The Promise by Jennie Hart

Kanya struggled with the sodden, matted black hair coating her drenched forehead. The roof of their bungalow was punctured, and gulps of rain swept through gaping holes. She was shaking at the horror of it all. Threatening storm clouds had gathered but she had had no idea a hurricane was coming. Now, filthy water gushed in under the badly fitting door and puddles round her ankles.

Niran wasn’t home, he never came when he said he would, he always broke his promise. Mostly she didn’t mind but tonight she needed him here. She couldn’t get inside his head; he was an only child and she knew for a fact he’d been spoilt but that did not excuse bad behaviour. She and Dara, her sister often laughed about the unreconstructed man Kanya had married; but it really wasn’t all that funny. She was in anguish over their daughter Mekhala who wasn’t home either; she’d gone out early to photograph the birds around the estuary and hadn’t returned. Before her accident, Kanya would often go with her, but not anymore.

The bright yellow shutters of the window facing the river rattled and banged on torn hinges. It was still light but Kanya had no idea of time. She liked the shutters, their brightness, and how they reminded her of Swiss cabins she had seen in films. She had tried to contact Mekhala and Niran but all connection was gone. The sky was dark with shades of black and granite-grey and intermittent bursts of lightening in brilliant flashes and zigzags. She thought of their garden on the bank above; of her beloved papaya tree, of Mekhala’s chillis and eggplants. ‘If the river reaches our garden, then I will be gone too, so it will no longer matter,’ she mused.

Niran taught at the high school and at the end of the day would go to the bar with his mates. It wasn’t a Gogo bar with prostitutes, just a drinking place called the Chi Bar, out of the village by the Moon Bridge. He was in a good mood after so Kanya was glad of that. He liked male company and disagreed on so many issues with Kanya that it was hard sometimes to communicate. She had been a mid-wife before her accident but now her life had changed and Niran was angry with Mekhala, blaming her for her mother’s fall. His current behaviour towards their daughter was overshadowing all their relationships.

Kanya was injured a year ago when she accompanied Mekhala on a visit to the local wild-life sanctuary. They saw beautiful birds; the Baya Weaver and the Dusky Broadbill, quite rare birds that nested in the giant Kabak trees, magnificent in their own right. On return they had found a shorter track, rocky and steep and Mekhala persuaded her mother it was easy. Mekhala was nimble but Kanya had lost her footing and fell, shattering bones in her left leg and severing nerves. A forest ranger saw her fall and got them to hospital but after several operations, the leg was still useless.

She held on to the cooker feeling the water reach the calf of her good leg but felt nothing in the damaged one. She pulled her flimsy woven jacket around her taught chest and struggled to breathe. She took a step towards her walking frame bobbing around on its side and pulled it upright. Water seeped sluggishly between the door jambs and the wooden framework, but suddenly, a surge of water forced the door open. Their home was on a shallow bank above the river but below the village. ‘I am going to die,’ she told herself, overpowered as the swirling flood welled around her knees. Unlike Niran, a Buddhist, Kanya knew her spirituality was within but at this apocalyptic moment, she prayed to Buddha, to Allah, Jehovah and Christ.

Below, she heard the spluttering of a motor, and in the half-light glimpsed a small inflatable rescue boat moving slowly. ‘Please see me! Help me! she called out, propping herself against the doorway. Mr Chan, head-teacher and colleague of Niran quietened the boat’s engine and Mr Boonya, his deputy, lashed the boat to a sturdy acacia. Mr Chan lifted Kanya and Mr Bunya, carrying the walking frame, supported him as they returned to the boat, avoiding all manner of debris. Kanya cried when she saw Dara with three other rescued villagers. The teachers had no news of Niran and Mekhala but would take the boat out again.

They sipped large mugs of warm sugary coffee and listened to the sounds of animated voices. The school hall was lit by oil lamps and candles; all services had failed. ‘I know Niran would have been in the Chi Bar,’ she said, ‘And Mekhala could have been anywhere along the river.’

Light was fading and a flickering glow radiated from the school hall above. The two men were out again in the rescue-boat. The wind still raged across the valley and the rain was unceasing but they knew for Kanya’s sake, they must get to the Chi Bar. ‘And Mekhala; that poor, poor, girl. I pray to Buddha, she did not drown in the estuary,’

The little boat pushed through uprooted trees and severed branches. For the first time they saw the stricken Chi Bar; the village and its river were becoming one and only the top of the parapets of the Moon Bridge showed. They fought against flow and moored by the building. Both wore life-jackets and head-lights and they lowered themselves into the water and tied the boat to a solitary streetlamp emerging uselessly from the river water.

Part-swimming they entered the open doorway. Stools and tables bobbed around and the men were sickened to see a body floating amongst the wreckage. ‘Dear God,’ said Mr Bunya, ‘It isn’t Niran, it’s Mr. Aromdee from the top farm; this is what I feared, I expect the music was loud and they were deep in conversation.’

The upper rungs of the wooden steps at the back of the bar leading to the floor above, were still above water. Despite the moans of the wind, they heard human crying. ‘Someone’s up there!’ whispered Mr Chan. He held on to the ladder’s frame and hauled himself into the space beneath the partly- collapsed bamboo roof followed by his deputy. They knew of the shrine there. It seemed like an anomaly, but some men, after a night of drinking, would go up to the shrine and make peace with Buddha before setting off home. Both men shone their headlights on the man outstretched before the shrine and on the whimpering young woman in whose lap his head rested. ’Dear Lord, it is Niran and Mekhala, father and daughter.’ murmured Mr Bunya. Niran’s face was bloody and he was unconscious. Mekhala was half-awake and crying, bruised on arms and cheeks, shirt torn and wet. Both men knew of the significance of Niran, a devout Buddhist, finding peace before a shrine.

There was no time to delay, Niran had a severe head wound and Mekhala was exhausted. They gave water to both from their hip-flasks which roused Mekhala

enough for her to describe her ordeal. The current had carried her to the Chi Bar. ‘It was fate. I kept my head above water by hanging onto shelves, anything. It was still light and I saw men floundering in the filth including dad. His head was bleeding but he was still conscious and we pulled ourselves up the steps and then he collapsed. I thought he was dead. I tore a strip off my shirt and wrapped it round his head. I felt his pulse; I kept him warm; I think I’ve saved my dad but I know he doesn’t love me!’ Mekhala began to cry again as if her heart were broken.

More super-human efforts from Mr Chan and Mr Bunya found father and daughter in separate wards in Ko Chang hospital. Niran’s injury had been life-threatening but Mekhala was treated for exhaustion, cuts and bruises. Today, Mekhala was to go home so when Kanya came to visit she accompanied her mother for the first time to her father’s bedside.

Niran wept as he spoke; ‘I love you Mekhala but can you ever forgive me for not being the best dad I could have been? I’ve been a bully and I am truly sorry. you saved my life and nearly lost yours. And how could I blame you for mum’s fall? I am a stupid man.’

‘And my lovely long-suffering wife, how can you bear to be with me? I am a pig, and that is an insult to a fine animal. I pray soon you can walk and live your life as you wish. But please, please try to forgive me’

Mekhala and Kanya held Niran’s hands and his voice faded as he drifted into sleep.

‘How are we going to reconstruct this man?’ Kanya said to her daughter, ‘If he doesn’t mend his ways he will have no family. ‘

Mekhala smiled and hugged her mum. ‘Praise to the female sex! We are strong and I pray dad now respects our female gender.’

‘More importantly,’ said Kanya, I pray to Buddha he will learn to keep his promise!’

Finding Dawid by Elizabeth Obadina

     The bells were ringing again. They’d hardly stopped since yesterday evening when the news of the German surrender came through and now they were ringing to summon the crowds to hear Mr Churchill’s speech which was going to be broadcast at three o clock. Tannoy speakers had been strung up along the High Street and the shops had shut at midday. A wave of happy chatter, drunken, but good humoured shouting and out of tune song flowed from the pubs and mingled in the springtime afternoon. 

From her vantage point above Waterloo Terrace, Jean could see and hear everything going on. She opened her bedroom window as far as it would go. She wanted to soak up and remember every minute of today. This was history in the making, a special day for all the allied nations, a special day for the country and the town and an extra special day for Jean. For today, the day that peace was declared, Jean and Dawid had decided to make their engagement public and face and overcome whatever objections her parents, well her father really, wanted to put in their way. Maybe there wouldn’t be any, Jean thought. Today was a day to melt the hardest of hearts. Perhaps her father would forget for a moment that Dawid was a foreigner and see him as the hero he was who had fought as much and as hard as any British soldier, sailor or airman to end this war and for freedom.

Jean scanned the crowd for his familiar face. Last week they had shared a magical reunion in London, she was beginning her leave from RAF Hurn and on her way back from Hampshire to Shropshire and he, well he was just in London for a few days before flying back to Europe. Although Hitler was dead, the fighting wasn’t all over and some German units were making a fierce last stand. Dawid was still flying or she thought he was. No one asked exactly what anyone else did. Careless talk did cost lives. A week ago their talk hadn’t been of the war, but after the war. It was only a matter of time before the allies were victorious and the happiness of anticipation warmed their hearts against the cold wind blowing off the Thames and the chilly showers that send them scurrying for the nearest tea room. Too soon their paths parted as always on the station platform. But they had agreed on their engagement plans and Dawid had promised to follow Jean to Bridgnorth this week.

This week! Jean marvelled at so much happiness coming at the same time and pinched herself to be sure she was real. She scanned the faces that were tumbling out of the pubs and drifting into the High Street from the adjoining streets. Mainly she was fixed on watching the corner of Waterloo Terrace. That was where Dawid would appear if he was going to arrive today. It was the road up from the station. She hadn’t heard from him yet but deep in her heart she believed he would arrive today and it would be just like him to surprise her. 

Her stomach knotted with anticipation. A shaft of sunlight lit up her room and she looked up dazzled by the glory of the day. Fuzzy sunshine auroras floated across her eyes, blurring her vision. She tried to focus on the sunlit scene below. Bunting fluttered in the breeze and now a sea of uniforms swept into the street turning it air-force blue. The boys from Stanmore had arrived. And then, and then like a boulder in the tide was an officer standing stock still. He turned and looked up to where she was sitting.

“Dawid!” she screamed as the beloved face smiled up at her.

“Dawid! Stay right there, I’m coming down,”

She pulled her cardigan tightly around her and hurtled downstairs, calling to her parents as she passed, “Going out. I’ll be back later!”

“Jean! Wait!” her mother’s voice hit a slammed front door.

***

Outside Dawid was waiting. They only had eyes for each other.

“My parents can wait. We’ve all the time in the world now!” said Jean and with arms wrapped around each other’s waists they melted into the exuberant sea of blue, khaki and red, white and blue.

Dawid bent down to whisper in her ear. “You look beautiful, I’ve hardly ever seen you out of uniform.”

“Are you saying that I didn’t look beautiful in uniform Squadron Leader Romanski? Live up to your name now …” They laughed remembering all the times, often the bleakest of times that Dawid’s Polish name had brought a smile to the people around him.

“Be quiet now Romanski whilst the Prime Minister’s speaking.”

The church bells fell silent, and the hum of the crowd died down to a hush. The speakers crackled into life as the bells of Big Ben chimed three across the airwaves. 

The announcer spoke,

“This is the BBC broadcasting from Alexandra Palace in London. This is a broadcast by the Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury, Sir Winston Churchill.”

Time stood still as everyone listened to the familiar voice formally telling them that the German surrender had been signed yesterday and that from midnight tonight Europe would be at peace.”

A moment of silence greeted the broadcast and then a cheer rolled from one end of the High Street to the other and suddenly everyone was singing, “For he’s a jolly good fellow.”

For Dawid and Jean the events of the late afternoon and evening blurred into blissful happiness. The singing, the dancing, the being in love and at peace with the world. Finally they walked in silence around the Castle Walk as the sun set rosy over the river, drunk with the beauty of the day and promise of the sunlit days to come.

As they rounded the corner on to Waterloo Terrace, ready to greet Jean’s parents a noisy conga of drunken revellers split the lovers apart and the tide of humanity pushed Jean into a shop doorway and spun off Dawid to the other side of the path. He waved and pointed towards her house. She nodded and waited for the conga to subside, greeting familiar faces with hugs and kisses as it inched its way past her. 

***

Finally, she made her way home and let herself in.

“Oh Jean” her mother’s tear-stained face greeted her. 

“Oh Jean, I called for you to wait but you didn’t hear me. Come and sit down.”

Jean’s mother shepherded her into the darkening sitting room.

“Sit down.”

“Where’s Dawid?” Jean asked, puzzled.

An officer in uniform like Dawid’s unfolded himself from a corner chair. The standard lamp lit up the ‘Poland’ flash on his shoulder as he rose and moved towards Jean.

“Aleksander? Please say no …”

“I’m so sorry,” said Dawid’s best friend. “He made you a promise I know that …”

Aleksander leapt forward to catch Jean’s fainting body as she fell.

“I’m so sorry,” He repeated.

(first shared with High Town Writers in 2015)

The Promise by Ann Reader

Crash! The clatter of the letter box a small card on the floor.  Megan read the note then she read it again. How could anything so short and beautifully written be so hurtful. 

It doesn’t take much to break a promise Megan realised this, but surely something so momentous should have taken more words. A gentle build up? A “sorry to disappoint” an explanation perhaps?

“I won’t be coming “screamed at her in Mark’s beautiful handwriting, and nothing else it was so harsh. Not even “sorry I can’t make it” to imply the broken promise was beyond his control. No softening of the message at all. Megan could not deny her disappointment and hurt. Her eyes pricked with tears as she read the note again searching for something that was clearly missing.  Some reason for his breaking his Promise that did not somehow make her feel that she was to blame.

She went back into the kitchen and put the kettle on, resisting the urge to have a good cry she viewed the situation as dispassionately as she could. Of course she was not to blame.  It was typically Mark, a game he would play to make her feel that she was somehow to blame for something, so he had an excuse to go off and do something he  wanted to do that did not involve her. Looking back over the 3 or so years they had been together Megan could see a pattern emerging. It was not the first time he had done this.  Doubtless he would ring on Sunday night to make sure she would be available the following weekend.  The terse note was to make sure he couldn’t be questioned about why he was not coming.  She knew from past experience that he would not answer if she phoned him.

It suddenly occurred to her that she would not be available next weekend.  The very thought carried such a feeling of relief and freedom that she felt quite breathless.  Yes, she could do that.  She recalled that her friend Mary had suggested they go to see a band they both liked in Chester.  It would be a long drive home and Mary had found a reasonably priced b&b on the outskirts of the city.  Megan had been noncommittal in case Mark was available. 

 Megan had been seeing Mark almost every other weekend for the last three years.  He lived and worked in London and always came to Shropshire for their meetings.  He said it was because the countryside was more beautiful, but she was beginning to think he was married or at least living with someone .  She thought of all the things she had missed out on to leave herself free in case he came. She realised that she did not care if it was because he was married or whether it was just that he wanted to control her.  She was not going to be controlled any longer. 

She rang Mary and was overjoyed when she found her friend had not got anyone else to take her place.  “We could go up early if you like,” she found herself suggesting, “have a day exploring the city before the gig.”  It didn’t take Mary long to work out that something about Megan had changed. 

“Have you finally finished with that secretive bloke you never let us meet?” she asked. 

“Do you know I believe I have although I haven’t told him yet.”

“Thank God for that! All he did was make you miserable!  Does that mean you’re free to come out tonight?”

“I suppose I am,” Megan replied. 

“Great. Be ready at 7.30. Karen, Isabelle and I are getting a taxi to Shrewsbury.  We’re going to try out that new club everyone is talking about, but we’ll have a few drinks in our usual haunts first. I know they’d love you to join us it’d be like old times again. Can you do it?”

“Yes, yes I can.”

Megan rushed up to change realising she felt more excited about going out with her friends than she had felt recently anticipating Mark’s arrival. She took care of how she dressed, although they were starting off in familiar haunts, it was so long since Megan had been out without Mark that it was something of a new experience and they were finishing up at a new venue completely. 

Megan heard the taxi draw up outside, she ran lightly down the stairs checked her appearance in the hall mirror and went out to have a new adventure.

Celebration from the Air by Adam Rutter

credit: Adam Rutter

Paul, David, Ryan and Philip all stood on a hill, dressed in military uniform, overlooking the fields chequered in green and yellow. Rape-seed and grasslands were gridded by trees and hedgerows, like a picture frame. All four men watched an array of hot air balloons hanging in the air.

‘Look’, began Ryan. ‘That one is covered in the Union Jack flag’, he continued, pointing at the nearest balloon floating towards them.

‘I can see people inside the basket’, said Paul.

‘They’re waving at us’, said Philip.

They pulled their berets off their heads, and waved fervently at the passengers as the balloon flew over them. The passengers whooped and cheered. The burner seethed, blowing flames through the open canopy like a flame thrower. The balloon descended the slope-side of the hill, dipping towards flat terrain. The airmen plonked their hats back on their heads. They watched the rest of the balloons rising and sinking, growing larger, filling the azure-blue sky with red, white, yellow and dark blue gargantuan above. The huge floats drifted by like Chinese lanterns. The hiss of the burners rose, and dropped, giving way to a gloomy silence.

Church bells rang the tune, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’, which swelled, and faded in the wind. The airmen stood at ease. Philip had his hands behind his back. David looked down at a village. Tears welled up in his eyes; tears of grief and sadness.

‘Gran and Grandad will be celebrating this proud day’, said Ryan.

‘I wish my Grandad were here celebrating’, said David, sobbing.

‘Your Grandad would’ve been proud if he saw you standing here today’.

In the distance, there was a low hum. Five dark figures appeared above the horizon. The hum grew heavier, and thunderous. The figures became wider and more recognisable as they drew closer. Their distinctive shapes were unmistakably aircrafts. The aircraft in the middle was the biggest: the Lancaster Bomber, escorted by four spitfires.

‘Cadets’, began Philip. ‘Attention!’

The five aircrafts whined overhead. The airmen saluted.

Sweeping Away Indifference by Louise Lee - inspired by a '555' prompt

"The situation remained like this for a long time until all of a sudden ... "

Writing inspired by the 5th line of the 5th page of the 5th chapter of a book on a charity shop shelf.

Bridgnorth: A 'high' town and a 'low' town connected by many steps and divided by a river.

Having fun cleaning public steps is not something that people usually admit to.

    It would be an exaggeration to say that John was in his element, but he had a peaceful serenity and a determination to do a good job. 

    The steps are one of a pair leading to paths going in opposite directions along the river. John was on the steps on the left as the cars approached the bridge coming into Low Town. As he stood on the top step facing the road, opposite him was the clock tower. He had read that the clock, which has been there since 1867, requires frequent winding. “Rather them than me”, he muttered to himself.  He turned around and looked down. On this side of the bridge, at the bottom of the steps, is a path and short road called “Severn Side South.”  He surveyed the area he was assigned to tidy and figured that he would go just beyond the bottom step. Focussing his vision further down the path, he saw the usual row of cars. He didn’t know why people left their vehicles here, facing towards the river. There were a series of fee-paying car parks opposite the river. The first two are for customers of the Black Horse pub and the Falcon Hotel, then private spaces for residents of the houses along Severn Street, followed by the public one. This is where he left his car when bringing Maisie on her walk. They would walk through the car parks, turn left, and head towards Wellmeadow and the caravans. Or turn right, and his beloved dog would run up the steps, anticipating a lovely, interesting walk across the road towards Severn Park. 

    Time has moved on, and sadly, she is no longer a part of John’s life. John joined the community choir to fill a gap, and one thing led to another. One of the choir members suggested that, as he was still relatively new to the area, perhaps he would like to join the gardening group, where he would meet some new friends. This was Helen, the appointed leader of the group, who he later realised was on a recruitment drive. 

    It was a cold day in March, but the steps were in a dip, protecting him from the biting wind.

No More Prayer by Elizabeth Obadina - inspired by a '555' prompt -

 ‘No prayer,’ tiny boy says; a trembling croak that barely rises above the wind in the trees,

P39 Glorious Exploits by Ferdia Lennon (Chapter Five, fifth page, line 5)

The day had begun so well. Tiny Boy had woken as the sun crept over the horizon filling the room with the warm rays of daybreak. It was Sunday. A morning of prayer and praise followed by a picnic on the beach. It was Tiny Boy’s favourite day of the week, a day when he got to wear his best clothes, when he got to ride with Auntie in the big moto and a day when he could escape the city to a place where the sky reached down to kiss the trees and and the distant blue of the sky melted into the steely blue of the ocean and nothing came between them. No house. No office. No market. Nothing. 

Somewhere in the back of Tiny Boy’s mind he stored visions of another place where the sky reached down to touch the earth, only there were no trees and no ocean in that place. although the vastness of the earth suggested that you should be able to see something; a forest, a sea, a lake perhaps each time you crested a hill. But always there was nothing just more rocks, exhausted farms and dusty plains shimmering in an ochre glow for as far as the eye could see. These were the parched lands that came to Tiny Boy in his dreams, dreams from which he usually came to with a start and sweating, even though the bedroom was cold. He was lucky for he had been allowed to spread his sleeping mat in the corner of Auntie’s bedroom on a thick Persian rug Auntie had brought back from one of her shopping trips to Dubai. It made the other house-helps jealous to know that Tiny Boy slept with air conditioning, but they knew better than to complain. Everyone understood that Tiny Boy held a special place in their Madam’s heart.

Today however all jealousies were put aside.

Lucia - by Adam Rutter - inspired by a '555' prompt -

Lucia was no longer with us.
from the 5th chapter, 5th page, 5th line of 'Black Coffee' by Agatha Christie

 

Lucia was no longer with us. When I went back to the manor house, I checked the four rooms upstairs. I asked the housemaid if she had seen Lucia sometime after eight o’clock this morning. The housemaid had not seen her since yesterday. Lucia was not in her room when the housemaid took up her morning cup of tea. The last time any of us saw her was at the house party last night. The party started at 7PM. It went on after midnight. Lucia was talking to her friends. This was probably just after nine. Mrs Ludlow. That was her name. She had not seen Mrs Ludlow for over fifteen years. They both went to the same university. Edinburgh I think it was. Probably studying Cosmology. It was something along those lines. After Lucia and Mrs Ludlow had graduated, they kept in touch by letter, and sometimes they used to talk on the telephone. She’ll be talking for two hours; sometimes more. The conversations were friendly to begin with, but soon turned nasty. They did fall out, although they have made up. Come to mention it, I didn’t see Mrs Ludlow leave the party. She left without as much as a bye or leave, which was odd. It wasn’t like Mrs Ludlow to go without saying “goodbye.” I had never known her to do that before. Come to think of it, neither had her friends. I went to a groceries shop in a village nearby. I inquired about Lucia’s whereabouts. The lady in the shop saw her on Thursday. That is the day she does her shopping.

Nobody else had seen Lucia. The last time that the villagers had contact with her was a week ago. I can’t see how or why Lucia would just disappear. I cannot imagine her wandering off without the guests noticing. In any case, I think it was a simple fact that they were too drunk to notice. I realised Lucia’s absence after Mr Broadway had gone. He was the last to leave once the party was over. The thought of her disappearance didn’t occur to me. At least, not at first anyway.

Kate’s Big Decision: Part Three: Undercover by Ann Reader

 The interview went well, even the HR representative with the unfriendly demeanour seemed  impressed.  Kate learned that there were in fact three port offices that she would have to attend.  Most of her work would be in central Southampton but she would spend one day a week at the container port and one at the cruise ship offices.  All the shipping coming into Southampton was required to pay port authority fees. The fee differed according to the size of ship and length of stay. Some of the larger private yachts were also liable to pay. Kate’s job was to correlate which vessels berthed where, how long they stayed and ensure all fees were properly invoiced and paid, or chased if payment was not received.

Kate spent the weekend before she started work on the Monday familiarising herself with the area. She was shocked to find how many possible landing sites there were. There were regular car ferries from the Isle of Wight into Southampton and Lymington just down the coast to the west. There was also a regular hovercraft. There was a foot ferry from Southampton to Hythe in the New Forest.  There was the old Esso port at Calshot and the container port in Southampton Water and then there were the cruise ships. In addition, there were any number of marinas up and down the coast.  How was anyone to police that lot she wondered. 

Charged Emotions by Adam Rutter

Cara wondered aimlessly through fields of heather on The Long Mynd. Cara’s auburn hair blew across her face. Her white skirt flapped around her feet and she held onto a thin arm loosely with her slender hand while her dark eyes gazed mournfully down at Church Stretton. Cara’s walk slowed to a saunter until she could not walk no more. Her tears reddened the edge of her eyes with every tear being blown round the side of her face. Cara could not face Jack again, no matter how much she wanted to see him, she could not stand the thought of being hurt a second time, in spite of his undying love for her, she knew he will betray her. The grey skies grew darker and blacker as clouds cast heavy shadows over the hills and valleys. Thunder rumbled overhead. A raindrop landed on her cheek, she watched Church Stretton fade in the shadows until it became obscured, like her feelings for Jack. She searched relentlessly for her feelings, and then she stopped searching. A flash of lightning glimmered on her face, accentuating her fair skin against the dimmest light. The rain pattered on the heather, Cara sobbed as her hurt and anguish rumbled inside like the thunder, and tears flowed with the rain as they ran off her face. Jack was cantering on his horse when he arrived in the town after he came back from Shrewsbury. His eyes caught sight of Cara’s figure silhouetted against sheet lightning flickering in the clouds.

‘Cara!’ he cried.

The rain began to pour down. Jack galloped out of town, through the narrow valley of Cardingmill. Cara heard Jack’s voice rising from the valley. His voice was unrecognisable among the thunderclap and the rain lashing down, but she knew it had to be him. She held onto her drenched skirt while she struggled to run among the heather.

Kate Makes a Big Decision: Part Two - A New Home by Ann Reader

 Kate sat on the train to Southampton and reflected on the changes she had already made and those she would have to make to perform her new undercover role. Being on the train was itself one of them.  She had been told that possession of a car would not be consistent so had given her car to Kiera. Kiera was more than delighted as she and Georgia had been sharing. Kate was confident that she would make enough doing this undercover work to afford a better car when she returned, after all she would not be able to spend most of what she earned till it was over. 

The two weeks spent at Hendon police college, being briefed on exactly what undercover work involved and the need to fully immerse herself in the new role had been interesting and challenging.  At the end of it she was told she had been selected for this role. Others on the course were chosen for roles in other operations.  Kate was delighted to be given another opportunity to tackle the importation of the vile substance that had killed her brother.

Kate Makes a Big Decision by Ann Reader

credit: Gencraft

The hours of study Kate fitted in around her work culminated in her Sergeants' exams and now she awaited the result. Kate arrived at the CID office that morning to an email requesting her to meet with the Super at 10. She was fairly sure she would now find out the worse. It was with some trepidation she knocked on his door.  She had done her best but would that be good enough.

“Congratulations Sergeant Chalmers, you’ve done this station proud. Very high marks! Well done.” 

Kate felt herself go weak at the knees with relief.  “Come and sit-down Sergeant now we’ve got to decide what to do with you!

The Light by Ann Reader

credit Gencraft

Here it was, at last ! The light I  had held in my mind for such a long time,  the thing that kept me going even when I felt too hungry to walk and my paws were too sore. That little square of light that was a door to warmth and comfort,  security and love. Oh how I had missed those things.

My troubles began through my own curiosity.  I had climbed into a large van to investigate all the things that were being carried out of the neighbouring house.  Suddenly the door had closed and I was shut in the dark. The engine noise stopped anyone from hearing my desperate meowing and scratching.  The noise and movement lasted for a very long time , when it stopped I shot out of the door as soon as it opened.  To my horror I couldn’t recognise anything,  I had no idea where I was.

Wildcat Watcher by Stuart Hough

 This piece of writing first appeared on the blog in 2022. 

Writing inspired by a line from another book:

 "How delightfully amusing everyone was! ‘Bottle of mine, it’s you I’ve always wanted…’ ."

Aldous Huxley. Brave New World.

A loud peal of laughter followed from the knot of men gathered around the speaker. The fragment of conversation was meant to be heard by others.  No doubt he wished to be seen as being humorous and entertaining from within the gathering of his peers. No one else looked around. The language used didn’t fit the man. It was a gesture without real foundation, fashioned for the surroundings. The men carried on their own conversations, drinking wine in their own groups. It seemed that ale was not allowed. More than likely their hostess deemed it suitable only for those who did not aspire to the positions for which she wished her guests to aspire. Despite the luxurious furniture on which they were seated earlier, the men had now chosen to stand in groups. No doubt their hostess would think them ruffians for doing so. They tried not to spill anything on the expensive floor.

Kate's Second Christmas by Ann Reader

Kate was looking forward to Christmas this year.  She was not going to be at work and had arranged to spend it with Kiera and Georgia and her nephew Andy who was now 5. She went to bed on Christmas Eve satisfied that all her presents were wrapped and she could have a lie-in on Christmas Day.  She was therefore surprised when her phone woke her at 1 am. 

She recognised the DI's voice. 

“Kate,” he began, “I’m really sorry to wake you but we have a bit of a problem here...

A Very Happy Christmas After All by Ann Reader

 Jane was up early , she dressed with care, today would be the best day of her Christmas, the one she looked forward to most.  Her nephew Michael was coming, as he did every year, to take her out for the day! She reflected that it would all be downhill from then on, the pensioners party at the community centre had happened two days ago and after today it was likely she would not see anyone till the centre opened again in January.  She thought with longing of the days when her dear George was alive.  They would have gone to the pub together on Christmas eve then to midnight mass. Did that still happen she wondered. She dreaded Christmas day, she used to love buying presents for friends and family,  especially when all the children were young.  Now the children all had children of their own and most of her friends were no longer alive,  she felt she had outlived her usefulness. 

The doorbell went and there was Michael,  she wrenched herself out of the depression that was threatening to engulf her as it did so often these days.  She arranged her smile. 

“Aunt Jane, you don’t look a day older it’s so good to see you!  Do you mind if I bring this in? “

He had a small scruffy terrier on a lead. “Oh Michael he’s adorable,  you know I love dogs of course he can come in. But I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“That’s a bit of a long story “ he replied “ let’s decide where we are going and I’ll tell you over lunch “

It was their custom to sit over coffee and discuss the merits of the local cafes and pubs before they decided where to go.  This time it went without saying that they would only consider dog friendly places. The little dog whose name was Rufus did not seem entirely comfortable with Michael and settled himself at Jane’s feet.

When they arrived at the pub an idea was beginning to form in Jane’s mind. She asked to take the dog’s lead as they crossed the car park to the pub, she was pleased to note that he didn’t pull and was responsive to her instructions. 

“OK” said Jane once they were comfortably seated in her favourite pub,” what’s the story with Rufus”

“He belongs to Karen’s great aunt and she was taken into hospital last week,  to be honest I don’t think she will be coming home again but while she is alive we can’t send Rufus to the rescue and I just don’t know what to do with him.  He can’t stay in our house because Karen’s Maine coon cats are bigger than him and simply won’t accept him. They attack him whenever I bring him in. At the moment the poor little chap is having to sleep in my car as I daren't  leave him alone with them. I just don’t know what we are going to do with him. “

Jane could see what Michael was trying to ask without actually doing so and realised she had also been thinking along these lines.  “Couldn’t he come and live with me?“ she said. Michael’s relieved smile answered any doubts.  “He would be good company and I have the room and the time. We already get on?”  Rufus was sitting so close to her that he was almost on her feet. 

“Oh would you Aunt Jane it would help us so much?” As Jane agreed  she felt a surge of happiness.  Christmas suddenly was appealing again.  She would walk down to the butchers tomorrow and buy Rufus a bone and maybe he would like a toy or two . Christmas meant something when there was someone to give presents to.  Maybe she would even bother with a roast dinner,  surely Rufus would like the odd tidbits. Then there were the walks they could take together.  He was only small so wouldn’t need to go too far but they could go often, and they would be certain to meet up with other dog walkers, suddenly Jane realised she had  not outlived her usefulness.  Rufus needed her but she needed him too “ Oh yes Michael” she said “yes please let him come to me.”

Dearest Emma by Adam Rutter

credit:gencraft

Through the tall, narrow window, I stoically watched a young couple walking up the street in knee-deep snow. Parked on the other side, leaving the headlamps exposed. The highest buildings in the distance were a haze in the snow drift. Standing in a small room, I looked down at the typewriter with melancholy, wishing I was with my dear wife, Emma. The typewriter was the closest thing I could be with her. It was given to us as a wedding present. During our fifteen years of marriage, we have shared the same typewriter, bringing it with me to my London apartment, typing correspondences for my clients. I, Lawrence Rendleford, a solicitor provided legal advice while endeavouring to settle legal disputes for the people in the capital and the Home Counties. On this particular occasion, I typed a correspondence on a personal matter. A letter to Emma. So I pulled the chair out from under my desk, sat, and began typing. The clacking of the keys. The lingering smell of her perfume. A constant reminder of her presence.

The letter began with the usual salutation, which any devoted husband would start with:

 Dearest Emma,

              It has been a long time, perhaps too long since you have heard from me. A week of your absence seems like an eternity. Each key that I press on our faithful friend is like being in the same room with you, although it cannot replace the feeling of emptiness. I was going to speak to you on the telephone this evening, but the weight of the snow has brought telegraph cables down, cutting off communication in London and the surrounding area, which is a nuisance. To type this letter is the nearest I can get to talking with you. I was so looking forward to coming home at the weekend. But alas, the dreadful snowstorm has put the kybosh on it. Has Rex been a good dog while I have been away? I bet he is enjoying the weather. I can imagine Rex rolling about in the snow. If only I were there to see that now. The wintery weather is expected to last well into next week, which means that I will have to work from my apartment for the time being. One of my employees is staying in the same temporary accommodation as me, currently using their room as a makeshift office.

Even after being two days in London, I was missing you already. Let us hope that I will be hope that I will be home in time for Christmas. More to the point, I hope my letter gets to you before the festive season. The snow is causing terrible delays with the postal system. It is not good for business. Anyway, I mustn’t grumble. Besides, you hear me grumble all the time. Still when you do get this letter, it will keep you smiling during the hard winter.

I hope to be back soon.

Yours truly,

Lawrence

A Stranger Visits by Kay Yendole

“Marion are you there? Open the door it’s Win.  Marion!” 

When a strange oriental girl answered the door Win was taken aback.

“Who are you?’ she demanded, a little cross her sister had not told her she had company, which was very unusual for Marion.

“I’m Hua, Marion’s friend,”  she replied.

Suspicious, Win asked where Marion was.

‘She having tea in living room come, see,” was Hua’s response, smiling sweetly, which seemed very false to Win.

‘Are you Marion’s new carer?’  I asked her.

“No, just friend, you want tea?’ was her abrupt reply.

Marion was indeed having tea sitting in front of the television with a large cream bun, a cake and some scones, none of which were good for her diet. Crossing the room to kiss her, Win noticed Marion looked exceptionally happy. With Hua out of the room Win asked Marion who the girl was and how they met.

‘My friend Hua, she’s Chinese, she’s really nice to me, I met her in the café on Hersham Green,” she said excitedly.

“Does she come round often?’ Win asked still suspicious of this sudden new found friend and was shocked when Marion answered,

“She lives here, in the spare room, she’s been here three months now.”

Trying not to over react but feeling even more wary of the stranger, Win said she imagined she must be good company for Marion and the rent must come in handy.

“ She doesn’t pay me rent,” Marion replied, “and she’s bringing her family over especially to meet me for my birthday and we’re going to have a big party.’

 Marion was really excited now and alarm bells rang in Win’s head. She had heard of these ‘cuckoo in the nest’ stories and this was a classic case, Foreigner meets and befriends a lonely old woman of means, and  in this case one with a simple mind, dear Marion, lonely, never had any real friends since childhood. Lived alone since both our parents died and left her the house, not wealthy but comfortably off and here now a stranger ready to take it all off her.

Furious Win marched into the spare room and started searching Hua’s things for a passport and sure enough there it was, a temporary visa too and photographs of the extended family all eleven of them. It all added up to Win – a cuckoo- alright. Well Win was not ‘cuckoo’ and she would put a stop to it.  She turned to face a bitter faced Hua, staring menacingly at her.

‘Get out. Now. Get out before I call the police oh yes and the immigration board,”  Win shouted at her.

In a cloud of expletives, some of them Chinese, Hua thrust her things into a holdall and stormed out.

Marion was crying.  “But she is my friend, what about my party?’

“Don’t worry Marion, I will give you a party, the best party you’ve ever had and I promise to visit you more often so this never happens again, but please promise me you will never invite strangers in again.”

Grasping the Moon by Irena Szirtes

    We heard little of child abduction in1957, but I recall June and Brenda Gill disappeared while skipping in a London street, because my parents’ horror – and disbelief -  struck me hard. I was seven years old, and rural Yorkshire seemed a universe away from London. Even when I turned thirteen in Spring ’63, the moors murders were yet to shock and shake us. In my world, significant crime was rare. Everyone knew the village bobby drank with his pals at The Railway Inn well after closing time: the landlord simply locked the door. In my world, young men appeared before magistrates for something as trivial as spouting rude words at policemen. Molly, who, along with her husband Thomas, owned the Welsh pony stud I visited at weekends, was a magistrate herself, and told me how she struggled to keep a suitably grave face when offending words were passed round the bench on pieces of paper.

    I had a dedicated bodyguard, should danger dare lurk in our dale. Jess, a red terrier who kept rats from our pigeon lofts, could read ill-intent at forty paces and kept herself well primed for throat-ripping. Once turned eleven, I had permission to roam freely in her company, even attend trotting and whippet races, though Mum drew the line at Appleby Fair. It was simple: any pervert who somehow got near enough to lay a finger on me, would most definitely suffer more violence than I.

Payback Barn by Elizabeth Obadina

Torn and twisted the woman lay broken on the earth floor. Old hay bales and black pellets scattered about her body and Employment Tribunal summons fluttered from an open case whilst an Apple Mac flickered out its last charge. Shafts of morning sunlight cut between broken rafters illuminating ancient oak columns dribbled white. An upside-down chest, missing its bottom drawer hung from the barn wall and a brand-new Tesla was wedged in mud after the woman’s attempts to reverse it into the open barn door the previous evening had failed. She had misread the satnav guidance to the country hotel that was her temporary home, failed to U-turn and had been stuck in the middle of nowhere.

The woman moaned and rolled on to her good arm. The not-so good one hung limply in the ripped Versace jacket. She pushed herself to sitting and fumbled for her mobile phone – still no signal. Last night she had tried climbing higher in search of a signal – and rescue - but had been attacked.

She felt yesterday’s escape from shrieking banshees with terrifying flat white faces was yet another sign that she was one of humanity’s chosen ones, a super special being meant for higher things. A lesser mortal would have died.

Someone would find her soon. The Tesla would be sending out emergency signals and there must be search parties out looking for her. Meanwhile she could work on the reasons she’d fired half of the long-standing staff members she found lazing in the latest school she’d had to save. With her one good arm she stretched for the laptop, gathered the papers she could reach and started reading.

Watching from their nesting chest above her, a mother barn owl and four large owlets eyed the terrifying being who’d attacked their home the previous evening with a silent tractor and who’d then scrambled high holding a glittering stone aloft – aiming for their nesting chest. They’d escaped with a great deal of fluttering and shrieking and the beast had fallen – but not for long. In the morning light the monster was stirring and the owls were on high alert.

Twenty miles away, the staff of High Ridge Academy breathed a sigh of relief as it became apparent that their new principal was not going to attend the morning briefing. The sun was shining brightly and for the first time in months and months teachers began their day’s work with smiles, cheerful chatter and a profound sense of release.

The Barn by Jennie Hart

It was from their old East Yorkshire farmhouse that Lois disappeared. The house needed some repairs but was envied by all the mums and dads who brought their children to Rachel’s kindergarten. Across the farmyard were outbuildings including a fine old barn, fully weather-proof with a solid oak frame, mainly used for storing Tom’s bikes. It also housed a few bits of furniture cleared from the house when Rachel set up the nursery; a handy chest of drawers where Tom kept all things bicycle-related; a pretty wooden cot, painted in pale yellow and decorated with tiny flower fairy motifs, and a couple of kitchen chairs. It was Rachel’s daughter’s cot when she and Tom moved to the farm twenty years ago. Lois was not Tom’s daughter and five years ago she simply left in the night.

It had been a magical house but lost its charm after Lois left.