lovejoy

Things were looking neat for Lovejoy

Louise passed the leaf back; Lovejoy looked at it and popped it into his pocket.

It had stopped raining; the smell of the wet grass filled the air with a fresh, clean fragrence.

“Sit here often Ernest? Writing poetry?”

Lovejoy paused to answer, saying yes should have been easy but somehow the idea that he sat alone in the park on rainy days would seem less exciting to vibrant Louise.

“Err yes. I find it quiet, not many people about”

“Yeh I can see that, I hoped you didn’t mind me coming over.”

“No not at all” he looked up just in time to see a shaft of sunlight bounce off the wet ground.

“Would you like to go somewhere for a coffee?”

“Oh gee that would be neat could do with something to take the chills away”

They both stood up at the same time. Lovejoy noticed that he was much taller than Louise. Her with a delicate frame, him with his gangly legs and hardly any definition of muscle.

“Hey you’re quite a tall fella aren’t you Ernest?”

Lovejoy was starting to like the way she says his name, he felt a warm feeling growing inside.

They walked across the grass towards the gate. There was a small café not far from the park. He would take her there. It was quiet, just right for a chat and coffee. He felt the urge to reach out for her hand but he kept his in his pocket. Too soon, he thought!

“So do you live near here, Ernest?”

“Yeh, I have a place just down the road not to far.”

“I’d like to live here. Edinburgh’s a beautiful city.”

“Yeh, very atmospheric, good for writing.”

“You looked very peaceful and relaxed when I came over.”

Peaceful, relaxed, no one had ever said that about him before. Most people said he was boring and sad.

“Do you always speak to strangers? It isn’t always wise, I could’ve been anyone.”

“Yeh, I know, but as my dad always says, “you can’t go around treating everyone like a some sort of madman. How will you ever get to meet new people if you don’t show a little trust?”

Lovejoy nodded, he was glad she’d chosen him today.

“And anyhow 5 minutes conversation with a new face beats 20 pages in a diary.”

They reached the café. Lovejoy pushed on the door and held it open for Louise to walk though. The café was small but clean with 6 tables, 3 either side of the gap from the door to the counter. An older woman stared as they entered then picked up her note book, came over and asked them what they wanted.

“2 coffees please” Lovejoy said

“Would you like any food?”

“Err not for me thanks” he turned to Louise. Louise was shaking her head.

That warm feeling was back, this felt comfortable he thought.

“So Ernest, who’s your favourite poet?”

“Keats” he said

“Hey wow, I love Keats. His ‘Ode to Autumn’ reminds me so much of here.”

Oh this was getting quite spooky, a coincidence maybe or fate. He felt like putting pen to paper but it would’ve seemed rude, maybe he’d remember it and write it later.

The coffees arrived, he watched as Louise slipped 2 sugars and milk into her cup, Lovejoy did the same.

“So how long you been writing” he said

“Oh years” she replied “I write anything and everything but not good enough to be published. You?”

“The same” there was that word again, it kept coming up time and time again ‘same’ likes the ‘same’ poet, drinks her coffee the ‘same’, unpublished the ‘same’ as him. That warm feeling started to grow as they sat there chatting about poetry, the weather, the creep and Edinburgh.

“What times your train tomorrow?”

“9.45 Edinburgh to Glasgow Express” she said

“Where are you staying?”

“Haven’t got anywhere, maybe I’ll just bum on the station platform.”

Lovejoy looked wide eyed at this, he couldn’t have her sleeping there it would be very dangerous.

“Look I know this seems a bit forward but you’re welcome to stay at my place you can have the bed, I’ll kip on the settee.”

“Well Ernest that’s really nice of you but I’ll be ok”

“No I insist. The train station is not the place for a woman to bed down you get allsorts down there especially at night.”

“Well ok then, that is if you really don’t mind.”

Lovejoy felt his heart beating really fast now, he’d be alone with her, she’d be there in the morning when he woke up, these were the things he’d dreamt of.

They left the café. In the distance the nearby clock was chiming six, they’d been chatting for hours.

“is it far to your place?”

“No just down here, got to get some ciggies first though.”

“Yeh I need some too.”

The local shop keeper looked at Lovejoy when they walked in. it was the ‘ooohh what’s going on here then!’ look.

Lovejoy brought a couple of packets and handed one to Louise. They left the shop leaving the shop keeper staring curiously.

A few minutes later he was turning the key in the door; he pushed it open, turned on the light and beckoned Louise to enter first. He followed closing the door behind him.

“Hey this is a really nice room Ernest.”

With books lying all over, he was surprised she could see the room.

“Sorry about the mess” he said

“Hey, no worries.”

He went over to the small kitchen area in the corner, found two cups and proceeded to make coffee.

Louise found a clear space on the floor and sat down. To her left was a book on ‘Keats’, as she picked it up it fell open at a page that had been read a hundred times or more, thumb prints marked the page and the corner was folded down. She started to read, ‘Ode to Autumn’ so he likes that one too! She thought, just then Lovejoy appeared with the coffees, he crouched down beside her, he’d never sat on the floor before, this was nice, no! This was ‘neat’.

They sipped their coffees and Louise started to read the poem. When she had finished she turned her head towards Lovejoy and found him looking right back at her, he blushed, the warm feeling going to his head.

“I’ll walk you to the station in the morning. It’s not far from here.”

“Thanks Ernest, you’re a really nice guy.”

Nice guy! No one had ever called him that before.

“So tell me about yourself? Where do you work?”

“In a library.” He said.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry I went on about how boring I found it.”

“No its ok, I find it boring too!”

“So why do you work there then?”

“Cause I love reading, gives me loads of inspiration, all those free books.”

“Never thought of it that way before.”

They both laughed and the air was filled with the warm feeling that had filled him ever since she came into his life. He carried on talking about his life sometimes sounding as boring as some had said he was, but not Louise, glued to every word she listened intently. They both laughed at odd moments but it all felt comfortable. Lovejoy laughed at how his voice sounded, he lit a cigarette and handed one to Louise but she had fallen asleep, he wanted to sweep the hair off her face, but she might wake then what would she think. So he just sat and stared gazing over her from her hair down over her face, the eyelids closed over those beautiful vivid green eyes, the small lips that covered the perfect little white teeth, down to her neck just showing enough that he wanted to kiss it, over the delicate curves of her body from her breasts to her hips, down her legs to the petite feet sitting in large walking boots. He made another coffee and went back to his spare on the floor. How he wanted to feel her skin on his, those green eyes looking lovingly at him as they shared the warm feeling….

When the alarm woke him, he was lying on the floor, under the blanket usually found on the settee, he sat up and looked round, Louise was asleep in the bed she must have woken and moved covering him on the way. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, the morning was clear and bright, he had a shave and felt the day getting better. Lovejoy made coffee and gently woke Louise she smiled at the sight of him, a knowing, welcoming smile.

“What time is it?”

“9.00”

“I’ll have to get up, got a train to catch.”

“It’ll only take 5 minutes to walk there, drink your coffee, there’s hot water if you want a shower.”

“Gee thanks Ernest, you’re quite a gentleman”

A gentleman! That’s something else, that’s never been said to him.

Lovejoy sat by the window while Louise was in the shower, he wanted to go in, take her in his arms and never let her go….but no she would go, and he would be left alone again!

Louise came out looking as lovely as ever. They got their things together and left the flat, got to the station just in time to see her train pull in. The warm feeling had turned into despair that she was leaving. But he said nothing.

“Well goodbye Ernest, I’m so glad to meet you, give me your number and I’ll call you when I get to Glasgow.”

Lovejoy put his hand out for her to shake but instead she moved forward and kissed him gently on the lips. Lovejoy felt the warmth of her body pressed against his, grab her, hold her, never let her go, the thoughts buzzing around his head. He waved when she got to her seat, then turned he didn’t want to see her leave.

Lovejoy took a slow walk back across the park, stopping for a moment at the Pavilion. Why didn’t he ask her to stay, he could’ve lived forever looking into those bright vibrant green eyes. Oh well maybe he could write about it.

The key turned in the lock, his room still had the fragrance of Louise, he made coffee, lit a cigarette and turned on the radio, it was on the news but he wasn’t listening till something caught his hearing, TRAIN CRASH, NO SURVIVORS, 9.45 EDINBURGH TO GLASGOW EXPRESS.

“What? Train crash, 9.45, express, Edinburgh to Glasgow, no survivors NOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Lovejoy ran, turned on the TV, pictures of the derailed train filled the screen as Lovejoy’s eyes filled with tears, he should have said something, stopped her getting on that train, there’d be no phone call now, outside it had started raining again.

He wiped his eyes and took out his notebook, the scarlet heart shaped leaf dropped to the floor, He picked it up and thought ‘neat’. Starting to write ‘Ode to Louise’ the tears started to flow again.

The knock startled him; he wiped his face and went to the door. Opening it he was just about to tell the ‘who’ on the other side to sod off when he heard a familiar voice.

“Hi Ernest, I decided not to go.”

The warm feeling was so strong he couldn’t help but to pull her forward, kissing her gently on the lips, holding her never letting her go.

©Mills Laine

daymares & nightmares

Daymares and Nightmares

She stood by the window. The view was unimpressive: a footpath, a road, the houses on the other side. Nothing changes! she thought. She looked up, can’t really see much of the sky. She loved the sky, especially in the winter with the low sun casting long shadows, the blue and pink of an early sunset, the yellows and browns of an approaching storm. The way the snow looks dark against the blue and white when it reaches the ground.

She envied the birds being able to fly through it. She wished she could fly, fly away to a far off place where this world couldn’t find her, but no! Here is where she was, here is where she chose, but it wasn’t a good choice in the long run.

At first this place was new, clean, hers but now it was cold, frightening, dangerous and seemed to belong to someone or something else: yes! a something. Not a person or animal but a thing. A thing that comes in, takes over, destroys lives, and doesn’t care if you care or not, an emotionless thing with no feeling, no sense of time, no sense of dignity.

She turned away from the window and looked at the room. In the corner was the television on some channel. She didn’t know what, it was just on as it always was. The stereo that came into the house like a lot of other things it didn’t belong to her, it was just there. On the fire place were ornaments that she’d had for years. They belonged to her. She could take them with her, if she wanted.

Wanted!

What did she want?

To get out, be free, yes but not just her, all of them. She looked down at the threadbare carpet, covered in oil stains from when this room was used as a garage but not anymore, the only thing left were the oil stains. Two chairs were up against one of the walls, odd chairs that were given to her by someone. She couldn’t remember who! There was no settee, just a double mattress folded to look like one. They pulled it down to sleep on at night, but in the day it got sat on by strangers, friends, family and dogs. The room smelt of dogs. There were three there at this time, three dogs and two cats. She could hardly believe they had dogs when they could barely feed themselves, but they had them and they all slept together in the one room. They used to sleep upstairs till the night “they” came, searched the place then left. After that she preferred to sleep downstairs.

The room needed decorating. Wallpaper had started to hang off the walls. The paint was stained with cigarette smoke. The gloss was chipped and there was a huge hole in the door. She’d tried to make it look nice once before the uncaring thing came and took over. She’d lost control over it; it had taken her too, deep into the night it would call to her and she would obey by choice. It helped her forget… it. It helped them all but it didn’t really, it confused them into thinking it was helping, this thing that takes over, takes part of you till there’s no you left.

She turned back towards the window again, a large window that seemed to take up the whole wall. A place where she could stand and look out, a place where she could dream away the hours till that time again when she would forget. Hers dreams were of escaping, going to a place where it couldn’t find them. There must be a place, where they could go with or without belongings, where it wouldn’t find them.

She started to plan their escape: get a car, pack their stuff and leave in the middle of the night, so no one would see. A safe place.

Get a car? That meant trusting someone.

Who could she ask?

Not the usual crowd, THEY don’t want them to go, THEY have a relationship with it, it would then know and would hurt them by making them go without that’s what it did, hurt whenever she decided to leave it.

How would she do this?

Trust, trust who could she trust?

This question would be on her mind for what seemed like an eternity.

She hated being alone here. She knew where it was hiding. She could get it out and kill it, but then the others would get angry and maybe kill her. Then she’d never be free. That’s what it does; it puts fear into safe places.

People wandered passed the window going about their daily routine. She had a routine too, but it was controlled by it. She wondered if the people outside knew what she knew, or did they just get on with things unknowing. She wished she was unknowing, never leant to say its name, never got used to the smell of it. This thing that crept up on them till they had succumbed to its charm, she laughed! It doesn’t have any charm just a bad smell.

When she slept she thought of it, not dreams just nightmares. In the day she thought of it not daydreaming but daymares. Nightmares and daymares not a world fit for anyone but this was her world, the one she chose.

Now she wanted out.

The safe place where it wasn’t, the country maybe? A bit of persuading would be needed. Some may not be very happy going. They wouldn’t have a place to stay but no place is better than this place.

She knew this was a good idea. A plan was forming. She was getting back control. It would hurt her but it was hurting now. She didn’t have a choice once but she did now. She was going to get free and she would take them with her, even the dogs.

This would be a new: clean world her world that she chose. A safe place she could relax in. A place where she could go into the dreams not just look at them through the window.

She would be the one who makes the decision to leave it. She would get them out, yes! all out. She’d be known has a heroine.

Funny how the name of your fear can be turned into something good.

©Mills Laine

memories

MEMORIES

I remember the first time I was seen by someone in the house, I was just having my usual wander around, admiring the paintings, floating though the walls and up and down the stairs when out of the library came a lady,  well I think it was a lady! She was not wearing a dress like me in fact she wasn’t wearing a dress at all, it was something like trousers but not any trousers I was used to seeing, trousers on a lady whatever next! Anyway she stopped right in front of me, looked, rubbed her eyes, blinked a few times, turned around and looked at me again I wanted to say “boo” but I think she would have screamed if I had, she put her hands up over her face and peeked though her fingers “it’s not real” she said I thought cause I’m real or you wouldn’t have been able to see me, I floated off though the library wall and left her where she stood.

I love the library, the smell, the feel, the atmosphere, I wandered over to my favourite window, the one that looks right down the drive, I love that view, I never get to go outside I’ve tried a few times over the years but never make it though the door, I somehow always end up back at the top of the red staircase, ahhh the red staircase the beautiful carpet that used to be here has gone now,  a lot of things have changed, the people especially, we get all sorts coming here now, some stay in the extension that was built a few years ago just where the old abbey used to be, some speak in a language I haven’t heard of, strange languages from far off lands, some speak very similar to me but with new words I don’t understand some of which don’t sound to good coming out of the mouths of ladies.

I used to love walking around the gardens, all I can do now is watch though the windows as the seasons change, spring with its fresh new growth, the warmth of the summer, the colours of autumn, the fresh white of winter snow and the crispness of early morning frosts, the gardens aren’t looking as good as they did, the fountains are gone, not sure why, they were lovely especially in the summer with the cool water lapping over the cold stone they’ve been filled in now, not as many flowers as there used to be, the gardener here has it all to do on his own, I wish I could help him, I loved gardening, growing flowers from seed, tending to them, watering them, then planting them out and waiting, till the flowers came making the garden glow with colour, the yew hedge is still looking as good as it did when my father tended to it, he would spend hours out there every weekend trimming and clipping till the sides were straight and the top as flat as the floor, the sundials were my favourite place for me to sit and read on long hot summer days, the house was used by me and my family back then, a family home full of laughter and joy, a large fire roared in every room, a warmth that is still felt by people who stay here, I hear them talking about it and wish I could tell them how it used to be, how we danced in the drawing room at birthdays and weddings, I’ve heard they can do weddings here now in the little chapel downstairs, that’s what I wanted, to be married here and dance with my love around the house, to walk in the grounds by the river at twilight under the light of a full moon, how we played games under the shade of the trees, the old sycamore at the front is my favourite tree here, its stands so tall and proud, its been here longer than I have, watching the goings on, people coming and going in all manner of ways, by horse, by coach, now by things with wheels that make a lot of noise and still it stands and watches as I do in this house where I lived and loved, where my heart was broken and my life taken.

©Mills Laine

MAGGIE

MAGGIE

As the handcuffs snapped shut around Joe’s wrists, he wondered how he ever got to this point in his life. He never thought in a million years that the love of a woman would end like this.

It had all started three years ago when he was a regular guy working for the post office. His route took him by his old school, down roads he grew up in, past the first house he owned, the park where he played football on a Sunday morning with the lads from work and the pub where he had met her. She was beautiful to him, even though his mates thought she wasn’t his type. His type, what would they know? He’d been quite lonely since the death of his first wife and Maggie offered him comfort and love, ok, so she was a few years younger than him but what’s ten years when you’re in love right? Everything had been going great at first, quiet drinks in the local, romantic walks in the park, even the odd weekend at the beach. But Joe wanted more. He had grown used to her being around and even though he said he would never marry again, he knew that life was far too short and precious to let opportunities to be happy slip away. So when they had been seeing each other for about a year he took the huge step and asked her to move in with him. He remembered how excited she was and that very first night of sharing a home the rafters rocked with passion the like of which Joe had never experienced. He didn’t know much about Maggie’s past and he didn’t care. Everyone’s got baggage he had said while they sat sharing a solitary cigarette after yet another night of rafter rocking. To him, she was sweet, gentle and kind but underneath that exterior was a cold calculated fraud, which would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

One morning Joe came home from his shift to find Maggie crying.

“Maggie what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Joe, I’ve lost my job; I don’t know what to do.”

Joe wasn’t quite sure where it was that Maggie worked. He always left before she woke up and she was gone when he came home but she was always there at teatime to eat the meal he had cooked. When a vacancy at the PO sorting office came up, Joe vouched for her trustworthiness and took her references in. Joe didn’t know of course that they were forged. To her delight she got the position. He thought she looked gorgeous in her post person’s uniform and after their first shift together they rocked the rafters while she was still wearing it. His mates at work didn’t think much of her at all. At first they thought it was natural for them to always be together and didn’t mind her sitting all over him in the pub but then he stopped coming in altogether. Joe said that Maggie wasn’t keen on pubs and preferred to get a few beers to drink at home. At this point Joe was still kicking the ball on Sundays and always had a pint on the way home but then that stopped. His mates made the joke that he was under the thumb but Joe was having none of it.

“What Maggie wants Maggie gets.” he said.

Of course his mates were getting suspicious; this was their mate Joe who enjoyed the pub, liked a laugh and loved footie on Sundays. But since Maggie appeared that had changed: he was always tired, seldom smiled and was downright miserable most of the time. They were getting a little sick of Maggie this, and Maggie that and when she stopped him sitting with them at breakfast, they decided to say something. Of course Joe didn’t believe them, he was in love with a beautiful woman and nothing they said would make any difference.

That was when he noticed the letters it was only a couple at first, ripped envelopes in the bin. When he confronted her about them she’d make an excuse, kissed him and take him to bed. This routine went on for weeks, all with the same ending, a stunning night of rafter rocking. Joe put his suspicions to the back of his mind, there’ll be some reason he thought.

After six months, he went home early, because Maggie hadn’t turned up for work, to find a black bag full of letters and parcels sitting in the middle of the living room. He opened it; he recognised some of the names and addresses. Questions starting forming in his mind, Why were they here? How did they get here? Where did they come from?  He looked around the room and noticed a parcel on the table that had been opened. He read the name on it and recognised the address Why was it open? Just then Maggie came in,

“What the hell are you doing home at this time?” she shouted.

Joe was shocked; he had never heard her speak like that before,

“I finished work early, why aren’t you at work?”

“I didn’t feel like it.” she said and with that she took the parcel and left the room. Joe was puzzled; he wasn’t sure what was going on. He following her upstairs to the spare room he let her keep some of her stuff in, usually it was locked but this time he found it open. Pushing the door his eyes were met with a strange sight, instead of the room being filled with boxes containing Maggie’s stuff, it was filled with black bags containing letters and parcels, hundreds of them and there in the middle sat Maggie.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“What’s it look like?” she replied. The venom that spilled from her lips stopped Joe in his tracks. Just then the phone rang downstairs; still holding his post bag Joe went to answer it. It was Fred from work, Fred told Joe about a visit they had had from the police about some missing mail. Maggie’s name had come up and the police were on their way to Joe’s house. Thanking Fred, Joe hung up he turned to see Maggie standing there looking.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Where’s all this post from?”

“It’s my post.” Maggie said, “I’ve been nicking it since I started working there and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But the police are on their way here, right now.”

“Oh well, it looks like I’ll have to find another job. I hate it when that happens.”

“WHAT!” Joe shouted “You’ve done this before?”

“Oh yeh, loads of times, all you need is some sucker that works for the PO, give him plenty of free sex and bob’s your uncle: somewhere to hoard the stuff. Flog anything you can and dump the rest. Only it was a bit awkward to dump this stuff so…”

“So you kept it here?”

“Yeh, funny, ain’t it?”

“No! We’ll get arrested”

“You might, but I won’t, I’ve been telling people for ages, I know about you, how you bring these letters and shit here and make me promise not to tell.”

The bag fell from Joe’s shoulder.

“How could you?” he cried.

“Easy” she replied.

Just then the doorbell rang; Maggie started crying and Joe answered the door.

“Mr Joe Knotts?”

“Yes.”

“We have a warrant for your arrest, may we come in?”

“Looks like you’d better.” Joe said.

He wondered what had happened; why Maggie would do this, he thought she loved him. Now he could see his mates were right. He closed his eyes to fight away a tear, from upstairs he could hear a policeman shout, “It’s here boss, yeh all of it.”

Then came Maggie’s voice, “Oh Joe, how could you.”

Joe was led away, in silence; the shock of what Maggie had done had taken over his very being.

The police car’s engine started, Joe looked back at Maggie. She was being comforted by a policewoman. She looked back at him and gave him a knowing smirk. He watched as they drove down the street, his house was gone, his job was gone, his life was gone and so was Maggie.

        

the meeting

THE MEETING

The train station was heaving with people going about their usual evening routines. She felt rather silly standing alone under the clock tower waiting for her knight in shining armour to arrive. What ever was she thinking answering that stupid advert?

INTELLIGENT LADY

WANTED

FOR FRIENDSHIP

OWN HOUSE/CAR

NOT A PROBLEM

35/40 YRS

GSOH

PO BOX 42

She’d chosen The Times newspaper this time hoping that this would exclude the undesirable. One or two had come though the door since she had started browsing the columns. Now she was looking for something a little more upmarket. She didn’t care if he owned his own house or car she already had her own. Worked hard for them too!! Admittedly her home didn’t actually belong to her yet! But it would be in a few years as soon as the last payment went off to the loan company. Several people had made comments about her car including her friend Lisa. It was an old fashioned Mini with a ’79 plate. The Mini was painted in her favourite purple colour, in good condition. The Mini was her pride and joy and every Sunday she meticulously cleaned both inside and out. The Mini was cheap to run and that suited her just fine.

She looked at her watch; it seemed odd to look at the giant clock-face just above her head. She’d arrived just in time to see the 6.45 to London pull out. She was early of course, she was always early. They were supposed to be meeting under the clock at 7.  It had started to rain while she was on her way and just at that moment her umbrella had decided to break and went whirling and swirling down the street, just missing the row of heads of people waiting at a bus stop, so all the hard work she’d put in trying to get her hair to sit just right, was for nothing. She arrived at the station looking far from her best, so she nipped into the ladies and attempted to get the dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards look out of her hair.  She was glad that she’d worn a coat though as the coolness of the September evening was closing in.

She took out the advert from her pocket. Reading it she started to imagine what this guy would look like. They had spoken briefly on the phone, to arrange this meeting. But apart from that she knew nothing about him, except that he should read The Times. He did seem nice; he said he’d wear a white tie so she would recognize him. She said she’d be holding a copy of The Times. After she put the phone down she thought that it sounded far too clichéd. That was 2 days ago and since then she’d done nothing but try on different outfits. Lisa said not to go too dressed up but try to make some effort. Jeans seemed to be the in between choice with a nice top and her better jacket. She slipped her feet into her favourite black boots, not too high but high enough to make her reach 5’4 or 5. That way she wouldn’t look too short or dumpy.

God didn’t bless her with long legs like Lisa but then God didn’t bless Lisa with hips, straight down she went from arm pits to ankles.

She looked at her watch again: only 5 minutes had passed. She wondered if he would be the first one to arrive on time. She looked around the station in case she could see him approach. She moved away from the clock and stood a little further down the forecourt. She hid the newspaper so he wouldn’t recognize her. She’d spent many a long night thinking and dreaming about this guy and when it comes down to it the butterflies start, sweaty palms and she can’t go through with it. Lisa said she was being daft, that the description he gave sounded good. That he couldn’t be worse than the last guy she’d dated. What a waste of space he’d turned out to be, with his flash second hand car, borrowed suit and an ego bigger than both of them. She wanted someone far more down to earth, someone independent who wouldn’t be borrowing money every week. She avoided dating anyone from the office and besides the only one worth looking at was the boss and she was steering well clear of him. No! Office romances were out. She wanted someone who would treat her with the love and respect she deserves. Looks weren’t important but self worth, cleanliness and self respect were. She wanted a man that was doing something for himself, who knew where he was going in life. She was the scatty brain, he was to be the dependable one, “boring” as Lisa had said but that’s what she wanted, no more bikers, rock-climbers or DJ’s; exciting wasn’t what she was looking for, she’d been there done that. No she wanted Mr Normal.

As she glanced at her watch again she realised he was late; she thought a bit more about this so called ‘knight.’

“Late” she thought to herself. “Well, if he’s keeping me waiting then he’s not dependable.”

She decided to go for a coffee before heading home. The café was quite crowded but she found an empty chair at a table in the corner, there was a half drunken cup of coffee on it but she moved it away and sat down. Deciding to read the paper while she waited for her coffee, she didn’t notice the man sit next to her.

 “Hello,” he said.

She moved the paper away from her face.

“Oh hi! I didn’t think there was anyone at this table. Sorry. I’ll move to another.”

“No, that’s ok. We can share this one.”

She looked across the table, straight into a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, a weathered face and long brown hair.

“A biker,” she thought.

“So you here waiting for a train?” he asked.

“Errr… well no I mean, I was waiting but not anymore”

“Oh right, I’m waiting for my train home, just came in for the day.”

“You on holiday then?” she asked

“No, I work in the city but live out.”

She looked at the biker jacket and boots and wondered why he didn’t come in on his bike. There was a familiarity to his voice but she couldn’t place it.

“So what’s your name?”

“Clare."

 “Well, Clare, I’m Tig. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Tig! That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s my nick-name. It’s what my mates call me.”

They drank more coffee and chatted, after a while Clare remembered why she was there and decided she must go.

“Thanks for the coffee.” she said.

“That’s ok, anytime.” Tig replied.

Clare looked at her watch and wondered if the ‘knight’ would be there ‘waiting’.

“Are you expecting someone?” Tig inquired.

“Errr… No, I was, but it’s too late now anyway.”

“Too late, for what?”

“It sounds silly, I was meant to meet my knight in shining armour here tonight.”

“Oh.” Tig sighed.

“But he never turned up.” Clare quickly replied and before she knew it she was retelling the whole episode to this guy she’d only just met.

“Sounds to me, like, you’d made up your mind not to meet this guy before you got here.”

“Not really.” Clare said “It’s just I want someone who’s dependable, independent, and who shows respect not a rock-climber, DJ or biker.”

“Yes, well, I can see that we can look a little out of place in a cocktail bar.” Tig said smiling.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s ok, I don’t normally wear this stuff, it’s only at weekends, I can be my alter ego.”

Clare laughed, this was nice, he seems to have a great sense of humour.

“What do you do in the city?” Clare asked

“I manage my own company, been a bit lost recently, amassed all my wealth and forgot to find someone to share it with.” he laughed. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

She hadn’t thought about food but she’d eaten nothing since breakfast.

“Yes I am.” she replied.

She was feeling quite content with her lot right now, happy to let things happen. Tig went to pay for the coffees.

“That was nice of him.” she thought.

As she stood up she noticed Tig’s rucksack on the floor, something was sticking out of one of the pockets, a white tie! she looked up at him just as he turned smiled and pointed to the ad in The Times. 

wise words

Wise words

Hold on, you’d say

So I did

Through everything

I did

Be strong, you’d say

So I was

With everything

I was

Care, you’d say

So I have

In everything

I have

Inspire, you’d say

So I try

For everything

I try

Love, you’d say

So I will

In spite everything

I will

1300 words

1300 Words

Julie looked around her, the library was empty again!

Alone,  she thought.

She picked up her pencil and started to write ‘The Trial’. This was the homework for this week but she wasn’t sure how to start.

A trial, about what?

The obvious answer to that was a court trial but she didn’t want to write about that. She looked at the ideas sheet everyone had come up with in class. Ideas, some were good, but none that seemed to jump from the page. A personal trial was another. She was going though plenty of them right now but she didn’t want to write about them. How could she? There’re meant to be kept to yourself and all that. She went to the window, it was getting dark, the security light came on, a group of students were heading out for the evening. She watched as the silhouettes disappeared down the drive.

Oh well back to work

She sat back down, picked up her pencil and wrote the words ‘The Trial’ again.

The trial of writing this!

At this moment, creative writing’s a trial, a trial of patience. ‘Tick Tock’ she looked at the clock, she’d been there 2 hours and all she had written was ‘the trial’.

This is not good

If only she hadn’t stopped smoking she’d have a cigarette but no, she’d given up the week before, chuffed away on her inhalator or ‘gizmo’ as she called it. And until the pressure came on, thought she was doing fine. Maybe a cup of tea would do the trick but that meant going to her room

Would she come back?

Of course she would, she’d leave her work, take her mind for a walk, have a cuppa, then come back, that’s what she’d do.

After half an hour; she was back.

That worked

She was feeling refreshed, the tea did the trick, even though singing at the top of her voice helped too! She smiled and started to write ‘The Trial’ it was the third time she’d written it. She started to think about all the things the word ‘trial’ meant to her. What trials had she been though? Illness, court cases, addiction, raising a child they all took form in regards to ‘The Trial’. She looked around the library. She wondered how many of the hundreds of books in there would have some sort of trial in them. She knew the ones behind her would have they were about Ireland. She knew there’d been trials there. They’d covered that one last term in History, the crisis over Ulster, the Easter Rising, the Black and Tans and The Treaty. They were all trials one way or another. This term is about the trials in 17^th century England/Scotland, the trials for a king trying to rule too many countries and The Russian Revolution, the part where a Russian Tsar and his family were murdered, that’s a trial in itself, even though they never got one. She’d not even thought about them yet, this was her priority, 1300 words by next Tuesday, a short story on ‘the trial’ she wrote it down again that made four times on one line. Well at least she’d got repetition sorted. There were others in the library now. One was looking for a book, pacing back and forth staring sideways at the titles, as though he hadn’t got a clue what he was looking for and the others were working away on their own but none were writing a story on ‘the trial’, non of them were in her class. She wondered how the rest of her class were getting on. Had they started? Had they finished? Were they sitting in their rooms experiencing a trial without even knowing it? Or were they out and about enjoying themselves.

 She picked up the dictionary that lay on the table next to her

 Maybe the definition of ‘trial’ might help me focus

1. A formal examination of evidence in order to decide guilt in a case of civil or criminal proceedings.

No, that’s not any good, that’s a court trial

2. A test of performance, qualities or suitability.

Test of performance maybe, no.

3. Something that tests a person endurance or forbearance.

Yes that’s the one. That’s what I’m doing right now trying to write this story. Testing, my endurance. Pushing me, to the edge of my patience.

Now how would I start it?

She picked up her pencil to write.

Think of a character? Male or female?

Female, yes

Name?

Julie

What does Julie do?

She’s a student, having trouble writing a story for her Creative Writing class

Yes, a plan was forming. Ok.

Where is she?

She’s in the library. she’s packed up smoking and finding this task hard. Could do with a cigarette but decides against it

Taking out a packet of mints, she popped one into her mouth.

‘Tick Tock’ Julie looked at the clock, she needed to be in her room at 8.30pm for a phone call. It was 8.15pm now. She wondered if she should leave it and come back after the call or carry on.

Cup of tea time, I think

Julie got back to the library after her phone call and cuppa. While she was in her room, she’d written what it said in her Thesaurus about the word ‘trial’.

1. Court case

You know the obvious one, she giggled to herself.

2. A test

Like in a drugs test, when testing a new medication.

3. Nuisance

That’s what not having a cigarette is, a nuisance

She started to giggle. There was no one in the library now they’d all finished their work and left her sitting there on her own, so she laughed out loud.

4. Troubles

She’d already thought about them, not what she wanted to write about.

She picked up her pencil, read though her notes and started to write a freewrite, she didn’t like them very much. Writing quickly made her hand ache. 15 minutes later she stopped and read over what she had written. It sounded ok.

Needs a bit of tweaking

She counted the words, not quite 1300 but not that far off. It would have to be stretched. An extra sentence here, the odd word there and that would do it. This was turning out to be a trial in its self. She tried to think of a title, she didn’t want to use ‘The Trial’. The rest of the class were doing this exercise too and that would be the obvious title. Her’s had to be a little more original. She thought for a moment but nothing came.

The Story, maybe

No

She decided to leave the title till she’d finished the story, hoping that something would pop into her head when she was finished. She continued with another freewrite, her hand was throbbing as she wrote as quickly as she could.

Maybe another cuppa or something to eat

Now what to have? Cheese and crackers or chocolate?

Chocolate, it wins every time

A little while later she was back, she sat down at the table, took a fresh piece of paper and wrote on the top ‘1300 words’. That was the title, not a great title but original. She smiled at herself and looked around the library. She loved working in there, with its fusty smell, amongst all those great novels. It was like the words flowed out of the books, down the pencil and onto the page like water from a tap. She gathered all the bits of paper she had lying around her, read over it all again, sharpened her pencil and under the fresh title ‘1300 Words’ started to write her story.

Julie looked around her, the library was empty again!

Alone she thought.

Welcome to the Home of the Peppered Hamster (that's me by the way!)...

This is the first post on here, Its all about me!!!!!!!


original, odd, quirky, mad, happy, odd, friendly, mad, unique, odd, fun-loving, mad, awesome, odd. I'm history mad, nature mad, Scotland mad, Edinburgh mad, Perth mad and A215 mad....well those describe me alittle, oh did I say I was mad or was it odd!!!!!....I'm 47 going on 29 as 47 IS the new 29 :-) I thought I was an adopted daughter of Scotland, but recently found out my great grandfather was born here...so I AM SCOTTISH......heehee x 
wanted: friends, chat, friends chat
offered: oddities, humor, quirkiness, uniqueness


Welcome to my world
Keep the faith 
xx