchair for the last five years. I had found my niche, to her chagrin, as a firefighter in the local brigade, as soon as I had finished college. She didn’t consider it a suitable occupation for a young woman. The fact that it gave me ample time to see to her needs, whilst giving me the freedom to do the job I had come to love, was immaterial to her. The canker of disapproval stayed dormant much of the time and would burst out into the open if we argued over anything. It was my own fault. I hated confrontation, and felt guilty about being well when my mother had lost her vitality. So many times I lay in bed thinking disloyally of running away. But I couldn’t abandon her. I was still trying to please her, despite years of failing miserably to do so.
Stuart shared her views, much to my disgust. He was happy to ‘empower’ women on his own terms, and talked me into fitting into his life quite cleverly.
The crunch had come the day before, when we finally had our first row. He had asked whether the brigade had given me a farewell send-off. I looked at him, puzzled, uneasy at the question.
“Well, you won’t be returning to work after the honeymoon.”
I raised my eyebrows. This was getting out of hand. “I have every intention of returning after the honeymoon!”
He frowned. He paced up and down, at great pains to explain his view of how my life would be from our wedding onwards. I would have no need to work, since he would be caring for that side of things. I would have far more time to care for my mother, and him, naturally. And we would be able to start a family straight away, since my mother’s house was large enough to accommodate a sizeable family. After about ten minutes of this, I silently stood up and left the room. I desperately needed to think.
++++++
As the fire engine drove sedately in the direction of the church, the Chief’s mobile phone rang. He answered it. Then he turned to me.
“Sorry Julie, we’ll have to make this snappy. There’s a fire at the shopping centre.”
It took me less than a heartbeat to respond.
“Anyone got a spare uniform? Let’s go!”
He looked a bit startled. I grinned broadly back at him.
He nodded to the driver. We sped past the open church with the bell clanging. To the astonishment of my guests milling in the sunshine in the churchyard, I threw the bouquet of pink roses over the hedge towards them. I didn’t care who caught them. I’d never liked them anyway….
Exercise 3
Write a 250 word description of action using only one adverb
________________________________________________
I drove along the road. There were few cars in either direction at that hour of the night and I was making good time. I rubbed my eyes with my fist. I changed gear for the corner but missed it and the bonnet nose-dived as the car responded to my poor driving. I found the right gear and sorted myself out as I pulled away from the corner. I blamed fatigue for the lapse of concentration and was considering pulling off for a rest when I was blinded by headlights. A vehicle had come from nowhere straight into my path. I jumped onto the brake and clutch while trying to squint against the lights to see what was bearing down on me. The noise of the truck’s engine was audible above my car’s motor; for it was a large container truck which threatened to crush my car with myself inside it. There was no space for passing so I slammed the car into reverse and aimed for the farm gate I had seen about four hundred yards back. The oncoming lights showed no sign of slowing and the gap appeared to be shrinking despite my efforts to gain the safety of the field. Just when I thought I would not make it, the reversing lights picked out the gateway in the hedge and I frantically swung the wheel and floored the accelerator in a desperate race to breach the gate. In a heartbeat I felt the car bouncing over the rutted ground. I sat gasping as my headlights reflected back from the sides of the truck passing inches in front of me.
________________________________________________
I drove along the road. There were few cars in either direction at that hour of the night and I was making good time. I rubbed my eyes with my fist. I changed gear for the corner but missed it and the bonnet nose-dived as the car responded to my poor driving. I found the right gear and sorted myself out as I pulled away from the corner. I blamed fatigue for the lapse of concentration and was considering pulling off for a rest when I was blinded by headlights. A vehicle had come from nowhere straight into my path. I jumped onto the brake and clutch while trying to squint against the lights to see what was bearing down on me. The noise of the truck’s engine was audible above my car’s motor; for it was a large container truck which threatened to crush my car with myself inside it. There was no space for passing so I slammed the car into reverse and aimed for the farm gate I had seen about four hundred yards back. The oncoming lights showed no sign of slowing and the gap appeared to be shrinking despite my efforts to gain the safety of the field. Just when I thought I would not make it, the reversing lights picked out the gateway in the hedge and I frantically swung the wheel and floored the accelerator in a desperate race to breach the gate. In a heartbeat I felt the car bouncing over the rutted ground. I sat gasping as my headlights reflected back from the sides of the truck passing inches in front of me.
Exercise 2
Write a 250 word description of a place using only one adjective
________________________________________________
The house belonged to my grandmother. I had never visited before so I did not know the layout of the building. As I entered the front door I looked around the entrance hall. The floor was woodblock with rugs here and there. A mirror was hung above a table where I could see lying the day’s newspaper and some letters which had arrived in the mail. Three doors led off the hall. The one to my right was ajar and I made my way through it into the main reception room, which was used as a living room. Several armchairs were placed in a semi-circle, with side tables between them. There was a cabinet in one corner, which could have hidden a brooding television behind its closed doors. The fireplace was empty and the curtains were drawn across the bay windows. I backed out of the room and stepped across the hallway to the second door. It was not locked, and on opening it I stepped into the dining room. The table could seat about a dozen people. Some chairs were set around the table in the centre of the room and some more were placed against the walls. A bowl of fruit was in the centre of the table and a pair of candelabra stood on either side. Here, too, the curtains were drawn. Aside from the table and chairs the room had a sideboard against one wall and a fireplace containing a dried flower arrangement in its hearth.
________________________________________________
The house belonged to my grandmother. I had never visited before so I did not know the layout of the building. As I entered the front door I looked around the entrance hall. The floor was woodblock with rugs here and there. A mirror was hung above a table where I could see lying the day’s newspaper and some letters which had arrived in the mail. Three doors led off the hall. The one to my right was ajar and I made my way through it into the main reception room, which was used as a living room. Several armchairs were placed in a semi-circle, with side tables between them. There was a cabinet in one corner, which could have hidden a brooding television behind its closed doors. The fireplace was empty and the curtains were drawn across the bay windows. I backed out of the room and stepped across the hallway to the second door. It was not locked, and on opening it I stepped into the dining room. The table could seat about a dozen people. Some chairs were set around the table in the centre of the room and some more were placed against the walls. A bowl of fruit was in the centre of the table and a pair of candelabra stood on either side. Here, too, the curtains were drawn. Aside from the table and chairs the room had a sideboard against one wall and a fireplace containing a dried flower arrangement in its hearth.
Inamorata
Josie Alderton, you are the wealth of princes,
knowledge fills your very being.
Your ways show sweet attention:
gracefulness in motion.
None can match your compassion
or generosity.
When you laugh you light your empire
of conquered hearts.
You bring joy, bestowing friendship,
Hope and happiness entwined.
Within you burns passion so deep
that words can scarcely give expression to it.
In your eyes effulgence like the blazing sun
scatters doubt asunder.
Your voice, like snowmelt-swollen streams
trickling musically seaward,
charms birds to still their chorus.
Skin of rose-hued marble smoothness
frames your deep atlantean eyes.
Shimmering in sunlight shafts,
silken strands dance softly.
Form of Eden's lost perfection;
incarnate femininity.
knowledge fills your very being.
Your ways show sweet attention:
gracefulness in motion.
None can match your compassion
or generosity.
When you laugh you light your empire
of conquered hearts.
You bring joy, bestowing friendship,
Hope and happiness entwined.
Within you burns passion so deep
that words can scarcely give expression to it.
In your eyes effulgence like the blazing sun
scatters doubt asunder.
Your voice, like snowmelt-swollen streams
trickling musically seaward,
charms birds to still their chorus.
Skin of rose-hued marble smoothness
frames your deep atlantean eyes.
Shimmering in sunlight shafts,
silken strands dance softly.
Form of Eden's lost perfection;
incarnate femininity.
Mother
Mother sitting stitching
with nimble, thimbled fingers;
licks the silk
and threads it
through the tiny needle eye.
The machine’s whirring motion
and a cloud of fabric round her.
I prick my thumb
while I’m mending.
The needle’s sharp
and painful, like the memory of her.
with nimble, thimbled fingers;
licks the silk
and threads it
through the tiny needle eye.
The machine’s whirring motion
and a cloud of fabric round her.
I prick my thumb
while I’m mending.
The needle’s sharp
and painful, like the memory of her.
Nazuna Flower
“Nazuna Flower” was written for a friend, Maya,
on learning that she was to emigrate to marry.
The title is her internet screenname.
Nazuna bloom,
grown to perfection here
and coveted by one on foreign soil;
transported hence
and swift transplanted there.
In strange surroundings, where her owner's toil
will keep her fresh and loved
and flourishing -
with sometime soft remembering
of what has gone before -
blossom and flower, sweet Maya!
And may your new horizons
be broad, yet compassed round
with loving arms.
on learning that she was to emigrate to marry.
The title is her internet screenname.
Nazuna bloom,
grown to perfection here
and coveted by one on foreign soil;
transported hence
and swift transplanted there.
In strange surroundings, where her owner's toil
will keep her fresh and loved
and flourishing -
with sometime soft remembering
of what has gone before -
blossom and flower, sweet Maya!
And may your new horizons
be broad, yet compassed round
with loving arms.
Next Time
Next time I write a poem
I'll include that washing machine.
"It sounds like it's taking off!" you said
as we waited for the taxi to the airport.
Wind was lashing the rain
heavily against the windows
and turning the umbrellas inside out.
Next time I will write about the heat of Africa,
the long range of black mountains,
and taking-off in the air-conditioned aircraft cabin,
crowded with passengers,
seats in the upright position,
magazines in their backs,
trays stacked away by busy stewardesses.
Next time I will include doing the washing
outside in the dirt yard
with a hard bar of soap,
cold water, and a rough board;
whites hanging bleached in the African sun.
Back here, our washing sits in the basket.
Multi-coloured clothes,
smelling of Africa,
waiting for my attention.
I'll include that washing machine.
"It sounds like it's taking off!" you said
as we waited for the taxi to the airport.
Wind was lashing the rain
heavily against the windows
and turning the umbrellas inside out.
Next time I will write about the heat of Africa,
the long range of black mountains,
and taking-off in the air-conditioned aircraft cabin,
crowded with passengers,
seats in the upright position,
magazines in their backs,
trays stacked away by busy stewardesses.
Next time I will include doing the washing
outside in the dirt yard
with a hard bar of soap,
cold water, and a rough board;
whites hanging bleached in the African sun.
Back here, our washing sits in the basket.
Multi-coloured clothes,
smelling of Africa,
waiting for my attention.
Release
Solid painted breeze-block walls
frame the smallest square of sky.
Turning inward from this darkness
inner darkness fills my eye.
Grating metal, creaking hinges,
crack of light that quickens fear,
swift remembrance, fleeting shadows
of the road that led me here.
No need now of towel and bucket.
This leave-taking is the last.
Hope and fear in equal measure,
wishing this dread day were past.
The door to freedom opens wide
- all alone I step inside.
frame the smallest square of sky.
Turning inward from this darkness
inner darkness fills my eye.
Grating metal, creaking hinges,
crack of light that quickens fear,
swift remembrance, fleeting shadows
of the road that led me here.
No need now of towel and bucket.
This leave-taking is the last.
Hope and fear in equal measure,
wishing this dread day were past.
The door to freedom opens wide
- all alone I step inside.
Safekeeping
Letters bound with ribbon
red as the lipstick I wore then;
theatre show programmes,
photographs faded with age;
memories float to the surface
like dynamited fish.
A single red rose, now papery and dried,
lies in a chocolate box.
Black bin bags lean together destined for charity,
all of your clothes and shoes now given up.
There's a dark granite stone,
with lines of dates and times, silent, alone.
red as the lipstick I wore then;
theatre show programmes,
photographs faded with age;
memories float to the surface
like dynamited fish.
A single red rose, now papery and dried,
lies in a chocolate box.
Black bin bags lean together destined for charity,
all of your clothes and shoes now given up.
There's a dark granite stone,
with lines of dates and times, silent, alone.
Stolen Years
In response to the suicide of a friend for whom I was
the sole confidante
Sleep softly, in safe hands, dear friend
where terrors find no place, nor demons wait.
Your tortured dreams at last have reached their end.
No more with pounding heart in fright awake.
Nor fear to face the day, its pain unknown,
so fraught with shocks too harsh to bear alone.
I cannot now begrudge the rest you sought,
though sudden unforeshadowed loss is mine.
What love could bid you linger? For none ought.
“But I would have you stay!” is my heart’s cry.
For endless time you’ll sleep through stolen years,
your ageless smile remembered here with love.
Sole guardian of your secret heart, my tears
are all that can be told. It is enough.
the sole confidante
Sleep softly, in safe hands, dear friend
where terrors find no place, nor demons wait.
Your tortured dreams at last have reached their end.
No more with pounding heart in fright awake.
Nor fear to face the day, its pain unknown,
so fraught with shocks too harsh to bear alone.
I cannot now begrudge the rest you sought,
though sudden unforeshadowed loss is mine.
What love could bid you linger? For none ought.
“But I would have you stay!” is my heart’s cry.
For endless time you’ll sleep through stolen years,
your ageless smile remembered here with love.
Sole guardian of your secret heart, my tears
are all that can be told. It is enough.
The Unknowing Soldier Part I and II
Part I- a protest poem
What lies beneath the lies?
Is it the need to rule?
Don’t play us for a fool!
“There is no resistance!”
Is their insistence.
We know you lie, unknowing,
On some sandy concrete floor.
What lies beneath the lies?
The telegrams say ‘Missing’.
Why keep the families guessing?
Why don’t they admit you’re gone?
The numbers kept artificially low
Fool no-one.
Would it have been easier to take
If it hadn’t been a mistake?
What lies beneath the lies?
The greed outstripping common sense.
The need for power
To fuel a way of life.
A life wasted by ‘friendly fire’
To keep the home fires burning.
Would it have hurt less
If death hadn’t come
From one of your own?
Part II
- in search of closure
“Missing”
How strange.
Just one word.
Nothing more to say.
“Missing”
What next?
Are you dead?
Will you be found?
“Missing”
Or dead?
Not quite yet.
When will we know?
“Missing”
Not sure
if I should
grieve or just wait.......
“Missing”
your smile.
There’s a space
where you should be.
What lies beneath the lies?
Is it the need to rule?
Don’t play us for a fool!
“There is no resistance!”
Is their insistence.
We know you lie, unknowing,
On some sandy concrete floor.
What lies beneath the lies?
The telegrams say ‘Missing’.
Why keep the families guessing?
Why don’t they admit you’re gone?
The numbers kept artificially low
Fool no-one.
Would it have been easier to take
If it hadn’t been a mistake?
What lies beneath the lies?
The greed outstripping common sense.
The need for power
To fuel a way of life.
A life wasted by ‘friendly fire’
To keep the home fires burning.
Would it have hurt less
If death hadn’t come
From one of your own?
Part II
- in search of closure
“Missing”
How strange.
Just one word.
Nothing more to say.
“Missing”
What next?
Are you dead?
Will you be found?
“Missing”
Or dead?
Not quite yet.
When will we know?
“Missing”
Not sure
if I should
grieve or just wait.......
“Missing”
your smile.
There’s a space
where you should be.
Winter's Haiku
WINTER’S HAIKU
Wind gusts over snow,
lifting settled drifts to dance;
dying down to rest.
Icicle sparkles,
frozen dripping water, stilled;
needle of sunlight.
Night sky bright with stars,
velvet diamond studded dome;
patterned perfection.
Tree stark bare-branched black,
cold snapped, sap drained, cracked;
brittle broken bark.
Earth cocooned by snow
hiding dreaming life below;
silently sleeping.
Red flash of robin breast,
berries bright on deep leaf green;
warmth bled amid white.
Snowflake falls, floats, swirls.
Crystalline cold lace flakes
drift down, feather soft.
Heavy trackless snow
drifting deeper silently;
bids footsteps follow.
Air frosted vapour,
inhaled biting burning breath;
gasping choking cold
Ice crystals, hoar frost
sculptured shards, frozen beauty;
lost with the sunrise.
Kite flying in the breeze,
bright colour splashing skyward;
freedom floats aloft.
Under mistletoe
eyes meet and hands and lips touch:-
moment melts like snow.
Wind gusts over snow,
lifting settled drifts to dance;
dying down to rest.
Icicle sparkles,
frozen dripping water, stilled;
needle of sunlight.
Night sky bright with stars,
velvet diamond studded dome;
patterned perfection.
Tree stark bare-branched black,
cold snapped, sap drained, cracked;
brittle broken bark.
Earth cocooned by snow
hiding dreaming life below;
silently sleeping.
Red flash of robin breast,
berries bright on deep leaf green;
warmth bled amid white.
Snowflake falls, floats, swirls.
Crystalline cold lace flakes
drift down, feather soft.
Heavy trackless snow
drifting deeper silently;
bids footsteps follow.
Air frosted vapour,
inhaled biting burning breath;
gasping choking cold
Ice crystals, hoar frost
sculptured shards, frozen beauty;
lost with the sunrise.
Kite flying in the breeze,
bright colour splashing skyward;
freedom floats aloft.
Under mistletoe
eyes meet and hands and lips touch:-
moment melts like snow.
Missing Piece
The various stages of writing are represented here by fragments of the story in the order they were written. The short story remains unfinished.. so far.
===================
Creating a Lead
Character Type: Lead
Connection to Lead: -
Story Goal: Find her twin sister
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Appearance
Height: 5’ 7”
Body Type: Slender/Athletic
Hair Colour: Copper Red
Eye Colour: Blue/Grey
Mannerisms: Strokes stray hair back from face (even when not there)
Distinctive Speach Pattern: educated non regional english
Personality: unrepentant perpetual optimist
Background: middle class late onset rebellion
Personal Life: chaotic serial monogamist
Private Life: secret part-time exotic dancer
Work Life: insurance underwriter
Strength: integrity
Weakness: always believes the best of people
Name: Alexandra Wilson (on Birth Cert)
Lexy (to friends)
Ice (working name for dancing)
=============
1
Alex looked the traffic warden up and down appraisingly. She was glad she had left the club in a rush and hadn’t slipped her coat on. He would be able to see her figure to full advantage. She smiled as she reached him.
“Oh dear....” she purred with obviously feigned innocence.
He looked up from writing her ticket and blinked.
“Have I been a very naughty girl?” She bit her lip enticingly.
He paused. She moved closer, as if to read the ticket better.
“You can’t park here....”
“Oh I am sorry....” she interrupted. “I needed to be close to work.”
He hesitated, indecision writ large on his face.
“You wouldn’t want me to have to walk too far at this time of night, would you?” she asked huskily.
He shrugged and cleared his throat.
“No.....” he agreed, smiling, as he cancelled the ticket. “But you should really find somewhere less conspicuous. I’ll let you off, this time.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” she breathed in his ear and kissed his cheek as she turned to unlock the driver’s door. Getting in she looked up at him.
“Goodnight, miss.” He was grinning as he walked away.
She shut the door and heaved a sigh of relief. More expense was definitely not needed.
2
As the tinny voice repeated the message, Alex looked out of the window at the dreary scene. She was grateful that she had eaten breakfast for once. She didn’t usually have time. A few snatched hours sleep between dancing at the club and the long journey to the office each morning. At least the distance meant an hour to gather her thoughts, give her hair time to dry, complete her make-up and deal with correspondence before the working day took over. That was the theory. Today was going to be a longer ordeal than usual.
The passengers around her were in two camps. The ‘I want them to do something about this...’ camp, noisily complaining and repeating to each other but doing nothing, seemed to be in the minority at present. The were outnumbered by the ‘I will wait and see what happens, quietly’ camp, to which she belonged.
A deep sigh escaped her. Everything seemed to be going wrong lately.
“What do you think we should do?” A large middle-aged woman sitting opposite directed the question at Alex.
“I’m sure there isn’t anything we can do but wait.” Alex tried to quash the conversation before it got started. The last thing she needed was an hour’s pointless discussion with a total stranger. Why was it, she wondered, that people wanted to ‘connect’ in such situations?
3
Alex glanced along the shelves looking for the file she needed. She hated the archive store. The smell of old paper made her nose twitch. It was so cramped and poorly lit too.....
Someone had come in behind her. She froze.
“Alex...?”
She relaxed a little. Turning slowly to face Peter she forced a smile which didn’t reach her eyes.
“Alex I know this probably isn’t the right time...”
She lifted an eyebrow. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“The right time?” She held the slim files to her chest protectively.
He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “You know I like you..”
“Yes, Peter.” She sighed inwardly. As ‘Ice’ she would know exactly how to deal with Peter. As her working persona, however, it would be difficult.
“I thought maybe you would like to go out....”
She decided to play the innocent.
“I haven’t found the files ...”
“No.. . Would you like to go out with me?”
“Ohhhh....” she paused, trying not to show her irritation.
He waited. She decided the truth needed modification.
“Actually, Peter, as you know, I want to improve myself. I spend most evenings working and rarely have time to socialise.” Well, the last bit was true, at least.
“Oh? Well, studying is very good. I understand.” He was gracious in defeat. He turned and walked out.
4
DRAFT
Missing Piece
by Josie McCall
He sat in the corner of the train carriage. Any of the passengers, if later pressed to remember him, would probably describe him as average. A little over six feet, he would easily pass for average height the way he was slightly slouched in the seat. Average build. Athletic without being overtly powerful. His unruly black curls, a legacy of his Greek mother, gave him a boyish look in repose, although he was approaching thirty years of age. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his soft black leather coat, worn over a mid grey suit. He looked half asleep, eyelids drooping. They hid his startlingly intense blue gaze, which was directed covertly at the young woman a few seats away further down the carriage.
The train lurched to a sudden grinding halt, not severe enough to dislodge overhead luggage, but spilling the contents of Alex’s folder onto the floor. The opportunity was a gift. He leaped to his feet and crossed the intervening space in seconds, reaching down in a fluid movement and gathering the papers and photographs together for her without looking at her face. His trained eyes quickly scanned the photographs and registered identical twins, one of them the young woman who sat composed in the face of this unaccostomed gallantry. None of the photographs seemed particularly recent, but his perusal was necessarily brief and surreptitious. He passed the gathered pile to her and turned to reclaim his seat. She put her hand on his arm to detain him.
“Thank you...” she began.
He decided not to accept the opening. His work would be virtually impossible if he got too close to any of the subjects of his investigations. He smiled briefly at her and walked back to his seat, a twinge of regret giving his face a momentary sardonic look as he remembered the delicate fragrance of her slightly damp hair. He sighed.
“We apologise for the delay to your journey....” He frowned as the announcement continued detailing the breakdown of the train and the attempts of the crew to get them to their destination. It would be a long haul. He should have brought a book, or at least a newspaper.
As the tinny voice repeated the message, Alex looked out of the window at the dreary scene. She was grateful that she had eaten breakfast, for once. She didn’t usually have time. A few snatched hours sleep between dancing at the club and the long journey to the office each morning. At least the distance meant an hour to gather her thoughts, give her hair time to dry, complete her make-up and deal with correspondence before the working day took over. That was the theory. Today was going to be a longer ordeal than usual.
The passengers around her were in two camps. The ‘I want them to do something about this...’ camp, noisily complaining and repeating to each other but doing nothing, seemed to be in the minority at present. The were outnumbered by the ‘I will wait and see what happens, quietly’ camp, to which she belonged.
A deep sigh escaped her. Everything seemed to be going wrong lately.
“What do you think we should do?” A large middle-aged woman sitting opposite directed the question at Alex.
“I’m sure there isn’t anything we can do but wait.” Alex tried to quash the conversation before it got started. The last thing she needed was an hour’s pointless discussion with a total stranger. Why was it, she wondered, that people wanted to ‘connect’ in such situations?
She smiled inwardly as she considered the man who had picked up her papers. She hadn’t expected it and had been lost for words. She knew many of those on her regular train by sight, but she could not recall having seen him before. It was just her luck, she thought to herself, that she had to have this talkative woman opposite, instead of the man in the black leather coat.
Matt shifted uncomfortably as he considered the difficulty posed by the situation. This was supposed to have been a brief chance to familiarise himself with his subject. He had boarded a few stops before her destination and walked through the carriage until he reached a vantage point from which to observe her. Now he was faced with the prospect of an indefinite period sat less than ten feet away from her when he was supposed to make a minimal impression. He wished for once he had asked the client the reason for the investigation.
His thoughts were interrupted by the conductor’s further announcement that a replacement engine was being despatched to pull their train into the nearest station. He shivered a little. It was cold and dark in the carriage in the early January dawn. He shrugged to himself as he got to his feet to go to the buffet car. Not that there would be any hot food or drinks without the power, but there should be peace and quiet to make a phone call.
* * * * *
Alex quickly looked through the photographs in the folder once more before fastening the clip and placing it back in her bag. It was impossible to read in this dim light, although the dawn was brightening a little, as it was an overcast day. Not that she needed to read up on any of the papers, or look at the photographs. She knew each word by heart and had been present when the majority of the pictures had been taken. She let her mind wander over the memories captured on film. They seemed more real to her than her life now.
While she and Rosalind had still been together the days had seemed so carefree. College was a few years behind them both, now. Her identical twin had truly been her ‘other half’ then... It was barely comprehensible that she could have disappeared so completely two years ago. Two years of fruitless searching. Sure, Africa was a big continent, and there had been countless small wars and conflicts in various countries Rosalind had been planning to travel through. But the calls, letters and postcards had been interrupted so suddenly, with no hint of impending catastrophe. Embassies, consulates, police, hospitals - she had drawn a blank at them all. A long line of sympathetic voices over telephone wires and letters offering regret but no clue. Lawyers and newspaper advertisements had proved as ineffectual as they were expensive. She felt a moment of panic and dread each time she received a reply from an enquiry, but still believed vehemently that she would ‘know’ if her twin had died. There was nothing else for it. She would have to try and take up the trail herself, personally. Which would take more money than she had saved so far in the two years. Which is why she was presently leading a double life. She smiled ruefully at the necessity of keeping such a large part of her life secret. Her mother would be more distraught over her taking part time work as a dancer in the club than she already was over losing Rosalind to Africa. The money was good though, more than four times her salary at Jameson’s solicitors. That was all that mattered at the moment. Her mother need never know about her ‘alter ego’, Ice.
“Excuse me...”
She looked up, startled from her reverie by the sudden intrusion of his voice.
* * * * * *
“What do you mean, exactly?” Matt held his impatience in check. It was cold in the buffet car and he was irritated by the man’s disparagement of Alex. It had been a routine enquiry. Background of subject. Previous addresses, boyfriends, employment. Stephen Brooks was her latest boyfriend, until three months ago.
“I mean that this obsession took over... it destroyed our relationship.”
Matt considered for a moment before deciding he had better things to do than put her ex-boyfriend in his place. He said brisk thanks before replacing the mobile phone in his inner coat pocket. He leant against the closed buffet counter and went back over the information in his mind.
His employer, whoever that was, had given him no name, just a contact number. The small retainer had been paid. No reasons for the investigation had been given. That was the way he usually worked, and until now it had been satisfactory. But here was a chance to do something for someone he knew.. or at least wanted to get to know. Something that had all the appeal of an adventure.
* * * * * *
“So you see, I can help you. I’m trained in investigation. I have contacts. I would be able to get access to places you couldn’t...”
Alex looked at him for a few moments without speaking, a slight frown creasing her brow. Her first reaction on learning she had been under investigation was indignation. She hadn’t said anything to him, the only tell-tale sign of her displeasure was a narrowing of her eyes as she considered who it was who could have been Matt’s client. A small rebellious voice in her urged her to accept his offer. With one condition. She would accompany him to Africa. No more waiting impotently and impatiently for a phone call or letter. She wanted to see what her sister had seen, walk where she had gone, share the sights and smells and sounds of the many places. This would no longer be just a cold trail followed on a map in the dull drizzle of an English summer. She lifted her chin resolutely, prepared for an argument.
“Very well... Matt. But we are not starting from Nairobi. We are starting in Morocco, just as she did.”
“We?” he queried softly, one dark eyebrow raised.
“I’m going with you.”
Matt smiled. Not the brief, almost impersonal smile he had bestowed when handing her her papers. A broad smile that split his face and lit up his eyes.
“Of course you are.”
Alex sat, nonplussed.
* * * * * *
The train stopped for the last time. Doors banged; the throng of people passed them by on the platform outside. They collected their belongings and left the train together. A porter, interested in her legs, watched them walk down the platform. They passed through the barrier and parted, moving in their particular directions. She to her new flat where milk and mail, she hoped, awaited her. He to his room; to the two unwashed plates on the draining board and the forks with egg on the prongs; and the little fee propped up on the mantelpiece, a pink cheque for five pounds, peeping out from behind a china cat.
===================
Creating a Lead
Character Type: Lead
Connection to Lead: -
Story Goal: Find her twin sister
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Appearance
Height: 5’ 7”
Body Type: Slender/Athletic
Hair Colour: Copper Red
Eye Colour: Blue/Grey
Mannerisms: Strokes stray hair back from face (even when not there)
Distinctive Speach Pattern: educated non regional english
Personality: unrepentant perpetual optimist
Background: middle class late onset rebellion
Personal Life: chaotic serial monogamist
Private Life: secret part-time exotic dancer
Work Life: insurance underwriter
Strength: integrity
Weakness: always believes the best of people
Name: Alexandra Wilson (on Birth Cert)
Lexy (to friends)
Ice (working name for dancing)
=============
1
Alex looked the traffic warden up and down appraisingly. She was glad she had left the club in a rush and hadn’t slipped her coat on. He would be able to see her figure to full advantage. She smiled as she reached him.
“Oh dear....” she purred with obviously feigned innocence.
He looked up from writing her ticket and blinked.
“Have I been a very naughty girl?” She bit her lip enticingly.
He paused. She moved closer, as if to read the ticket better.
“You can’t park here....”
“Oh I am sorry....” she interrupted. “I needed to be close to work.”
He hesitated, indecision writ large on his face.
“You wouldn’t want me to have to walk too far at this time of night, would you?” she asked huskily.
He shrugged and cleared his throat.
“No.....” he agreed, smiling, as he cancelled the ticket. “But you should really find somewhere less conspicuous. I’ll let you off, this time.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” she breathed in his ear and kissed his cheek as she turned to unlock the driver’s door. Getting in she looked up at him.
“Goodnight, miss.” He was grinning as he walked away.
She shut the door and heaved a sigh of relief. More expense was definitely not needed.
2
As the tinny voice repeated the message, Alex looked out of the window at the dreary scene. She was grateful that she had eaten breakfast for once. She didn’t usually have time. A few snatched hours sleep between dancing at the club and the long journey to the office each morning. At least the distance meant an hour to gather her thoughts, give her hair time to dry, complete her make-up and deal with correspondence before the working day took over. That was the theory. Today was going to be a longer ordeal than usual.
The passengers around her were in two camps. The ‘I want them to do something about this...’ camp, noisily complaining and repeating to each other but doing nothing, seemed to be in the minority at present. The were outnumbered by the ‘I will wait and see what happens, quietly’ camp, to which she belonged.
A deep sigh escaped her. Everything seemed to be going wrong lately.
“What do you think we should do?” A large middle-aged woman sitting opposite directed the question at Alex.
“I’m sure there isn’t anything we can do but wait.” Alex tried to quash the conversation before it got started. The last thing she needed was an hour’s pointless discussion with a total stranger. Why was it, she wondered, that people wanted to ‘connect’ in such situations?
3
Alex glanced along the shelves looking for the file she needed. She hated the archive store. The smell of old paper made her nose twitch. It was so cramped and poorly lit too.....
Someone had come in behind her. She froze.
“Alex...?”
She relaxed a little. Turning slowly to face Peter she forced a smile which didn’t reach her eyes.
“Alex I know this probably isn’t the right time...”
She lifted an eyebrow. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“The right time?” She held the slim files to her chest protectively.
He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “You know I like you..”
“Yes, Peter.” She sighed inwardly. As ‘Ice’ she would know exactly how to deal with Peter. As her working persona, however, it would be difficult.
“I thought maybe you would like to go out....”
She decided to play the innocent.
“I haven’t found the files ...”
“No.. . Would you like to go out with me?”
“Ohhhh....” she paused, trying not to show her irritation.
He waited. She decided the truth needed modification.
“Actually, Peter, as you know, I want to improve myself. I spend most evenings working and rarely have time to socialise.” Well, the last bit was true, at least.
“Oh? Well, studying is very good. I understand.” He was gracious in defeat. He turned and walked out.
4
DRAFT
Missing Piece
by Josie McCall
He sat in the corner of the train carriage. Any of the passengers, if later pressed to remember him, would probably describe him as average. A little over six feet, he would easily pass for average height the way he was slightly slouched in the seat. Average build. Athletic without being overtly powerful. His unruly black curls, a legacy of his Greek mother, gave him a boyish look in repose, although he was approaching thirty years of age. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his soft black leather coat, worn over a mid grey suit. He looked half asleep, eyelids drooping. They hid his startlingly intense blue gaze, which was directed covertly at the young woman a few seats away further down the carriage.
The train lurched to a sudden grinding halt, not severe enough to dislodge overhead luggage, but spilling the contents of Alex’s folder onto the floor. The opportunity was a gift. He leaped to his feet and crossed the intervening space in seconds, reaching down in a fluid movement and gathering the papers and photographs together for her without looking at her face. His trained eyes quickly scanned the photographs and registered identical twins, one of them the young woman who sat composed in the face of this unaccostomed gallantry. None of the photographs seemed particularly recent, but his perusal was necessarily brief and surreptitious. He passed the gathered pile to her and turned to reclaim his seat. She put her hand on his arm to detain him.
“Thank you...” she began.
He decided not to accept the opening. His work would be virtually impossible if he got too close to any of the subjects of his investigations. He smiled briefly at her and walked back to his seat, a twinge of regret giving his face a momentary sardonic look as he remembered the delicate fragrance of her slightly damp hair. He sighed.
“We apologise for the delay to your journey....” He frowned as the announcement continued detailing the breakdown of the train and the attempts of the crew to get them to their destination. It would be a long haul. He should have brought a book, or at least a newspaper.
As the tinny voice repeated the message, Alex looked out of the window at the dreary scene. She was grateful that she had eaten breakfast, for once. She didn’t usually have time. A few snatched hours sleep between dancing at the club and the long journey to the office each morning. At least the distance meant an hour to gather her thoughts, give her hair time to dry, complete her make-up and deal with correspondence before the working day took over. That was the theory. Today was going to be a longer ordeal than usual.
The passengers around her were in two camps. The ‘I want them to do something about this...’ camp, noisily complaining and repeating to each other but doing nothing, seemed to be in the minority at present. The were outnumbered by the ‘I will wait and see what happens, quietly’ camp, to which she belonged.
A deep sigh escaped her. Everything seemed to be going wrong lately.
“What do you think we should do?” A large middle-aged woman sitting opposite directed the question at Alex.
“I’m sure there isn’t anything we can do but wait.” Alex tried to quash the conversation before it got started. The last thing she needed was an hour’s pointless discussion with a total stranger. Why was it, she wondered, that people wanted to ‘connect’ in such situations?
She smiled inwardly as she considered the man who had picked up her papers. She hadn’t expected it and had been lost for words. She knew many of those on her regular train by sight, but she could not recall having seen him before. It was just her luck, she thought to herself, that she had to have this talkative woman opposite, instead of the man in the black leather coat.
Matt shifted uncomfortably as he considered the difficulty posed by the situation. This was supposed to have been a brief chance to familiarise himself with his subject. He had boarded a few stops before her destination and walked through the carriage until he reached a vantage point from which to observe her. Now he was faced with the prospect of an indefinite period sat less than ten feet away from her when he was supposed to make a minimal impression. He wished for once he had asked the client the reason for the investigation.
His thoughts were interrupted by the conductor’s further announcement that a replacement engine was being despatched to pull their train into the nearest station. He shivered a little. It was cold and dark in the carriage in the early January dawn. He shrugged to himself as he got to his feet to go to the buffet car. Not that there would be any hot food or drinks without the power, but there should be peace and quiet to make a phone call.
* * * * *
Alex quickly looked through the photographs in the folder once more before fastening the clip and placing it back in her bag. It was impossible to read in this dim light, although the dawn was brightening a little, as it was an overcast day. Not that she needed to read up on any of the papers, or look at the photographs. She knew each word by heart and had been present when the majority of the pictures had been taken. She let her mind wander over the memories captured on film. They seemed more real to her than her life now.
While she and Rosalind had still been together the days had seemed so carefree. College was a few years behind them both, now. Her identical twin had truly been her ‘other half’ then... It was barely comprehensible that she could have disappeared so completely two years ago. Two years of fruitless searching. Sure, Africa was a big continent, and there had been countless small wars and conflicts in various countries Rosalind had been planning to travel through. But the calls, letters and postcards had been interrupted so suddenly, with no hint of impending catastrophe. Embassies, consulates, police, hospitals - she had drawn a blank at them all. A long line of sympathetic voices over telephone wires and letters offering regret but no clue. Lawyers and newspaper advertisements had proved as ineffectual as they were expensive. She felt a moment of panic and dread each time she received a reply from an enquiry, but still believed vehemently that she would ‘know’ if her twin had died. There was nothing else for it. She would have to try and take up the trail herself, personally. Which would take more money than she had saved so far in the two years. Which is why she was presently leading a double life. She smiled ruefully at the necessity of keeping such a large part of her life secret. Her mother would be more distraught over her taking part time work as a dancer in the club than she already was over losing Rosalind to Africa. The money was good though, more than four times her salary at Jameson’s solicitors. That was all that mattered at the moment. Her mother need never know about her ‘alter ego’, Ice.
“Excuse me...”
She looked up, startled from her reverie by the sudden intrusion of his voice.
* * * * * *
“What do you mean, exactly?” Matt held his impatience in check. It was cold in the buffet car and he was irritated by the man’s disparagement of Alex. It had been a routine enquiry. Background of subject. Previous addresses, boyfriends, employment. Stephen Brooks was her latest boyfriend, until three months ago.
“I mean that this obsession took over... it destroyed our relationship.”
Matt considered for a moment before deciding he had better things to do than put her ex-boyfriend in his place. He said brisk thanks before replacing the mobile phone in his inner coat pocket. He leant against the closed buffet counter and went back over the information in his mind.
His employer, whoever that was, had given him no name, just a contact number. The small retainer had been paid. No reasons for the investigation had been given. That was the way he usually worked, and until now it had been satisfactory. But here was a chance to do something for someone he knew.. or at least wanted to get to know. Something that had all the appeal of an adventure.
* * * * * *
“So you see, I can help you. I’m trained in investigation. I have contacts. I would be able to get access to places you couldn’t...”
Alex looked at him for a few moments without speaking, a slight frown creasing her brow. Her first reaction on learning she had been under investigation was indignation. She hadn’t said anything to him, the only tell-tale sign of her displeasure was a narrowing of her eyes as she considered who it was who could have been Matt’s client. A small rebellious voice in her urged her to accept his offer. With one condition. She would accompany him to Africa. No more waiting impotently and impatiently for a phone call or letter. She wanted to see what her sister had seen, walk where she had gone, share the sights and smells and sounds of the many places. This would no longer be just a cold trail followed on a map in the dull drizzle of an English summer. She lifted her chin resolutely, prepared for an argument.
“Very well... Matt. But we are not starting from Nairobi. We are starting in Morocco, just as she did.”
“We?” he queried softly, one dark eyebrow raised.
“I’m going with you.”
Matt smiled. Not the brief, almost impersonal smile he had bestowed when handing her her papers. A broad smile that split his face and lit up his eyes.
“Of course you are.”
Alex sat, nonplussed.
* * * * * *
The train stopped for the last time. Doors banged; the throng of people passed them by on the platform outside. They collected their belongings and left the train together. A porter, interested in her legs, watched them walk down the platform. They passed through the barrier and parted, moving in their particular directions. She to her new flat where milk and mail, she hoped, awaited her. He to his room; to the two unwashed plates on the draining board and the forks with egg on the prongs; and the little fee propped up on the mantelpiece, a pink cheque for five pounds, peeping out from behind a china cat.
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