Category: Fiction

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 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:

‘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 realizes 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

…

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 11

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

…

The order of ranks in the trenches, from the front line to the rear

Yes, the higher an officer’s rank in World War I, the further their typical position was from the front line. While there were exceptions, junior officers were expected to lead from the front in the trenches, while senior generals commanded from headquarters much further back, relying on maps and signals. 

Officer roles by rank and proximity to the front

Rank Role and Typical LocationProximity to Front Line
Second Lieutenant and LieutenantCommanded a platoon of 30–50 soldiers. They were in the thick of the fighting in the front-line trenches and during assaults (“going over the top”).Immediate front line: Constantly exposed to danger and often killed or wounded leading their men.
CaptainCommanded a company of 100–200 soldiers. Captains were also stationed in the front-line trenches to direct their companies, but often maintained a command post slightly further back for better communication.Front line: Directed operations from the front-line trench system, though with a command post in a slightly more sheltered position.
MajorServed as the second-in-command for a battalion or on a higher staff. In attacks, a Major might move forward once a position was established, but was typically not in the first wave.Supporting position: Generally located in battalion headquarters, behind the front-line trenches but still within range of artillery and enemy fire.
Lieutenant ColonelCommanded a battalion (500–1,000 soldiers). By 1915, British army regulations advised against a commanding officer advancing with the initial assault wave to avoid command chaos if they were killed.Behind the front line: Directed the battle from battalion headquarters, using runners and signals to maintain communication.
Brigadier GeneralCommanded a brigade (3,500–4,000 soldiers). A Brigadier General would have a command post several miles from the front to manage the larger formation and coordinate with other units.Back area: Located miles behind the front, but often visited the forward trenches to gather firsthand information.
Major GeneralCommanded a division (16,000 soldiers). They were further removed from the fighting, operating from command centers in châteaux or other large buildings behind the lines.Rear area: Directed operations from a command center in a rear area, though still vulnerable to long-range artillery.
Lieutenant General and higher (Army and Field Marshal)Directed corps, armies, and overall strategy. These high-ranking officers were based at General Headquarters (GHQ), which was located far behind the lines.Far rear: Exercised command from GHQ, relying on reports and communication technology to direct the war effort.

The “château generals” myth

The term “château generals” emerged as a myth that higher-ranking officers lived in comfort, detached from the reality of the front. While general officers were indeed stationed far behind the lines for command and control, many were killed or wounded, showing they were not completely removed from danger. Ultimately, a general’s function is to command and coordinate large numbers of troops, which was not feasible from a front-line trench. 

“Remember that time…” – A short story

I don’t remember 40th birthday parties being all that interesting.

It was going to be a momentous year as each of our friends celebrated theirs.  We were of a group that had formed strong friendships at school, and they had lasted over the next 25 years, even when some had ventured further afield, and others had stayed at home.

I was one of those who had remained in place, as had my wife, and several of the neighbors.  I never had dreams of venturing any further than the next state, and except for a couple of years on transfer for the company I worked for, I had lived all my life in the city I was born.

The same could not be said for Janine, my wife, who once had a vision for herself, a career in law in either New York or Washington, and had ventured there after graduating law school, stayed a year and then returned in circumstances that she had never talked about.  She had accepted my proposal, we had married, and that was that.

Fifteen years on, there had always been that gap, that part of the story I’d never asked about and one I felt she would never talk about, and it was a small chink in what I wanted to believe was an almost perfect marriage.

But there was one small caveat she had requested; that she had no desire to have children, or to be a mother, something she said she would be terrible at.  It didn’t bother me, one way or another, though as each of the others had children, there was a small part of me that was, for a while, envious.

Michael Urston was one of my close friends, who lived across town and was also a lawyer and a man of ambition.  He’s taken his law degree to Washington and converted it into a path to public office and had attained the lofty position of Mayor for several years of our fair city, and then paradoxically didn’t run for re-election for reasons I never thought stood up.

But it had been his decision, part of the plan to retire at forty, and he’d achieved it.  Ursula, his wife, was prickly at the best of times and had always considered herself above all of us.  I guess being a prom queen had that effect on some people.  She liked to be the centre of attention, and for some reason, she and Janine always managed to rub up against their respective wrong sides.

Something else I knew; he had a thing for Janine, as had several others in our group, and I could see, sometimes the looks that passed between them, and I was not sure how I felt about it.  There was never any indication of either talking it further, but there was a bond between them that sometimes I envied, especially lately when it seemed, to me, that we were drifting apart.

But tonight, it was going to be Janine’s fortieth birthday party, and there were going to be a dozen friends coming.  At the last minute, Janine had changed the venue to a restaurant rather than at our home, and that I suspected was because we lived in a magnificent house that all the others envied, and I was sure it was out of deference to them.  Buying the house had been her idea, and down through the years, as we moved into larger residences, she had been trying to shed the memories of where she had come from.

Neither of us had been from a wealthy family, and I had no wealthy family connections.  I was from generations of motor mechanics, which was my first occupation in the family business, and Janine’s family were farmers, something she had no intention of becoming, hence the desire to become a lawyer.  And I didn’t think either of us had airs and graces despite what we owned or how we fitted into the local society.

Fred DeVilliers and Susan, his girlfriend of many years, who didn’t believe they needed a piece of paper to sanctify their relationship, were best friends also, though I knew Janine and Susan were not quite as friendly as it appeared.  That I noticed some years ago when both were having a heated discussion, one they thought no one was around to hear.  Their bone of contention had something to do with Michael, and I didn’t get to discover what it was.

As for the others, they joined in the conversation, ate the food, drank the wine, and then went home again.  Like me, they were not interested in politics, religion, or miscreant children’s stories.  Our get-together was children-free, and often about reminiscences of older and more carefree times.

Oh, and just to stir the pot a little, this day, I had tendered my resignation as CEO of the company.  It was a matter of principle, the board had decided to downsize and shift a proportion of manufacturing offshore, a decision I knew I would have to implement if I stayed there.  When I vehemently disagreed, I was given the option to leave on mutually agreeable terms.  It was not something I could spring on Janine, but, equally, it was not something I was going to be able to hide from her.  Not for very long anyway.

She was running late at her office, and I agreed to meet her at the restaurant a half-hour before the other guests were due to arrive.  It was nothing unusual for one or other of us to be running late.

As it happened, I left the office, and the building, an hour after resigning.  The company didn’t want me hanging around and granted me the two weeks I’d normally have to work off before leaving, for security reasons.  I quit, therefore I had to leave, in case I had some desire to sabotage the company in some way.  I wouldn’t but it was standard practice, and it didn’t go unnoticed that I was escorted by security to my office to clear the desk, and then to my car.  They also gave me the car as a parting gesture.

After leaving the office I went home.

I took what amounted to over twenty-odd years of service in a cardboard box to my home office and dropped it in the corner.  Not much to show for it, other than a decent salary, annual bonuses when we made a profit, and quite a few shares, not that they were worth much now because the board hesitated to embrace recent technologies.

About two hours later I heard a car pull up out the front on the driveway, and two doors closed.  A look out the window that overlooked the driveway showed it was Janine and Michael, who as they approached the door were in animated conversation.

I thought about letting them know I was home, but then a voice inside my head asked how many men have come home during the day to surprise their wives and found her in bed with another man, or, in these rather liberated days, in bed with another woman?

And that thing between them, would it be now I would discover what it was?

It made me feel rather horrible to think I could suspect her of cheating, but it momentarily took away the sting of the resignation.

The door opened and they came inside.  I could just see them from where I was standing, a spot where they would not see me, not unless they were looking.  And my heart missed a beat, they were embracing very passionately, leaving me with no other conclusion than this was a middle-of-the-day tryst.

“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand.  “I only have a couple of hours before I have to get back for a deposition.”

With that, they went up the stairs and disappeared into the bedroom, our room.

I sat down before I fell down, then having regained some composure, went over to the bar and poured myself a drink.

Two losses in one day.  A job, and a wife.  I guess it wasn’t exactly a revelation.  I knew something was amiss, and I conveniently ignored all the signs.  I thought about going up and walking in on them, but that, to me, seemed like a childish act.  After a few more drinks, I decided to wait, see if they both left and then decide what to do.

The front door closing, and the car departing, woke me out of a reverie.  I got up and looked out, expecting to see an empty foyer, but instead saw Janine, in a dressing gown, still holding the front door handle, as if transfixed.  A beautiful memory of what had just happened, or a tinge of regret, and another secret to be kept in a head, I knew now, that held so many others.

I decided to make myself known, now rather than later.

“Do you come home often during the day,” I said, standing in the doorway where she could see me.

She jumped, perhaps in fright, or in guilt, it didn’t really matter.

She turned.  “Daniel.  What are you doing here?”

“I resigned this morning.  A difference in opinion on how the company should proceed.  I was escorted out and decided to come home.  I should have gone to a bar.”

She knew that I knew, so it would be interesting to see what she had to say.  I could see her forming the words in her head, much the same as she did in a court of law.

“It was the first time, Daniel, an impulse.  I’m not going to make an excuse.  It’s on me.  I wanted to find out what it would be like.”

And that made me feel so much better.   Not!

“Well, it’s a hell of a fortieth birthday gift, Jan, and one I guess I couldn’t give you.  I trust you didn’t grant that wish to any of the other men who may desire you?”  OK, that wasn’t exactly what I meant to say, but the words didn’t exactly match what I was thinking.

“You mean do I sleep with every man I have a desire to?”  A rather harsh tone, bordering on angry.  She was angry with me.

“You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“I had sex with one other man, no one else since the day we were married.  It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.  If you hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Washington,” I said, almost to myself, a light bulb lighting up in my head.

The memory of a distant conversation, on a holiday, when we visited Washington, Philadelphia and New York.

“What about Washington?”  A change in her expression, was slight, but I could see it.  She remembered it too.

“Remember that time, at one of those monuments, probably Jefferson’s, when you said something rather odd, and when I asked, you brushed it off as nothing important.  You were looking out over the water and said it was one of your fondest memories after, and then stopped yourself.  Michael had just married when he moved to Washington, and you were there too, for a year.  I suspect now you and he had an affair, and it ended badly as affairs do and the woman has to leave.  There’s always been that bond between you.  Not the first time Jan.  The affair never ended.”

“It did, Daniel.  Like I said, this was a mistake.  It won’t happen again.”

I stepped out of the office and walked down the passage and came into the foyer.  Two stories high, there had been a debate about whether to have a fountain in the space adjacent to the stairs or a statue.  The statue won, and I lost.

Close up, I looked at the woman I’d loved from the moment I first saw her, and of the surprise when she agreed to marry me.  I had no idea then I was her second choice.

“I’d say I’m on a roll.  Lost my job, then lost my wife.  Bad luck comes in threes, so I’m going to lose something else.”  I looked around.  “This house?  I don’t think I could stay here, not now.  It would just be a reminder of everything bad that’s happened to me today.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.  I told you it was a mistake.  I made my choice twenty-odd years ago and it hasn’t changed.”

She took a step towards me, and I took one back.  The thought of being close to her now, after what she had just done, didn’t feel right.

“Look, before you do something silly, let’s sit down and talk about it.”

“No.  There’s nothing really to talk about.  I’m sure you can come up with a very convincing argument that will justify everything you’ve done, and why I’m being a fool, but the truth is, there are no words that can justify what you just did.  Yes, I could forgive you, and believe me, I want to, but there’d always be some resentment and the fact I could never trust you again, even if you promise not to.  What’s done is done.   Have a great birthday, and party, and make up some excuse for me not being there, but I’m going away for a while.  You have got everything you ever wanted Jan.  Be grateful for that.”

With that, I turned and headed for the door that led to the garage.  I wasn’t going to leave by the front door.  I expected her to say something, but she didn’t.  I expected a reaction, but there was none.  What choice did I have?

In the car, I found myself heading for the airport.  I couldn’t go to my parents, they were dead.  My sister lived on the other side of the country, and all I would get from her if I told her what happened would be an I told you so, so it was down to my brother, who had moved to the UK to get away from everyone.  I called him, and when he answered, I simply said, “I’m coming to see you for a while.”

And he replied, “It was Washington, wasn’t it?”

He’d know who she was, and who Michael was when he saw them together all those years ago.  And tried to warn me before I married her.

What was it with politicians and women?

—–

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Writing a book in 365 days – 328

Day 328

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

…

It was a recurring dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did not want to.

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

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

“Yes, but that’s where I wake up.”

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

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

“He lived on the edge of the forest?”

“Yes.  So did others.”

“Did anything bad happen there?”

“Not as far as I remember?”

“Anyone die?”

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

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

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

“Very.”

“The forest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

…

He is not in the forest.

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

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

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

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

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

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…

“Come on.  We’re out of here.”

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

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

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

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

…

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

The man was sitting opposite, calm.

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

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

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

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

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

“Where were you when she did?”

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

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

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

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bark of a dog.

The rustle of leaves in the trees.

The soft pattering of rain on the roof.

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

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

The sound of people talking in the street.

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

Perhaps it will be the theme of another.

Damn, sidetracked again!

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

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

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

Why, you might ask.

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

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

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

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

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

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

Damn!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only I’d come from such a background!

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

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

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

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

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

…

lovecoverfinal1

Writing a book in 365 days – 328

Day 328

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

…

It was a recurring dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did not want to.

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

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

“Yes, but that’s where I wake up.”

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

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

“He lived on the edge of the forest?”

“Yes.  So did others.”

“Did anything bad happen there?”

“Not as far as I remember?”

“Anyone die?”

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

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

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

“Very.”

“The forest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

…

He is not in the forest.

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

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

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

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

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

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…

“Come on.  We’re out of here.”

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

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

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

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

…

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

The man was sitting opposite, calm.

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

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

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

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

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

“Where were you when she did?”

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

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

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

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The battle lines were drawn.

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

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

Then it was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

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

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

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

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

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

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

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

I had no idea the two were so close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yet you accepted the job.”

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

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

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

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It left me confused and lost.

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

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

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

In a word: Bug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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