Category: Creative Writing

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume Two

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 just 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 down of her for the last three months, and if 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 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 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 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 where who, 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 I just shrugged and asked 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 that intimacy we used to have when 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 and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would.  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.  On 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, follows 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 or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops 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 t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends new life.

We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff 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’s been 6 different types of plane depart, 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 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.

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

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

Writing about writing a book – Day 12

Today, I’ve decided on doing a little research, and this means giving the internet and Google a good workout.

I need some information about the Vietnam War.

So, as a start, I type in the words ‘Vietnam War’ into Google.

This returns: About 699,000,000 results (0.83 seconds)

Wikipedia says “The Vietnam War, also known as the Second Indochina War, and in Vietnam as the Resistance War Against America or simply the American War, was a conflict that occurred in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia from 1 November 1955 to the fall of Saigon on 30 April 1975”

OK, so this gives me the broadest outline.  What I need is details, so it’s a matter of where to start.  This means to start with, when did troops get sent from both Australia and the United States for service.  It seems the US sent troops from 1964 to 1969, and Australia between August 1965 and March 1966.  This gives me a starting point, because our main character is Australian, and somehow gets seconded to the Americans.

January 1972, the war ends.

Now we need to know

  •  where the bases were
  • where the battle zones were
  • methods of transportation
  • what happened to prisoners of war
  • rest and recreation points
  • CIA involvement (which will no doubt be impossible to find evidence)
  • what happened to soldiers injured in battle

It’s a list that will get longer and may require a reading list, and first-hand accounts.

It looks like it’s going to be a long day.

Mistaken Identity – The Third Editor’s Draft – Day 22

I have been working on the story, the editor is asking for a third draft after making suggested changes – and I’m now working on it

…

I need a plan.

This lark of making it up as I go is getting a little more difficult, because I had an idea where this was leading, and now it seems to have hit a brick wall.

We have a friend in hiding with a mysterious diary, we have a mother who is missing, we have an agent of sorts following Jack around in the hope it will lead to the mysterious diary, and we have said agent and Jack looking for Jacob.

Why?

In my book, you don’t go looking for trouble.

What these two intrepid adventurers should be doing is trying to find Jack’s mother.

That, of course, leads to the other important question, who has her, if anyone does?

OK, so let’s let loose the diary’s owner, a man named McCallister, who coincidentally is father to both Jack and Jacob.

What’s in the diary?

This needs some background, and it needs to have the seeds of the plot sown earlier in the story, when Jack was investigating who Jacob was. He would find out who Jacobs father was, and likely his own.

A part of the current plot is that McCallister calls Jack and wants to exchange the diary for his mother. So that will mean McCallister has her.

I had considered that perhaps her sister was holding her captive, but why would she after all these years?

So, from her…

The call from McCallister, Maryanne needs to draw on her organisations resources to find McCallister (he was on jail but escaped, ok the back story is being virtually written on the fly) because of what’s in the diary, and he needs it to stay alive. What’s in it? One would have to presume it had something to do with his life before producing children, and that was as a politician.

So, was he a corrupt politician, or did he know of one, or two, maybe? Politics can be dangerous, as well as lucrative.

As they say, the plot thickens!

Today’s effort amounts to 438 words, for a total, so far, of 52,067, but I don’t know how much of this will be useful.

More tomorrow.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 80

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Showdown with the Cossatinos

…

“What was that?”  Boggs roused from his reverie and stood.

“I think that was Nadia.  Wait here, while I go and check.  You might want to check that exit, see if it leads anywhere.  It’s obvious Ormiston and your dad did not come in via that doorway on the cliff.

“You think we’re going to need an exit strategy.”

There was another scream, longer and nearer, and that wasn’t one of shock or surprise, but pain.

“Yes.”

In that instant, I think he realised what was happening.  “We both should go.”

“No.  I got Nadia into this.  See if there’s a way out, and if there is, call Charlene and tell her where we are.  She had a rough idea so help might not be too far away.”

“You told her, too.”

OK, not happy about my willingness to share, but I’d already made the assumption there would be no treasure.

“Just in case.  Go.”

He disappeared into the darkness, and, seconds later, the torchlight disappeared.  A minute, maybe a little longer passed before Nadia came into the cavern, with Vince and Alex right behind her.

Alex shoved her in my direction, and I just managed to catch her before she fell down.

“Where’s your mate Boggs?”

“Dead.”  I nodded my head in the direction of the body on the ground.

Judging by her dishevelled look, Nadia had put up some resistance, trickles of blood coming from her nose and mouth, both Alex and Vince had the bruises to prove it. 

“The other Boggs,” Vince was angry, and I had instant and vivid memories of him.  It would be silly to antagonise him.

“Do you honestly think where the treasure is involved that I would share its location with him?”  Greed was something both Alec and Vince could appreciate.

I just hoped Nadia had told them nothing about who was in the cave.

“So much for being a friend.”

“There’s no treasure here, by the way.  If it was, it’s long gone.”

“There never was,” Vince said.  “We just fed the frenzy by dropping clues, though no one has ever got this close, at least not since Boggs and Ormiston.  Couldn’t have them tell anyone there was no treasure or the maps would be worthless.  Now, unfortunately, Sam you’re going to join them.  Can’t have you telling anyone the truth.”

“You’re telling me Boggs and Ormiston were murdered?”

“Neither of them would let it go.  And after everything we did for Boggs. As for Ormiston, he was just a raving lunatic.”

“The professor?”

“He actually knew where the treasure was and was going to tell the world about it unless we gave him a cut of the map sales.  Came down here making all sorts of threats.”

“And now you’re going to kill me?”

“No.  We’re not murderers Smidge, we’re just going to tie you up and leave you here.  No one knows you are here, so no one will know where to look.”

“I’ll know,” Nadia said.

“Of course, you will.  But you’re a Cossatino first and foremost, and you won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re wrong Vince.  I’m not like you, or any of them.  Soon as I get out of here, I’m going to the police.”

Vince shook his head.  “I was hoping you’d be more sensible than that, but clearly you’re not.  I can’t tell you how much of a disappointment you’ve turned out to be.”

“One thing I can tell you, when I get out of here, I’m coming for you.”

“Of course you are.”  He pulled out a gun and aimed it at me.  “Cause any trouble and I’ll shoot him, so turn around and face the wall.”

“That’s your style isn’t it Vince, shooting people in the back.”

He ignored her, and we both watched Alex tie her hands beside her back and then her feet, then dumped her on the ground.  Vince then aimed his gun at her while Alex did the same to me.

When he finished, and made sure neither of us could do anything, he rejoined Vince.  “Goodbye.  I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”  Then to Nadia, “We could have had something special, you know, how it was like back at school.  You were so much fun then.  What happened?”

“You’re nothing but a thug in a cheap suit, in fact, that describes the pair of you.  I tolerated you because I was told to, Alex.”

He looked at me and I could see him trying to come up with a suitable retort about her current choices, but didn’t.  Perhaps nothing he could say would make a difference.

“How are you going to explain my disappearance?”  She said, not waiting for a retort.

“I’ll just tell them you and Smidge run away together.   It’s almost believable.”

“Come on,” Vince said, after looking at his watch.  Obviously, he had somewhere else to be.

“See you in the next life,” Alex said, and then laughed as if it was a huge joke.  Vince just told him to shut the hell up, or he leave him with us.

Then they were gone, the silence and darkness enveloping us.  I was surprised they had been willing to believe I was there on my own.  They had to be following us and know for sure Boggs was with us.  I tried not to think about what might happen if Boggs was somewhere else, tied up like we were and no one was coming to get us.

All I had to hang on to was what I’d told Charlene in general terms where we would be, just in case something happened to us.  It was now a matter of how long she would wait before discovering we were missing.

“Not quite how I imagined the rest of our lives,” Nadia said.  “What do you think happened to Boggs?”

“I told him to go, and I stayed.  If we’re lucky, he’ll get word to Charlene.”

“There are two entrances, you know.  I just found out from Vince.  Loves gloating.  He’s been expecting you or Boggs to do exactly what you did.”

“You could have walked away, not hang around on the beach.  There was always a chance we’d be discovered.”

“I keep telling you I’m not one of them and didn’t invite them to the party.  I guess now you have to believe me.”

At least that was true.  They would not have tied her up and left her behind.

I shrugged.  It didn’t really matter now.  “For what it’s worth, I always knew I could trust you, but that’s not going to help us now “

“Don’t lose faith, Sam.  We are going to get out of this, and when we do, I’m going to kill the pair of them.”

I couldn’t see how, and if I was by myself I might have given up.  Now, at least if anything happened, I would not be alone.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The Things We Do For Love – The final editor’s draft – Day 26

…

The waiting game begins.

Henry moves into the hotel to begin the wait for the call from Michelle.

Radly turns up, having decided to join the rescue mission, and they while away the time playing chess.

Then, the call comes, and decisive action is prompted by the news of Angie’s death.

They are given the location, and it’s time to move.

They are being followed.  The Turks men had Henry’s location and were on surveillance, waiting to see what he would do.

Seems the Turk never believed Michelle’s promises, and vice versa.

Radly leads them on a merry-goose chase, and then manipulates them into having an accident which ends their surveillance.  Unfortunately, it also ends the protection provided by Banner, his men being caught up in the traffic disaster.

Henry’s finally at the door, only to find a woman he least expects.  Michelle is also there.

They go to leave, and the Turk is standing in the doorway.

The reunion doesn’t last long.  Michelle is dragged away, unconscious and Henry’s brief but futile resistance is met with extreme violence.  He is taken away too but downstairs all is in darkness and there’s hesitation on the Turk’s part.

Henry escapes and finds Radly ensconced with Diana, waiting for the inevitable in another apartment.  That becomes a messy last stand, Radly badly injured, as Diana and Henry escape, as far as the Turk’s man who sees them and deals with Henry first.

Banner arrives too late to prevent both Henry and Diana from paying a hefty price for their involvement.

…

Searching for locations: New York, USA

After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.

Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.

Except…

We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.

But…

There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.

First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.

Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.

When?

It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained

Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.

I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.

He said he would check it himself.

Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.

The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.

We all went to bed reasonably happy.

After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.

I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.

As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.

It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.

Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.

Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.

A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.

A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.

In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.

Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.

Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.

The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.

The second, the quality of the food.

I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.

As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.

The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.

It was an excellent way to end the day.

The bane of our existence: social media

I’m back to writing, sitting at the desk, pad in front of me, pen in hand.

The only thing lacking is an idea.

It’s 9:03 am, too early to start on a six-pack.

I need a distraction.

Blogging, websites, Twitter, and Facebook, all of these social media problems are swirling around in my mind.

The more I read the more it bothers me that if I don’t have the right social media presence if I do not start to build an email list, all of my efforts in writing a book will come to naught.

Then I start trawling the internet for information on marketing and found a plethora of people offering any amount of advice for anything between a ‘small amount’ to a rather large amount that gives comprehensive coverage of most social media platforms for periods of a day, a week or a month.  I don’t have a book so it’s a bit early to be worrying about that.

I move on to the people who offer advice for a cost on how to build a following, how to build a web presence, how to get a thousand Twitter followers, and how to get thousands of email followers before the launch.

The trouble is I’m writing a novel, not a nonfiction book, or have some marvellous 30 page ebook on how to do something, for free just to drive people to my site.

I’m a novelist, not a handyman so those ideas while good are not going to help me.

Yet another problem to wrestle with along with actually creating a product to sell in the first place.

Except I’m supposed to be writing for the love of it without the premeditated idea of writing for gain or getting rich quick.

What am I missing here?

So should l be writing short stories and offering them for free to drive people to my site?  These would have to be genre-specific so it needs time and effort and fit into a convenient size story that will highlight or showcase my talent.

Or should I create a website for the novel and set up pages for the characters and get some interaction going that way?

It will be difficult without giving the whole plot away so if I do it will have to be carefully managed.

I don’t think I will have a good night’s sleep again with all of these social media problems I’m going to have.

Oh well, back to the book.  It’s time to have a nightmare of a different sort!

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters Harry and Alison there are other issues driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact he has a beautiful and desirable wife, and his belief she is the object of other men’s desires, and one in particular, his immediate superior.

Between observation, the less than honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Searching for locations: Windsor Castle, London, England

A fine day, on this trip a rarity, we decided to take the train to Windsor and see the castle.

This is a real castle, and still in one piece, unlike a lot of castles.

Were we hoping to see the Queen, no, it was highly unlikely.

But there were a lot of planes flying overhead into Heathrow.  The wind must have been blowing the wrong day, and I’m sure, with one passing over every few minutes, it must annoy the Queen if she was looking for peace and quiet.

Good thing then, when it was built, it was an ideal spot, and not under the landing path.  I guess it was hard to predict what would happen 500 years in the future!

2013-06-30 12.09.56

I’m not sure if this was the front gate or back gate, but I was wary of any stray arrows coming out of those slits either side of the entrance.

You just never know!

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An excellent lawn for croquet.  This, I think, is the doorway, on the left, where dignitaries arrive by car.  The private apartments are across the back.

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The visitor’s apartments.  Not sure who that is on the horse.

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St George’s Chapel.  It’s a magnificent church for a private castle.  It’s been very busy the last few months with Royal weddings.

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The Round Tower, or the Keep.  It is the castle’s centerpiece.  Below it is the gardens.

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Those stairs are not for the faint-hearted, nor the Queen I suspect.  But I think quite a few royal children and their friends have been up and down them a few times.

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And well worth the effort to reach the bottom.

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Any faces peering out through the windows?

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

…

With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down.  He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup.  I stepped to the other side and so did he.  It was one of those situations.  Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic.  I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone.  I shrugged and looked at my watch.  It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk?  I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station.  What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’.  I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light.  As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini.  I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car.  It was that sort of car.  I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him.  I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on.  The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter.   Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure.  I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.  A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring.  I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar.   It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did.  There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me.  It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me.  As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man.  He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter.  I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in.  I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

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