Kelley Townley's website

SHORT STORIES

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Title	Comments (word count and my age when written)
The Injection	1200 Words. Aged 14yrs. This is a story about a class of children standing in line, waiting to get an injection. It shows all the different ways people cope with stress.
A Friend Indeed	700 Words. Aged 17yrs. Boys that are friends and boys who are more than friends. Is there a difference? This mini story explores the relationships between a girl and her boys.
Cheat	4000 Words. Aged 21yrs. Inspired by my novel 'The Harm Principle', this is the tale of a girl who does a mind reading spell to help her pass an exam.
Connections	750 Words. Aged 22yrs. This very short, short story was a prize winner in the Bath Literature Festival Short Story Competition 2001. The brief was to write 750 words on the theme of connections.
The Watch	4350 Words. Aged 23yrs. Written in the style of horror writer Edgar Allan Poe, this scary tale of a cursed family heirloom is sure to send a shiver down your spine!
How many 14th century poets does it take to screw in a lightbulb?	2000 Words. Aged 24yrs. Answer: One, then 29 others to tell tales about it. A twist on The Canterbury Tales, a group of school children are off on a school trip to Canterbury when they decide to hold a joke competition.
First Day	1550 Words. Aged 25yrs. I can't say too much about this one or it'll give the game away - you'll just have to read it and remember we're all young at heart!
Journey	570 Words. Aged 25yrs. This is the piece I read out for the Bath Literature Fesitval in 2005 (see pics in the Author section). It's funny but very sad at the same time. It was a good piece to perform.
Shells	2530 Words. Aged 26yrs. Full of symbolism this story is about the 'shells' we use to protect ourselves emotionally, and what we can happen if these shells become too tough!

Shells

Lucky Bitch.

Sitting there in her designer gear, gym toned body, perfect make-up, happy and contented. Her bloke obviously dotty about her. Bet he gives her anything she wants. A room in this place costs well over Ł300 a night, and this meal won’t be cheap either.

I smile benignly and deposit the crab claw platter-for-two between them.

Anna doesn’t like the couple she’s currently serving. I can tell by the way her warm copper eyes have hardened and her normally fluid body is rigid. Maybe they were rude to her. Here she comes, walking towards me. Eyes still stone, but her beauty shines through.

She passes me some empty glasses.

‘Thanks, Anna’ I say.

I like to use her name.

I thrust a couple of dirty glasses at the dumb kitchen boy standing in the doorway and return to the bar. I can’t even pretend to clean anymore. It’s been dead all day. Unusual for a Saturday in August - especially when every room in the hotel is booked out. But then there’s that big seafood festival going on at the other end of the beach. And who wants to eat a SeaShell Hotel Seafood Platter indoors, when you can have a whole festival of the stuff outdoors. Me, I haven’t been able to touch the stuff since I started working here.

Chef is shouting for a drink. Apparently if he’s not busy enough to throw abuse at people, he gets bored. Matt calls, ‘Skivvy will get it’, meaning me. I grin and nod. They're loving treating me like a slave, but I don't mind. It’s the reason I’m here. ‘Do you good to do a proper day’s hard labour’ Dad’s voice in my head. Besides, getting Chef a drink means visiting the bar.

Normally I amuse myself by searching out eligible bachelors amongst the diners. It’s the reason I’m here. I try and kid myself that I came for the work, but really, I came to find a decent bloke. I can’t end up like everyone else. Shagging everything that moves then settling for the jobless slob next-door who can’t even string a sentence together... until he gets bored with me and buggers off with some other woman. Then single parenthood, poverty, depression... No way. I want to do better for myself. Find myself a successful man, who will love me and look after me. Is that so bad?

Unfortunately tonight’s pickings aren’t even meagre, they’re non-existent. I’m stuck watching the ‘happy couple’ suck juices out of their crab claws. I’m actually pleased to find the kitchen boy beside me.

Catching her unawares I get a glimpse of the real Anna. I already know she’s beautiful but just then she looked perfect. Her face like fine bone china, black braid like plaited silk, her body curved with a swan-like grace. I forget to breathe, then realise she’s looking at me expectantly. I haven’t said a word, just stood there staring.

Idiot.

‘Erm... Chef would like a double scotch...please.’

Oh my God! The kitchen boy has a crush on me. Hah! As if I’d ever consider such a nobody. Sorry pal but I have higher ideals. I turn to pour the scotch, hoping it takes a long time, pad out some of the elongated evening. I turn back and the way he’s looking at me makes my cheeks hot. I tut dismissively, but still, it makes my chest tight. It’s always nice to be fancied, however lame the fancier is. I think to myself, the night is young, I’m bored stupid, what’s a bit of flirting? So I turn on the charm. My face relaxes, my eyes soften. I tilt my head to instil an innocence I don’t really have, unfold my arms, pull my stomach in. The whole nine yards - well there’s nothing else to do.

She opens up like a flower, her petals rolling out silky soft. I have a sudden urge to pull her to me and inhale her scent. I feel like a child again, let loose in a field of wild blooms. I almost close my eyes in delight. Wild abandonment threatening to overrule my formal upbringing.

Boy, has he got it bad. I haven’t even done anything yet and he’s practically rolling at my feet. Funny how I haven’t even noticed him before. It’s nice though and I feel the thrill of sexual shenanigans ripple through me. I even get a bit carried away as I hand him Chef’s drink.

The warmth from her skin spills over my hand as our fingers touch. Did she do that on purpose? Or am I reading too much into a simple action? I feel the world spin and blood thump thick in my head as I struggle to form the words, ‘Thank you, Anna’.

I should leave now that I have what I came for, but of course I linger. Every second counts.

I’m going to have to do something quick if I’m to keep his attention. Boys have such short attention spans.

“Tonight is so slow,” I sigh.

A life-line! The excuse to prolong the moment with conversation.

‘Yes. Very slow.”

My God! Is that it? The best I can do? I don’t deserve a woman as wonderful as this. I’m useless.

For god’s sake! Do I have to do all the work here? Maybe I shouldn’t bother. It’s just pointless flirting anyway. I should just return my gaze to the crab couple, breaking their shells, digging their forks in to make sure they don't miss a thing. It’ll only end in him asking me out. And then what shall I say? Sorry, no thank you. I’m waiting for a better, smarter man than you to come along and sweep me off my feet. I don’t think so.

“Let me take you somewhere.”

Oh my? Did I just say that out-loud? What was I thinking? An IQ of 178 and I can’t even ask a girl out on a date properly.

Crikey! Maybe he does have some balls after all? I feel something stir inside me. An excited rush of adrenaline. I must be smiling because his eager little face is lighting up like a Christmas tree. I force a frown. Shouldn’t make it too easy.

‘I don’t know, I say.

‘I’m sorry,” he mutters head down, balls rolling away.

I get cross with him. Where did that impulsive fire just go?

He begins to turn away and all I can see is my cold, empty flat waiting.

‘Well, where are you going to take me, then?” I sigh.

My heart, so near to crashing, suddenly explodes. Did she really just accept? I feel the heat rise to my face. Damn it! Act cool.

“Well, what kind of place would you...”

She interrupts harshly, ‘You said you wanted to take me somewhere. So take me. Don’t ask me where.’

I smile a little. Feisty, isn’t she?

A man arrives at the bar. Impatient for his drink.

I nod and begin backing away.

He suddenly starts to withdraw. Have I lost him? Did I blow it with my aggressiveness? A man coughs behind me. A good looking man in a camel hair coat and a Rolex on his wrist waits patiently for service. I turn on the charm again but he soon departs. Why can’t I get a decent guy to notice me?

We meet outside the back door at 2am. Technically it’s Sunday morning but to us it’s still Saturday night. Even after a ten hour shift she looks like a goddess. I dread to think what I look like.

I’m so tired I nearly blow tonight off. I should just go home to bed - but then I’ve got the whole of tomorrow with nothing to do but sleep so I might as well party while I can. Kitchen Boy actually polishes up quite nicely out of his kitchen garb: smartly cut brown hair, green sweatshirt that matches his eyes and well trendy shoes. The fake Rolex makes me laugh; a wannabe, just like me then. It suddenly dawns on me I don’t actually know this guy’s name. It seems too late to ask. I’d feel like an idiot.

How to do this? Do I ask for her arm? Just take it in a jolly gesture or maybe I shouldn’t touch her at all? Oh, but I want too. I want to hold her so close, feel her warmth and the weight of her body... Instead we’re just standing here like a couple of lemons. I decide to just grab her arm and run before I lose my bottle. Scares the hell out of me.

He suddenly lunges at me. I worry I might have signed up to a night with a serial killer but he’s just going for my hand. I’m too surprised to resist and he’s pulling me along at top speed. We peg it down the hill, towards the beach and I feel the blanket of sleep fly away in the sudden breeze. I laugh out-loud for the first time in months and nearly career into him when he stops suddenly.

Anna’s body wraps around mine as I come to a standstill, stays there a moment longer than necessary perhaps. We’re at the edge of the dark and deserted beach, the soft white sand giving way under our feet. You can hear the sea, but can’t see it. Persistent waves throwing handfuls of tiny shells at the shore, gradually grinding them down them into the soft, supple sands.

“Race you?” I suggest.

“No, I don’t think...” Then she’s off.

Cheater! I leap forward hungrily.

Oh my God! My new shoes! They’ll be full of sand but I almost don’t care. The rushing wind sounds like the crashing waves in my ears. I laugh, delighted, as I almost reach my goal, the shiny waters edge, like a string of black pearls in the starry night. Then arms encircle my waist, lifting me and my precious shoes out of the sands.

“My shoes! My shoes!” I laugh.

Anna weighs nothing. Like she has hollow bird bones. I spin her around as she laughs but now that I have her, aloft in my arms, I don’t know what to do with her. I slip on the shells and we tumble to the ground. I fear she’ll be cross but she just removes her shoes. Her short skirt rides up revealing pale flesh. I smile secretly.

Running on the sand was mad. I’m in heels for goodness sake. Better take them off. Ooops! That was a serious flash of thigh. Well, he looks pleased anyway. I feel suddenly reckless and have a huge desire to flash more. I frown at myself. Stop getting carried away. This is just a bit of sport for the night. I’m not about to ruin my dreams by getting attached to a kitchen boy, now am I?

She’s frowning. I knew this was a mistake. What was I thinking? What girl in her right mind would want to come to the beach at night. Stupid idiot. Throwing it all away. I should have taken her somewhere posh, treated her like the princess she is. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted her to see the real me and this is my favourite place in the whole world.

The shells stick in to my exposed skin. I consider putting my shoes back on. But which is more important? I flop back undecided and stare up at the star filled night. Amazingly beautiful. It seems silly but I’ve never been down to the beach at night. After all these months I’ve hardly visited the beach at all. No one to go with I guess. But right now I think I could lie here forever.

She’s just lying there, staring at the stars. Probably wishing she was somewhere else, with someone else. It’s growing cold. I often wait to see the sunrise here but having her beside is making me feel uncomfortable. I’m sure she hates it. We sit in silence and I begin to fidget. I’m such a loser. I was given a golden opportunity with Anna and I’ve blown it. I might as well join a monastery.

I’ve never felt so relaxed. I wonder how long we would have to wait before the sun comes up. I’ve never seen the sunrise. Out here in the open I feel like a fairy princess, glimpsing magic that’s so everyday humans are immune to it. But Kitchen Boy’s growing restless. He hasn’t said anything for a while. It dawns on me he’s probably expecting a shag or something. I wonder if this is a bet? Did the kitchen staff set him on to me. ‘Go on, see how far you can get... Get her knickers for us’. I never should have gone out with him tonight. Stupidly wasting my time on a kitchen boy. Should have made more of an effort with the camel coat man.

Okay, I’ll give it one last shot, but I have to word it just right.

“Anna... I’m sorry. I should have taken you somewhere better.”

She mumbles a polite, ‘no, no, this is fine.”

Liar.

“I just, I mean, I really like you and I...”

And I what? Wanted to show her the world? Show her the real me? Explain how she is as endlessly beautiful as the rolling ocean.

I knew it. What a dick. Everyone knows that, ‘I really like you’ translates as ‘Can we shag now?’ in man speak. He’ll be lucky if I ever speak to him again.

Total waste of time. The look on her face is pure disgust. She hates me. I’m so boring and useless. We walk back up the beach and stand awkwardly under the street light.

“Shall I take you home?”

“No,” she replies absolute. Then adds a lame, ‘Thanks,’ before turning and walking away without so much as a backwards glance.

Tears are threatening to pour down my cheeks. I have to get away from him fast. I can’t believe I was so stupid. Letting him get to me like that. I mean, I don’t know why I feel so bad. The dumb, penniless, worthless kitchen boy tried to get one over on me and failed. I should be proud of myself. So why do I feel so lousy?

I get out my car keys and the Porsche headlights flash. I should have insisted I take her home. Letting a young lady walk the streets at this time of night - I should be ashamed of myself. Once home I slip quietly into the entrance hall. A light is on in the study. Dad is still up, working on the hotel books as usual - as if the figures could get any better!

“You’re very late,” he says. “How’s was the day working in the kitchens?”

“Fine, fine. Everything is fine at the hotel,” I smile, knowing full well his first concern is his business. “I took a girl out after work, that’s all,” I explain quickly, quietly.

Dad looks up pleased and expectant.

I hang my head. “But it didn’t work out. We weren’t right for each other.”

END

Back to the short stories list

Cheat

   The building was strangely quiet as Alice ran, panting, through the front doors. She turned a quick left, padded up some steps, two at a time, and skidded to a halt just outside the double doors. She paused to catch her breath. There wasn’t a sound to be heard and she was beginning to think she had the wrong day or time, which would be a very good thing because it wasn’t very practical to be late for your exam.

   As she swung open the doors a musty warm silence escaped, rushing over her in its desperation to get out. The sensation caused her to close her eyes momentarily and when she next opened them she instantly regretted it. A couple of hundred tired eyes stared right back at her, some appreciating her pain, others wallowing in it, as she stood isolated and pathetic looking in the doorway. She wished she hadn’t entered the hall like this, she should have just sneaked in the back way or something.

   Suddenly a very tall and imposing figure waltzed into view and grabbed her by the arm. It was Mrs. Whitmore, the deputy head of the school.

   “Really, Alice! It’s ten o’clock already. If this is a reflection of how responsible your generation are I shuddered to think what might become of it.”

   Oh please, she thought, your generation gave us the atomic bomb, CFC’s and Michael Barrymore, it couldn’t exactly get much worse. She was plonked in a spare chair near the back of the hall in front of a blank piece of paper. She watched as Mrs. Whitmore strode back to the front of the hall to officially start the exam.

   “You have two and half hours to complete this paper. If you require any assistance, and that does not mean the answers to the questions, then put your hand up and a member of staff will come to you. You are permitted to go to the toilet but a member of staff will have to accompany you, so to save embarrassment on both sides I suggest you cross your legs. The instructions are on the first page. Read them properly before even opening your paper. I would also advise you to read the entire paper through before you begin but none of you will so let’s just get on with it. Mr. Johnson?” she called to a colleague.

   Mr. Johnson was a much less aggressive teacher and you could feel the room relax slightly in his presence. “Okay, the time is 10:03am you have until 12:33am. Good luck.” He turned to write the times on the board and the room rustled with nervous energy.

   Alice looked down at her paper. It began with ‘NAME’. Well, she could answer that one, which was a good sign. She opened her pencil case and withdrew her lucky pen, the one with Winnie-the-Pooh on. It had a curious little plastic foam picture on the end that dangled from a bright cord which was great to play with. She wrote her name, ‘Alice Golding’.

   ‘CANDIDATE NUMBER’ was the next bit. She opened up her pencil case and copied it from the Post-it note stuck inside. Then it said ‘MATHS PAPER ONE’. Well, yes, she knew that already. ‘THIS PAPER WILL LAST 2.5 HOURS.’ Yep, she knew that bit too. Why on earth do they tell you to read the front cover when it’s all so obvious, she wondered. ‘YOU SHOULD HAVE A PEN, A PENCIL, A RUBBER, A RULER, A CALCULATOR AND A PROTRACTOR. What! I don’t have a protractor. Hell, I don’t even know what one is, she panicked.

   Calm down, she told herself. Everything was fine. She didn’t even need a flipping protractor, she could pass the whole exam without anything but a pen. But she’d better get a protractor and be seen using it or people might get suspicious. She stuck her hand up.

   After an agonizing wait of precious exam time Miss Sims, her own Maths teacher, came over.

   “Yes, Alice?” she whispered.

   “I don’t have a protractor,” Alice whispered back.

   “Oh dear. How come so many of you have come without a protractor! I’m sure I made it perfectly clear in the lesson.” Alice raised her eyebrows in lack of concern. “Okay, I’ll go and see if we have any left at the front,” Miss Sims sighed.

   “Thanks,” Alice called softly as Mrs. Sims trotted off down the aisle.

   She waited patiently as Miss Sims took an age to walk all the way to the front of the hall. She glanced around the hall to pass the time while she waited. Jenny, a girl in her class who she didn’t exactly get on with, was seated on the table next to her. She shot Alice a dirty look and Alice pulled a face back.

   Silly cow. I wonder what she’s thinking about, she thought. But she was more concerned by Miss Sims who was rummaging through boxes at the front of the hall. After a while her teacher turned to Mr. Hughes, another Maths teacher, and chatted for a bit. Alice frowned in annoyance. What about my protractor! Then Mr. Hughes hurried out of the room and Miss Sims came trotting back up the aisle.

   “There aren’t any protractors left at the front. Mr. Hughes has gone to see if there are anymore in the Maths rooms. I suggest you carry on with the other questions until he comes back,” Miss Sims smiled passively.

   Alice sighed dramatically and made a great show of opening her paper in a strop. Again there was a dirty look from Jenny.

   Alice gave the first question a quick glance and was almost instantly bored. I can’t do this. All this pressure and stress. It’s not right, she thought. Now was the time. She put her pen down, sat up straight with both feet flat on the floor and closed her eyes. She took a few deep breaths and imagined a blackboard to clear her mind. It took her a good few minutes but she succeeded fairly easily. She was just about to start when her aura was suddenly disrupted. She opened an eye to see Mr. Hughes standing beside her, panting slightly.

   “That was quick!” she said to him as he passed her the much sought-after protractor. The Maths rooms were a good three floors up and Mr. Hughes was no PE teacher so she thanked him dearly for his efforts, even though he had ruined her concentration. She looked briefly at the thin blue piece of apparatus that was apparently so ‘essential’ to the test, then threw it to one side.

   Again she placed her feet flat on the ground again and closed her eyes. Again she imagined the blackboard and the clearing of her thoughts was quicker this time. She began to stretch out her mind, slowly creeping across the hall and all at once her brain was filled with the most atrocious noise. She shrugged the sensation off and began to filter through the noises until slowly they became clear distinct voices...

   “God! Why won’t my calculator work? Don’t panic, just don’t panic!” said one.

   “I know this! It was in class last week,” said another.

   “Some one kill me now! I am so utterly going to fail,” wailed another.

   “25 plus 3, then divided by 7 equals 4. Excellent, that’s the answer to question one done,” said a calmer voice.

   Alice opened her eyes and smiled a broad grin. She confidently took up her pen and wrote the number 4 by the first question. Now the next one, she thought. She closed her eyes again and this time she was straight into the ebb of voices.

   “No, No! That’s not right either. Why can’t I get the answer?” wept a voice.

   “Okay, okay, I just gotta divide that now. No, wait, maybe I need to subtract first,” said a thoroughly confused voice.

   “God! What is Alice doing with her eyes shut! She is such a freak!” said a catty voice.

   Alice flashed her eyes open and shot a stare at Jenny, undoubtedly the owner of the last voice.

   “Gees!” thought Jenny. “It was almost as if she was reading my mind.”

   Alice smiled at her and then picked up her Winnie-the-pooh pen and pretended to think by tapping it on her teeth. This was fantastic, Alice thought. If I’d known it would be this much fun I’d have used this spell months ago!

   She sent out her mind again and this time she didn’t even need to close her eyes, it was so easy! She filtered through the voices quickly, looking for keywords connected with question two.

   “There, 45, the answer to question 2. Phew that was a tough one,” came a voice.

   Alice picked up her pen and happily wrote the answer down. She realized that the answer might be wrong but she wasn’t looking for an A grade. Just a pass. Her Dad would never forgive her if she failed such a basic subject as Maths. A subject like Art was fine to fail according to him. ‘What use was Art anyway?’ her Dad would say. Well, Dad, it’ll be pretty useful when I’m studying it at college, she thought.

   Her Dad thought she was going to stay on at school, but she had enrolled at the local art college and was going to do sculpture. She already knew her grade for Art. Mr. Willis, her art teacher, had said that her work was worth a A* even if they burned half of it and trod all over the rest. He was a nice man, Mr. Willis, she liked him a lot.

   The trouble was that she spent all of her time on her art. During other lessons she’d doodle in her notepad, or stare out of the window wondering which colours to mix to match the exact shade of green on the leaves. Maths was the worst because it used the wrong side of her brain, the side for logic. There was no logic in Art. Only passion and expression. She just needed a bit of help to get through this Maths exam, that was all. Which reminded her, what was the answer to question 3?

   “Is Tracy Walters not wearing a bra?” came a drooling male voice.

   Alice shook her head. Yuk! there were some thoughts she didn’t want to know. She wasn’t prying she told herself, she was just listening into peoples’ verbal thoughts, not hunting for gossip or anything. Neither was she stealing because people still had the answer after she took it, she was merely borrowing it. It wasn’t as if the answers were secret or anything, half the people here knew them already. It was only polite to share.

   “Finally, that looks right. 567 for question 3,” came a voice.

   Alice obligingly wrote down the answer.

   “Look at him! He’s is sooooooo gorgeous!” floated a new voice into Alice’s head. Really? Who? she wondered tuning intently into the voice.

   “He looks so handsome sitting there with his brow all knotted, deep in thought. I wonder what he’s thinking about? Maybe he’s thinking about me?” mused the voice with a romantic sigh.

   Okay, let’s see if he is thinking about you, smiled an inquisitive Alice as she searched for the boy’s mind.

   “Jesus! There she goes again. Stop staring at me!” came the boy’s voice “Even if you had tits the size of melons I would never touch you in a thousand years, so stop staring at me.” Alice shied away, his thoughts were horrid.

   Then she suddenly had a thought. There was this one boy, Todd, who had been looking at her a lot recently, she’d caught his eye a few times and held it. He was actually kinda cute. Maybe she could sneak a peak into his mind and find out what he really thought of her? Wait. Maybe she shouldn’t. She only did the spell to help her pass the exam. Oh, to Hell with it, she thought. She mentally searched the area she knew Todd was sitting in and caught him singing.

   “Scooby dooby doo, where are you? We’re gonna have some fun to night.”

   She laughed. He’s singing the Scooby doo theme song!

   He stopped singing. “Gotta concentrate on this damned paper. God, I hate this crap. Someone save me. What is the answer to question 3?”

   Alice felt sorry for him and attempted to send him the answer she had, the number 567 but all she could hear was, ‘Scooby dooby doo...’ so she figured it had failed.

   Anyway she should be getting on with her own paper. She was a little unsure how long the spell would last, it would be terrible if it stopped working half way through so she searched out the next ten questions quickly and easily and got bored waiting for someone to answer number 14.

   God, these people were so dumb. If they only knew the power she was wielding over them right now they would be astounded. Most of them didn’t even believe in witches let alone understand how powerful they could be. Alice loved being a witch. It made her feel special and clever, but it wasn’t just that, she believed in all the theory too. How the Goddess is the real power on earth and how everything on Earth is connected. If you cut down all the trees then there won’t be enough clean air for everyone to breath etc. Mankind was cruel, stupid and selfish, definitely selfish.

   She would never do anything that benefited her without considering the consequences first. Take this for instance, her mind reading spell, she had thought through all the consequences and failed to see any bad outcomes for her or anyone else. It was a perfect spell.

   “8,934,” came a voice out of the blue. Ah, the answer to question 14, she thought, writing it down.

   She cast her mind out again while question 15 was being worked out for her. Most peoples’ minds were pretty blank. Some were just a tangled mess of mathematical formulae. Some were busy working away and a fair few were singing to themselves. A boy near the front was thinking about his holiday to Spain next week and kept imagining bikini clad women offering him surfing lessons, at which he was an instant expert of course. Alice quite liked his daydream. She sat at the edge with her toes in the sand, basking in the sunshine.

   It was while on holiday that she had become a witch, last year. She had gone to America for a month to visit her aunt who had married some Bigwig. They lived in a big house in Jackson, Mississippi and had a daughter called Jade.

   Alice was sleeping in Jade’s room and one day while Jade was in the bathroom, she had uncovered a tattered suitcase with books and candles and stuff in it, hidden under the bed. Jade had come back in drying her hair on a towel, saying something about expensive shampoo when she caught sight of Alice, wide eyed, with all her witchy things. Jade had practically screamed and thrown herself at Alice. Which had of course resulted in her entire family running in to see what had happened. Jade had just managed to push everything back under the bed when they entered the room. She’d laughed off her scream saying it was normal teenage behaviour and she and Alice were just having a laugh.

   Alice had pleaded with her for a full week to tell her what all the stuff was. Finally Jade told Alice that Witchcraft was a religion, based around the power of nature. That she worshipped a Goddess as well as a God and that the sexes were equal. She had an altar where you prayed to the Goddess and God and offered gifts of food and drink. Alice had quizzed Jade about being in league with the devil, drinking blood and making sacrifices, but Jade had said that the devil was a ‘Judeo-Christian’ concept and she didn’t believe in such a thing, drinking blood was a vicious lie although she did drink red wine, and the only thing she sacrificed was her time and energy in making the world a better place.

   A lot of what she had to say struck a chord with Alice and Jade gave her a book to take home and study. It was filled with the most fascinating stuff, how paganism was the oldest religion in the world and how there are eight celebrations, or ‘Sabbaths’ a year for witches, with Halloween being the biggest, but of course the biggest lore were the spells; the power to exercise one’s will in the world.

   “34 degrees,” came a voice. Alice idly wrote the answer down. This exam was actually quite relaxing, she didn’t know what all the fuss was about. The spell seemed to be working brilliantly. She had done a few spells before of course. One was to help her get a job which kind of worked but it didn’t last very long because she’d got sacked after being late three times. She’d also done a spell to make a boy fancy her but it didn’t work, something about not changing the freewill of another person or something.

   She must remember to thank the man from the magic shop later today. He had recommended the book with the spell in it. It was a special old book that was part of his personal library. You paid Ł15 and then you were permitted to visit his library whenever you wanted and read the books although you weren’t allowed to take them away. She had asked if he had any memory spells to help her remember her revision notes and he had taken her upstairs and pulled down an old ‘Book of shadows’ by a long dead witch. He said the witch was obsessed with the mind and memory and stuff so she was sure to find a really good memory spell in there. She didn’t think he meant for her to find such a powerful spell as mind reading, but she had paid her Ł15 so she figured she was entitled to it.

   “A right angled triangle,” came the next answer. Alice dutifully wrote it down.

   She sat back and surveyed the room of gloomy faces. She was getting quite bored now, how much longer would it take? She looked at the teachers standing near the front looking equally bored.

   “How much longer?” whined a voice from the front.

   “My hand aches,” moaned another.

   “God, I hope Lewis doesn’t need to visit the bathroom again,” sighed a teacher as he responded to a boy’s raised hand.

   Alice smiled. It was good that the teachers suffered during exams too. It was only fair. Suddenly a new voice broke through.

   “I must stop looking at him,” Alice’s ears picked up. It was a adults voice. “I hope he’s doing okay. Don’t look at me, silly boy! I love that smile. Stop it, get on with your paper.”

   Alice stared wide-eyed at the teacher who’s thoughts she was reading, a Miss Rousseau, the new French teacher, very young and very pretty. Alice quickly searched the rows directly in front of the teacher for the boy she was talking about.

   “I can see the outline of her bra and I know exactly what’s under there...”

   Alice broke quickly away. Oh my God! Daniel Patterson was having it off with Miss Rousseau! That’s like, illegal! Curiosity got the better of her and she returned to Miss Rousseau’s thoughts.

   “I can’t wait to get hold of him later. He’s going to love the strawberries I’ve picked for him. Maybe I’ll get some whipped cream and we can put them on...”

   Alice blushed, turning her attention back to Daniel but his thoughts certainty weren’t any less rude. Good grief, men were disgusting! I much prefer Miss Rousseau’s thoughts, she thought.

   Alice was just pushing her mind back out to Miss Rousseau when a hand landed with a heavy thump on her shoulder, jarring her out of her trance. It was Mr. Johnson.

   “Miss Golding, collect your things and come with me.” Alice stared upwards in disbelief. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he said hovering over her like a giant bird of prey.

   “But, but I haven’t finished my paper,” Alice stammered in confusion.

   “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

   He was normally such a nice and friendly teacher yet all Alice wanted to do was cry because he was being so threatening. She began to collect her things. Her flustered mind raced out around the room catching bits of thoughts.

   “What’s up over there...”

   “What’s going on, I’m trying to concentrate...”

   “Has someone puked...”

   “Bet Lewis has wet himself, again...”

   Mr. Johnson grimly led her out of the hall with everyone watching. She clutched at her bag and coat for security. The double doors swung closed behind her, shutting her out of the exam forever. Mr. Johnson began marching her down the corridor.

   “I don’t understand,” squeaked Alice.

   “I caught you! You silly little girl,” he frowned.

   ‘Caught me!’ Alice thought in panic.

   “No one cheats in my exams,” he stated authoritatively.

   “Cheats!” Alice said out loud. Could Mr. Johnson read minds? Was he a witch too? Had he caught Alice reading other peoples’ minds?’

   “Yes, Miss Golding, you were cheating. You were copying from Emily’s paper, from right in front of you, and not being too clever about it either.”

   “No, no, I wasn’t. I swear,” Alice almost cried.

   Mr. Johnson stopped just outside the headmaster’s office. “Don’t lie to me. I could see both yours and Emily’s papers. You both had exactly the same answers to all the questions but you had no workings out on your paper, your calculator wasn’t even switched on and to top it all when I put my hand on your shoulder you were staring right at her paper, so don’t tell me you weren’t cheating.”

   “No! I was just concentrating,” Alice wailed, which was true, she had been concentrating, on reading Miss Rousseau’s mind.

   “Well, once the exam is finished we can collect Emily’s paper and compare the answers, can’t we. Now you sit here outside headmaster’s office while I go in and tell him that he has a cheat in his school.”

   Alice sank into a chair. Mr. Johnson was right she had been cheating, but not like he thought. She must have latched onto Emily’s mind for all of the answers accidentally. She had meant to take answers from all different people around the room but it must have been too easy to read the answers of the mind in front of her. It was obvious now because she had been waiting for the answers one by one, when clearly different people around the room would be on different questions at different times. Why hadn’t she scribbled some fake sums down to make it look like she had worked it out herself? God, she was so stupid she hadn’t even switched her calculator on.

   Then she remembered. How could she have been so dumb! What had Jade banged on about all the time, the most important thing about being a witch. The wiccan creed, the law of threefold. Whatever you do will be done back to you three times more. She had done a bad thing after all, if she admitted it, and now it was returning to her three times as bad. How could she have been so stupid, so irresponsible, so selfish?

   Dad was gonna kill her.

Back to the short stories list

Connections

        The densely smoke filled room would make even the strongest eyes water but he dared not blink. Blinking was a sign of weakness. The atmosphere was so solid every lungful felt like swallowing a brick. The pressure had produced beads of sweat on them all, bar one. He stared at her calm demeanour. She sat, crossed legged with a goblet of red wine, the throbbing vein in her throat the only sign of the intense heat; together with her tight scarlet dress, shinning through the blue grey smoke like a beacon on a stormy coast, she was a lethal mixture. It was getting harder and harder to keep his mind focused.

        Time was ticking by. How many more hours till one of them folded? He wouldn’t be the first, would he? His bets were on baldy, he’d begun dabbing his forehead five minutes in and now his handkerchief was so sodden he had stopped bothering, he was even developing a sickly green colour about him. To his right, the ‘Professor’, if that was what he really was, coughed and raised his glass to his thin lying lips. Cunning, he thought, cunning, I was nearly on to something but the thought had gone now, lost to oblivion. He eyed the surrounding faces slowly, each one seemly engaged elsewhere but all secretly wishing him to make a fatal error. He would rather die than give them the satisfaction. He knew something they didn’t. He needed just one more piece of information and he’d have it. He’d have everything.

        The lady uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again. She was fidgeting, nervous perhaps? Was she worried he was getting too close to the truth? She should be. He was so close he could smell its foul stench. He was probably the only truly moral person around the table. They all looked guilty, maybe not for this crime but certainly they all had that haunted ‘I’ve been bad’ look about them. Even the thin guy who kept bringing them drinks, but he wouldn’t play ball. Everyone had insisted at first but this guy had the power to push buttons and no one was gonna mess with him.

        The ‘Professor’ spoke. He didn’t listen. The old man, flushed purple with drink, had spouted nothing but questions since his arrival. It was really annoying how he would make a suggestion, converse in secrecy with another, and then nod knowingly at the answer like it made perfect sense. Thinking about it, they’d all made suggestions at one point or another, and seemed satisfied with their answers. Where was he going wrong? No, wait, he wasn’t going wrong, they were just bluffing. It might not be obvious to most, hell, even he had almost missed it, but not now, he knew what was going on.

        A fresh drink appeared at his elbow, courtesy of the thin guy. The ice glistened merrily in the swirling brown liquid. Come to think of it, maybe the thin guy was in on it! Yes, that was it; they were all in on it together. She’d been placed immediately in front of him to direct his gaze away from the table top, Baldy was there to reduce his working space with his various sodden hankies, the ‘Professor’ was there to ask those infernal questions to distract his highly-tuned mind from the task at hand, and the thin guy, yes, the guy who hovered about constantly, topping up his drink as soon as he took a sip, was plying him with something. It was all clear now, if only he had seen it earlier, he wouldn’t have drunken so much; but it was so damned hot, his throat burned constantly for moisture. He must focus, ignore the pheromones the human lighthouse gave off, the lack of space Baldy gave him and the ‘Who wants to be a millionaire’ level questions the ‘Professor’ asked. Ignore them and concentrate. Concentrate. He could do it. Just got to block it all out. See only the things that were important, the clues he had painstakingly gathered, the rational deductions he had made and knot them together in a logical net that would catch the killer. Wait a minute! There it was, the answer staring him right in the face. He had them now, he had them all.

        “It was Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick,” he roared with triumph.

        “Oh for Gods sake, Brian, you’ve got Colonel Mustard right in front of you.” sighed Denise.

Back to the short stories list

The Injection

        “I feel sick,” Paul complained.

        “No, you don’t,” sighed Miss Jones.

        “I do. My stomach is all gurgly and I think I might throw up.” He demonstrated how this might look and sound.

        “Stop it!” his teacher commanded. “You are unnerving everyone else in the queue.”

        “But what’s going to happen to us?” he wailed.

        “It’s going to be alright, honesty,” she soothed. “The nurse will just roll up your sleeve and dap a little bit of...”

        He interrupted her... “wire like wool that’ll tear along my naked flesh. Then they’ll bring out the needle! A huge metal spike that they’ll stab into my delicate skin and piece my veins, injecting their foul diseases...”

        “Next!” called the nurse’s voice which silenced him and he hestiated.

        “Ben?” asked George as he watched Paul being forcefully pushed into the nurse’s room.

        “Yes, George,” replied Ben from behind him in the queue.

        “I’m scared, Ben.”

        “I know, George.”

        “What will they do to me, Ben?”

        “Don’t know, George.”

        “Will it hurt, Ben?”

        “Really don’t know, George.”

        “Are you worried, Ben?”

        “Not at all, George.”

        “You’re a tower of strength to me, Ben.”

        “I know, George. Tell you what I’ll go in front of you shall I?”

        “That’s very kind of you Ben,” George smiled.

        “Not at all, George. What are friends for.”

        “In you go then,” said Miss Jones.

        “Bye bye, George,” said Ben as he wandered calmly into the room.

        “Bye bye, Ben,” waved George.

        “Are you alright, George?” asked Amber from behind him.

        “Yes, fine thanks, Amber,” he replied.

        “I don’t think he is fine,” Amber said turning to Jenny.

        “Nor me,” nodded Jenny. “Definetly not fine. He looks kinda pale and his hair is standing on end. No, he doesn’t look alright to me. Not at all.” She took a deep, nervous breath.

        “You’re nervous,” stated Amber.

        “Does it show?” Jenny asked a bit worried.

        “I’m nervous too,” said a voice behind them in the line.

        “Great. Who cares about you? Go away, Rose,” said Amber, turning up her nose.

        “Yes, leave us alone, we don’t want to talk to you, we’re too nervous and we don’t want to talk to you, so just go away,” mumbled Jenny.

        “Yes, it does,” Amber said to her.

        “What does?” she replied confused.

        “Show,” Amber smiled and waved goodbye as she entered the nurse’s room leaving Jenny wimpering and next in line.

        “Hello,” said Rose turning to Sam behind her.

        “Aren’t you scared, Rose?” he asked. “Do you realise that they are injecting you with the very same disease they don’t want you to catch?”

        “Well, I wasn’t until you told me that!” she said paling.

        “Do you think she’s cute?” Chris wondered outloud from behind Sam as he continued to explain to a wide-eyed Rose the exact science behind vacinations.

        “Who?” asked Dominic from behind him.

        “The nurse of course," Chris replied. "I bet she’s really cute, just out of nurse’s college all ready for a handsome young man like myself.”

        “I bet she’s really old and wrinkled - which means you might be in with a chance,” he laughed.

        Chris preceeded to stick him in a head lock until Miss Jones had to come down the line and prize them apart. She’d just got back to the head of the queue when Chris slipped past her.

        “Chris!” she hollered. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

        “I’m, erm, just having a look,” he said peeking into the nurse’s room.

        “Oh, no, you’re not!” she replied. “You can just get back into line. It’s nearly your turn anyway.”

        “I’m not having a male nurse!” he suddenly wailed staring into the room. “He’ll expect us to be tough! He’ll be really horrid to us like the P.E. teachers!”

        “That’s the new caretaker,” Miss Jones sighed as a man in blue overalls came out carrying a bucket. “George was sick,” she added ushering him back into line.

        “Have you seen the nurse, Miss? What does she look like?” he asked excitedly.

        “Well, she reminds me of your sister,” his teacher replied thoughtfully.

        “Oh, ugly then,” he sighed disappointed.

        “I remember when I was little and I fell off my bike,” Sonia began from behind him. “And I had to have three stitches. It won’t hurt more than that will it?”

        Polly raised her head from her book. “Probably. They don’t give you anaestic for injections.”

        “Okay, what about the time I fell out of a tree and broke my arm. Will it hurt more than that?” she asked.

        “I don’t know about the falling, but the hitting of the ground was probably more painful,” Polly answered then returned to her book.

        “How you can read at a time like this!” she wailed hysterically.

        “It takes my mind of it,” Polly replied calmly.

        “If she even touches me,” Tammy snarled from near the back of the line, “I’ll give her a left and a right.” She puched the air and danced on the balls of her feet.

        “Quit with the jumping about already,” moaned Laura. “I’m trying to fix my make-up here and this eyeshadow isn’t cheap. What do you think, Jasmin?” she asked turning to a girl behind her. “Would my green or blue top go better with it for my date tonight?”

        “Maybe the green,” Jasmin almost whispered.

        “Thanks,” Laura smiled then pulled Abigail to her. “Jasmin’s quiet isn’t she?” she whispered to her.

        “Nervous I guess,” shrugged Abigail chewing her nails.

        “Stop that,” snapped Laura pulling Abigail’s hand away from her mouth. “Sam won’t like you if you’ve got all chewed up fingers.”

        “You’re right,” she sighed and began to twist her hair instead.

        “Now you’ll just get split ends,” sighed an exasperated Laura.

        “But there’s only three of us left!” Abigail wailed as Tammy was lead away punching the air.

        “Two,” corrected Laura as Jamine fainted and fell to the floor. Miss Jones rushed over and lead her away.

        “Two left. Two left,” Abigail began to pace. “Who’s next? You or me?

        “Well, I think you’d better go next otherwise you’re likely to bolt,” Laura laughed.

        “Next!” called the nurse.

        “Okay. See you on the other side,” Abigail nodded before disappearing.

        And then Laura was all on her own. She stretched a bit and took a look at the posters on the walls. One was of a first aid box, very colourful and cheery. One object stood out however, a shiny syringe. She shuddered and moved on. The next poster was for the school textiles club, it had a sewing machine, material and a large needle on it. She frowned and turned her attention away to the next poster. ‘Don’t take drugs’ it said. ‘Injecting yourself with...” Strike three, she thought, I’m outer here!

        “Last one?” said a voice.

        Laura turned to see the nurse standing in the doorway just as Miss Jones was returning from the other direction. With her escape route cut off she swallowed deeply and allowed herself to be taken in. I mean, how bad could it be?

Back to the short stories list

A Friend Indeed

        Ellie looked up at him with sad eyes.

        "You make it sound so easy," she smiled shyly then turned away.

        "It is," Chris replied confidently. "You just have to tell him what you told me. That he is a rotten, self-centred, vain, giant walking ego."

        "But, it's just not that simple," she sighed. "I..."

        "You what?" he challenged.

        She frowned at him. "It used to be so different. He used to be so good. We used to be so good. Everyone said we were the perfect couple."

        "Things change. You're not married to him you know," he smiled encouragingly. "Look I've gotta go to my lesson. Catch you later?"

        She nodded and gave a weak smile as he left.

        She felt rotten dragging Chris into this. He was her best friend but didn't really know it. Men never really understand things like proper friendships. A male friendship consisted of dangerous dares, sharing jokes and talking cars, whereas female friendships were more supportive than fun. You had friends so you could talk about stuff and not worry so much, but this changes as you get older.

        She had to come to terms with the fact that when you're younger you have girlfriends to play with and share secrets with but as you get older and boys come on to the scene, this changes. When you get a boyfriend he becomes your best friend and you do everything together, homework, walking to school, going to the cinema and your friends accept this because that's what happens. Then in a couple of days, or weeks if it was a really strong relationship, you would break up and go running back to your friends. Who would welcome you back even though you had deserted them. But as you get older it becomes much more complicated. Relationships last longer and get more indepth. The friends aren't always there to return to, and then what?

        "Best friends don't really exist anymore," she sighed to no one inparticular. "Only boyfriends."

        It was like her mother had always said, it is more important that your husband is your best friend than some live-in lover. Ellie used to think that this was just her mum's excuse for marrying someone as ugly as her dad but she was starting to understand.

        Anyway, regardless of all this, the problem still remained. Alex was different. He no longer reached for her hand or kissed her playfully or even barely spoke to her anymore. Good old Alex, every girls dream boyfriend, her dream boyfriend for the last three months, two weeks and five days. But now he had turned into a nightmare boyfriend. It was like mental cruelty what he was putting her through. If she didn't end it soon he probably would anyway.

        But she was scared to dump him. What would happened to her. She'd be alone, without any friends, no one to go out with, no one to phone up constantly and chat for hours with, no one to think about, no one to dream about. This wasn't quite true of course, she still had some friends, she just didn't know them very well anymore. Whatever happens she would leave Alex. She had to. It would hurt but it was already hurting here and now, something had to change.

        The next time she saw Chris she was single. He had praised her for it and she had smiled in reply, a painful smile. She looked at Chris and beneath the jolly student front she thought she caught a glimpse of the same loneliness inside him as she felt, a depth to his dark eyes she had not noticed before, but now understood completely. Neither boy or girl, man or woman, could feel whole without having a partner in life. What could a friend offer? Support, warmth, fun, someone to talk to. What can a boy/girlfriend offer? All of this and more, a deep physical bond that fuels your soul, and that is why a friend will always come second best.

        "Hey, you fancy coming to the cinema tonight? My treat," Chris asked lightly.

        "Your treat, hmm?" Ellie laughed. "How could I resist."

Back to the short stories list

The Watch

        Arthur sat grumpily at the finely laid dinner table. He hated it here. Having his nose rubbed in it like this. Colin was talking animated about something funny that had happened at work while his wife, Polly, and son, Michael, listened attentively, gasping and laughing at all the appropriate points. Arthur managed a few weak smiles but he wasn’t really listening.

        After dinner he and Colin remained at the table while Polly and Michael went off to play board games.

        “You all right?” asked Colin, sipping his expensive red wine.

        “You know me, all that rich food plays havoc with my digestive system,” he shrugged, forcing a smile.

        “Come on, I know it’s more that that. I’m your brother,” Colin smiled affectionately.

        “Nothing really,” Arthur reassured him. “Just tax time at the shop. All those sums make me a bit withdraw and unsociable I guess.”

        “How is the shop going?” Colin asked

        Arthur hated this question and Colin always asked. The shop sold antiques down on Union Street. It did crap, always had, but he was never going to admit this to his well-to-do, city slicking brother who was rolling in it with his perfect family and his perfectly big house. He was saved from answering, however, by a ringing sound.

        “Sorry Bro, gotta get that, it’s the work phone,” Colin apologised and disappeared into another room, leaving Arthur stranded at the table with half an empty glass of wine held loosely in his hand. He looked sadly through into the next room at the happy family scene in their large sitting room, with it’s expensive decorations and fancy TV.

        “Come and join us, Arthur. We’re playing Trivial Pursuit,” Polly called out to him.

        “Yes, Uncle Arthur, you could be on my side,” added Michael. “I bet you know lots of stuff.”

        “Maybe, but it’s unlikely to be the sort of stuff they’d ask you in that,” Arthur remarked getting up from the table. “I might just have to pop upstairs for a bit first,” he added patting his large, round stomach.

        Michael giggled and Polly blushed slightly. “You know where it is,” she called.

        He grabbed hold of the banister and hauled himself up the highly polished staircase to the bathroom upstairs. He wasn’t exactly the fittest bloke in the world and at forty-five it should probably worry him, but to be honest he didn’t give a damn one way or the other. If death was stalking him a few decades early, the sooner the better as far as he was concerned.

        About ten minutes later he stumbled back out of the bathroom, leaving the glare of the golden taps and shiny ceramic perfection behind, and headed back towards the stairs. He could still hear Colin on the phone and Polly and Michael playing games downstairs. He paused. Maybe he’d have a little look around, see if they had anything new, then he could really rub in how much money they had and he didn’t.

        He noted a nice new painting in the spare room but it was a knock off and he wondered if they knew. There was the most atrocious door stop in the shape of a dog that he hadn’t seen before. Iron, late Victorian, not worth much. He wandered quietly into the main bedroom with it’s big windows and four poster bed draped in red pleasure. He snorted with distaste and looked around. A pretty, chinese-silk covered trinket box caught his eye. Polly’s jewellery box. Normally something good in there to look at.

        Arthur lifted the lid slowly as he knew it squeaked and surveyed the contents. Sadly nothing knew, just the usual priceless gems that were normally there. He poked his finger in and swirled it around in the sea of wealth. Surprisingly his finger brushed velvet and curiosity made him pull out a heavy, dark blue pouch. Haven’t seen you before, he thought. He settled his weight into a very nice Victorian reproduction chair and poured the contents into his eager palm but his expectant face fell into deep despair as realisation hit him.

        It was a old pocket watch. Twenty-four carat gold and highly polished. It’s surface reflected a sad and tired old man as he stared at it and his eyes began to sting with tears but instead of crying he glared at it with immense hatred. He clutched it to his chest and let out a few controlled breaths.

        “Bastard,” he moaned.

        He turned the watch over in his sweaty hands and studied it for the first time in years. He flipped it back over and popped it open. A perfectly polished white enameled face shone back at him with matt black Arabic numbers running around the edge, close to a rare signature by the makers ‘Patek, Philippe Cie’. He wound it up methodically and watched for a while as it kept time perfectly.

        It had belonged to his father. He had worn it all the time. He died a couple of years ago. Losing his wife, Arthur’s mother, to cancer, watching her die slowly, had made him a very angry and bitter man. He had taken his anger out on everyone, but especially Arthur, the black sheep of the family. After his funeral the wake had reflected this in every way. The atmosphere was so intense it was like his father was still there, mocking them all.

        The watch was relatively famous in the family. It had been given to his grandfather in the late 19th century by a rich Lord. Grandfather had passed it down to father and father had chosen to skip Arthur, the eldest son, and leave it to his other son, Colin. His brother had always been the favourite and now Colin even got what was rightfully his. He was the eldest son. He was supposed to have the watch.

        Now the precious watch just sat in a woman’s jewellery box where no one could see it’s beauty. If Arthur had had the watch he’d wear it properly, all the time, showing it off. He threw it back into the velvet pouch and stood up to slam it back into the ornate box. Then for a split second everything froze, it went almost black and white and then fuzzy. An immense feeling of desire came over him and he was struck by a thought.

        ‘I could take it. Colin wouldn’t know. He obviously doesn’t care for it. I couldn’t wear it of course, not now, but I could sell it. Watch like this would be worth two thousand pounds easy. Clear some of my debts.’

        ‘No, don’t be stupid,’ came a calmer, cooler voice from inside his head. ‘That’s stealing. Worse than stealing, they’re family.’

        ‘Some family!’ the other voice snapped back. ‘With their stinking riches and two shiny cars! Making you come around here every month, shoving your nose in it.’

        “Sod it,” Arthur said out loud and ran out of the room, hurling himself down the stairs. Grabbing his coat from the rack he plunged the watch deep into the musty pockets.

        “Thanks for dinner, Polly,” he called out quickly. “I feel quite tired now so I’m gonna head off. No need to get up. Thanks again.” He’d just opened the front door to freedom when Colin appeared, still on the phone.

        “Where are you going?” he asked, putting his hand over the receiver.

        Arthur swung round, his fingers curling protectively around the golden lump in his pocket. “No where,” he answered guiltily, then added more calmly. “Well, I mean home of course.”

        “So early?” asked Colin, disappointment showing in his voice.

        “Yeah, well, I’m tired. Tax and stuff. See you next month,” he shrugged and then bolted right out the front door into the wind and rain, fiddling madly with his car keys until he was suddenly home, sitting in his own front room, surrounded by musty books and empty Chinese take-away boxes looking intently at the watch his father had stolen from him which he had now stolen back again. “It’s mine,” he smiled. “All mine.”

        The next morning was the best morning Arthur had had in a long while. He opened up early and looked around his shop, smiling at his achievement. It may only be a small shop, that didn’t do to well, but it was his and today he had something special to sell. The watch had been cleaned and polished, even though it hadn’t needed it and now Arthur set it in pride of place in the window for all to see that he was it’s owner and for a modest sum, of say Ł850, you could claim it as your own. Of course it was worth much more than that, easily twice as much, but he didn’t exactly attract that kind of clientele in his neck of the woods. Hell, the watch would still probably be there in five years time, but the important thing was that it was his to sell. He had no worries about Colin seeing it, Colin never came to see him here, too distasteful. It was safe.

        In the middle of the morning a young woman dressed in a pink flowery dress came into the shop. Arthur liked it when pretty young women came in. They liked sparkly things, which cost money.

        “Hello and how may I help you?” Arthur smiled his friendly shop-keeper smile. The girl was all full of joy and she floated around the shop like a butterfly.

        “I’m looking for something special for my fiancee,” she smiled uncontrollably. “He proposed to me just last night. Brought me this ring. It must have cost him a fortune.” She flashed a large white-stoned ring at him and positively beamed. Arthur caught her fairy hand and looked deeply at the stone.

        “Magnificent,” he lied, smiling up at her. Truth was the ring wasn’t worth bus money but he wasn’t about to tell her that, not when she was going to buy something expensive in response to it.

        “For men I have engraved silver flasks and some handsome tankards...” he began waving his arm at the shelves behind him.

        “I saw a watch. In the window.”

        Arthur felt a quick shiver go down his shine.

        “It looks fantastic. I can tell it is very special. Which means it’s probably very expensive.” She paused, “How much is it?”

        Arthur stared at the woman briefly. Could he really sell the watch this quickly? “It is quite expensive,” he answered. “How much do you have?”

        “Well,” she blushed. “I have been saving up since I was seventeen to go to Australia and I’ve got Ł924.23. But I do really love him and I figure he’s worth that much. What’s a trip to Australia compared to a lifetime of love?”

        “I wouldn’t know,” Arthur mumbled absently. He shrugged and looked at her, “You know what, Love, the watch is actually a little more than that but you can have it for Ł924.23.” He almost felt bad about it, taking all of her money, but if she was prepared to pay that much for it, why not? It was worth more.

        “Fantastic,” she cried and Arthur thought she might actually lean over the counter and hug him, but instead she produced a credit card which was much better.

        The watch was wrapped, boxed and handed over, and then the array of colours that was the young woman spun out of the shop and everything was quiet again. Arthur sat down and contemplated his luck. He had beaten his father and made a tidy profit out of it too. The day really couldn’t get any better.

        About fifteen minutes later as Arthur dunked biscuits in his tea the shop was suddenly filled with devastation. The butterfly woman was back but she was no longer a butterfly. She had metamorphosed into a hell cat.

        “My God! What’s happened?” stammered Arthur getting to his feet.

        The girl leaned into the counter, her eyebrows low, her fists clenched tearing into the wood with her long, manicured finger nails.

        “I wonder if it is at all possible to have my money back on the watch.” She spoke slowly and through gritted teeth.

        Arthur felt himself perspire. “Well, you know a sale is a sale and...” he began but the girl interrupted.

        “I think it is only fair to let me have a full refund considering my circumstances.”

        “What circumstances?” he asked nervously.

        Suddenly she spun out into the gloomy shop threatening to crash into the display cases.

        “I caught him with another woman! I waltzed right up to them and was going to introduce myself to his friend when he leaned over and kissed her! Right there in the street, in front of people, in front of me. I saw a ring on her finger, a ring just like mine!” She began to cry. “I want my stupid money back now. You can just take the watch back. I don’t want it.”

        “All right, no problem. I’ll give you your money back,” he relented as he watched her wobble dangerously close to a glass chandelier. He refunded her money and watched as she staggered out of the shop shaking with emotion.

        Arthur looked down sadly at the watch.

        “Well, that was a first,” he sighed placing it back in the window. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

        A few hours later Arthur was chewing his way through a particularly tough tuna baguette when a elderly lady came into the shop. It took her a while to get to the counter, walking with her stick and once there she took a further few minutes to struggle onto the stool . She took a moment to regain her composure and played with her purple felt hat.

        “Good morning, Madam. How might I be of assistance to you today?” Arthur smiled putting his baguette to one side.

        “Oh, I’m looking for a birthday present for my husband. He’s 95 today, you know,” she smiled. Arthur nodded and grinned politely, hoping this wouldn’t last too long. “Now I’m looking for a special present and I saw something in the window.”

        “Oh yes, and what would that be?” he asked innocently.

        “A pocket watch,” the old lady smiled. “Gold one.”

        Arthur froze. Surely not again? Not so quickly?

        “Yes, I know the one you mean,” he almost choked, retrieving the watch from the window for a second time.

        “Oh, it is lovely, isn’t it,” she beamed turning it over in her wood like hands. “How much are you asking?”

        “It is rather expensive I’m afraid, but it is worth a lot more, four times as much,” Arthur lied, putting on his best salesmen act; old ladies were suckers for investment pieces.

        “Oh, spit it out man. I, of all people, haven’t all day,” she smiled.

        “Okay, it’s Ł850,” Arthur replied.

        “Good Grief!” stammered the old lady. “That is a lot of money!”

        “Well, look, I do have some other lovely pieces up here...” Arthur said turning around but the old woman was already rooting in her bag and pulled out a cheque book.

        “Well, it’s like you said, it is worth more, four times as much, and in a couple of years the kids will get it anyway. Stops the government taking their greedy cut when we’re gone, doesn’t it,” she grinned.

        “You’ve made a good choice, Mrs. Neil,” he said reading her name from the cheque guarantee card. “It’s a one of a kind, quite special.”

        He wrapped it up in fancy paper and addressed it to ‘Charles’ for her. The old woman left the shop and he was left with a huge grin on his face. So it wasn’t quite as much as Ł924.23 but it still filled a hole in his bank balance.

        The afternoon was fairly busy and he sold a few pieces to a few people but nothing interesting to note until a smartly dressed, middle aged, black woman came straight up to the counter.

        “Hi,” she spoke slowly and kind of sadly. “I understand you sold a watch to an old lady this afternoon. A Mrs. Neil?”

        “No!” was the first word that came out of Arthur’s mouth. Surely not the watch again! But he recovered quickly. “I mean, yes, of course. But is something wrong?” he asked cautiously, looking around the shop at the few shoppers who had taken an interest in the conversation.

        “I’m her neighbour. She’s asked me if I could ask you for her money back. I have the watch with me right here. It’s in perfect order. Hasn’t even been opened.”

        “I’m terribly sorry but my policy is not to...”

        “These are special circumstances,” the woman said sadly. “I’m afraid Mrs. Neil returned home to find her husband dead.”

        A silence filled the room. Arthur felt the other customers in the shop creep forward in a surge of sympathy.

        “I, erm, well...” Arthur desperately wanted to say, ‘No. She brought it, she can damn well keep the blasted thing,’ but potential customers were watching, waiting for his response. He was beginning to get annoyed with this watch.

        “You understand funerals can be very expensive,” the woman pleaded.

        “Okay, sure. I’ll tear the cheque up,” Arthur said, snatching the watch back off the woman.

        When the shop was finally empty again he settled down to look at the watch. It really was rather bizarre. Two sales whereby the customer paid a very large amount of money without a moments hesitation on something they had just seen in a window. Only for it to come right back in some unfortunate circumstances. Arthur wasn’t a particularly religious man but he was starting to feel a little uneasy. Almost as if the watch wouldn’t leave him, almost like it wasn’t his to sell. A tingle ran down his spine.

        “Ok, fine,” he said out loud, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m sorry. I’ll take it back, as soon as the day is over. Then we can pretend this day never happened.”

        Just then a young man walked into the shop. He smiled at Arthur and strolled over to the counter.

        Arthur smiled back. “Hello. How can I help?”

        “Hi, yes, I’m looking for a special present for my boyfriend,” the man replied.

        Arthur maintained his smile but inside he grimaced. He hated gays. They were always so obvious about it. ‘Oh, look at me! I’m a poof!’

        “Sure,” smiled Arthur. “We have lots of lovely items for men...” he turned around to point at his collection of hip flasks when he was interrupted.

        “Oh! This is perfect. I must have it. How much is it?” the man exclaimed. Arthur didn’t need to turn round, he knew the man was looking straight at the watch.

        “It’s not for sale,” he said flatly.

        “Come now, this is a shop is it not,” the chap smiled, then frowned. “‘Ere, you’re not homophobic are you?”

        Arthur paled. He certainly was, but you don’t tell gays that. Where there’s one, there’s normally a dozen and just because they were poofs didn’t mean they couldn’t throw a mean punch or smash up a shop.

        “Of course not,” he stammered. “It’s just this watch is, erm, reserved for another customer.”

        “I’ll paid double,” the man said. “I must have that watch.”

        “Well, it’s very expensive,” Arthur laughed.

        “Name your price. I can pay anything.”

        “It’s not that...”

        “Ł1000,” the man said.

        Arthur choked. There was certainly something very strange about this watch. It drove people crazy. Even him last night, stealing from his own brother! What had he been thinking?

        “Ł2000,” the man added.

        Two thousand pounds! Just like that. Pure profit. Arthur began to sweat.

        “Okay, okay, Ł3000, and that’s my final...”

        “Done,” Arthur replied then almost recoiled in horror. What had he done? He had just promised God or ‘whoever’ to take the watch straight back to his brother’s house but here he was swiping the man’s credit card and waving him good-bye.

        Arthur sank slowly onto his stool, wiping his forehead. He needed money so badly, was it really so wrong?

        Suddenly Nigel burst into the shop.

        “Oh, hi, Nigel,” Arthur smiled nervously. Nigel was a scary man. He did scary things, like mug people and burgle houses but he also bought in tasty trinkets for Arthur to buy and resell and he never knew their true value. Arthur would pretend to ‘erm and ah’ over a piece for a minute or two then offer a tenth of it’s value. Nigel didn’t care, he nicked it for free. Any amount was profit to him.

        Arthur was about to explain that he’d decided to close early and couldn’t buy anything today when Nigel dropped the watch straight onto the counter. Arthur stared at it. Its shiny surface mottled with liquid red.

        “I need money quick. Got myself caught up some unfortunate circumstances,” Nigel said. “How much?”

        Arthur’s fragile world fell apart.

        “I just sold this,” he stammered. “To a poof. I didn’t want to but...and now you’ve stolen it again! There’s blood on it!” Arthur picked up the watch and clenched it in his fist, shaking it at Nigel. “I stole this, you bastard. It’s my watch. It belongs to me!” he screamed.

        Nigel backed out of the shop totally confused as Arthur began to advance on him, cursing and shouting.

        “Don’t have a cow man!” Nigel shrugged tinkling the bell on his way out.

        Arthur stood there with the watch in his hand, the blood staining his cuff. He wondered how badly hurt the gay man was. Then he ran back to the counter and grabbed his car keys ready to return the watch to his brother’s house. Spinning around he saw the door open and Colin stroll in.

        “Uh! Colin. You don’t normally come....”

        “You thieving bastard!” Colin shouted at him. “After I feed you and offer you my home you steal from me!” Colin advanced slowly, anger throbbing all over him. “And there it is, in your thieving fat hand!” Colin frowned snatching the watch from Arthur. Then his anger suddenly stalled. “It’s got blood on it!” he exclaimed.

        “It’s cursed!” Arthur stammered, wide-eyed.

        “You sick bastard. You think I don’t now what’s going on here? You’ve always been jealous of me and my family but it’s your jealously that’s held you back not me, or Father. You are no longer my brother!” he spat.

        Arthur stuttered, struggling to work out what to say as Colin made for the door. “It really is cursed,” he shouted desperately.

        Colin spun round. “What the hell are you talking about?”

        “It’s true. Funny things have been...Look I took it from you for your protection,” Arthur lied. “To keep you, and Polly and Michael, safe.”

        “You are a sick man, Arthur, get some help.” Colin turned to leave again and Arthur felt the wind flow out of him. What had he done?

        Suddenly the shop window imploded as a white van buried itself in the shop, the display cases shattered and antique furniture spewed splinters into the air. Arthur was thrown back against the wall and crumbled to the floor. He gasped for air and clutched at his left arm, then screamed. Colin lay inches away from him, bent in all the wrong places, blood streaking from his mouth and the watch held tightly in his hand. Arthur put his hand to his mouth to stop himself gagging at the sight of his dead brother.

        “Arthuuuuuurr...” Colin sputtered. Arthur choked back a scream and desperately scrambled forward. Maybe he could still save him after all.

        “No, no, don’t talk. Help will come, help will come.” Arthur glanced at the van’s cabin. A broken crimson windscreen brought little solace about the condition of the driver.

        “The watch...” Colin sputtered again, blood flowing out of his nose. “It’s true.....” Arthur blanched. The watch. The watch did this. It really was cursed! This was all his fault. Colin tried to move his arm.

        “Take it, Arthur...” he barely whispered.

        “No!” shouted Arthur.

        “You must....listen. The watch... in my will... goes to Michael. Take it. Destroy it. Now!”

        Suddenly Arthur was in motion. He struggled to open his shattered drawer and removed his hammer. Placing the watch on the floor he lifted the heavy tool ready to strike. People were crowding about outside and he thought he could hear a police siren. He glanced at Colin. Colin started back at him blankly, his eyes like glass and without life.

        Arthur cried out in anger, ready to drop the raised hammer and destroy the accursed watch but then pain suddenly ran through him. He was startled, dropping the hammer he fell backwards clutching his chest, breathing impossible. The world swirled around him and then there was nothing...

        ...he awoke to blackness. Then a tiny pin-point of light appeared which slowly grew and grew. The picture slowly focused into a lily painted room with a TV and heart monitor. So he hadn’t died after all. He was alive and as soon as he could he was going to get up and smash that watch to pieces once and for all. He was then aware of another presence in the room.

        Michael sat on a chair in front of him. Dressed in black, he had his face down like he was crying. The boy’s attention was firmly focused on an item in his hands and he struggled to see what it was. Arthur suddenly screamed out. Michael was cradling the watch but Arthur’s body refused to respond. It wouldn’t move, it wouldn’t speak, it wouldn’t even grunt. Arthur tried again and again but he couldn’t get his body to move. He stared at Michael intently as the boy stroked the gold casing. ‘Please hear me. Please hear me. Put the watch down,’ Arthur screamed internally. Michael’s face rose and they locked eyes. Maybe Michael had heard him after all? But then a hand fell on Michael’s shoulder belonging to a shadowy old man.

        “You always were a disappointment, Arthur,” it said and then the heart monitor went crazy.

Back to the short stories list

How many 14th century poets does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

   The journey from London to Canterbury takes ninety minutes, which is a lifetime if you’re ten years old. I’d managed to get a seat by myself near the back of the coach and spent the time staring out of the window. It’d rained constantly since the beginning of the month, or so it seemed, and you could really see spring coming through. This meant two things. One, we’d soon be allowed on the field at lunchtimes and two, school trips.

   After a whole winter of being shut up in either under or over-heated classrooms it was time for a well earned break. Of course these trips are meant to be educational but we all know it’s just an excuse for a day off school, even for the teachers. So, today we’re off on our way to Canterbury for a Humanities field trip, with a bit of shopping and a picnic in the park thrown in for good measure.

   We hadn’t been going for long when someone called out my name.

   “Yo! Chaucer,” a strong male voice boomed.

   Being a relatively new boy I hadn’t made many friends yet and was still a little nervous so I stuck my head slowly around the seat.

   At the back of the coach sat a large lad, whom I knew as Robin Miller, it was obviously him who had called and now, from either side of him curious faces stared back at me.

   “I think his name’s Geoff,” a plump girl beside him said. He frowned at her in annoyance and I remembered that the latest fad in school is to call people by their surnames. It won’t last of course, it never does. Last week you had to call people by a vegetable their personality resembled. I got called GM because I was new and untested.

   Miller motioned for me to come and sit with them. Not wanting to cause offence or get my head kicked in - Miller had a somewhat fearsome reputation - I relented and sat in an empty seat.

   I could see now that there was quite a group of them, eight altogether. They took up the entire back seat and one of the two-seaters in front of it, I was sat on the spare one of these. Those not on the back seat were kneeling up, facing backwards so they could chat with the others but I sat sideways, dangling my skinny legs in the aisle, a little unsure of who to look at.

   I knew them all by reputation of course, just not personally. It’s so hard to make new friends. Anyway I shall describe them for you briefly. Ben Knightly’s sat opposite me. I like Ben, he’s pretty cool. He’s one of those people who are great at everything but aren’t big headed about it. He looked after me on my first day at school. He wears the hip kind of clothes that only black people can get away with and his hair is trendy but practical.

   The girl sat beside him is Nicola Nunn. All the teachers love her. She has long flowing locks straight out of a shampoo advert and wears long skirts with flowers embroided on them. She’s really into horses, has her own I believe, and has got really horrid pictures of fluffy puppies all over her pencil case.

   Along the back seat is Francis Fryer. A sociable chap. He’s a school monitor, supposed to tell teachers when you do naughty stuff but I hear if you let him have your pudding at lunch he’ll look the other way. This means he’s rather tubby and wears knackered old, baggy sweatshirts to cover it up. His hair’s a bit greasy too.

   Then there’s Max Merchant. Max is a prat. He is such a show off and completely full of himself. He has thick black, gelled hair and wears all the latest gear, but word is he ain’t paying for it.

   Ruby Bath is the big, plump, loudmouth on the other side of Miller. She is easily the loudest girl I have ever known and she’s always wearing these bright red tights, just to get attention I reckon. She’s really friendly though and good for a laugh.

   Next to her is Patsy Parsons. She’s the complete opposite of Ruby Bath, neither loud, attention seeking or annoying. She’s not anything at all really. She seems to blend into backgrounds and never breaks a rule.

   Then of course there’s Miller. You wouldn’t want to cross him. A boy once told him he had a face like the back end of a bus so Miller punched him and broke his nose. He was right though, Miller is uglier than my gran’s bulldog.

   Last but not least there’s Harry Bailly. Harry’s dad owns a coaching company, Tabard Tours, in Southwark, and it’s one of his coaches we’re travelling on now.

   It was Harry’s, sorry ‘Bailly’s - gotta remember to call people by their surnames if I’m ever gonna get accepted as ‘cool’ around here. It was Bailly’s idea to have a competition. The concept was that we’d each tell a joke and he’d pick the funniest as the winner. The moment I saw Miller’s eyes light up I knew we were all going to have to join in. Which wasn’t exactly a bad idea, it just meant I had to come up with a really cool, really hip, really funky joke, really quickly and I’m not exactly known for my quick wit.

   We drew lots and Knightly got to go first. He seemed pretty confident and came straight out with it.

   “What’s big, green, has six legs, twenty-three balls and would kill you if it fell out of a tree?” he asked grinning.

   We all looked at him expectantly, the excitement building.

   “A snooker table,” he declared triumphantly which produced a spatter of laughter, although not from Miller.

   “Call that a joke!” Miller snapped. Bailly tried to calm him down but Miller just ignored him. “That was not a good joke,” he continued. “‘What’s brown and sticky’ is a good joke.”

   “But everyone knows that one,” frowned Fryer. “It’s a stick.”

   Miller then proceeded to gross us all out by claiming the answer was not in fact a stick but rather poo. Needless to say nobody laughed; but Miller, being Miller, demanded he be allowed to tell another joke instead.

   “What do you call a man with no arms or legs in the sea?” Brief pause. “Bob! Get it? Bob. Cos he’s bobbing up and down.” he beamed eagerly and I have to admit I was grinning, but the girls were outraged. I suppose it could be seen as a little demeaning.

   “My turn next,” shouted Bath, removing the attention away from Miller who was now sulking because no one had laughed at his joke. Bath proceeded to tell us that she’d been in five joke competitions before, three of which she’d won and the other two were badly judged. She had a lot to say about jokes and Fryer had to ask her if she was ever actually going to get around to telling her joke. Which she did, in the end.

   “What do you call a blind deer?” she asked.

   “We don’t know,” we all chorused together. “What do you call a blind deer?”

   “No idea!” Bath laughed then quickly added. “What do you call a blind deer with no legs?”

   I turned to see if Miller would say ‘Bob’ but he was still sulking so I turned back to Bath.

   “Still no idea!” she declared joyfully.

   That cracked us all up and I started to get a little nervous. I was gonna have to come up with really good joke if I was gonna get even close to one that good.

   “I can do better than that!” declared Fryer suddenly. He leant forward, gathering us in and looked really serious for a moment before saying, “Two sausages sizzling in a pan. One says ‘Cor it’s hot in ‘ere’, the other says ‘Flipping ‘eck! A talking sausage!’”

   There was even clapping for Fryer after this joke it was so good. How on Earth was I supposed to think up a joke as good as that! This was getting really difficult and I started to feel uncomfortable.

   Merchant was next and he puffed himself up importantly before starting his joke.

   “Where do fish keep their money?”

   “In a river bank?” suggested Knightly.

   Merchant looked devastated.

   “Don’t worry about it,” shrugged Miller. “It was a naff joke anyway.”

   Merchant look briefly like he might say something back, but he didn’t, which was probably wise.

   There was an awkward silence for a bit then. I looked up and noted there were only two more people before me and I still hadn’t come up with a joke. It was really important that I tell a good one so that everyone would like me but I could only half remember one about jelly babies getting their heads bitten off, and half a joke was no good at all.

   “Well, I suppose it’s my turn now,” said Nunn, breaking the tense silence. She sat upright and took a deep breath, she must have been nervous too. “What’s white, fluffy and swings through the jungle? We waited eagerly. “A meringue-ootang!” she smiled cheerfully and received a round of laugher. Trust Nunn to come up with a cutesy animal joke. It was kinda funny though.

   Now there was only Parson’s left before it was my turn, and I still hadn’t got a joke. I felt a bit better when shy Parson’s had to be coaxed into telling her joke. I thought if she told a real stinker anything I said afterwards would seem really good by comparison.

   “Okay,” she practically whispered, blushing furiously, after finally relenting. “What’s long and thin, covered in skin, red in parts and goes in tarts?”

   There was a gasp, a hush, a stifled giggle as we all exchanged glances. Was shy Parson’s really about to say what we all thought she was going to say!

   “Rhubarb,” she announced suddenly and everyone burst out laughing; well, everyone except me that is. Sure I was grinning but I was way to nervous to laugh properly. It was my turn now and I still hadn’t got a joke! My brain had gone all fuzzy. I couldn’t think straight. I just don’t work very well under pressure! My palms grew sweaty as I waited for them to stop laughing and turn expectantly to me.

   “Your turn, Chaucer,” Miller said cheerfully after finally re-catching his breath.

   “Erm,” I said panicking. “Erm...My dog has no nose. How does he smell? Not very well.”

   There was silence, then I realised I’d messed up the punchline. They were all gonna think I was a complete and utter loser.

   Then Fryer started grinning, Miller began sniggering and soon everyone was rolling around in the aisles with laughter at my joke!

   “Hilarious!” laughed Bailly.

   “Nothing funnier!” spat Knightly. Bath even had tears in her eyes.

   I felt myself grin a little.

   “Well, you know,” I added more confidently. “It’s like I’ve always said, it’s not the joke, it’s the way you tell it.”

Back to the short stories list

Journey

   Once upon a time there was a girl called Bea - that’s me by the way. It’s short for Beatrix, but no potter or rabbit jokes please - and she was a happy carefree girl cycling to a secret rendezvous with Justin, who’s this really cute boy I sit next to in Physics.

   It was secret because everyone knows that Charlotte’s really into him and so no one would even dare look at him, but he thinks she’s a skanky hoe so he wanted to meet me at the park. But I never made it cos I got hit by a bus.

   So I wake up in the hospital and my parents are all cooing over me and stuff and I’m like ‘where’s Justin?’ And my Mum’s like ‘Justin?’ cos she’s heard about Justin and how he’s a bit of a tear-away, which he is, which is why I like him but it’s not like I’m gonna marry him or anything. So to keep the peace I calmly replied I was dreaming about Justin Timberlake.

   Which is when this doctor walks in and I’m like what the hell’s been going on cos the last thing I remember was cycling merrily along O’Neill Street. That’s when they tell me I didn’t stop at the end of the road but sailed into the path of an on-coming bus. Luckily it was just a little shopper-hopper but I wasn’t exactly wearing my helmet. I was concussed and shipped to the hospital. I’m never gonna hear the end of that no helmet thing though, but really it flattens my hair!

   My folks then, who by this time were practically wetting themselves with anticipation because everything was taking sooooooo long, threw themselves at this poor doctor and, in the politest possible way DEMANDED to know what the HELL was going on?

   So this doc takes a deep, meaningful breath before saying he’d received the results of the CAT scan and there appeared to be no permanent damage from the accident.

   Well, Mum could have won gold for the leap in the air she did just then but I had the feeling there was a little bit more to it than that and sure enough the next thing he said was... ‘However, we have discovered something else.’

   And, well, to cut a long story short I have a mixed 'Glioma' in the right side of my 'temporal lobe', or in layman’s terms a brain tumour. Turns out I didn’t stop at the junction because the brain tumour caused me to black out. And when I thought about it I did remember a slight pain in my head and then, quite possibly blacking out.

   When I realised this I smiled with enlightenment which totally foxed the three adults currently staring at me. What? I snapped back irritably. Even when I have a serious disease they are still all ganging up on me!

   So there I was thinking hmmm? Sick notes, no more school for me, but then the doc ruined it all by saying in a grave voice, ‘I'm afraid that because of the positioning of the tumour there is not a lot we can do for you.’

   ‘So, what? It's serious?’ I asked and the smartly dressed doctor turned to me and said “You may only have months to live.”

   'Oh, fucking marvellous,' I replied and for once no one picked me up on my swearing.

Back to the short stories list

First Day

   I knew this was a bad idea. You’d have to be pretty dim to ever think it a good idea - yet my family does. They surround me now. Chattering and laughter as if this is some great family holiday. But there’s only one suitcase in the boot - mine.

   I sit on the back seat with my arms folded, gathering storm clouds, trying to make them feel guilty. Of course I don’t have to go. I could refuse. Scream and shout and stomp my feet. But that would be childish and apparently I’m old enough to know better.

   Too soon the car pulls up at my destination. I scowl out the window at the eccentric grey stone building. I’m not impressed, I’ve seen it before, but the younger ones are all wide-eyed. A rather tall, rather stern looking woman emerges from the grand entrance to welcome us. I should be more mature but instinctively hide behind my family. She seeks me out regardless.

   “You must be Olivia,” she says, voice like caster sugar, all floaty-light and sickening. She’s talking down to me, as if to a child.

   “Call me Libby,” I mumble.

   “Well, Libby. Welcome to St. Mary’s. I hope you’ll like it here.”

   I nod but don’t smile. Too early for smiles.

   She takes us upstairs to what is to be my new room. It’s pleasant enough. A little bare but nothing a few knickknacks wouldn’t solve. I glance across the landing and into the room opposite. Unlike mine it looks well lived it. The rather tall, rather stern looking woman sees me looking and introduces me to Ann, its occupant, who smiles at me. A big smile. A smile filled with secrets and mischief. It’s a smile you can’t help but return. For the first time that day I feel a slight lift.

   My family don’t stay long. Whether they’re bored and just want to leave, or whether they truly believe it when they say, ‘We’d best leave you alone. Let you get settled in,’ I’m not sure. Either way they’ve gone and I’m alone.

   I sit on the edge of my new bed in my new room, with my hands in my lap, chewing my lower lip. What am I going to do here? There are classes of course, and activities. I’ve got a timetable right here. But I don’t want to look. Don't want to admit I’m here to stay.

   “Hi there,” says a voice.

   I turn to see Ann standing my new doorway. She’s dressed to the nines and wafts sweet perfume into my new room.

   “Oh, hi,” I reply. I try to think of something to say. Something clever so she’ll think I’m worth knowing.

   “Nice dress,” I manage.

   She dips her head impatiently. “You want a tour?”

   I nod eagerly.

   “Good. Grab your coat.”

   I wonder why I need my coat to wander around indoors but I’m eager to please and fling it on anyway. I have to rush to keep up with Ann’s confident strides and as we pass various doors and corridors she reels off names and places.

   “Mrs Merton’s Office. Nurse Hally’s room. Canteen. Laundry room. Ms Drake’s office - don’t ever go there.”

   I struggle to take it all in and then suddenly Ann is pushing through double doors marked ‘Emergency Exit Only’ and we’re outside. I gasp at her recklessness but she either doesn’t hear or ignores me.

   It’s late Autumn so everything is really pretty but it’s also getting cold. I’m glad I have my coat.

   “Where are we going now?” I ask.

   “The place to be,” she smiles mysteriously.

   We’re crossing grass, ignoring the footpaths, and heading towards what the signposts call ‘The Lake’. As we get closer I can see a grand white building, like a mausoleum, nestled at the edge of a vast expanse of water. And closer still I see people. Male and female. Nerves flutter. More new people to meet.

   “Hello everybody.” Ann announces our arrival. “This is Libby. She’s new.”

   I blush and people nod, raise a hand or smile. There must be around twenty of them, just sitting back and relaxing. There are benches and people sit and chat or drink or smoke. I shift nervously. This is not my usual scene. Ann takes me by the arm and pulls me over to a bench where two people are already sat.

   “This is Gregory,” she purrs, wrapping herself around a well-dressed chap. He slips an easy arm around her waist.

   “Oh,” I say, unsure how to react to such a public display of affection.

   She points across the bench. “And this is Rob. You can sit next to him.”

   I realise I’ve been keeping my head down and look up to see Rob for the first time. I’m shocked at my reaction. My heart begins to flutter. He’s well tanned with laughter lines. Sparkling eyes and a strong jaw line. But if I think I’m smitten now, it’s nothing like how I feel when he smiles at me. Such as easy smile.

   He moves so I can sit. He’s smoking a long brown cigarette which I eye curiously.

   “Do you want one?” he asks.

   “Oh, no. No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

   “Good for you,” smiles Ann, still locked in Gregory’s embrace. “I gave up last year.”

   “Oh, I’ve never smoked,” I smile shyly.

   Rob looks at me. A flash of disbelief. I feel stupid. I shouldn’t have said that. Now they all think I’m some goody-two-shoes.

   “I drink though,” I add and realise that makes me sound even stupider, desperate. I was not making a great first impression.

   “Good,” is all Gregory says before producing a hip flash and taking a healthy swig. Ann frowns then snatches the silver trinket out of his hand, only to take a swig herself. Gregory tries to take it back and they paw at each other.

   I turn away embarrassed and find myself staring at Rob.

   “So, where do you come from?” he asks.

   My instinct is to answer the question with a single word. The minimum requirement. But it’s not the answer he’s interested in. It’s just something to get the conversation going and I’m useless at small talk. Besides I really don’t want to end up talking about my family.

   “Lanmouth.” I answer then quickly add, “If you were a colour of the rainbow what color would you be?”

   He laughs. A good, deep down, hearty laugh. “Red.”

   “Why?” I smile.

   “It’s the colour of action, energy and passion.” He winks. I feel the said colour rising to my cheeks.

   “What about you?” he asks

   “O