Imposter – imposter – imposter

I’m at the stage where I think my latest WIP – the eighth Jordan Carr is a load of Tosh. I was keen when I started and a lot of it has been really fun to write but now I’m in the soggy middle. This is always a bit lowering. I hope it passes, it often does. This is chapter 34 Raw and unedited.

***

It was full dark now and raining. The lorries thundering past were rocking the smaller car and Benno was quiet. Leaning forward and peering through the rain-swept windscreen. Now and then, he would hiss through his teeth.
“How much further on this bloody motorway?” He said.
“Not far. It’s just up here. Take the A590 at junction 36. Then we have to watch for the signs.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to watch out. I’m busy, like, just watching the road.”
“It’s not for a bit yet. I’ll tell you.” Stick gazed out of the window at the hedges and fields with the odd farmhouse lights beaming through the dark. Suddenly, he sat up.“There, there that roundabout, the sign that says, Crook.”
“What?”
“We need to head for a place called Crook. We go past the Sun Inn pub, we always used to stop there. This is brilliant, this is.” He was behaving as if he was on holiday. Benno just wanted it all to be over.
Once away from the motorway, visibility was reduced even further.
“I can’t see nothing,” Benno said. “It’s dark. They must have had a power cut or something. There’s nothing.”
“Have you never been here? You’ve never been to The Lakes?”
“No, why would anyone come here? There’s nothing.”
“Where did you go for your holidays?”
“We went proper places. We always went to Spain or Majorca.”
“Well, we came here and stayed in the caravan. It was good. My dad’s mate had a canoe and there were bikes. ‘Course, once he left, that was it. We didn’t come no more. Me mam always wanted to go to places like Amsterdam and London and then since she had the kid we haven’t been nowhere. That bloody bloke of hers doesn’t do nothing but work. Work and moan and use his fists. I used to like it here, with my dad and the boat.”
He directed them down roads more and more, winding and narrow. Trees blew and shook in a growing wind, and leaves and detritus skidded across the tarmac. Streaks of silver rain filled the cone of light from the headlights on full beam, making it yet more difficult to see. It was quiet save for the sing of the wet road under the wheels and Benno’s heavy breathing. There were no other cars in the inhospitable darkness. When a low, dark figure scuttled across the road, Benno swerved wildly, colliding with the bank, sending sods of grass flying and stalling the engine.
“Oh shit, oh shit. What the hell was that?” He lay his head on the steering wheel, his hands covering his eyes.
Once it was clear that they were safe, Daz began to laugh, a proper amused sound that they didn’t often witness from him. Normally, his hilarity was forced and cynical, but now he was just laughing. Benno raised his head and stared across the car. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
“Your face, you wuz. You should see yourself.”
“Yeah, but there was a bear.” This made Daz laugh louder. The tension of the last hours exploded in hysteria. After a few minutes, Benno reversed onto the carriageway and pulled onto the verge.
“Shut the fuck up. Just stop it right. Just don’t laugh at me. What was that? Bloody bears and God knows what else and you’re sitting there laughing like some daft bird.”
“It wasn’t no bear, you plonker. It was a badger. Just a lickle weenie badger and Benno was frickened.” Daz laughed again.
Benno threw open the car door and pushed himself out into the rain. Daz leaned across. “What you doing? Get back in, it’s freezing. You’re letting the rain in.”
“No.” Benno snorted through his nose and turned back and forth, shaking his head. “No, that’s enough. I’m not doing this no more. I didn’t want to be here. I’m not going off with you. I want to go home. This place is bloody horrible. I hate that you hit the old woman, then that old bloke, and we’re in his car. I hate we left Stick and he might even be dead, and I hate you, Daz. I really do.”
He knew as he said it, he should have kept his mouth shut. It was shock and sadness and despair and he knew it could end in disaster.
He didn’t know what to do. His hair was plastered to his head by the downpour and his shoulders were soaked, the hoody sagging with water.
Daz wasn’t laughing now. He slid across the seat and out of the driver’s door. The blade glinted in the glow from the interior light as he raised it in front of him. He twisted it back and forth in his hand.
Benno backed off, holding up his hands. “Stop it, Daz. Just stop it, right.”
Daz stepped closer. He bent forward, his arm outstretched, the knife weaving from side to side.
“You can’t drive. If you hurt me, what you gonna do?” Benno whispered. “How are you going to get to this precious caravan without me?”
Out of the darkness came the bright beam of headlights as a car swept around the corner. The big SUV slowed as it approached and crept forward. Daz had the knife by his side and Benno dragged his dripping hood over his head.
They moved to the side of the road to let the chunky vehicle pass, but it slowed and stopped. The driver’s window lowered with a quiet shush. “You got a problem?” The driver, a middle-aged man, glanced back and forth, peering at the parked car. “You got a flat or something?”
“No, it’s nothing. My mate just freaked when we saw a badger,” Daz laughed. “He’s okay now, though. Thanks?”
“Where are you off to? It’s late, a foul night as well.”
Benno held his breath. Daz didn’t take kindly to being questioned, ever. He couldn’t cope with yet more violence. Daz stepped closer to the big car.
“We’re going to my mate’s caravan, but we got held up earlier. It’s over near Windemere, but it’s sound now. Thanks though.”
“Okay, well, take care, lads.” And it was over. The taillights faded into the distance and the heat had gone from the moment.
“Come ‘ead, soft lad. Get back in the car. We’ll get some chips first place we see and a couple of cans for when we get to the site.”
There was no real choice, and Benno slouched back to the car and pulled away, heading into the darkness.

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I’ve posted this before. I wrote it a long time ago when there was a terrible conflict stealing lives and it was probably the start of my serious attempts at getting published. Now there are still more conflicts and more heartbreak.

I’ll be there in a Minute

Hello – Are you there? I am at the station now., I know you are there, you always are. It’s quite busy here, but of course you know that, don’t you? As I look around, it is so unreal, like looking through aged Plexiglas, scarred and scratched, opaqued by time and use. The shades move about on the other side, drifting and unreal. You would probably know it, for you it would look just the same, our station, but to me it is another world.
When they came and told me, two men, uniforms, and sad faces, there was no pain. It was too great, too powerful that feeling to describe as pain. Too far beyond any human capacity to feel a great, endless nothingness. No way to travel through it – no way back.
They told me that there was not much left of you, not enough to recognise as you. There would be a box, brought back on the plane and paraded through the streets, a box, a flag, and pomp and ceremony, but not you.
The arms, your arms would not be there, your beautiful, strong, clever hands they were vaporised. Enough of that, you are not there in the box. You are here with me now on this platform, in the underground.
As I stand here now, do you know I have no shoes on – I wanted to curl my toes over the edge of the platform, the same as we used to do on the high diving board and so I stand now in my business suit and no shoes. A man further along looked at me puzzled but, this is England and so you don’t talk to a woman in a business suit and no shoes. He turned away, wrapped his conscience back in the newspaper, and left me with my bare toes curling over the hard stone.
Today when I left the house, took a last look – the daffodils are in flower by the way. Of course I suppose you know that, where you are. Anyway, I left, and I looked at the garden with the swing in the sunshine and I understood that one great pain, the loss of the babies was now so clearly a great blessing. If they had lived, I couldn’t have come today. I would have had to carry on, meet our responsibilities plodding on forever and so there we are. We can all be together now, you and the babies and me.I have left it all tidy and as you would like it to be. There shouldn’t be too much trouble for anyone. They have all had enough already, so I have tried to be kind and make you proud. I am ready to leave now. I want to be with you and let you take care of it all again. 
Are you ready? I can hear it now. The train is coming, my toes curl over the stone, the wind rushes through the tunnel. Are you ready? I am coming now; the train is coming. I can see it – wait for me I’ll be the……

Strange dreams and musing

For whatever reason I have found myself dreaming about family lately. Mostly family that are no longer with us. This is not in a sad way at all, in fact it is a bit like visiting with them. Anyway, when I woke up from a restless night they were on my mind and this little snippet of memory was in the forefront.

My mum was a young woman during the Second World War and she was ‘courting’ a man who joined the Navy. I can’t remember his name now though she told me what it was at one time. He was lost with his ship, ‘Missing in Action’. Time moved on and Mum met and married my dad. When she was pregnant with my brother, the missing sailor turned up at the door. He had been a prisoner and had come back to claim his bride. Now that is a heart wrenching story in some ways I guess but I like to think he moved on and found the happiness he deserved and I certainly had a happy childhood with my parents. Who knows what would have happened if the universe had shifted slightly.

The thing is though; I have considered myself a poet and I am certainly a lover of poetry and there is a piece that my mum told me that this sailor sent to her while he was away fighting. This morning it came back to me in full and I thought I’d put it down and give it a place in the ether before I lost it again. This is not my work but the work of a sailor in the Second World War but with all that is going on today, I thought it very poignant.

When our trials and troubles for a time at last cease
and there comes a moment of quietness and peace
then the thought of you comes like a light from afar
and I send all my love to wherever you are
God Bless you and keep you for me.

Unfortunately Anon because the poet’s name is lost to me.

Missing

The short walk home was silent except for the click clack of Lucy’s heels on the flagstones. As they passed through the front gate Suzanne said. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes, of course. Cancel the place you’re in and come and stay with me.”

“I didn’t come to you because there was a risk, well there still is a risk that bloody Steve will come round. I don’t know where he is right now, but you can bet he’ll be planning some trouble.”

“What are you going to do about all of that?”

“Soon as possible, I’m putting things in place to get a divorce. I have to tell the kids first though. I don’t want to do that by phone. I need to go and see them.”

“Well, I don’t care if he does come round. We’ll see him off between us. Why don’t you ask the kids to come here? It’s neutral territory, which might make it easier for them.”

Lucy leaned to wrap her arms around Suzanne’s shoulders. “Thanks, love. You know what, that’d be great. Can I ask them to come tomorrow?”

“Anytime is fine by me. They can stay over. One of them will have to go on the bed settee in the study but it’s comfortable enough. That way we can make them a meal and you won’t have to worry about timing. What about the girls?”

“They’ll be fine with Carl. I wouldn’t want them around at a time like this. It’ll be upsetting for them, anyway. Say what you like about Steve, and believe me I could say a lot, but the girls think he’s great.”

Right, that’s one thing organised. For now, I’ll make us something to eat and you see if you can arrange that. Anytime is fine, but I reckon the sooner the better.”

“Brilliant. Oh!”

“Oh what?”

“You’ve got a parcel, there look, in the porch. Were you expecting anything?”

“No. It’s probably for one of the neighbours. You know what these delivery people are like.”

Suzanne leaned to pick up the brown paper parcel and peered at the label. She raised her eyebrows and passed it across to Lucy. ”Hang on to that while I get the door unlocked.”

“Well, it’s addressed to you,” Lucy said. “Wonder what it is. It’s quite heavy, a bit squashy. Intriguing. Unless you’ve ordered something and forgotten.”

“Don’t be daft. I’m not doolally yet. I haven’t ordered anything. Stick it on the hall table while I put the kettle on. Or, shall we just get straight into the wine? This has all been a bit stressful and we need to regroup. What the hell is going on with that agent and the house? We left her there but now I’m beginning to wonder if that was the right thing to do.”

“She had that letter and the door key.”

“True. But none of it feels right, I could do with a drink.”

Missing

Ruth Bates was irritated as Suzanne followed her from room to room. Though she took measurements with a laser device, it seemed they were always in each other’s way and the little bathroom downstairs was so small that Ruth was effectively trapped inside with Suzanne watching from the hallway.

“You don’t need to follow me around,” the estate agents said. “I can just get this done and then I’ll let you know. Though, I am not sure whether it’s okay for me to leave you in here. You’re not the owner after all.”

“What do you think we’re going to do?”

“It’s not that. I’m sure you’re not going to do anything but I have signed to say that I’ll leave the house secure and if you are here I’m not sure what position that puts me in. It’s a question of insurance.”

There wasn’t a lot of point in being awkward and it occurred to Lucy that this woman might be able to help them.

“When you signed the papers did our friend come into your office?”

“No, I have not met Mrs Salt. Everything has been done either online, by telephone or by mail. We had to have proper hard copies signed to give us access.”

“Great. Can you tell us what address you used?”

“How do you mean?”

“What address did you send the documents to for signature?”

“Oh no, I don’t think I can tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Data protection.”

“Balls.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s nonsense. Ginny is our mate. We’ve been worried about her and don’t know where she is. If you give us the address she was using we can get in touch.”

“But, I can’t possibly. You must see that.”

“Why? She’s our mate, I just told you.” Lucy said.

“But if she doesn’t want you to know where she is then I could be in major trouble if I tell you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would she not want us to know where she is?”

“I don’t know, do I? But surely if she wanted you to know where she is she would have told you.”

There was no answer to this logic. Lucy and Suzanne stared at each other and tears bloomed in Lucy’s eyes.

“Come on, let’s go back to mine,” Suzanne said. “Let’s just go home and have a rethink.”

They turned and walked from the house together. “What have we done?” Suzanne said.

“How do you mean?”

“What that woman just said. If Ginny wanted us to know where she is she would have told us. She hasn’t, so she doesn’t want us to know. What have we done that she doesn’t want to tell us where she is?”

“No, it’s not that she doesn’t want us to know. That’s not right.” Lucy said.

“Well, what then?”

“Maybe she can’t. Maybe wherever she is, it’s not possible for her to let us know, either, because she’s not physically able to or because she is trying to – protect us.”

“Protect us from what?”

“I don’t know.”

Missing

As they entered Ginny’s house, Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t been for a while and the sense of desertion hit her hard. “It’s cold,” she said.

“I left the heating on standby. There was no point burning energy in an empty house.” Suzanne said. “I did go round pretty thoroughly I thought but maybe you can think of somewhere I haven’t looked. I don’t suppose you know her password, do you? For the computer?”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve helped her to set up a couple of things now and then. It’s Royalnurse.”

“Of course it is. They had all been immensely proud of their service at the hospital in Liverpool and it was no surprise that Ginny still held it as a cause for pride.”

It was uncomfortable logging on to her machine. It felt like theft but it was a logical thing to do and when she came back she would surely understand.

There were a few icons on the home page. Shopping sites, a couple that had quizzes and word games and then folders which were clearly labelled. All the usual. Insurance, Car, Emergency Plumber, and on and on and one that was labelled notes. They clicked it open to find what was in effect a diary. There were no daily records of the weather but there were a few musing here and there. Notes about their outings together made them smile. They knew that she had valued their friendship but it was heartwarming to read that she had loved the trips and meals and theatre expeditions.

“Aw, bless her,” Lucy said as she wiped a tissue across the tears on her cheeks.

Suzanne flicked through the pages, stopping now and then to look at a picture.

“Have you noticed this?” she pointed at the lower corner of the screen. “Now and again there is just this little note, it’s not on all of them Dr B.”

“Well, she had lots of appointments, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did but her Doctor is Patel the same as mine. The consultant at the hospital is that woman.”

“Doctor Lawson?”

“Yes, that’s it. This is only recent and it’s every couple of weeks. I wonder that it is?”

“She didn’t say anything to me about seeing a new person. This makes me wonder all over again if she had something else wrong with her that she didn’t tell us about.”

“But if you look some of them have ‘in’ beside them and some have ‘out’. What the hell can that mean?”

“I haven’t a clue. Go back and see when that started.”

It had been for the past couple of months, every ten days or so. One record would show ‘in’ and the next ‘out’.

The last day time that they had any contact with her was a Dr B day with the note. ‘out’

Working title – Missing Mates

Not sure whether this will go anywhere or just end up as a short story or a novella length. We shall see.

***

The sun speared through the shadows of the trees painted on the grass. Suzanne Lythgoe had no time for any of it as she pounded around the park. She had a vicious stitch in her side but they were nearly there and she was about to beat her personal best.

After Suze turned to Lucy, sitting alongside her on the bench, “I think I’m giving this up, Lucy,” she said, as she struggled to tie her shoelaces. “I’m not doing it anymore. I won’t be able to walk, my legs are like jelly. You told me it’d get easier. It hasn’t, you told me I’d feel great. I don’t.”

“You’re your own worst enemy. You try too hard. You always did. You did when we were at school, when we were in nurse training, and now when you should act your age and adjust. It’s supposed to be fun, but you still try to beat everyone. You’re in your sixties and it’s time you admitted it.”

“Never. I feel no different than when I was a bright young thing. I can still touch my toes – normally. I still have mostly my own hair colour and all my own teeth. Anyway, you’re just as competitive as I am. Behave.”

“I am not, I just like to keep fit and well. Anyway, don’t blame me when you can’t get out of bed in the morning. Are you still on for town? I want to take that dress back.”

“Yeah. Have you heard from Ginny? She was going to come with us.”

“Nope. I’ve been trying to reach her. She must be having a bad couple of days. I might go round on the way home. Check up on her.”

“I’ll come as well. Then I reckon I need a glass of white. Let’s go to Alfredos – my treat.”

“Oh yes. I’m only coming so I can help you to the ladies when you can’t get off the chair.”

“Cheeky sod. Have you got your car?”

“No, Steve’s in Morecambe again ‘til tomorrow. Back in time for the weekend because we’ve got the grandkids staying.”

“Nice that’ll be you down the shops with the girls then. Clare’s Accessories stand clear.”

“Ha, yes. It’s exhausting but I love it. Mind you what it’s going to be like when the third one arrives, I can’t imagine.”

“Not long to go now. A boy as well. That’ll be weird for you.”

“It will. Anyway, let’s get off before it’s too late. If she’s not well Ginny might have gone to bed early.”

“Right. My car’s outside but I want to have a drink. Tell you what, we’ll go to mine first, drop off Betsy, and then get an Uber to Ginny’s.”

“You and Betsy. What was it you called your last car, Smiffy or Sniffy or something?”

“Yes, Sniffy. That was because Bill’s Mum always used to sniff when she got in. It wasn’t as big or as flashy as their Maureen’s.”

“Aye, well, nothing is as big or as flash as their Maureen’s.”

“This is true. Still, Ma in Law has been lovely since the divorce. Didn’t take sides, never apportioned blame.”

“Well, none of it was your fault, was it?”

“Enough of that, all old news. Let’s get off or we won’t get a table. It’s busy on a Thursday now.”

They dropped off the car, checked phone messages, and fed the cat by which time it had started to rain. The wind threw litter about in the street and the night turned foul. The restaurant was cancelled, pizza ordered and two bottles of wine later it was all over bar the shouting. Three hours later Lucy was safely in a taxi and Suzanne went to bed. Nothing different, nothing to worry about at all.

---

My Father’s Name.

Thought I’d stick this on the front of the blog again.

Chapter 1

“Melanie, I’m so sorry.”

I leaned down to tie Suzie’s laces. They didn’t need tying, but I needed a moment. I needed to swallow the lump in my throat. I needed to paste on some sort of expression that wasn’t bald despair.

I hadn’t seen Frances since before. Of course, she knew all about Mum. She knew that we had decided it was time to move her to the hospice. she knew that because I had left my daughter in her care.

I’d had text messages from her, caring, supportive, loving really – because that’s what she is, loving. Her heart is huge, her capacity for affection and empathy is boundless and she’s my best friend. But, right now, at the school gates. I needed time before I turned to face her. I knew I would cry. The only thing in dispute was whether it would be a quiet trail of tears down my cheeks or whether I would collapse into her big comforting arms and let go of the anguish that I had carried for two days now. Two days since Mum had closed her eyes for the last time and I had held myself together.

It had been calm, gentle really and peaceful. She had opened her eyes just one last brief moment, smiled and, with a sigh, she had left me.

For the two days since I had filled the time with forms and arrangements and busy work. I spent hours sitting in Mum’s room, smelling the scent of her soap, the deodorant and touching her things. I had stripped the bed and bundled nightdresses into bags for the recycling. I hadn’t yet found the strength to do much more, but there had been papers to go through and people to inform, tearful phone calls and just a couple of difficult visits.

Suzie had stayed with Frances. I had talked to her on the phone and known that she was happy and I didn’t need to worry. Now it was time to get back to my life.

With a little pat on the top of Suzie’s rainbow laces, I pushed myself upright, leaned down again and gave my little girl a hug. As we watched the two of them, Suzie and Dylan run across the playground hand in hand, Frances didn’t speak. She didn’t try to make me look at her, she simply wrapped her arms and her love around me and held me together.

Once the children had disappeared through the doors, into the care of Vera Longstaff, the best teacher in the world, according to Suzie, Frances simply turned me around and we walked, in silence, to her house which was just around the corner from the school.

Her kitchen was bright, warm and untidy. Sun streamed through the patio doors and the air was filled with the smell of toast and coffee and the tang of sourdough starter on the worktop waiting for her to start her baking.

While Frances filled the kettle, stuck bread in the toaster and clattered in the cupboards for mugs and plates I sat and sobbed.  She didn’t mess about with tissues but stuck a thick kitchen roll on the table in front of me and I ripped off sheet after sheet, soaked them, and threw the sopping balls into the waste bin.

By the time the tea was made and a pile of toast was in the basket, I had gulped and sobbed my way back to some sort of control.

Frances slid in behind the table to sit on the bench against the wall. She reached across with her big hands and laid them on top of mine.

“What can I do?” she asked.

I began to shake my head but I knew that wouldn’t work, there was no need to stand on ceremony with this woman. She would expect to help me

I could have called her immediately, from the hospice and I know that she would have found a way to come, no matter it was three in the morning. But she had the children, her own son, my daughter and it would have been unfair to call her and expect her to find someone to babysit. We were both bringing up children in single-parent homes, but with each other as support we made it work. I had called her the next morning, once I knew the children were in school and asked her to keep Suzie for the next couple of days. I didn’t want my daughter to witness my devastation. By the time I met them at the school gates today, I thought I had my shit together, that was until my friend spoke to me.

In spite of the sadness, it had been pure joy to see my little girl. She had thrown herself at me, and I had gathered her up, the smell of her, the feel of her strong little body against mine, the wet kisses on my cheek had overwhelmed me for just a while and then reality had reclaimed me and if Frances hadn’t been there to catch me I think I would have fallen to pieces right there in the road, at the school gates.

Thank heavens for true friends.

My Father’s Name – Chapter 8

I telephoned Frances and asked her if she wanted to come round for lunch. Once I had fed them all and the children were out in the garden, shrieking and giggling on the trampoline, I took out the rather dog eared paper and handed it over.

I watched as she read it a couple of times without comment. She took in a deep breath and laid the letter on the table top. “So, that’s a turn-up.”

I giggled, her reaction was so understated, so unlike my own and she grinned back at me, gave me a minute to collect myself.

“I suppose you’ve been in a state about it?”

I just nodded and she leaned and gave my hand a pat. “I expect you’ve been wondering what to do next.”

Again I just nodded.

“I suppose you think that wise old Fran will be able to tell you what the answer is.” She held up a hand as I opened my mouth to answer. “It’s a shocker and no mistake and there are a couple of things we need to think about right up front. First of all, we have no idea who the hell this bloke is. There is nothing, absolutely nothing here that proves he’s your dad. Second, even if he is you don’t need to do anything about it. You can just ignore this letter, stick it in the bin and pretend you never saw it.”

I was nodding at her, it was lovely that she’d taken the problem on with me. I felt the tension lift a bit now – a trouble halved in a very real way.

“Now then,” she continued, “the next thing is how you really feel about it emotionally. If we can prove that he is your father. And, to be honest, I have serious doubts – however, if he is, what if anything would you want to do?”

“I don’t think I want to do anything,” I said. “I wish the thing had never come. I don’t want to have to deal with it. He doesn’t say he wants to meet up does he?”

“No, but he says he’s always wanted to get to know you and really why would he bother to search you out if he didn’t want to meet up. Mind that brings us right back to what I said before. I don’t reckon this is anything other than someone trying to catch you out with a scam.” Frances paused for a minute and then said, “I reckon your best bet is not to do anything. Throw the thing away. He’s surely a con man. He’s seen the notification about your mum and done a bit of digging and now he’s trying it on.”

“But how could he? I mean how could he know my situation?”

“Oh come on.” Frances raised her eyebrows at me. “You, in your work, are very aware of how easy it is to check up on people’s background. It’s no problem at all to see copies of birth certificates and what have you. You pay a couple of pounds to an internet site and that’s it. Some times you don’t even have to pay anything. It’s all there. I know you didn’t put anything on Facebook but other people did, didn’t they? I saw them”

“Yes, I did ask people to take them down, I didn’t want it all there in public but not everybody did. But, why would he bother?”

“Money. Plain and simple. These people aren’t stupid. They know all about this stuff. You have a house, your mum had a house that will now be yours …”

“No. Come on. Nobody would go to that trouble.”

“Don’t be so bloody naïve, Mel.  You must have read about people being taken in to the extent that they’ve practically given away their life savings. I tell you, there’s big money to be made by fooling people. Look at the address for a start, a PO Box – who has those these days. I didn’t even know you could.”

I saw now that I had been approaching it from the wrong direction. I had believed he was who he said he was. How had I been so bloody stupid?

“God, Frances. I can’t believe it. What a wicked thing to do though, eh?”

“It’s a wicked world, Mel. That’s why we have to look out for each other. Anyway, the way I see it, you can either just throw this away and assume that he’ll bugger off when he doesn’t get a response– or – you could take this to the police.

I re-read the letter and then with a quick look at my friend I tore it into a dozen pieces and stuffed it into the bin.

“Let’s have a drink,” I said, “thanks Fran, thanks so much. I don’t know where my head was at. It threw me did that but I’m sure you’re right. It seems so obvious now.”

Coup de Foudre

He came out of the storm and from the very first I wanted to touch him. Dark hair clung to his scalp, a gleaming helmet, and black lashes rained tears onto his face.
He wore a blue shirt, thin and worn. It was moulded to his frame by the rain and his long legs were enveloped in jeans over disreputable boots. I had never seen such shoulders, arms so firm and strong. I had never seen such a shine of beauty in blue eyes. I was captured from the very beginning.
My everyday world spun away from the moment. The crack of the wood on the fire and the bubble of soup on the stove left me and all there was in the whole world was the reality of him, the bulk of his frame in the doorway and the warmth of his blood drying the water on his skin and sending waves of heat across the space between us.
“Jess towels, now girl. Stop gawping bring towels.” My father’s voice speared into the unreal place that I had entered and shattered the magic, as his voice always would.
I handed thin towels to them, his hand brushed mine but there was no sign that he had noticed. I set about serving soup and building up the fire to warm them.
My father pulled up his chair and waved a work roughened hand at the stranger, telling him in his gruff wordless way that he should take a seat at the other side of the table and eat the food. I sat quietly beside the grate waiting for more instructions and trying to eat my own bowl of vegetables and broth as quietly as I could. My eyes strayed over and again towards the table and he glanced my way more than once. A hint of amusement teased at his lips but there was tension in his frame and something more, an expectation perhaps or simply a figment of my overheated imagination.
“Fetch blankets for Jessies’ bed and air them by the fire.”
He was to stay then, this stranger. He must be the man father had fetched from town to help with the ploughing and he would sleep in my brother’s bed in the downstairs room, below my own place…
The dark came swiftly bringing with it howling wind and sweeping waves of rain. Angry and vengeful the tempest threw itself against the windows and seeped in creeping rivers under the door. It was cold and, though we had oil for the lamp, father said bed was the best place for all of us. I climbed the stairs holding a guttering candle and wondered about the man lying now on Jessies’ bed, before the dying fire in the warmest room of the house. Would he sleep or would the complaining wind and whipping rain disturb his rest and hold oblivion at bay, as it would for me in the chill, wrapped shivering in the quilt Mama had made.
I don’t know how many hours passed before I moved, at what point I threw aside the cover and slipped my feet to the rough boards. I felt the rug under my skin as I crept to the door. There could be no candle and in truth I knew the old house so well that none was needed.
The stairs sighed gently as my weight passed over them. I held my breath lest the small noise should disturb the night that had fallen silent with the passing of the storm.
He was resting on the bed but the glint of moisture in his eyes told me that he was awake. I took a hesitant step from the door and he turned to see me.
He didn’t speak, pulling aside the blanket he simply waited and let me make my own decision, though we both knew that my being there evidenced my choices.
His lips took the breath from my mouth, his hands told me things that I had waited a lifetime to know and his body possessed mine completely with a gentle fierceness that was like the sky after the storm, swept with power and passion but shining with purity.
In the morning father found us. I quaked hearing him make his slow way down the stairs but strong arms held me close. Together we faced the fury and rode on the wings of his wrath until he saw that all was decided and though the time that had passed was unbelievably brief our souls were as one, we were home.
Now he sits on the old chair in the porch, his hands shake as he whittles toys for the little ones but inside that old frame is my man, the one who came to me from out of the storm and I love him still.