Author: aloysius5

Over the years, I have traveled extensively and kept journals, with the idea that one day all of those places would become locations in books. Notebooks filled with odd characters, people and incidents observed, and whole tracts of stories written when the on the spot inspiration has been a driving force. All of this is the basis of the first three novels, Sunday In New York, set, of course, in New York, probably my favorite city in the world, “Echoes From The Past’ equally set in New York, Brooklyn Heights and Philadelphia. The third, The Devil You Don’t, travels through Europe, starting in Geneva, moving to Rome, then Sorrento, and then to Venice. Now, my passion to write is fuelled by travel and fine dining. When I take a break from these, I get to torment my three wonderful grandchildren whom I actively encourage to read as much as they can, and more recently to also write. As for almost every other writer, I would not be able to do any of this without my wife who has put up with my moodiness, the times when I'm locked away in a room trying to push out another 2,000 words, and yet despite everything still puts up with me. I wish I could say the same for our cat. Alas, I am still trying to work out how to be his friend!

Writing a book in 365 days – 328

Day 328

Writing exercise – He counted to one hundred like he had been told, but even when he finished, he couldn’t open his eyes.

…

It was a recurring dream.

He was back when he was a child, in a house that bordered on a forest, one of several houses along a winding, narrow lane.

It was on a holiday with his uncle, his father and mother once more dropping him off for the school holidays while they conducted business in another country.

He had a choice to go with his parents, but he preferred exploring with the other children, since he had no brothers or sisters to play with.

It was mid-afternoon, a warm summer’s day.

It was his turn to cover his eyes and count to 100 while the other children hid.

He would get to 65, and suddenly it seemed to get dark, much like when clouds came and blocked out the sun.

Then, when he reached 100, he would shiver, a cold wind coming from the forest, and in fear, he could not open his eyes.

He did not want to.

“So, you get to this point every time, but no further?  Have you tried opening your eyes to see what is happening?”

He had this recurring dream too many times for it not to mean anything, so he had looked up a dream interpreter to visit and find out what it meant.

“Yes, but that’s where I wake up.”

“Have you been to this place in your dreams?”

“Yes, when I was a child, I used to stay there for the holidays.  My parents had business elsewhere and thought I would be better off with my uncle.”

“He lived on the edge of the forest?”

“Yes.  So did others.”

“Did anything bad happen there?”

“Not as far as I remember?”

“Anyone die?”

“Not while I was there, or at least I don’t think so. I can’t remember such a thing happening, and it’s not something you are likely to forget if it happened.”

And yet, something had happened that had set off this series of dreams.

“I’ll have to think about the circumstances.  Was the house you stayed in old?”

“Very.”

“The forest?”

“Spooky, allegedly haunted.  I swear, once at night I had seen ghosts.”

“OK.  That’s a thing.  Did you have any relatives die that you knew or cared about?”

“No.  My dad died much later, from what my mother called mysterious circumstances, but there was nothing mysterious about it.  He was caught in the middle of a bank robbery, simply the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I remember my mother telling me after the police had come to the door. And another lingering memory of that day, that she didn’t seem all that surprised or distressed. I had thought she was being brave.

“I see.” He glanced down at the note pad on his lap, then wrote a few notes. When he looked up he said, “Would you be receptive to a hypnotism exercise, see if we can jolt what is in there.”

“It’s something then? I’m not going mad?”

“Oh, no. A recent event has likely triggered a deep-down memory, one that you, or your brain, had deemed to be too painful or best left alone. You might want to consider the possibility that it’s buried for a reason before attempting to recover it.”

True, he thought. There were parts of his past that were lost, including a week when he was fifteen, after he was involved in a traffic accident while in Paris with his parents. It was one of the few times he accompanied them because he wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.

He still wasn’t sure if he had or not.

“OK,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

…

He is not in the forest.

That was evident when, this time while counting, he briefly opened his eyes and saw the floor.  Tiles.

“Keep counting, lad,” the gruff voice of a man nearby directed.  “And keep those eyes closed, or you will be in trouble.”

He reached a hundred.  There was no ‘coming, ready or not’.

“Again,” the gruff voice said.  “Slow and steady.”  Then much louder, almost in his ear, “Hurry up, 60 seconds, and we’re out of here.  No one gets any ideas.”

He could hear people hurrying around but was too afraid to look, and did as he was told, kept counting.

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…

“Come on.  We’re out of here.”

People leaving, then quiet.  He reached a hundred.  He wanted to open his eyes but couldn’t.

The man hadn’t asked him to restart.  Had he gone?  Should he look?

“Hey,” a voice that sounded like his father yelled out.

It was followed by a very loud bang and then screams.

…

He was sitting in a chair in the dream interpreter’s office.

The man was sitting opposite, calm.

“What happened?” he asked.  “Did you find out anything?”

“Yes.  Do you remember anything from the session?”

“No.  I dozed off and then just woke.”

“Yes, you remembered.  Hidden away.  You were with your father at the time of his death.  Wrong place, wrong time.  You were there, with him.”

“I cannot remember anything about it.  Or him.  Only my mother telling me he died.”

“Where were you when she did?”

“Home, I think, no, wait a minute.  We were in another city, a hotel room.  No, it wasn’t, it was a hospital.  I’m sure of it.  Hospital.”

“I think if you investigate it further, if you want to, I think there’s a truth there to be found.”

“Or not.  There’s a reason it was buried. I think I’ll leave it buried.  Nothing good can come of it.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Malta

That’s a fantastic way to explore Malta! While the island nation is small, it hides numerous incredible spots away from the main tourist crowds.

Here are five places and activities off the well-trodden path in Malta and Gozo:

1. The Three Cities (Vittoriosa, Senglea, and Cospicua)

While not exactly “unknown,” the Three Cities are often overshadowed by Valletta and Mdina, making them a more authentic and less crowded alternative.

  • Vittoriosa (Birgu): As the oldest of the three, it was the first home of the Knights of St. John in Malta. Wander its narrow, ancient streets, and visit Fort St. Angelo for stunning views across the Grand Harbour back to Valletta.
  • Senglea (L-Isla): Walk through the charming backstreets and find your way to the Gardjola Gardens for one of the most iconic views of Valletta. The watchtower here has an eye and ear carved into its stone, symbolising vigilance.

2. Wied il-Għasri (Gozo)

For a secluded and unique swimming spot, head to the island of Gozo to find this hidden gem.

  • The Place: Wied il-Għasri is a spectacular sea gorge, or “fjord,” with crystal-clear turquoise waters. It cuts inland between dramatic cliffs, ending in a tiny pebbly beach.
  • The Activity: It’s perfect for a quiet swim, snorkelling, or simply enjoying the serenity away from the more crowded beaches. For the adventurous, you can rent a kayak to paddle through the gorge and out into the open sea.

3. Coral Lagoon (Malta)

The Coral Lagoon, also known as the Bilblija Cave, is a stunning natural sea cave located in the north of the main island, near Armier.

  • The Place: It’s an open-air cave with a large hole in the roof, allowing light to pour into the azure water below. The opening to the sea is small, making the lagoon feel like a massive, natural swimming pool.
  • The Activity: You can carefully climb down into the water for a unique swim. Many locals also use the surrounding cliff face as a jumping-off point. It requires a short hike to reach and is best visited on a calm day.

4. Il-Majjistral Nature and History Park (Malta)

If you’re looking for a dedicated nature escape, this park on the northwestern coast offers beautiful hiking trails, historical sites, and untouched coastlines.

  • The Place: The park stretches along the coast from Golden Bay up to Popeye Village. It’s Malta’s only natural park, protecting the area’s geology, archaeology, and ecology.
  • The Activity: Go for a walk or hike to explore the rural landscape, see the clay cliffs, and discover abandoned military and historical structures. It offers views that are completely different from the fortified cities and coastal resorts.

5. Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs (Gozo)

While the Dingli Cliffs on the main island of Malta are famous for sunsets, the Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs on Gozo offer a similar dramatic clifftop experience with far fewer people.

  • The Place: Located on the southern coast of Gozo, these cliffs are less accessible by major roads, ensuring a peaceful experience. The area is also a designated bird sanctuary.
  • The Activity: Take a sunset stroll along the top of the cliffs. The vast, uninterrupted views of the Mediterranean Sea are breathtaking, and it’s a perfect spot for nature photography or a picnic. You can also hike along the coastal path toward Xlendi or Mgarr Ix-Xini.

What I learned about writing – You will be burning the midnight oil

It’s an interesting phrase, one that means someone is working overtime at the office till late at night, or early next morning.

You know, “Been burning the midnight oil again, Frank?”

It prompted me to look up its real meaning.  It goes back to the days before electricity where a worker toiled into the night using only an oil lamp or candles.

In my office, I now have LED lights that are reasonably bright, not like the neon lights I used to have that made me feel like I was in a television studio.  Either way, it’s not quite the atmosphere needed when looking for inspiration.

That inspiration might be better attained in a more subdued atmosphere, perhaps even using candles.  In one of the other rooms, we have a wood fire and that projects a very soothing glow, as well as providing warmth, and there I sit sometimes, Galaxy Tab in hand, writing.

But all of that aside, those hours leading up to and after midnight are the best time for me to write.

At times the silence is deafening, another rather quaint but relatively true expression.

At others, there are what I call the sounds of silence, which for some reason are much easier to hear than during the daylight hours.

The bark of a dog.

The rustle of leaves in the trees.

The soft pattering of rain on the roof.

The sound of a train horn from a long way away.

The sound of a truck using its brakes on the highway, also a long way away.

The sound of people talking in the street.

I’ve never really thought about it until now, but it will be something I can use in one of my stories.

Perhaps it will be the theme of another.

Damn, sidetracked again!

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

…

© Charles Heath 2020

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Sicily

That’s an excellent choice! While the major sites like Taormina and the Valley of the Temples are stunning, Sicily’s true soul often lies in its quieter villages, ancient ruins, and dramatic nature reserves.

Here are five places or activities to explore on the road less travelled in Sicily:

1. Cycle and Swim the Egadi Islands (Favignana/Levanzo)

  • What it is: A small archipelago off the western coast near Trapani. Favignana is the largest and most accessible, and Levanzo is even smaller and more remote.
  • Why it’s less travelled: While popular with Italian vacationers, they remain largely car-free (especially Levanzo), promoting a slow, relaxed pace of travel that’s rare on the mainland.
  • Activity: Rent a bicycle upon arriving at Favignana’s port and spend the day cycling to the gorgeous turquoise coves like Cala Rossa and Cala Azzurra. On Levanzo, you can hike to the prehistoric Grotta del Genovese cave, featuring ancient Paleolithic rock carvings.

2. Explore the Labyrinthine Town of Erice

  • What it is: A beautifully preserved medieval hilltop town perched 750 meters above sea level, overlooking the city of Trapani and the western coast.
  • Why it’s less travelled: Many tourists bypass it for coastal towns. It’s famous for its atmospheric, narrow, cobbled streets and the frequent, dramatic mist that engulfs the town, making it feel completely isolated and otherworldly.
  • Activity: Wander the maze-like stone streets, visit the Norman Castello di Venere (Castle of Venus) built on the site of an ancient temple, and taste the famous local almond pastries from the historic Pasticceria Maria Grammatico.

3. Hike or Canyon the Gole dell’Alcantara

  • What it is: A spectacular series of gorges and canyons carved by the cold Alcantara River, located on the northern slopes of Mount Etna. The walls are made of dark, columnar basalt lava rock.
  • Why it’s less travelled: This is a nature and adventure destination that requires active participation, pulling visitors away from the historic towns.
  • Activity: Walk along the floor of the icy river (wetsuits/boots are highly recommended in the cooler months and often available for rent) or descend into the gorge for a dramatic, up-close view of the unique vertical lava formations.

4. Visit the Carved Cave Village of Sperlinga

  • What it is: A truly remote medieval village in the mountainous heart of Sicily, dominated by a Norman castle carved directly into the rock. The town’s name, Sperlinga, comes from the Greek word for “cave.”
  • Why it’s less travelled: Located deep in the rugged Sicilian interior, it is far from major tourist routes. It offers an incredible look at ancient rural life.
  • Activity: Explore the castle with its massive staircase carved from a single piece of rock, and wander through the small network of ancient cave dwellings (grottos) below the main structure that once housed the peasant community.

5. Discover the Hidden Baroque of Scicli

  • What it is: One of the spectacular Baroque towns of the Val di Noto (a UNESCO area), but significantly quieter and less visited than its neighbours, Noto and Ragusa Ibla.
  • Why it’s less travelled: It feels genuinely lived-in and has fewer large hotels, offering a relaxed and authentic glimpse of Sicilian life. It’s built into the cliffs of a canyon, giving it a unique layered appearance.
  • Activity: Stroll the main street, Via Francesco Mormino Penna, admire the honey-colored Baroque palaces and churches, and climb the hill to the top of San Matteo for a panoramic view of the town nestled in the valley.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

lovecoverfinal1

Writing a book in 365 days – 328

Day 328

Writing exercise – He counted to one hundred like he had been told, but even when he finished, he couldn’t open his eyes.

…

It was a recurring dream.

He was back when he was a child, in a house that bordered on a forest, one of several houses along a winding, narrow lane.

It was on a holiday with his uncle, his father and mother once more dropping him off for the school holidays while they conducted business in another country.

He had a choice to go with his parents, but he preferred exploring with the other children, since he had no brothers or sisters to play with.

It was mid-afternoon, a warm summer’s day.

It was his turn to cover his eyes and count to 100 while the other children hid.

He would get to 65, and suddenly it seemed to get dark, much like when clouds came and blocked out the sun.

Then, when he reached 100, he would shiver, a cold wind coming from the forest, and in fear, he could not open his eyes.

He did not want to.

“So, you get to this point every time, but no further?  Have you tried opening your eyes to see what is happening?”

He had this recurring dream too many times for it not to mean anything, so he had looked up a dream interpreter to visit and find out what it meant.

“Yes, but that’s where I wake up.”

“Have you been to this place in your dreams?”

“Yes, when I was a child, I used to stay there for the holidays.  My parents had business elsewhere and thought I would be better off with my uncle.”

“He lived on the edge of the forest?”

“Yes.  So did others.”

“Did anything bad happen there?”

“Not as far as I remember?”

“Anyone die?”

“Not while I was there, or at least I don’t think so. I can’t remember such a thing happening, and it’s not something you are likely to forget if it happened.”

And yet, something had happened that had set off this series of dreams.

“I’ll have to think about the circumstances.  Was the house you stayed in old?”

“Very.”

“The forest?”

“Spooky, allegedly haunted.  I swear, once at night I had seen ghosts.”

“OK.  That’s a thing.  Did you have any relatives die that you knew or cared about?”

“No.  My dad died much later, from what my mother called mysterious circumstances, but there was nothing mysterious about it.  He was caught in the middle of a bank robbery, simply the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I remember my mother telling me after the police had come to the door. And another lingering memory of that day, that she didn’t seem all that surprised or distressed. I had thought she was being brave.

“I see.” He glanced down at the note pad on his lap, then wrote a few notes. When he looked up he said, “Would you be receptive to a hypnotism exercise, see if we can jolt what is in there.”

“It’s something then? I’m not going mad?”

“Oh, no. A recent event has likely triggered a deep-down memory, one that you, or your brain, had deemed to be too painful or best left alone. You might want to consider the possibility that it’s buried for a reason before attempting to recover it.”

True, he thought. There were parts of his past that were lost, including a week when he was fifteen, after he was involved in a traffic accident while in Paris with his parents. It was one of the few times he accompanied them because he wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.

He still wasn’t sure if he had or not.

“OK,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

…

He is not in the forest.

That was evident when, this time while counting, he briefly opened his eyes and saw the floor.  Tiles.

“Keep counting, lad,” the gruff voice of a man nearby directed.  “And keep those eyes closed, or you will be in trouble.”

He reached a hundred.  There was no ‘coming, ready or not’.

“Again,” the gruff voice said.  “Slow and steady.”  Then much louder, almost in his ear, “Hurry up, 60 seconds, and we’re out of here.  No one gets any ideas.”

He could hear people hurrying around but was too afraid to look, and did as he was told, kept counting.

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…

“Come on.  We’re out of here.”

People leaving, then quiet.  He reached a hundred.  He wanted to open his eyes but couldn’t.

The man hadn’t asked him to restart.  Had he gone?  Should he look?

“Hey,” a voice that sounded like his father yelled out.

It was followed by a very loud bang and then screams.

…

He was sitting in a chair in the dream interpreter’s office.

The man was sitting opposite, calm.

“What happened?” he asked.  “Did you find out anything?”

“Yes.  Do you remember anything from the session?”

“No.  I dozed off and then just woke.”

“Yes, you remembered.  Hidden away.  You were with your father at the time of his death.  Wrong place, wrong time.  You were there, with him.”

“I cannot remember anything about it.  Or him.  Only my mother telling me he died.”

“Where were you when she did?”

“Home, I think, no, wait a minute.  We were in another city, a hotel room.  No, it wasn’t, it was a hospital.  I’m sure of it.  Hospital.”

“I think if you investigate it further, if you want to, I think there’s a truth there to be found.”

“Or not.  There’s a reason it was buried. I think I’ll leave it buried.  Nothing good can come of it.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

In a word: Bug

Being a computer programmer, this word had a particular meaning for me, where a part of the programme did something other than expected.

Like unexpectedly stopping and freezing the screen.  Some very famous programs and operating systems used to have a lot of these ‘bugs’.

More familiarly for all of us, a bug is an unwanted insect pest like a fly, or an ant, though there’s a host of those pesky ‘bugs’.

You could bug someone by hanging around and asking inane questions.

You could also bug someone by surreptitiously planting a microphone on them, or somewhere in their house, car, or office.

A person could have a bug, meaning there’s some germ or bacteria they’ve picked up that makes them very ill, like a cold, or pneumonia.  Or, more than likely, it’s a bug going around.  School children are particularly susceptible.

And if you like reading books you might have caught the reading bug.

You could tell someone to bug off, that is, to go away.

I might want to bug out, as in disappear, especially if there was someone I didn’t want to see.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.