Rerunning

Every now and then I remember an old piece that I enjoyed writing. I wrote this one when I was staying at my mum and dad’s a few years ago and I remember my dad laughing about bits of it as I read it to them.

I would love to hear you laugh again dad but it’s not to be so.

***

Through My Eyes I See It

The trees in the park are glorious. Like a magnificent pavan they unroll as far as these old eyes can see; their ball gown finery, gold and russet and crimson billowing and tumbling in the breeze. The pain is good this morning. It is there prowling like a great bear around the battlements but for now at least the drugs repel it. Soon though the other assaults will begin, first on my physical self, and then on my poor addled brain.

Here she comes now the “care assistant” who in truth needs some assistance to care. Bright and brittle in lavender and body odour. Brace for the first wave of attack.

“Oh Amy, what are you doing sitting here all on your own? Let’s pop you with the others so that you can watch something more interesting. It’s no good you just staring out of the window at nothing all day.”

Staring at nothing, the billow and wisp of cloud, the glorious, glorious trees and the oceanic swells of winter wheat rushing before the wind. “Staring at nothing.” And she will take me and “pop” me before that abomination; the television. She will line me up with the others ogling in aquatic dumbness at the flashing colours. How I hate it, the joyless laughter, the high priestesses with their pregnant pauses and their pregnant bellies and the ignoramus hoi polloi giggling and flirting, leaping into mutual degradation all for their fifteen minutes and a free holiday.

Don’t “pop” me anywhere you lavender suited storm trooper. Leave me in peace with the song of the birds and the glitter of the frost where it lays encrusting spider webs beneath the hedge. Treacherous vocal chords gurgle and splutter. Outraged obscenities transmute into meaningless drivel and so I am duly “popped”. The second invasion approaches, there is nothing in my arsenal with which to repel.

“Hello Amy, it’s Thursday.”

Good God Mrs Wilkins you don’t say, a revelation beyond all expectations.

“My Gerry comes today. He comes every Thursday without fail. He’s such a good boy.”

First of all you overblown dollop he is not your Gerry. He is Gerry who belongs to the world, he has a wife, a life and a reason to be. He can wash himself, shave his flabby fat chops and presumably grope ineffectively at his wife in the dark to produce his disgusting progeny. He is not a good boy, he is an avaricious little man who comes every Thursday in the hope that you will have expired on Wednesday night and the home haven’t had a chance to tell him. He comes so that he can pack up your feeble belongings and once and for all put this whole miserable responsibility behind him.

“It is a shame that you never had any children Amy, they are such a comfort.”

Comfort my arse you silly old fool. A cushion is a comfort. Haemorrhoid cream is a comfort, Gerry is a cretin.

Now, it comes, the deepest torture. Another careless carer, her mind on bus stop gropes with spotty youths and illicit fags in darkened corners, will spoon pap into my gullet. Bang the spoon on my teeth again you moron and I swear I’ll somehow find the wherewithal to bite your hand. Oysters fresh from the sea in the South of France. Tender pasta robed in piquant sauce, bejewelled with fiery peppers and bread still warm from the boulangerie. Drooling peaches and sun-filled melon with a Bacchanalian of sparkling white Bourgogne sipped from crystal goblets as the heat of the day bleaches the hills and diamonds sparkle in the bay. I can’t bear it, not another minute, not another mouthful, jelly and juice and plastic, oh god.

The outsiders approach. The floral tributes, chocolates, pictures of grandchildren. The hugs and kisses, grinning rictus and off set embraces. No don’t come over here, please don’t.

“Hello Amy, how are you today? You’re in the best place there’s a nasty wind out there and you’re lovely and snug.”

A force seven gale off the ocean, lifting my hair, gluing the clothes to my legs and startling tears from my eyes. His hair lifting and flicking as he smiles down at me, the two of us thrown together by the force of nature; external and internal. His arms a harbour, his broad chest my haven, and the warmth of his body welding us together in the blasted sunshine. The sudden silence behind a hedge, and the glory of daytime lovemaking. His tears, my tears, the ghastly separation as he leaves for the airbase, and the violence of waiting for his return. The devastation, the emptiness, and the total loss of reason when he is gone, and then the wretched years of decline becoming this traitorous slug of a body slumped in a dung heap home waiting for release.

He is here, he has come, it is time, thank God it is time.

“Nurse, excuse me nurse, can you come quickly and look at Amy I think there’s something wrong.”

Ah no for the first time in decades something is wonderfully right.

***

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Body on the Shore

So, here are mine. Aren’t they lovely

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A Good Day – A story for Remembrance Day

Lest We Forget

***

A Good Day
Today is a good day. We moved into a new trench last night. The flooding here isn’t as bad and the boards are still sound. The rain eased in the early hours and now the sky is a bright blue basin curving above us.

From where I’m sitting with my mug of tea and a wedge of cake out of the package from home, another reason it’s a good day, I can see the top of the mud wall and not too far off a green field. It’s spring green, that fresh new colour that is really gold, new shoots poking through the black soil, new life.

It I turn ninety degrees there’s a small wood, the early sun raised a faint mist from the trees, a miasma, floating upward and dispersing, like a prayer carried on the breeze. The leaves are unfurling and the whole is covered by green gauze anchored on the great dark limbs. There were pigs in there a while ago but they’ve gone now.

The birds are singing to the sunshine and one of the boys further down has a mouth organ. He’s good and every now and again someone will join in and sing a few bars.

I can hear the lads next to me murmuring together, I don’t try to listen. I know what they are talking about, home, family, jobs, mates. I take myself a little out of it and it becomes a quiet rumble, almost a lullaby.

My feet are dry, the parcel from home had socks in. I think Kitty made them, they’re not as neat as Mum’s but she put a couple of lines of red wool in to make them a bit fancy, it made me smile. Soon the damp from these old boots will seep through but right now my feet are dry.

I shaved my head again the day before yesterday so there’s no itch from the nits and lice. Me and Albert did it together. His looked better than mine. My head’s got a couple of funny bumps and that scar from when I fell out of the apple tree, yes his was much better.

We’ve always done things together, ever since the first day at school. We played truant together, scrumped apples and hid outside Mrs Wilmott’s to watch through the gap in the kitchen curtains and see Tilly have her bath. We wanked together then and shared our first cig after that. I don’t think there’s anything we haven’t done together, not until yesterday.

Look though, in this moment, in this hour I am warm and relaxed and I have a tin of jam for when the bread comes round. It’s as near to being happy as I could wish for. Yes today is a good day.

If I turn back forty-five degrees I can look out the other way, the last view, the one straight ahead. I can see the wire there in the distance, some craters and two dead horses still harnessed to a wrecked gun carriage. Though I’m trying not to see, just a bit further over I can see Albert. He’s caught on the wire, he’s facing this way though I don’t understand why and his hand is hooked on the top. It looks as though he’s waving. He’s lost his helmet and I can see his bald head, it always was a better shape than mine.

Today is a good day but yesterday, ah yesterday.

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Hot New Releases in English Crime – Amazon UK

Jason is clambering up the charts.

It’s his first big case – He has a motley crew to work with and they don’t even know who the victim is:

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Meet Jordan Carr

Meet Jordan Carr. He has to make a success of this. It’s his first big case and he has to prove himself. The team he is given is a motley pulled together group and they don’t even know the identity of their victim.

Poor Jordan.

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New Series

Okay – so here’s a surprise. Meet D I Jordan Carr in his first major case.

Prologue

Beatrice had always been afraid of the dark. Not so scared that it was a problem. Just a small quickening of her heartbeat, a tiny tingle of dread somewhere down in the pit of her stomach. Of course, you shouldn’t be afraid of something that doesn’t really exist, and the dark is only the lack of light. That’s what her mother had always told her. It was the things that might be hidden in the dark that were the cause of her fear. And with what had happened in the last few weeks, everything her mother had told her was now being called into question. Everything.

She knew that the chances of something really being there were very slim. At least, that was what she had made herself believe.

The noise in the night was small and indistinct. A cat, she thought, hunting in the alley. A dog possibly. But nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. Ironically, it was as she turned on the light that the danger came.

She fought hard, gave it everything she could. She clawed at his face and dragged at the bag and drew in panicked breaths. She mustn’t let it cover her mouth. She was dizzied and terrified, but she fought on until, at the end, apart from the pain, intense and stultifying, there was also a vague sort of indignant surprise. It seemed that she had been right about the dark all along.

***

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Free for five days on Amazon

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Boxed Set of Dire Dealings.

Newly published as a boxed set. – three dark and dastardly novels.

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Still Cheap as Chips

Blurred Lines is still available at the introductory price of 99p and it’s available to order in Paperback for those who like the smell of a new book.

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Blurred Lines – Tanya Miller Book 5

As promised. Blurred Lines now available on Kindle.

Paperback coming soon.

A murder – a kidnapping – a freak accident – a race against time. Tanya is up against it in this latest investigation

UK
If you’re in America and that

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