Kate's Longest Night by Ann Reader

This is the longest night I have ever known” said Kate as she stifled a yawn and accepted a chewing gum from DC Rob Chapman. 

They were in an unmarked car in a car park on the edge of the local country park.  The drug squad had received intelligence that a large quantity of heroin was to be delivered to one of the car parks around the country park. Unfortunately they didn’t know which one.  An operation was in place. Unmarked cars with two occupants were in each of the four car parks. Other cars were strategically parked in laybys around the edge of the country park.

The car park assigned to Kate and Rob was well known as a rendezvous for courting couples. In the earlier part of the evening there had been quite a lot of activity with couples arriving clearly intent on enjoying amorous activity in the privacy of their vehicles. Kate and Rob had amused themselves by guessing which ones came because they were still living with parents and had nowhere else to go, and which, usually the ones who came in separate cars, were actually attached to someone else. They had occasionally had to jump into each other’s arms to protect their cover. The effort of trying to appear to be involved in heavy petting while not actually touching eachother had caused considerable hilarity. Fortunately laughter was not inconsistent with their roles and provided good cover in itself. They were both satisfied that all the visitors to their car park were genuine courting couples and not involved in any illegal activity.

By about midnight all the other cars had left the car park. It was now 4 am and there had been no human activity for several hours. The biggest issue was staying awake. Their car was hidden in a corner of the carpark in the hope it would not attract the attention of any other vehicles pulling in through the gates. They dare not play on their mobile phones as the light would alert anyone to the fact that their car was occupied. Additionally they had been told to leave all channels of communication free so that which ever car spotted the dealers could call for back up in whichever way seemed safest in the circumstances. They chewed chewing gum and did their best to find things to talk about in whispered voices.

Suddenly a whispered message came over the radio at the same time as a group message on their phones. ‘ Two vehicles have pulled into Beech Road car park backup needed ‘  Kate swung into action immediately. Beech road was less than half a mile away,  She and Rob were probably the closest unit. She fired up the ignition and was pulling out of the carpark within seconds. She decided against using the siren as she feared that would alert the target and give them a chance to get away.

As she arrived at Beech Road carpark she saw two cars parked close together and a dark coloured plain clothes car in the corner. She hoped their own car had been as well hidden, she felt she only saw it because she knew it was there. She took a split second decision and manoeuvred her car to completely block the entrance to the car park. If the intelligence they had was correct she was not going to risk that amount of heroin getting onto the street. She hoped the other units were not too far behind. 

Everything seemed to happen at once. The target car started its engine and turned its lights on full beam momentarily blinding Kate . The other car was facing into the car park, it began to manoeuvre to turn around. Someone got out of that car and began to run into the country park, fortunately one of the officers from the car assigned to this car park was out of his car and gaining on him. It was only a moment before he was tackled to the ground. Kate feared that her car would be rammed and wondered how much trouble she would be in if her actions lead to one of the forces cars being written off.  Just then three more cars arrived with sirens blaring. The occupants of the target car gave up.

That night four people were arrested and 5 kilos of heroin were recovered.

Far from being in trouble Kate found herself being praised for her quick thinking that had prevented the criminals escaping. The superintendent had even suggested that maybe the time and come for her to study for her sergeant’s exam. Kate reflected it was a very long night but in the end a very satisfying one.

The Horse by Kay Yendole

As long as I can remember I have always loved horses. Every year I would ask my father if I could have one. The answer was always the same, with a hundred reasons why it would not be practical. I must be content with going to the local stables to help out and save all my pocket money for riding lessons.

But my passion ran deep, content I was not.  Opposite the greenhouse was a corner of the garden not planted, so I claimed it as my special place, and began to build a horse. Yes that’s right, build a horse, not a house. I began with a large metal trunk as the base, then a rolled up mattress as the body. I got a second hand saddle complete with stirrups and a set of reins from the stables.  Polythene and an old army blanket covered most of the contraption and I fashioned a head with papier-mâché  and many coats of varnish to keep it waterproof. To many it may have seemed a pile of rubbish but to me it was my horse, my friend, and I treated it as such, going every day to attend to it and polish the saddle and ride it.  Maybe I was trying to prove to my father that if  I did have a horse I would be committed to looking after it. He was amused, I think, but did not change his mind about getting me one. This was not a passing phase, the horse remained in tact for eight years, and I looked after it until I left home.

 

No need for toys


That plastic rubbish


Taking up space, messing my room.


I want more time


To play outdoors


There is my horse, I am the groom.


I play for hours


Galloping across the downs and jumps

His mane a rope


But the saddle is real


His body built from trunks of steel.


I talk to him my stallion friend


This fantasy will never end.


I urge him on


From trot to canter.


I stroke his neck,


His breath I feel.


Together we ride


Over hedges and fields


This substitution for reality.


So don’t buy me toys


Father can’t you see


My imagination is good enough for me.

Posh Pegs by Elaine Pearson

 Betty sent me a packet of pegs today

Oh they’re lovely ones – stainless steel

They’ll never go rusty if I leave them out

Can’t tell you how lucky I feel

 

‘Cos I’ve always had wooden ones up to now

Well, living on Gypsey Bank

Gypsy pegs are what I’m used to

But now I’ll be able to swank

 

Shiny ones left on me washing line

No matter what the weather

Me neighbours’ll all be wanting some

We could all be posh together

 

But for now I’m the one who has ‘em

Lady Tut is what they’ll call me

I just hope nobody nicks ‘em

That really would appal me

 

So, thank you Betty for this little treat

I’m pleased to have you for my friend

But, for now, I must get me washing out

So I have to say, this is the end!

REMINDER: APRIL MEETING NEXT TUESDAY - St George's Day!

April Meeting

7pm

Tuesday 23rd April

Peepo's Spirit Room

Chair: tbc

April Writing Theme:  A piece of writing (any form or genre) set at night. (Try and use a ‘hook’ near the beginning)

Not-At-All-Tall Tilly Tales by Irena Szirtes ... ... ... ... 3: Mourning Meg

credit: Kate Palmer

 The day every animal lover dreads: the day you say goodbye.

   Megan was definitely lead mare of the little herd, long before Tilly worked herself into that position. She had been ill for some time, but this day, she went down. It had been obvious to Megan's owner that day was different, so she was turned out on her own, in a field next to the one normally shared with other mares.

    The vet was called, and Megan collapsed in the field. I had no idea I was about to see clearly, perhaps for the first time, no ordinary pony had entered my life. The moment Megan went down, Tilly raised her head. She crossed the field, began to pace and trot the fence again and again, calling to Megan constantly. The other mares looked up, but carried on with their grazing. Minute upon minute passed; it seemed a very long time. Megan didn't stir, and Tilly wouldn't let up.

    Suddenly, something remarkable happened.  Megan lifted her head. She answered Tilly softly. She did this several times before finally struggling to her feet. Somehow, she managed to walk, then trot to the fence, where Tilly waited and encouraged her with quiet nickering. Reunited, Megan and Tilly spent time nuzzling each other, and something passed between them they both seemed to understand.

    Megan returned to her chosen spot and lay down once more. Tilly seemed satisfied and walked away to graze, but she was to mourn three weeks, because Megan never got up again.

Not-At-All-Tall Tilly Tales by Irena Szirtes ... ... ... ... 2: The Pony and the Phone

credit: Kate Palmer

 Tilly loved to come in. Her previous field had stabling with open access, so when she came to the yard, I did wonder if  evening bring-ins might strike her as somewhat restricting. I needn't have worried. Tilly took to bring-ins so well, she soon insisted on being the first. Round about bring-in time,  even a little before, she’d wait at the field gate, then show displeasure by pacing and whinnying, if  horses on earlier bring-ins passed by.

      It was still early days when the yard manager, Jill, told me how carefully Tilly walked when her young son Aiden held the lead rope. If Aiden led her, Tilly forgot her eagerness to reach stable and feed, while Aiden took  pleasure in her doing all he asked. It was, therefore, surprising when Tilly halted mid-bring-in one evening. She stopped and simply refused to move. They paused and tried again. Tilly wouldn't budge.

   Jill  decided an adult's experience was needed. After talking to Tilly and stroking her neck, she began encouraging  her forward. Nothing. When they tried again, Tilly scraped her front foot on the ground and nodded vigorously. Sensing frustration and fearing lameness, Jill ran her hand down Tilly's front legs. There were no hot spots, no swellings, no cuts or grazes, but there was something else - something in the grass. Jill's phone! She'd lost it earlier, but had no idea where. Phone retrieved, Tilly walked happily back to her stable. Aiden may have imagined it, but he was sure there was an extra spring in Tilly's step that night.

Not-At-All-Tall Tilly Tales by Irena Szirtes ... ... ... ... 1: Tig's Tale.

Tilly                                           credit Irena Szirtes

    Bouncy-black, all waggy and rear-end wriggly, she tore round Tilly again and again  while we walked toward the field. Tig belonged to a fellow yardie, and the yard was a great place for dogs to play - or grab extra walks at turnout time. We loved turnout.The still place we inhabited in liberty sessions made me aware of Tilly's footfall, of distant birdsong,  of grass-munching close by. We were both super-chilled: I sang silly songs to Tilly, or told her things you only tell good friends. Her favourite grazing was the woods field. She always quickened her step as we turned toward it, and Tig would happily adapt her pace to her very own mobile race-track. Round and round, round and round, while Tilly walked on as if there wasn't a dog in sight.

     One morning, everything changed. Tig, tired of her old game, began dodging  in, out, and around Tilly's back legs. Did Tilly go to kicking out, freaking out?  Absolutely not. She stopped. She turned her neck. She lowered her head to spaniel height. She looked hard into two appealing eyes. Tig stopped, and a moment passed between them before she trotted back to the yard. She wasn't afraid, just suitably chastened, and never accompanied us again.

A Solitary Slug by Jennie Hart

‘I never expected that!’ ...  But intolerance is lurking in every garden border

No one can comprehend what it’s like to be a slug

I have a poor self-image because of who I am

My parents didn’t tell me that I could be him or her

That today I may be ‘Rosy’ and tomorrow may be ‘Sam’

I am not a stupid slug as many of you think

I know I’m cold and slippery but that’s part of my demeanour

It’s tough to be hermaphrodite not know which way to be

But those who say I’m ghastly, well, they have no bedside manner

I have a gender problem, am I ‘he’ or ‘she’ or ‘they’?

My sexual orientation it is fluid

I am glad I don’t wear clothing I would not know what to wear

But in my drape of silver slime, I imitate a druid!

My pronoun choice is difficult, I think I’ll go for ‘they’

But on my ‘Rosy’ days I may be ‘she’

I will consult with ‘Sam’ to find out what’s his preference

I suspect he’ll shun the ‘they’ and go for ‘he’

Did you know that during courtship slugs fire love darts?

The Greek God Eros honed this special skill

I have no organ ready to receive it

My love moves close sometimes against my will

To tell the truth I find it very painful

‘He’ coats his arrow with a pheromone

But sometimes it is ‘she’ whose deadly love dart

Stabs my skin and chills me to the bone

(metaphorically!)

I suspect among our garden hosts that one or two are racists

I’ve heard of inequality and am rather glad I’m grey

My ‘fellow’ slug who lives nearby (and may some days be ‘female’)

Has told me that his blackness, is far worse than being gay

There’s a movement in the garden to eliminate my black friends

Those humans prod and poke them they are easier to spot

My earthy grey-brown camouflage tones with the mulch and leaf mould

So my black and shiny comrades, admire my colour quite a lot

At least there is no sexism, we are male and also female

‘I never expected that!’ I hear you say

But intolerance is lurking in every garden border

Be it colour, age or gender, life’s a challenge every day

 

They Never Expected That by Elizabeth Obadina

They stood watch over  at least fifty Heckler & Koch HK MP5 Submachine Guns,

Maybe more

And a flask of holy water.

Three white coaches had rolled into the town – tourists, perhaps, out for some fun

Maybe more

Probably a crop of old codgers.

With a hiss and a sigh the coaches wheezed to a stop. This day-out promised sun

Maybe more

For three coachloads of, perhaps, walkers.

Opposite the coaches a bakery selling Easter treats: simnel cakes and hot-cross buns

Maybe more wares

Just waiting for coachloads of visitors to savour.

Out taking a break, at least three or four shopkeepers broke into a run

Maybe even more traders

Were sprinting to get back behind counters,

They needed to sell stuff, piled up by the ton,

Maybe much more,

Lots of stock awaiting keen souvenir hunters.

Everyone watched and waited to see who’d disembark when the coach doors slid open.

Maybe more business?

Such custom as any small town would chase after.

The coaches swayed as a hundred or so passengers got up a chattering hum

Maybe more sounds drifted through over the sill

One sound - quickly stifled then all was still – had that been laughter?

A company of soldiers with one or two medals glinting on their number ones,

Maybe some with more medals, disembarked.

The townsfolk weren’t expecting that sort of tripper.

 

The troopers assembled and marched off to the beat of at least one drum

Maybe more

Silent and solemn, these were not pleasure seekers.

A company of infantry, maybe two platoons had come

Maybe more

Armed with rifles, with fingers on the triggers.

They marched up to the church and shocked two ladies waiting to welcome

One, two or maybe more visitors,

Day trippers – not soldiers – just sightseers.

“Look after these please,” said the captain to Mrs Smith and Mrs Young

And ignored more church ladies

Gathered behind them to wonder

 

For they hadn’t been warned what was going on

That they would have to guard fifty guns,

Maybe more,

They never expected that

When they reported for duty that morning.

But more was to come.

When the soldiers were seated, when the nave was filled with the beat of a drum

Solemn, steady

The vicar left the church to meet pall bearers who

Solemnly and steadily

Would bear their comrade to his rest.

And as the vicar passed by the open-mouthed ladies standing sentry duty

Over an arsenal of Heckler & Koch HK MP5 Submachine Guns,

He called on Mrs Young

To hold the flask of holy water until the service was over.

And as the fallen soldier passed through the ancient archway

On his last journey

The oaken door swung shut:

The soldiers inside:

The two ladies guarding Heckler & Koch HK MP5 Submachine Guns,

AND a flask of holy water outside.

It was their first-time volunteering as visitor guides in their church

And, they never expected that.

Kate didn’t expect that by Ann Reader

Now that Kate had discovered her nephew she was eager to spend as much time with him as possible. Kiera worked in a nursery so she was usually available at weekends, but her partner Georgina was a sister on the maternity ward where they had met so often worked unsocial hours. They usually managed to get together about once a month and very often Simon, who was Georgina’s brother joined them too.

At one of those meetings Georgina asked Kate for a private word. “I need your advice as a police officer” she said “I’ve noticed some discrepancies on the ward with regard to the morphine. I am sure that some of it is going missing on a regular basis. We don’t keep a great deal of it so what is missing is a very small amount.  At first I put it down to a mistake but it keeps happening. I have been checking the amounts regularly and correlating who is on the ward when it happens and I think I know who is taking it but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Have you reported it to your superiors or the police?” asked Kate. “Don’t you think you should. It could be getting onto the street.”

“No” replied Georgie “ I’m not 100% certain I am right and if it is who I think it is, he shows no sign whatsoever of being a drug addict and I don’t think he is selling it as he doesn’t seem to have an extravagant lifestyle. Well to be fair no one knows that much about him. He drives a very basic car and lives in a fairly cheap area! He doesn’t socialise with the rest of the staff although he is friendly and pleasant enough at work and very good with the patients. It did occur to me that maybe he was being forced in some way and I didn’t want to make things worse. Can you investigate Kate Please.”

“It’s a bit irregular,” said Kate, “I don’t think I can just investigate on my own. Would you mind if I ran it past my sergeant? If there’s a possibility that that morphine is getting on to the street, we ought to be stopping it! Also, if your colleague is being forced in some way we ought to be protecting him.”

“I would feel very uncomfortable about policemen coming onto the ward. It’s supposed to be a safe place for our patients.”

“I’m sure I could arrange to come myself, and I don’t wear a uniform so no one would know who I was but let me speak to my boss. If you can give us enough information we may not need to come onto the ward at all.”

“Ok,“ said Georgie, “ but I won’t give you his name or address till I know what your sergeant says.”

 

Kate spoke to her sergeant the next day, he agreed they should stop any class A drug getting on to the street however small the amount. Could this be the tip of an iceberg. Were small amounts going missing on other wards? He authorised her to make basic enquiries, but not to waste too much time on it.

Kate rang Georgina and agreed a time to meet. Georgina agreed to ask other ward sisters if they had noticed any discrepancies on their wards and to bring her investigations and details of the person she thought responsible.

Kate was impressed, Georgina had created a spreadsheet detailing the times she had noticed morphine go missing and who was on the ward at the time. Kate had to agree that a young junior doctor seemed to be the most likely culprit. Georgia had also managed to speak to four other ward sisters. Three of them had noticed discrepancies but had put them down to heavily pressured staff in a hurry and getting things wrong. They all agreed to monitor their own wards and see if there was any correlation.

Kate’s boss agreed that it could indeed be the tip of an iceberg. He felt they should speak to the junior doctor in question and would meet her at his address.

 They arrived together and Kate banged on the door her warrant card at the ready. A very tired looking young man opened the door. “You’d better come in,” he said. Kate agreed with Georgina’s assessment that he was not a user. Although tired he was clean and tidy as was the house. He lead them into a front living room. And offered them coffee. Kate was surprised.

“It’s okay I know why you’re here. I couldn’t expect to carry on but it won’t matter in a day or so, come with me.” He lead them into a back sitting room, where there was what looked like a hospital bed containing a very old fragile and pale lady , she appeared to be sleeping.

“This is my grandmother, she brought me up when my father abandoned us and my mother became ill and died. I love her dearly, but she is a very stubborn old lady. She has an advanced cancer and she simply won’t allow me to call a doctor to her because she is terrified of being taken into hospital. She says I am a doctor why can’t I treat her at home? I have been taking small amounts of morphine from the wards to treat her pain and I bought her this hospital style bed so she will be more comfortable. It’s a s much as she will let me do. I don’t think she will wake up again, but I want to be here if she does. I’ve booked a few days off so I can be. Once she is gone you can arrest me and send me to prison if you need to.”

This was not what Kate had expected.  “I don’t think you need to worry too much,” she reassured him, “we don’t yet know what the hospital will say.” Kate had every intention of suggesting to Georgia that the hospital take no action, she looked pleadingly at her sergeant hoping the police would take the same course. He winked at her and said, “Oh I don’t think we need to arrest you doctor but please drop into the station when your grandmother has gone.”

“I think we are looking at an informal warning,” he told Kate as they walked back to their cars.

MARCH 2024 Meeting

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!!

Minutes, 26^th March 2024.

Peepo’s Spirit Room

Present: Irena (Chair), Liz, Sue, Jennie, Dave, Adam, Kath and Andy, Martin, Stuart. 

Apologies: Ann.

Workshop theme: Engaging the reader's attention by using ‘hooks.’

Homework: A piece of writing (any form or genre) set at night. (Try and use a ‘hook’ near the beginning). 

Next meeting: Tuesday 23^rd April, 7pm at Peepos.

REMINDER MARCH MEETING ON TUESDAY

 March Meeting

Tuesday 26th March 2024 at 7pm in Peepo's Spirit Room.

We will be able to look through the proof copy of our celebration anthology. 

March writing theme: 

something with the phrase he / she/ I / you / it / never expected that

That Magical Moment by Adam Rutter

Out on the patio on top of a sea cliff, I sit in front my laptop, tapping on the keyboard, trying to introduce a new character to my story while typing the opening scene. The only thing I grapple with is, do I use a real character, or do I need to invent one? I can never decide which. 

If the character is real, it will naturally have to be somebody famous, dead or alive. A scientist? Of course. Which one? 

There are many that springs to mind. I list the most scientific minds in history – Isaac Newton, Galileo Galilee, Thomas Edison... Thomas Edison! Just the man I need for my story. He is the ideal candidate since I am by the sea. How very illuminating, if you get the joke? Don’t worry if you can’t, because the clue is a rotating beam of light. 

While I am on the ‘light’ subject, as I describe it, there is another scientist who imagined travelling through space on a beam of light, and that is Albert Einstein. This is how he came up with “light-speed theory.” And there is Michael Faraday. It is because of this inventor is why I am able to plug in my laptop, turn it on, and start typing my list of these scientific geniuses. Which one should I use in my story? Why not all of them? 

All of these share one thing in common. They all experienced that magical moment in their scientific careers. It is thanks to scientists like Thomas Edison that a lighthouse stands on the end of the headland and I watch a cargo ship passing at a safe distance from the shore. There is blue sky above me, stretching half a length of the coastline, punctuated by a heavy cloud casting a dark shadow on the sea. Forked lightning branches out beneath the cloud like roots flickering between the sky and earth. A rumble of thunder drowns out the silence.

‘Just look at that discharge sparking in the air’, says Michael Faraday.

‘It happens in a split second. Incredible’, I say.

‘That is a charge both positive and negative, that is giving off the brilliant flash of light.’

‘I saw the lightning first, and then heard the thunder after. Why is that?’

‘The light from lightning reaches your eye before the sound of thunder enters your ear,’ says Albert Einstein.

‘Why does that happen?’

‘Light travels at fantastic speeds, so much so that light is the ultimate threshold in the universe where nothing exceeds it.’

We are sitting around the same table, looking out to the Atlantic Ocean while we watch the lightning spark and glow inside the cloud. I see rain falling faraway, which looks like long hair touching the ocean.

‘That cloud has gained so much mass, all the vapour within it has condensed into a mountain of droplets, which have become so voluminous, they succumb to gravity,’ says Isaac Newton.

A rainbow rises from the edge of the cliff, stretches out to sea. We watch the cloud receding; the thunder growing weaker with the blue filling out in all directions, as the storm slides along the rugged coastline.

‘To witness something as awesome and spectacular as this is that magical moment at the seaside,’ I say.

‘The sunlight passes through rain droplets, and hence, the droplets split the light into their constituent colours. Thus, nature creates, as you say, that magical moment,’ says Isaac Newton.

REMINDER - MARCH MEETING NEXT TUESDAY

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!

March Meeting

7.0pm

Tuesday 26th March 2024

Peepo's Spirit Room

Writing theme:

     Include the phrase:  I/she/he/they/it. - never expected that!

Talking of Neighbours by Elaine Pearson

I have a lovely neighbour

Betty is her name

I think she’ll agree, she’s older than me

But we’re good friends just the same

 

I love to hear her memories

Tales of times gone by

It’s good fun reminiscing

But sometimes makes me cry

 

‘Cos things aren’t what they used to be

People just aren’t the same

You can live next to someone for twenty odd years

And still never know their name

 

Thank goodness it isn’t like that with us

We have a pigeon post

She sends me scones to die for

I send a Sunday roast

 

She’s a lovely little lady

And her family loves her so much

She’s lots of strapping grandsons

And they all keep in touch!

 

Now the lesson for this little poem

It’s her birthday today you see

I’m not going to say how old she is

That doesn’t seem right to me

 

So Betty, ‘Happy Ninety Second’ – Whoops!

And Many Happy Returns

Now hurry up and get that back better

And I’ll treat you to lunch at ‘The Ferns’!

The Shadow by Geoffrey Speechly (1930 - 2021)

We remember with sadness the passing of Geoff, our friend and a founding member of Hightown Writers' Workshop, who passed away three years ago today. He brought a lot of fun to our meetings and we have missed him. He spent much of his working life trading with the Soviet Union and was acutely politically conscious. We repost today one of his social reflections which feels particularly apt for these troubled times.

Dark is the shadow on my baby’s face

As I look at her in this awful place.

The soldiers broke the bedroom door

And smashed our lives; blood on the floor

Is the only carpet we have left; no, not we, but I-

For they took my man, and said they’d try

Him as a terrorist; he, who’d never raise

His voice much less his arm in anything but praise

For friends and peace. The shadow on her little cheek

Is red; she is so tiny and so weak…

I hear her feeble breath and mine begins to falter

Oh, I love her so much, my man-bloodied daughter,

And pray, with all my failing strength

That God may grant respite throughout the length

Of our poor country, and if we have to die

Let it be for freedom that we cry.

(First Published in a Hightown Writers Anthology A Book of Delights 2016)

(This post first published on 16 March 2022)

AN UPDATE SONNET ON THE PROGRESS OF 'WRITE-ON'

That Magical Moment

 

That Magical Moment will be if … if …

The proof of our book comes back just perfect.

The first copy’s printing and getting checked

Though our typeface got changed to fonts ‘serif’

Which shook up the layout. We felt quite miffed.

It had taken an age, and all seemed wrecked

But ‘twas not so bad: just minor corrects,

Print turn out wonky? – more hitches to fix.

 

It’s taking a while but magic shines through

Though we’ve not crossed the finishing line yet

Much had been written; it took time to choose,

Spoilt for choice, but the deadline’s just met -

Ten years of writing from Peepo’s top room

Spelled ‘magic’ and ‘Write-On’ from High Town's write-set. 

That Magical Moment by Ann Reader

It was no surprise to anyone when DC Kate Chalmers volunteered to give the antidrug talk to the youth club on North Road estate. It was a rough estate with an entrenched drug problem. Kate had something of a crusade against drugs since losing her younger brother to a heroin overdose some five years ago. That was her motivation for joining the police force. She had been delighted when she was seconded to the drug squad from general duties a couple of years before. Technically it was a temporary position, but she had made herself so useful that nobody had suggested moving her.

She prepared carefully for the talk. She had been involved in more than enough arrests over the last two years to be able to describe in fine detail, some of the unfortunate addicts she had met and some of the cynical dealers. She wished she could use some of the mug shots taken of people in custody, often sick and withdrawing from their drug. She was not going to hold back from mentioning her brother, she felt that if they realised she had first-hand experience they might be more inclined to listen. She would just have to hope that her descriptive powers were sufficient to rob drug use of any of the glamour it seemed to hold for the young.

She would speak of skinny young men with sallow completions shaking and sweating and clutching their stomachs as the agony of heroin withdrawal hit them. Girls who might have been pretty but for the rashes on their faces from sniffing glue. Intelligent people who could not relate to reality or hold down a job due to the paranoia consequent on excessive cannabis use. The sad mindless ones who had gone on an LSD trip and never returned.

Kate spent time on her descriptions and on translating medical facts concerning the damage that drugs like speed and cocaine could do to the body. She wanted to make sure her audience understood clearly.  She included remedies such as methadone and described how this seldom stopped the craving and was addictive in its own right. She would include alcohol as many former addicts simply swapped their addiction for something else. Alcohol is legal but could be just as destructive of normal life. She would describe the sickness and the fitting that long term alcohol abuse causes. If that didn’t put them off nothing would.

Kate didn’t actually look at the invitation to speak until she was about to set out. She couldn’t help noticing that it was signed by a Simon Mattock. Her brother Andy had a friend of that name, when he was first at college, before he started using heroin and dropped out. She thought it unlikely it would be the same person but remembered her brother’s friend with some fondness. He had been instrumental in getting Andy into rehab the first time. It wasn’t his fault it didn’t work.

She found the youth club without difficulty and was delighted to find the youth leader was the same Simon, they recognised each other immediately but there was no time to catch up before the talk. Kate was pleasantly surprised at how attentive the group of youths were, they listened quietly, possibly she was right that mentioning her brother would catch their attention. There were even a few questions at the end.

Simon formally thanked her then asked the youths to put chairs away and get various things out for further activities while he showed her out. “That was quite some talk,” he said, “I can’t believe they sat quietly for so long. I can’t leave them for too long or pandemonium will break out. Are you by any chance free to meet next Sunday afternoon? I’d like a chance to catch up and there’s someone I think you will want to meet.”

Kate had nothing on that Sunday and thought why not, it would make a change from cleaning her flat and doing her laundry. They arranged to meet at the cafe on the park at 2 pm.

Sunday came around and they met as arranged. Simon confessed that the feelings of helplessness around Andy’s death had led him to train as a youth worker. He was older than Andy, in fact Kate’s own age so felt he ought to have been able to do something. Kate felt the same about herself and explained how it had led her to join the police force. Simon looked up and waved as the cafe door opened, a stunningly lovely woman came in and Kate knew she should recognise her, but it took a while.

“Kiera is it you?” she almost whispered, “but you’re beautiful,” slipped out.

The last time Kate had seen Kiera she had been using and would have been a prime example for her talk the other night. She had been thin to the point of emaciation with lank hair, baggy eyes and sallow skin. Now her clear bouncy hair was blond, and she looked fit and healthy.

Kiera had been Andy’s girlfriend; at the time of his death she had been   arrested for shoplifting. The police had found him when they went to search their flat for other stolen goods. Kate did not know what happened to her after that.

“I didn’t know if you would want to see me.” She blushed prettily. “Simon had to persuade me I hope it’s alright.”

“Of course! I never blamed you. You were a victim just as much as Andy, but I never knew what happened to you,” Kate replied.

“My parents picked me up from the police station and put me into rehab. Hang on a bit.” She broke off to wave at a woman coming across the park with a small child in tow. “I could never look at another man after Andy, but I found I didn’t have to. Let me introduce Georgina, we’ve been together some time now.”

Kate stood to shake hands with the tall clear eyed brunette, then looked down at the child in her other hand. He was so like Andy aged 4 or 5, she had to sit down rather quickly as she felt the colour draining from her face.

“You’ve guessed, haven’t you?” said Kiera then turning to the boy, “David come and meet your aunty Kate.”

Kate wanted hug the child but was uncertain, she didn’t want to frighten him. She held out her hand and he put his little hand into it. Then he held onto her and said, “I’ve never had an aunty before! will you come and play on the swings with me?”

It was a magical moment that Kate would treasure for the rest of her life.