Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:

And, the story:

Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply fly away?

Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, I came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.

But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.

She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level that she, the youngest of the group, would get the position.

It was something that had been weighing her down for the last three months, and if she noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one; no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.

And then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact that she had to entertain more, and frankly, I felt like an embarrassment to her.

So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.

It was then that she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.

Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it was something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.

I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.

What surprised her was my reaction. None.

I simply asked who, where, and when.

A world-class newspaper in New York, and she had to be there in a week.

A week.

It was all the time I had left with her.

I remember just shrugging and asking if the planned weekend away was off.

She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.

Is that all you want to know?

I did, yes, but we had lost the intimacy we used to have, where she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker, but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.

There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.

Her immediate superior was instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position, he had not taken advantage of the situation like some might. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.

One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.

So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.

Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.

Yes, our relationship had a use-by date, and it was in the next few days.

I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me; you can make cabinets anywhere.

I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.

Then the only question left was, what do we do now?

Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.

Getting on the roller coaster is easy. At the beginning, it’s a slow, easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships; they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, followed by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.

What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.

Our roller coaster had just come out of the final turn, and we were braking so that it would stop at the station.

There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in the new job, the last thing she’d want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends, new life.

We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a free trip to the op shop with stuff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.

Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming; that moment, the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.

So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.

Already that morning, there had been 6 different types of planes departing, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.

People coming, people going.

Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just to see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.

As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.

Perhaps it was.

…

Coming soon. Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 15

A note and an opinion

…

On the way back to the hotel I thought about the idea of killing the Frenchman and dumping his body in one of the back canals.

Of course, that was the sort of unsanctioned act that quite often brought down a well-planned operation and it would not be the first time for me if that happened now.

I tried not to think about that moment in history and to this day still couldn’t say why I did it beyond the fact the person annoyed me. Those were young and brash days, long since gone from the repertoire.

Still, if he got in the way, or was going to compromise my plan he would have to go, and those back canals were begging for new prey.

When I finally returned to the hotel, it seemed almost stuffy in the small reception area, and the woman behind the counter nodded cursorily in my direction as I passed her heading for the stairs.

She was the sort of person who would miss nothing that happened in that hotel in or out of sight.

The elevator was old and tired, and I didn’t like to advertise arriving back on the floor where my room was located. Again, another memory of a bad experience involving an elevator has made me more wary since.

The stairs, in this instance, were well maintained, without the usual squeaks and groans susceptible to any other hotel. The fact it was only a few floors and not twenty was also a selling point.

If Juliet was waiting she’d have to be in my doorway for me to fall over her, and as I took those last few steps before the landing, I wondered if Cecilia was back in my room’ waiting for me.

If she was, and Juliet arrived that might throw that proverbial car among the pigeons.

Neither were either waiting or in my room which oddly enough seemed disappointing. Nor was anyone else who also brought up a memory or two that I’d rather forget.

Experience was a cruel master.

I looked out the windows over the canal, still able to be surprised by the amount of activity on the water even for that hour of the night.

In a few hours, a whole new group of people would be about those behind the scenes, delivering all manner of goods and services in those early hours before a new day began.

Behind me, there was a very light knock on the door and I swiftly crossed the room and looked in the peep-hole.

Cecilia.

I opened the door and she slipped in before I’d even got it partially open. She was in what I would call stealth mode.

“You’re up and about late? Nothing on for tomorrow?”

She shrugged. “Just the usual, so it’s unlikely they’ll miss me if I’m not there’ or late. Besides, there’s a producer I keep running into that’s beginning to be annoying.”

“I can deal with him if you want me to?”

“I can deal with him myself. No. It’s your girlfriend whose supposedly not your girlfriend.”

“Juliet? She’s not…”

“Of course not, just ragging you. She’s suddenly all apologetic, telling me how sorry she was about being catty. Then giving me a hug that was quite unsettling. Until I realised what she was doing.”

“Not making a pass I hope.”

“It wouldn’t be the first in the last day or so. I must have that look, whatever that look is. No. She gave me this.”

Cecilia held up a small folded piece of paper.

“Did you read it?”

“Do I look like the sort who would read other people’s love letters?”

I took the piece of paper and unfolded it.

It said, and reading it aloud, “I believe you know why I’m here and I can tell you it’s not what I want. I can’t discuss this with you otherwise he’ll know, so we need another way, perhaps through Cecilia. I’m supposed to deliver you in Sorrento, so we will need a plan to keep us both safe. Sorry for dragging your friend into this.”

“Not a love letter then.” She sounded disappointed. “How could she possibly know that?”

“In trying to get Larry to do something in haste which he has, it was not without its risks. She’s smart enough, given what she knew of me then, and that Larry has me in his sights, to realise it was not coincidental when I brought his name into the conversation.”

“Forcing an issue sometimes can have unintended consequences.”

“I didn’t want to drag it out for any of us.”

“Have you considered the possibility that this might be part of Larry’s plan, after all, he did tell her to get closer by any means possible. How much closer could she get pretending to work with you?”

A plan I considered more plausible given the hold he had over her. Alfie would have told me if such a conversation had taken place between them, but he hadn’t which meant it may have been before she embarked for Venice.

It made sense, from his perspective and the hold he had over her. Doing something as reckless on her part without his knowledge defied that threat, making it very difficult for me to believe it was a legitimate offer to help.

“What would you have thought if we didn’t know what we know?”

“It’s difficult to say since I’ve never been in that situation but first thought would be to considered it’s with the customary suspicion we have to view everything with.”

“Good answer. You’ll be coming with me and lucky for you, you will not have to play nice.”

She smiled. “At last a role I can get my teeth into.”

“We’ll go tomorrow, so be ready to leave. I’m sure you’ll devise a good excuse for leaving early. And watch your back tonight they might have a little surprise in store for you.”

“Not if I stay here. I came prepared,” showing me her pyjamas under the gym wear.

I shrugged. The room had two beds. “Fine.”

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 47

The four members of the high council – maybe

…

There was a man in a red suit, a man in a blue suit, a woman in a green suit and another woman in a grey suit.

Grey suit spoke first, “Are all you people from the earth as tiresome as you are Captain?”

She was either the lowest rank or the highest.

“We are an interesting bunch when you get to know us, which, despite this turn of events, I hope we do. We have a predilection for interfering in matters where we see injustices.”

“Be that as it may, I would like to remind you, that what might pass as acceptable behaviour on your planet, might not be on ours. You should be aware that in your travels, everyone you may or may not meet has their own specific rules, customs, and regulations which can and will be a lot different to yours.”

“I accept that, and in fact, in the briefing we had before leaving earth, it was impressed upon us that very premise. And I understand that we may be seen to be interfering in matters that are not our concern. But, and there’s always a but, that’s how we humans think and rationalise the many situations we often find ourselves in, we don’t like injustices.”

“Does what might appear an injustice to one, not be one to another? There is ample evidence in your history that points to those overlooking so-called injustices for the greater good?”

“That may be true in the past, but we like to think we have evolved into a better civilization. But we are not perfect, as you point out. However, this instance does not qualify as an instance for the greater good, it is simply the selfish whim of a single person. We have people who are supposed to set an example too and don’t, because they don’t believe the rules apply to them, and I would like to believe that you, too, would not tolerate this sort of behaviour in your leaders. Your people have been living on our planet for some time, I gather, so you should know that.”

Blue suit had been looking rather severely at me. “It was a mistake to let you people develop space travel capability. Our efforts to delay it haven’t been as successful as we had anticipated. You are not ready.”

That someone or something had been manipulating our progress would probably not come as a surprise to some back home. My knowledge of the steps we took to get where I was now pointed to several disasters that set the whole program back nearly twenty years, if not more.

I wonder how the Admiral would react when I told him. If I told him.

“It was inevitable, like everything we do. Unfortunately for you, we thrive on adversity.”

“You are not the only warlike race in the galaxy you know. You may want to hold off meeting them for as long as you can, but they know where you are, so there’s more than one inevitability.”

“By uttering those words, does that make you look more like the aggressors than us? The thing is, we’re out her for better or for worse, and I think you know what has transpired here is an injustice, but the ramifications are unpalatable. We have an expression; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Blue suit looked as though he was going to explode. “It is no use talking to these primitives.”

Grey suit glared at him. “It is your house that is not in order, and we have tolerated it for long enough.” She looked at her fellow members and received nods. Blue suit disappeared, most likely transported back to the planet.

Grey suit: “You are, using another of your sayings on earth, “treading on very thin ice.”

Green suit took up the narrative. “We believe you would not adhere to a request to turn around and go back home, so, before you alert the galaxy that you are now participants in intergalactic exploration, take heed of this warning. Not all species are friendly. Most are bound by customs and rules which are nothing like yours, and it is possible you will commit the most heinous of crimes by just acting normally.

In this instance, you may have uncovered a problem that we were not aware of, and lucky for you, is a minor transgression in accordance with our customs. We are no longer those people and will rectify the issue. The prisoner in question will be allowed to remain on your vessel to do with as you wish. If you are to continue your travels, I suggest you do so with caution.”

Grey suit again, “We acknowledge you are not going to go away. So, as the first gesture of friendship between our worlds, we would like you to return the Princess to her home world, and before you do, we will provide you with an advisor to help you navigate the protocols of her world. We will also grant two members of your crew an audience with our scribes who will give you knowledge of our worlds and people, and that of others in this galaxy. The other ship does not get this privilege and must leave immediately. If they do not, they will be destroyed. There will be no negotiation on this matter. Do you agree?”

It was probably the best we could hope for under the circumstances.

“Yes.”

Grey suit to their captain. “I’ll leave you to work on the details.”

With that, the remaining three were gone.

…

November Writing Month – November 2026 – “Lady Agatha Dies” – Day 5

What are friends for?

…

Well, when they too have the rug pulled out from under them, how much can they do?

Her best friend and fellow founding member of the charity, recently but no longer CEO, due to the new Chairman who had taken over during our main character’s incapacity, had been visiting her friend in hospital and relating the day-to-day events that had turned the running of their organisation into what she calls a circus

I’m going to give her a daughter who is a tenacious reporter and set her on the trail of a conspiracy, that of the so-called benevolent charities and the shady characters that manage to attach themselves to what she will call the charitable gravy train.

She also is the product of that echelon of people who are upper-class nobility, having resented from a young age being called Lady So and So, going to the privileged schools and being treated differently.

She is the rebel against her birthright, her parents, and everything they stand for.

And yet, as she gets older and sees the worth of those connections, those she had so willingly trashed for the sake of getting an editor to take her seriously, it’s going to be a tricky line she will have to walk if she is going to help her mother.

Perhaps her parents were not the monsters she believed they were.

…

Words today, 1785, for a total of 8946

What I learned about writing – Writing stories can be fun

There is more going on in the story front, and just to keep my mind active, or tortured, as the case may be, there are several other stories I’m working on.

In particular, there is the story with the description of what happens after an action-packed start.

Quite a lot. In the third section of the story, after being shot out of the sky, interrogated, flown into northern Nigeria, and then crossing into the Democratic Republic of the Congo to search for two men being held to ransom, our players finally made it home.

Previous attempts to rescue them had failed; this one had to succeed. It’s a matter of dealing with local militias who are tricky to deal with, and then getting out of the country after effecting the rescue.

At times, while writing it, looking at a map and using Google Earth to see what it is like, I felt like I was there looking down the barrel of a gun, and then, in the helter-skelter of getting to the evacuation point, I’m sure my heart rate had lifted considerably, particularly when the battered DC3 was about to be shot at with air to air missiles.

Just imagine this …

A DC-3 versus a very maneuverable helicopter. I was on the edge of my seat.

Next is the surveillance story where nothing is as it seems, which in the espionage business is nothing unusual. Nor is the fact that you cannot trust anyone.

It starts out as a routine surveillance operation until a shop front explodes a moment or two after the target passes it. In the ensuing mayhem, the target reappears, now in fear for his life, and our main character tracks him to an alley where he is murdered before his eyes.

Soon after, the two men whom our main character is working for appear and start asking questions that make our main character think that they had perpetrated a hit on him, and he decides that something is not right.

From there, the deeper he probes, the more interesting the characters and developments. Who was the target? What was he doing that got him killed? What does he have that everyone wants?

I’m about to start on the next phase of this story…

Then there is what I call comic light relief, the writing of stories inspired by photographs I’ve taken. Some, however, have exceeded the 1,000-word limit that I’ve set, only because I want to explore the story more, and some are spread over several stories.

The first book of stories, 1 to 50, is to be published soon. Currently, I’m working on number 148 of the third volume of stories, but number 88 is my favourite so far, simply because it involves a starship.

365 Days of Writing, 2026 – 293

Day 293 – Writing exercise

…

Chloe Vanderhausen looked up and down the dinner table, far larger than was necessary for the five people who were sitting at it, and wondered, not for the first time, why she was sitting there.

That notion she was one of ‘the Vanderhausens’ was wearing a little thin, especially when her mother, Gloria Vandehausen, the woman that adorned more front pages of fashion magazines than any other, had told her not a half before that she had a tradition she had to uphold.

And she remembered the very words she had replied, in anger, that ‘she was not an object for all and sundry to gawk at’, that ‘she was just an ordinary person living in a zoo’.

Her brother Damien, the heir, and next Lord and Master of the Vanderhausen dynasty, had acquired all the airs and graces, and bad habits of his father, given that air of invincibility and untouchability granted by the family’s wealth and power, and had simply told her to shut up, do as she was told, and be ready to fulfil her obligations.

If it was anything like what her mother had to do, she wanted nothing to do with any of it.

The conversation was desultory, her brother was insufferable, her mother was condescending, and her father forbidding. The only one who seemed to be happy was her stepsister, Amelia, seven years old, and young enough not to care a jot about any of their eccentricities.

Amelia’s life was like living in a fairytale castle.

For Chloe, that fairytale castle was a jail, and her life, well, she prayed a witch would come along and save her, using her magic to turn her into a plain, simple nobody.

Then her father spoke, “This Saturday night, the annual charity ball, everyone is to attend.” Then he looked at Chloe. “You will be polite and graceful, and no more of your histrionics. You are a Vanderhausen, and you will behave like a Vanderhausen. There is a gentleman I would like you to meet.”

Oh, God, she thought. Not another matchmaking effort of her mother’s.

“Another old goat who had more money than sense. I’m not interested in living in a castle, or a manor house. Or having everything you think my heart could desire.”

“You will do it for the benefit of the family, Chloe.” Damien was only three years older than her and had settled for the girl his mother had selected for him, and they were to be married in a few months’ time. She felt sorry for the girl, not knowing what she was getting herself into. She couldn’t see that it was a transaction, not a marriage.

It was not what Chloe wanted for herself.

“You are too young to know what your heart could or could not desire, young lady,” her mother said in that even tone that could cut through six-inch steel.

She never raised her voice and had mastered the art of being heard, even if she whispered. She might not have had the wherewithal when she first married, but she had acquired the Vanderhausen touch since.

But that’s what everyone saw. Only Chloe knew that under that hard and sometimes severe exterior there was someone else, that girl she used to be, lurking just beneath the surface. It was where Chloe believed she had got her rebellious streak from.

“And you honestly believe that marrying for purpose is so much better than marrying for love?”

“No this again,” Daniel muttered. “You and this ‘I’m going to marry for love’ thing. That only happens in Hallmark movies.”

Chloe burst out laughing. “Wow, Dan, you’d better be careful you don’t say that out loud again, or people might think you’re almost human. Good on Bethany. She might actually turn you into something recognisable instead of the cardboard cutout you are at the moment.”

He glared at her. “You would be wise to cease talking, Chloe. Just do as you’re told.”

It was not a fight she could win, but the semi-smirk hovering on her mother’s face told her she had scored half a brownie point, but not enough to save her from that Saturday night fate worse than death.

Chloe’s rebellious streak had manifested itself into doing what she called secret missions, realising years ago that having all that money her family used as leverage and for making themselves wealthier, could also be used for helping others less fortunate, a project she had been investing in for the last three years, syphoning some of her allowance.

Hoping to make a bigger contribution, she had spent a lot of time trying to convince her father that there was merit in investing in the future of the less fortunate, that it would bring goodwill and respect from a whole new group of people, other than the business and political world in which he moved.

He seemed not to understand why anyone would waste money on people who inevitably wouldn’t appreciate it, and he insisted it was a job the government should do with the inordinately large amount of taxes he paid.

He spoke to her like she didn’t know anything about the world he lived in; they, for that matter, lived in. When she said he didn’t pay very much tax, that her examination of the corporate accounts was as mystifying as he was to her, it stopped him in his tracks.

She could see he was going to tell her, like he usually did, that she had no idea what she was talking about, and then didn’t. Sitting in the chair opposite his desk, in an office that was larger than some of the classrooms she had attended, he finally took a long, hard look at the daughter he had largely ignored, and smiled.

“You’re smarter than your brother.”

“Took you a while to realise it. Not that it matters. It’s not something I’m going to hold over him or challenge him for the leadership of the company. I have my own ideas, and I will pursue them, whether you like it or not.”

“Then let’s do some horse-trading. You humour your mother’s matchmaking attempts, and be reasonable when you decline with sensible arguments, and I will look at your so-called investment in the future of the less fortunate.”

Whilst nothing appeared to have happened in the months that followed, she still took time out to visit one particular charity, where they spent the afternoons creating sandwiches, baking small cakes and assembling quick and easy boxed dinners to hand out to the homeless, of whom there seemed to be an increasing number. In her two years working with the group, the number of hungry people had almost doubled.

At least the people who worked there, from all walks of life, did not know who she was, because before she arrived at the warehouse, she went to a friend’s place and transformed herself into what she assumed was an ordinary person. Unkempt hair, little makeup, a size or two too large clothes, and completely dropping her finishing school speech and deportment.

It had been difficult at first, but now she had it down to perfection, and so far, no one had recognised her as being a Vanderhausen, but that had a lot to do with the fact she did not go out of the town with her contemporaries and end up gracing the social pages of the media outlets, always looking for a celebrity in disgrace. Her brother had not been so lucky.

But sadly, that might change after the upcoming Charity Ball. It was the first year she was attending as a participant, having reached that age when her mother had decided she was ready to meet the world. Chloe was not as sure the world would want to meet her.

For the moment, though, everyone there treated her like she was just another one of the team. And, as it happened, there was one person in particular, a boy named Leo, who was not the average guy who tried to impress her with their charm, good looks, or wit. Even in her disguise, she knew boys would be boys, but she made it clear she was not looking for a relationship; she just wanted to get on with her studies, work part-time, and wait until after graduation before considering anything serious. Or even go out, because of the complications it could lead to.

Or possibly could, because Leo didn’t try to impress her; he just had that natural ability to fold you into his orbit and make you feel good. And with all the expectation and demands her family put on her, just being with him was an amazing feeling.

Until it suddenly made her feel sad, because she was deceiving him, and after he had told her stories about the girls he had dated, the lies and half-truths, and the disappointments. It was going to get impossible, and she was going to have to leave sooner if he discovered the truth, rather than later. Until then…well, that was in the future. Today, it was just another day at the office.

Leo Curruthers had never had it easy. His father was killed in a freak accident going to work a few years back, and he and his mother had been left with a mountain of debt and no income. He had to leave university, got two jobs, and from that point barely kept their heads above water.

It was not how he expected his life would go, but sometimes one had to make compromises because they were not the only people impacted by circumstances. It was why he worked at the charity, to bank credits in the balance of his life, hoping it would cancel out all the bad stuff that had happened.

What did someone call it once, the pay it forward principle.

The trouble was, it didn’t feel like it had happened yet, or would.

Then, one day, a girl arrived, and he knew she was either going to be an angel or trouble. It turned out to be the latter. He should have recognised Angelique from the newspapers, the daughter of some rich industrialist who, unbeknownst to her workmates, was there on a dare by her friends that she couldn’t last a month without being unmasked and behaving like some ordinary person, while all the while her friends were documenting it.

And worse still, he had fallen for her, hook, line and sinker.

At the end of the month, her efforts were viral on the internet, humiliating him and just about everyone else, all taken in by some first-class acting. She hadn’t cared who she hurt or the damage she had done. Leo was the biggest casualty, and now viewed anyone like her as the enemy, firmly believing that people like him, and the others who worked there, were just pawns in their games.

It was why, when Chloe turned up one evening, looking to help, he almost sent her away. He didn’t, but he did not believe she was just another person looking to help, because under that scruffy exterior, there was someone else playing a role. She might not be another Angelique, but he would give her the benefit of the doubt, or until she messed up. They, he believed, always did in the end.

But after nearly two years, she still turned up every Friday night, the night he assumed was party night for those who could afford it. If Chloe had been that person like Angelique, she would have picked another night.

And like clockwork, she arrived precisely at two in the afternoon, donned her apron and took her place on the line, ready. Sometimes he worked next to her, but generally she kept to herself, speaking only when spoken to, did the work efficiently and quickly, having acquired the skills needed over the first month or two. Usually those who assembled the boxes rarely stayed to distribute them, but she was one of the few who did. It was a long shift, sometimes ending at three in the morning.

It was surprising that after all this time, all he knew about her was that she sometimes waited tables for unspecified cafes, that she studied art appreciation at a university, and lived in an attic room with her father and mother-in-law, in a quint house in Queens. Where in Queens she wouldn’t say, and he had dabbled with the thought of following her to see if any of it was true, but in the end decided he was not going to get involved. At the end of her shift, an Uber picked her up. The same Uber.

And after two years, it surprised him how little he did know about her, or anyone who worked there, past and present. She just did not talk about herself. Perhaps that was a red flag. But the fact she was there, she turned up, and she did the work was a plus, and the organisation was glad of her help. It would just be nice to know why.

Today, a little later than usual, he saw her in the line and went to join her.

She smiled when he squeezed in between her and Robert, a recent addition, and an admirer, one she was not trying to cultivate, but her charisma was overpowering sometimes. \

Leo realised, in that moment, the only reason he was standing there was jealousy. He had seen Robert, who had asked about her back when he started, making a play and failing, but still fuelled odd feelings in him. He had reminded himself about Angelique and how similar Chloe was to her, but it didn’t make a difference.

What probably didn’t help was that she liked him, though she had not said as much to him, but to a colleague, and in confidence. He had wondered at the time whether she was spoken for but simply didn’t want to say so.

“You are late,” she said. “More pressing things to do?” It was in that banter tone they sometimes used, slipping into the easy conversation between long-time colleagues.

“Life. It has a habit of getting in the way.” He glanced sideways and saw the fractional change in her expression and realised he had said it more harshly than he had intended.

Everybody had problems, so what made his more important than anyone else. “Sorry. Bad morning. Not your fault.”

“Sometimes it is hard not to let it impinge on your day. You cannot always be in a good mood. Even I can get grumpy.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“You only see me on Friday. You don’t want to see me on a Saturday.”

He bit his tongue, almost blurting out ‘why’ and realising just in time that it was none of his business, and that perhaps she was only joking.

He let out a gentle sigh. “Remind me then not to cross your path on a Saturday.”

She looked sideways at him, trying to read the semi-blank expression he was trying to pass as nonchalance. She knew he wanted to know more, but that was not possible. Worse still, she wanted to know more about him and had toyed with the idea of asking him to have coffee one day, other than Friday. Also impossible.

But then, it wasn’t quite true she didn’t know anything about him. She did, but it was a one-way street. He told her about his father, his mother, the debt, quitting university, and surviving. Her story, if she told the truth, would probably disgust him: a girl who had everything handed to her on a silver platter, and now working in the warehouse to what he would undoubtedly believe was a silly rich girl trying to assuage her guilt?

Put like that, it would disgust her if their roles were reversed.

It was as far from the truth as possible, but she could never explain that. He was there because he knew what it was like to have nothing; she was there because she wanted to do something that didn’t need her parents’ approval. She doubted he would understand if she told him how much she contributed in funding to the charity. In fact, she had insisted that the CEO could not tell anyone.

The last of the meals had been handed out, the night was done, and it was time to go home.

Leo looked at his watch, and it was late. Later than usual. Back at the warehouse, the last of the volunteers had left, and Chloe was waiting outside the door for her Uber. It was late, and she was getting restless.

He wasn’t going to leave before her ride arrived, so he finished up and came out.

“Car late?”

“Unusual. I have a standing request, and he’s always here. Something must have happened.”

“I can take you anywhere you want to go?” After two years, and the fact that they knew each other fairly well, he could make such an offer.

It surprised him to see her look of apprehension. The late ride, or his offer?

“I don’t mean to sound forward, just that I can see the wait is causing you concern.”

Then, in a moment he could not explain why, he got the feeling she didn’t trust him.

“I mean, I know you don’t really know me, but I would like to think that I am trustworthy, given how much the boss can trust me with the closing up of the warehouse.”

Then he felt annoyed that he was trying to justify himself. In the cold, dark street, lit by a single overhead light, their breath creating little clouds, he looked at her, really looked at her, and saw someone he didn’t recognise. That bitter memory of Angelique flooded back.

Their eyes met, and he couldn’t help but feel, in that moment, of thinking of money, that same feeling he had after he had discovered Angelique’s perfidy.

“Who are you?” It was out before he could stop it.

The headlights of her car suddenly illuminated the two, with their defined shadows etched on the wall of the warehouse, getting larger as the car got closer.

“Just an ordinary girl, Leo. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a girl who wanted to help those less fortunate.”

The car stopped, and the driver got out, going around to the rear and opening the door.

“Are you not coming next week?”

“No. I can’t. My circumstances have changed and make it impossible. It was nice to meet you, Leo. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Wait. Will I see you again?”

“Probably. But not in a way you could imagine.” She smiled wanly. “Goodbye, Leo.”

She got in, the driver closed the door, and seconds later she was gone.

…

In a word: Stern

It’s what I’d always expected of my teachers, having to stand up the front of the classroom and look like they were in control.

These days, not so much, but back in my day, teachers, and particularly the men, were to be feared, and stern expressions were the features of an effective teacher.

So, in this context, it means a hardness or severity of manner.

Whilst in a sense that was frightening to us kids, another form of the word also can be used to express a forbidding or gloomy appearance.

Grandfathers also have that stern look, but it’s more forbidding, more authoritarian, more severe, more austere, well, you get the picture. A six-year-old would be trembling in his or her boots.

There again, in facing up to either possibility above, you could stand firm with a stern resolve not to buckle under the pressure.

Of course, not a good idea if you’re facing a tank (with a stern-looking tank master)

Then…

If you’re standing at the end of the boat, not the front, but the rear, you would be standing at the stern of the boat, or ship.

Oddly, when issuing instructions to go in reverse, not something you would say if you were on the bridge, you would instead say, or possibly yell, full speed astern, because you’re about to hit an iceberg.

Or some idiot in a jet ski who likes to think he or she can beat the bullet (or 65,000 tonnes of a ship that has very little mobility).

“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.

…