Category: Books

Writing a book in 365 days – 245

Day 245

Writing exercise

…

The winds howled down the street as though the air itself knew what was happening and was not happy about it.

Did that mean the universe, such as it was, was in agreement with me, or with Annie.

My thoughts were swirling in unison with the wind, circling, not settling for a straight line, choosing to pick up leaves and dump them on me.

Did that mean I was wrong?

I had simply reacted as anyone would when they got a telephone call from one of their friends telling them they saw the woman you were supposed to be marrying in a week in a passionate embrace with her ex-boyfriend.

He had dumped her, and she had landed in my arms. Nearly all of my friends said I was a fool, that she would always go back, that the six years of history between them couldn’t be erased in a rebound romance, no matter how much I wanted it.

That was the thing. I had loved her from the first time I’d seen her 10 years ago, but never told her. Not until the big, public, awful breakup.

There’s no fool like an old fool, too good to be true; there was any number of sayings I could use.

Of course, hearing that news sent shock waves through me, and where I should have laughed it off, and had complete confidence in her commitment to me, there was the old demon that lacked self-confidence, that always had doubts I was good enough, that my friends were telling the truth.

And that demon took me to her, confronted her, and, well, now there wasn’t a wedding. No satisfactory explanation, angry words that couldn’t be taken back, and a lesson learned.

I was going home to throw a few possessions into a bag, and I was leaving on the late train to anywhere but Deepwater Falls.

…

Sitting on the railway station platform, listening to the wind howling through the trees and shuddering with the cold that was being picked up from the snow-peaked mountains, it was a different type of purgatory.

Because of Annie, I was being forced to leave the place I loved, the place I called home.

I was going to leave anyway, before Annie, but becoming friends with her had changed my life. I kept to myself, and most kids kept their distance, only that jerk of a boyfriend she had before me, and a few of his cohorts preferred to bully people like me and others, because they could.

Now he would be insufferable. A loser before, a mega loser now. Well, I’d be a mega loser in another town. A long, long, long way away from the Falls. Antony could have her and the town. There was not much left after the highway bypassed it. Anyone who was anyone had already gone, and my parents were too old to move on.

Another sharp gust of wind sent a new round of shivers through me. The train was late.

i was the only person other than the station master at the station. When I went to the ticket office and he saw me, he just nodded. “Anywhere but here?”

“I bet it’s not the first time you’ve heard it?”

“No, and not the last. I reckon I’ll be the last and get to turn the lights off. New York or San Francisco?”

I could go either way.

“New York. Then Martha’s Vineyard, but I have to tell my Gran I’m coming first.”

“Pity about the…”

I knew what he meant. The town had been looking forward to something good happening, and everyone was invited to the wedding.

I simply shrugged and walked quickly to the waiting room, a little better protected from the wind than sitting on a bench on the platform.

Now, when I looked up, there was another person, backpack in hand, standing in the doorway.

The last person I expected to see.

Annie.

She looked at me for a moment, then sat on the other side of the room, about ten feet away.

Five minutes of utter silence reigned until she spoke first. “I’m sorry, Eddie. Very, very sorry.”

It was a bit late for apologies, if it was an apology. To be honest, I didn’t know what to think. But somewhere in amongst the condemnation of her behaviour, and my lack of trust, and having the time for the temper to cool, there was this small crack in the brick wall I was building, and through it I could see a girl who was confused, unable to firmly commit to one thing or another.

Anton was poison personified, and he had infected her. Time away from Anton had almost cured her, but his move on her a week or more, perhaps before the wedding, had the intended effect. If he couldn’t have her, no one could, much less me.

It had been a calculated move, preying on her vulnerability when her emotions would be all over the place, and he had succeeded.

Of course, the feelings in me were still running high. “Why are you here?” The tone was hardly conciliatory, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t stay here either. Everyone has turned against me.”

“Why? Your family is the town; they wouldn’t dare.”

More important than Antony’s surprisingly, considering how they big-noted themselves. It was why Annie and Antony were always expected to get together. It was why I never stood a chance. We had not lived in the town since it was created, way back when the indians camped by the river and hunted buffalo.

“Apparently, I ruined the only good thing to happen to me. My parents disowned me, told me I’d humiliated them. You too, they said. The one person who loved me for me, not because I am a Huckerby. And they’re right, Eddie. I let Antony get to me, and I ruined everything.”

The break in her voice told me she was on the very edge of breaking down, and then a few seconds later, I could hear her sobbing quietly, trying to hide it from me.

It didn’t mean she was contrite or sorry, only that she had let her parents down.

The train was coming, its horn piercing the night air, as it warned traffic that it was approaching a level crossing, about a mile from the station.

I stood. Time to go out.

“I was going to marry you, Eddie. What happened shouldn’t have. I was over him, finally, but I was out with friends who I thought were friends, and they invited him, just for a lark. And all those pre-wedding jitters, I had too much to drink and … and … that’s not even an excuse.”

The train was at the end of the platform, slowing to a stop.

“I don’t know what to say, Annie.”

“Let me come with you?”

“You’re really leaving?”

OK. I thought she had simply come down to try and talk me out of leaving. I never thought or believed for a moment she would go. She could have the pick of any man she wanted in the Falls or anywhere.

“Well, I can’t stay here. And you are the only one I know who cares about me, even though at the moment you must hate me more than anything.”

“You risked everything on the chance I still cared?”

“I know you do. I know you’ve loved me forever. I was too stupid or too wrapped up in my own little world to notice, not until Antony dumped me, and you were there to pick up the pieces.”

The train stopped, and I could see the station master come out of his office.

He watched Annie and me walk to the end of the carriage.

“I don’t deserve another chance, but if there’s just a small part of you that still has feelings for me, or wants to give me one last chance…”

She stood there, tears running freely down her cheeks, the look on her face the most beautiful I had ever seen, and it melted my heart right there. I had hoped she would come; it would be a sign, but I was not going to make it easy for her.

I held out my hand.

“I’m going to Grans. You know she hates you, so if your willing to brave her, then please, come with me.”

She smiled.

“You are not going to let me off easily, are you?”

“Did you think I would?”

“No, and I deserve it. But like you, I know that one day she will love me as much as you do.”

Just above the wind, I heard the station master yell out, “Get on the blasted train before I freeze to death,” and then blow the whistle.

We didn’t need to be asked twice.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Searching for locations: O’Reilly’s Vineyard, Canungra, Queensland, Australia

O’Reilly’s Canungra Valley Vineyards located on Lamington National Park Road, Canungra, Queensland, is a 15-acre vineyard with the 163-year-old historic homestead ‘Killowen’ set up with dining rooms and long verandahs, and extensive grounds that are next to the Canungra creek where it is possible to find Platypus and turtles while partaking in a picnic.

There are about 6,000 vines of the (white) Semillon, Verdelho and (red) Chambourcin, Shiraz and Petit Vedot varieties.

We visited there in December when the vines were just starting to produce fruit. 

That fruit is usually harvested in February and then turned into wine.
The setting for picnics is, on a warm Summer’s day is idyllic, where you can wade in the creek, or go looking for a platypus.  We did not see one there the day we visited but did spend some time sitting beside the creek.

I should be on holiday but…

You would think that going away for a few days, you would be able to drag yourself away from writing.

You would think, after doing it every day for the last six months, it would be time to take a break. But, the trouble with good intentions and being in a different place, there’s a ton of new and different places and things to write about.

We are away primarily for a wedding, with part of it being a Chinese Tea Ceremony, and at course I’ve been reading up on it, and there is any number of descriptions, making it difficult to get a clear idea of what happens.

I guess I’m going to have to wait until the day, next Friday.

In between, there will be a dinner that will have as the centrepiece, Peking duck, my absolute favourite duck dish.

I had it last in Hong Kong two years back before the riots at the restaurant in the Peninsular hotel, and it was exquisite.

Then it’s my brother’s 70th birthday. As he is working feverishly on the family history, and having jetted off many times overseas tracking down the long lost relatives we knew nothing about, it’ll be time for a progress report.

I must admit that some of those relatives have roused my writer’s curiosity. When I helped clear out my parent’s house after they moved into a retirement home, we found a great deal of ancestral material, the most interesting of which is, would you believe, was about my mother.

We have found a whole lot of letters she received from her first boyfriend and then from my father. It shows a side to her I never knew about, and a side to my father that given what I know of him, is totally out of character.

There will no doubt be more on this subject later.

And finally but not least there was a baby announcement, always a subject of much joy and happiness.

This is only day two. There is definitely more to come.

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

Searching for locations: An old country homestead, Canungra, Australia

Or to be more precise, the homestead at what is now O’Reilly’s vineyard, where there is a pleasant lawn out back running down to the river for picnics, an alpaca farm next door, and the homestead plays host to functions and wine tastings

My interest was that we had assumed there was a restaurant, and we were going to have lunch. There might be one, but not the day we visited, it was just cafe food or a picnic available.

I was more interested in the old homestead because it was a fine example of the homesteads built in the ‘outback’.

…

Today we are having lunch in the Platypus room, in the O’Reilly’s vineyard farmhouse, which, if you close your eyes and let your imagination run free, could see it as the master bedroom of a homestead.

Certainly, the building is old, made completely of timber, inside and out, with the traditional high ceilings to keep the heat at bay.

At one end, a large bay window, which would be ideal to sit and view the outside, past the sweeping verandah.  There is a small lawn and a rotunda, but beyond that what might have been extended gardens, is the vineyard.

The homestead is in an ideal position midway between the main road and the river, has the traditional surrounding verandah, and shows signs of being extended on almost all sides.

On the other side of the wide corridor that leads you to the bar, and, coincidentally, down the centre of the house, is a smaller bedroom, also used as a dining room, and ubiquitously named the library.

It may be small but it does have a fireplace, which the assumed master bedroom does not, but now I’m thinking that room might have been the morning room.

Behind the room, we’re in is another bedroom, or perhaps this might be the master because it does have a fireplace and is quite large.  And a name, the Ambassador room.  Now it serves as the pickup place for picnic baskets.

There is another room on the opposite side of the corridor called the Drawing Room but is not open to the public.  But, going into the room with the fireplace adjacent to it, you can sell the aroma of pizzas, so it’s probably an extension of the kitchen, and, walking around the outside that side of the house proves it to be the case.

After all, they do catering for weddings and need a very large food preparation area which I discovered runs down the whole of that side of the house.

At the end of the corridor I’d the bar and spare space, and running off that and behind that is where there is a large dining area, perhaps prior to COVID, the restaurant.

It’s not hard to imagine that area as a very large entertaining area, either for very large dinner parties, or dancing.

As for the food, it’s either a picnic basket or pizzas.  We chose the latter, not realising the bases were not homemade, but bought in.  

The toppings however were both plentiful and tasty.  It could have been hotter, because it was a cold day, and it was cold in the room.

As for something to do other than taste the wine, and buy a few bottles, you can get up close to the vines, which, at this time of the year gave been pruned back and look quite dead, look at or walk an alpaca, even feed it, or all of them, or go down to the river and see if you can spot a Platypus.

Perhaps next time we’ll have a picnic down by the river.

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’.

Writing a book in 365 days – 245

Day 245

Writing exercise

…

The winds howled down the street as though the air itself knew what was happening and was not happy about it.

Did that mean the universe, such as it was, was in agreement with me, or with Annie.

My thoughts were swirling in unison with the wind, circling, not settling for a straight line, choosing to pick up leaves and dump them on me.

Did that mean I was wrong?

I had simply reacted as anyone would when they got a telephone call from one of their friends telling them they saw the woman you were supposed to be marrying in a week in a passionate embrace with her ex-boyfriend.

He had dumped her, and she had landed in my arms. Nearly all of my friends said I was a fool, that she would always go back, that the six years of history between them couldn’t be erased in a rebound romance, no matter how much I wanted it.

That was the thing. I had loved her from the first time I’d seen her 10 years ago, but never told her. Not until the big, public, awful breakup.

There’s no fool like an old fool, too good to be true; there was any number of sayings I could use.

Of course, hearing that news sent shock waves through me, and where I should have laughed it off, and had complete confidence in her commitment to me, there was the old demon that lacked self-confidence, that always had doubts I was good enough, that my friends were telling the truth.

And that demon took me to her, confronted her, and, well, now there wasn’t a wedding. No satisfactory explanation, angry words that couldn’t be taken back, and a lesson learned.

I was going home to throw a few possessions into a bag, and I was leaving on the late train to anywhere but Deepwater Falls.

…

Sitting on the railway station platform, listening to the wind howling through the trees and shuddering with the cold that was being picked up from the snow-peaked mountains, it was a different type of purgatory.

Because of Annie, I was being forced to leave the place I loved, the place I called home.

I was going to leave anyway, before Annie, but becoming friends with her had changed my life. I kept to myself, and most kids kept their distance, only that jerk of a boyfriend she had before me, and a few of his cohorts preferred to bully people like me and others, because they could.

Now he would be insufferable. A loser before, a mega loser now. Well, I’d be a mega loser in another town. A long, long, long way away from the Falls. Antony could have her and the town. There was not much left after the highway bypassed it. Anyone who was anyone had already gone, and my parents were too old to move on.

Another sharp gust of wind sent a new round of shivers through me. The train was late.

i was the only person other than the station master at the station. When I went to the ticket office and he saw me, he just nodded. “Anywhere but here?”

“I bet it’s not the first time you’ve heard it?”

“No, and not the last. I reckon I’ll be the last and get to turn the lights off. New York or San Francisco?”

I could go either way.

“New York. Then Martha’s Vineyard, but I have to tell my Gran I’m coming first.”

“Pity about the…”

I knew what he meant. The town had been looking forward to something good happening, and everyone was invited to the wedding.

I simply shrugged and walked quickly to the waiting room, a little better protected from the wind than sitting on a bench on the platform.

Now, when I looked up, there was another person, backpack in hand, standing in the doorway.

The last person I expected to see.

Annie.

She looked at me for a moment, then sat on the other side of the room, about ten feet away.

Five minutes of utter silence reigned until she spoke first. “I’m sorry, Eddie. Very, very sorry.”

It was a bit late for apologies, if it was an apology. To be honest, I didn’t know what to think. But somewhere in amongst the condemnation of her behaviour, and my lack of trust, and having the time for the temper to cool, there was this small crack in the brick wall I was building, and through it I could see a girl who was confused, unable to firmly commit to one thing or another.

Anton was poison personified, and he had infected her. Time away from Anton had almost cured her, but his move on her a week or more, perhaps before the wedding, had the intended effect. If he couldn’t have her, no one could, much less me.

It had been a calculated move, preying on her vulnerability when her emotions would be all over the place, and he had succeeded.

Of course, the feelings in me were still running high. “Why are you here?” The tone was hardly conciliatory, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t stay here either. Everyone has turned against me.”

“Why? Your family is the town; they wouldn’t dare.”

More important than Antony’s surprisingly, considering how they big-noted themselves. It was why Annie and Antony were always expected to get together. It was why I never stood a chance. We had not lived in the town since it was created, way back when the indians camped by the river and hunted buffalo.

“Apparently, I ruined the only good thing to happen to me. My parents disowned me, told me I’d humiliated them. You too, they said. The one person who loved me for me, not because I am a Huckerby. And they’re right, Eddie. I let Antony get to me, and I ruined everything.”

The break in her voice told me she was on the very edge of breaking down, and then a few seconds later, I could hear her sobbing quietly, trying to hide it from me.

It didn’t mean she was contrite or sorry, only that she had let her parents down.

The train was coming, its horn piercing the night air, as it warned traffic that it was approaching a level crossing, about a mile from the station.

I stood. Time to go out.

“I was going to marry you, Eddie. What happened shouldn’t have. I was over him, finally, but I was out with friends who I thought were friends, and they invited him, just for a lark. And all those pre-wedding jitters, I had too much to drink and … and … that’s not even an excuse.”

The train was at the end of the platform, slowing to a stop.

“I don’t know what to say, Annie.”

“Let me come with you?”

“You’re really leaving?”

OK. I thought she had simply come down to try and talk me out of leaving. I never thought or believed for a moment she would go. She could have the pick of any man she wanted in the Falls or anywhere.

“Well, I can’t stay here. And you are the only one I know who cares about me, even though at the moment you must hate me more than anything.”

“You risked everything on the chance I still cared?”

“I know you do. I know you’ve loved me forever. I was too stupid or too wrapped up in my own little world to notice, not until Antony dumped me, and you were there to pick up the pieces.”

The train stopped, and I could see the station master come out of his office.

He watched Annie and me walk to the end of the carriage.

“I don’t deserve another chance, but if there’s just a small part of you that still has feelings for me, or wants to give me one last chance…”

She stood there, tears running freely down her cheeks, the look on her face the most beautiful I had ever seen, and it melted my heart right there. I had hoped she would come; it would be a sign, but I was not going to make it easy for her.

I held out my hand.

“I’m going to Grans. You know she hates you, so if your willing to brave her, then please, come with me.”

She smiled.

“You are not going to let me off easily, are you?”

“Did you think I would?”

“No, and I deserve it. But like you, I know that one day she will love me as much as you do.”

Just above the wind, I heard the station master yell out, “Get on the blasted train before I freeze to death,” and then blow the whistle.

We didn’t need to be asked twice.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

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…

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

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“Anyone can have a bad day” – a short story

It had been one of those days, you know, the sort where you hoped when you woke up again, it would be a distant memory if not gone altogether. Everything had gone wrong: the handover from my shift to the next was longer than usual, I got home late to find the building’s security system malfunctioning, and after everything that could have gone wrong had, I was late getting to bed, which meant I was going to be tired and cranky even before my shift started.

But what topped it all off was that the alarm didn’t go off. It was not as if I hadn’t set it; I remembered doing it. There was something else in play.

I rolled over and instantly noticed how dark it was. It was never this dark. It was why I chose an apartment as high up as I could; there would always be light coming from the advertising sign on the roof of the building over the road at night, or direct sunlight not blotted out by surrounding buildings.

I also left the curtains open, deliberately. I liked the notion of being able to see out, sometimes looking at the stars, other times watching the rain, but mostly to see that I was not in a dark place.

Not like now.

I got out of bed and went over to the window. Yes, there were lights, but they were all the way down on the street level. Everywhere else, nothing. It had to be a power blackout. Our first in a long time. I should have noticed the air conditioning was not on, and it was almost silent inside the room.

The apartment had windows that opened, not very far, but enough to allow some airflow, and the room felt stuffy, so I opened one in the bedroom. Instantly, sounds drifted up from street level, and looking down, I could see the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks, as well as the sounds of sirens.

The cold air was refreshing.

It took a few minutes before I realised the elevators would not be working, and I remembered the only pitfall of having a high-up apartment, it was a long way down by the stairs, and even longer going back up.

In the distance, I could see other buildings, about ten blocks away, with their lights on. It had to be a localised blackout, or perhaps a brownout. We had been having problems across the city with the power supply caused by an unexplained explosion at several power stations on the grid.

Some were saying it was a terrorist attack, others were saying the antiquated infrastructure had finally given out.

My attention was diverted from the activity below by the vibration of my cell phone on the bedside table. I looked over at the clock and saw it was 3:10 in the morning, not a time I usually got a phone call.

I crossed the room and looked at the screen, just as the vibrating stopped. Louis Bernard. Who was Louis Bernard? It was not a name I was familiar with, so I ignored it. It wasn’t the first wrong number to call me, though I was beginning to think I had been given a recycled phone number when I bought the phone. Perhaps the fact that it was a burner may have had something to do with it.

About to go back to the window, the phone started ringing again. The same caller, Louis Bernard.

Curiosity got the better of me.

“Yes?” I wasn’t going to answer with my name.

“Get out of that room now.”

“Who….” It was as far as I got before the phone went dead.

The phone displayed the logo as it powered off, a sign that the battery was depleted. I noticed then, although I’d plugged the phone in to recharge, I’d forgotten to turn the power on.

Damn.

Get out of that room now? Who could possibly know firstly who I was, and where I was living, to the point they could know I was in any sort of danger?

It took another minute of internal debate before I threw on some clothes and headed for the door.

Just in case.

As I went to open the door, someone started pounding on it, and my heart almost stopped.

“Who is it?” I yelled out. First thought: don’t open it.

“Floor warden, you need to evacuate. There’s a small fire on one of the floors below.”

“OK. Give me a minute or so, and I’ll be right out.”

“Don’t take too long. Take the rear stairs on the left.”

A few seconds later, I heard him pounding on the door next to mine. I waited until he’d moved on and went out into the passage.

It was almost dark, the security lighting just above floor level giving off a strange and eerie orange glow. I thought there was a hint of smoke in the air, but that might have been the power of suggestion taking over my mind.

There were two sets of stairs down, both at the rear, one on the left and one on the right, designed to aid quick evacuation in the event of a calamity like a fire. He had told me to take the left. I deliberately ignored that and went to the right side, passing several other tenants who were going towards where they’d been told. I didn’t recognise them, but then, I didn’t try to find out who my fellow tenants were.

A quick look back up the passage, noting everyone heading to the left side stairs, I ducked into the right stairwell and stopped for a moment. Was that smoke I could smell? From above, I could hear a door slam shut and voices. Above me, people had entered the stairwell and were coming down.

I started heading down by myself.

I was on the 39th floor, and it was going to be a long way down. In a recent fire drill, the building had been evacuated from the top floor down, and it proceeded in an orderly manner. The idea was that starting at the top, there would not be a logjam if the lower floors were spilling into the stairwell and creating a bottleneck. Were those above stragglers?

I descended ten floors and still hadn’t run into anyone, but the smell of smoke was stronger. I stopped for a moment and listened for those who had been above me. Nothing. Not a sound. Surely there had to be someone above me, coming down.

A door slammed, but I couldn’t tell if it was above or below.

Once again, I descended, one floor, two, three, five, all the way down to ten. The smoke was thicker here, and I could see a cloud on the other side of the door leading out of the stairwell into the passage. The door was slightly ajar, odd, I thought, for what was supposed to be a fire door. I could see smoke being sucked into the fire escape through the door opening.

Then I saw several firemen running past, axes in hand. Was the fire on the tenth floor?

Another door slammed shut, and then above me, I could hear voices. Or were they below? I couldn’t tell. My eyes were starting to tear up from the smoke, and it was getting thicker.

I headed down.

I reached the ground floor and tried to open the door leading out of the fire escape. It wouldn’t open. A dozen other people came down the stairs and stopped when they saw me.

One asked, “Can we get out of here?”

I tried the door again with the same result. “No. It seems to be jammed.”

Several of the people rushed past me, going down further, yelling out, “There should be a fire door leading out into the underground garage.”

Then, after another door slammed shut, silence. Another person said, “They must have found a way out,” and started running down the stairs, the others following. For some odd reason I couldn’t explain, I didn’t follow. A mental note popped up in my head telling me that there was only an exit into the carport from the other stairs; on this side, the exit led out onto an alley at the back of the building.

If the door would open. It should push outwards, and there should also be a bar on it, so when pushed, it allows the door to open.

The smoke was worse now, and I could barely see or breathe, overcome with a coughing fit. I banged on the door, yelling out that I was stuck in the stairwell, but there was no reply, nor could I hear movement on the other side of the door.

Just as I started to lose consciousness, I thought I could hear a banging sound on the door, then a minute later, what seemed like wood splintering. A few seconds after that, I saw a large black object hovering over me, then nothing.

It was the culmination of a bad night, a bad day, and another bad night. Was it karma trying to tell me something?

…

When I woke, I was in a hospital, a room to myself, which seemed strange since my insurance didn’t really cover such luxuries. I looked around the room and stopped when I reached the window and the person who was standing in front of it, looking out.

“Who are you?” I asked and realised the moment the words came out, they made me sound angry.

“No one of particular importance. I came to see if you were alright. You were very lucky, by the way. Had you not stayed by that door, you would have died like all the rest.”

Good to know, but not so good for the others. Did he know that the fire door was jammed? I told him what happened.

“Someone suspected that might be the case, which is why you were told to take the other stairs. Why did you not do as you were told?”

“Why did the others also ignore the advice?” It was not a question I would deign to answer.

“They didn’t know any better, but you did, and it begs the question, why did you take those stairs?”

Persistent and beginning to bother me. He sounded like someone else I once knew in another lifetime, one who never asked a question unless he knew the answer.

The man still hadn’t turned around to show me his face, and it was not likely I’d be getting out of bed very soon.

“You tell me?”

He turned slightly, and I could see his reflection in the window. I thought, for a moment, that it was a familiar face. But I couldn’t remember where it was from.

“The simple truth is you suspected the fire was lit to flush you out of the building, and you thought taking those stairs would keep you away from trouble. We both know you’ve been hiding there.”

Then he did turn. Hiding, yes. A spot of trouble a year or so before had made leaving Florida a necessity, and I’d only just begun to believe I was finally safe.

I was not.

They had found me.

And it only took a few seconds to pull the silenced gun out of his coat pocket, point it directly at me, and pull the trigger.

Two stabbing pains in the chest, and for a moment, it was as if nothing had happened, and then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.

The last thing I saw and heard was several rounds from at least two guns, voices yelling out in the passage, and people running.

As I lay dying, my last thought was that it had been a good run, but no one can run forever.

© Charles Heath 2021-2025

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 81

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

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This is Chester.  Today we’re looking at the tennis.

Well, I’m looking at the tennis, and he’s pontificating over the climate change crisis.

I’m not sure if he actually knows what climate change is all about because I seem to be missing the point.

Down here where fires are raging in various parts of the country, it seems that everyone wants to jump on the climate change bandwagon, looking for something or someone to blame.

Yes, the Prine Minister has copped his fair share, because it seems he doesn’t quite agree there is such a thing, but that seems to be the mantra of any conservative political party because at their heart is the promise to benefit industry rather than what’s best for the people.

This seems to be Chester’s view too but slightly amended to include the cats.

If only cats could vote!

That thought, of course, scares the living daylights out of me, because as you know we belong to cats, not the other way around.

Would we all become slaves?

“Aren’t you already?  It seems to me nothing will change.”

So how did this conversation veer off the path of tennis, to climate change, to voting, to slaves?

This is like being at a party with too much alcohol flowing.

Come to think of it, there is a half bottle of scotch missing, and Chester has been acting strange lately…