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“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

A to Z – April – 2026 – Y

Y is for – You just never know what’s around the corner

…

Someone told me once that things happen for a reason.  I think it might have been my father when the life I had expected to spend with Nina didn’t happen.  Of course, he would add that at the time it was not apparent why, only after time had healed that wound, would you discover why.

Nina never told me why she left, and I never asked.  I simply assumed she didn’t like the city, or me, or both, and went home.

As for the promotion, I wanted to believe fate was telling me the company I chose to work for didn’t appreciate hard-working employees, and that it was time to move on.

Outside the door, looking back, I shrugged.  If anything, it had been a stepping stone to be chalked up to experience.  Right then, I had no idea how it would help me later, but there would be time for rumination.  Perhaps I would go home for a week or two, if only to regain my perspective.

I’d timed my meeting so that if it did or didn’t go south, I would be able to celebrate or commiserate at my favourite cafe not far from the office.  For the first time in years, I was not in a hurry and could amble along the sidewalk like a tourist rather than a harried employee, taking in everything I had missed.

When I reached the café, one of several, as well as bars, where I was almost persuaded to have something stronger than coffee, and going to open the door, my hand reached the handle at the same time as another. I stepped back, seeing it was a lady, and manners took over. When she turned to thank me, I saw it was Nina.

She also stepped back and smiled.  “Kevin.”

“Nina!”

I opened the door, she went through, and I followed.  We stepped up to the front desk together. 

“Are you here to meet someone?” I asked, still slightly awestruck that it was her.  Of all the places she could be…

“As it happens, yes.  You.  If you remember, we used to come here on a Thursday, which is today.  I hoped you would still come here.”

The girl came back to the desk after taking another couple to a table.

“Are you together?” She asked.

I looked at Nina.

“If you are not here to see someone else?” Nina said.

“I’m not.”

“Then,” the girl said, smiling, “You are together.  Follow me.”

We weaved between the tables to the back near the bar and sat at almost the same table we had sat the last time we had eaten there, the day Nina left to go home.

Drink order taken, she left us with menus.  I think we both knew what we were having.

“Remember that last lunch, nearly two years ago, you said that I should try the lobster and champagne.  It was very expensive, but you said it would be a perfect way to cap off what had been a wonderful two weeks.”

“Then we should have it again.”

Only this time, I would not suggest paying for it.  After some time to think about it, I could see why she didn’t like the idea of my paying for her.  I’d always believe it was my responsibility if I asked her, or anyone else, out and forgot that she lived in a different world from the one my parents expected me to live in.

The drinks arrived, and we ordered.

A few sips of the champagne and a few moments to discreetly observe her, I realised that she had changed not just her hairstyle, but just about everything else.  We had been younger then and in awe of everything the large city had to offer, and back then, it had intimidated her more than it had me.  She had not said specifically why she had gone back home, but I suspected it was homesickness, and not landing the job she had come to interview for.  I had more success, and though I had said she could stay with me, she believed that she had to stand on her own two feet.

From the monthly letters I received from my mother, first asking when I was going to find a nice girl and settle down, she would tell me the news from home, and invariably, a paragraph or two about Nina.

She had always liked Nine and had expected that we would end up together.  It was interesting that she had not married back home.  Certainly, there were several of the boys she had liked at school still available, and one in particular that I almost lost out to as my Prom date.

I suspect she had been observing me, too.  Mother would have told her that I was still unmarried, but would not have known the reason, other than that city girls were not likely to be interested in going back to my hometown.  I was not sure if I wanted to either.   If what my mother said was true, there were even fewer opportunities there than before I left.

I let her ask the first question.

“It’s a bit early for you to be coming out for lunch.  Problems at work?”

“No.  Just decided to clear my head.”

“How far up the ladder have you climbed.  I seem to remember you wanted to be one of the section managers by now.”

“It was one of my goals.”

“Not there yet?”

It was a simple question, but to me it was particularly pointed because when I thought about it, for the first time since I’d left the building, it seemed like it was always going to happen.  I realised then that I was not the sort of person who had that blind ambition to get to the top.

“No.”

Perhaps it was the time, or my demeanour, or something else that she picked up on.  Nina always had that instinct that could see through the wall I often put up to protect myself, especially when things got difficult.

She took my hand in hers and asked, softly, “What are you not telling me?  I know something is wrong, Kevin.  I know you.”

I shook my head.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.  I can feel it.  What happened at work?  It is work, isn’t it?”

I could spar with her, but in the end, she would get it out of me.  “I didn’t get the promotion I wanted.  The one I deserved.”

It was a bit presumptive, and maybe that had something to do with why I didn’t get it.  Or that I wasn’t willing to play the same game as the other candidates.

“So, where does that leave you?”

“Out of a job.  I resigned.  I couldn’t work for people who didn’t respect the time and effort I’ve put in over the last two years.”

“When?”

“This morning, just before I came here.  It’s why I’m early.  I was coming here to have a few drinks and contemplate what I was going to do.  To be honest, I’m glad you are here.  Now I don’t have to think about it.”

“Maybe, just maybe, my coming here was serendipitous.  Would you like to talk about it?”

“There’s not a lot to say.”

“Can you get another job? Do you want to do the same thing, or would you like to take a break?  Your mother laments the fact that you didn’t come home last Christmas and would like to see you.  I had hoped you would come home too, but I guessed you needed to consolidate your position at the company.  So much for rewarding dedication.”

My mother had more than hinted she wanted me to come home, if only for a few weeks, to sort out their affairs.  Dad wanted to retire, and let my older brother, Alfie, step up, but she said he had concerns that Alfie didn’t have the inclination to take over; he preferred to be one of the workers.  Susannah wanted to, but her marriage was falling apart, and the two young children needed her full attention.

The last letter had shifted the hinting to pleading, so perhaps the events at work had been part of a bigger plan that I had no control over.

But, aside from everything else, she was right.  Maybe it was time for me to take a hiatus from the plan and get my feet planted firmly back on the ground.  “You’ve probably just said what I was thinking.  With everything my mother tells me about Dad and the business, perhaps I should go home for a while.  Has it changed much?”

“As far as you and I are concerned, no.  The diner’s there, and Mary still waits tables, and Fred still can’t fry eggs properly.  Mr Halliday still runs the drug store, but his daughter helps in between college.  Our haunts have not been part of what the county calls urban renewal, even though our town could hardly be called urban.  Mum and Dad were glad I went home, because like all of the parents, they’re getting older.”

That was when the food came out, and it looked like a feast for the eyes as well as for the eating.  The conversation was just enough for me to seriously consider what I would do next.

What did interest me, and a point that had been carefully avoided, was why she had decided, now rather than any time in the past, to come visit.  Mother’s letter had not said it was specifically to see me, and the main reason anyone would come to the big city was for medical reasons.

I would wait until she told me, or if she didn’t, I would ask.

Lunch was a welcome diversion; I wouldn’t have thought of having Lobster and Champagne if she hadn’t been here, but it could only put off the inevitable for so long.

She could see I had something I wanted to say.  She had always known when, as she described it, I had a bee in my bonnet.  It was a quaint expression, but she had taken English Literature and was now the fountain of all things English.  It had been for another purpose, to aid in a writing career, and she had hoped to become a journalist at one of the prestigious city newspapers.  It hadn’t happened, but she did get a job back home at the local paper, a weekly digest of all things country.

When the lunch dishes had been removed and an apple pie was on order, she gave me one of those looks, the one that told me to fess up.

“You want to know the real reason I’m here, don’t you?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“I couldn’t come just to revisit and see how you were getting on?”

“It’s a long train ride.  I know you don’t like planes.”

“I could have changed.”

“Not that much.”

“You know if God wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings.”

Another saying, trotted out when I originally asked her to come with me, was almost across the whole continent.  Oddly, I liked the idea of taking the train, if only for the time it gave us to spend together.

“Where’s Icarus when you need him?”

She frowned, a prelude to a scowl.  I knew better than to push her.

“What if I said it was to come and see you, to find out if you were coming home in the near future?”

It was plausible, but why didn’t she tell my mother?  They were constantly talking.

“My mother just said you were coming to the city.  Not why.  I figured if you didn’t tell her, then it must be something serious.  You are not unwell, are you?”

“No.  I’ve been thinking about you a lot.  It’s one of those things where I had always imagined we would end up together.  You remember the pact we made on prom night, out the back, after a few drinks and how silly we were after one too many.  We promised each other that if we were not married at the end of the two years, we would find each other and have this conversation.”

To be honest, I had forgotten it.  It had been drunk, and when I went home afterwards, my father threatened to kill me, not because I was drunk, but because I was incapable of protecting Nina.  Responsibility, he said, was never, ever, to be taken for granted.

I learned from that mistake and never indulged to that extent again.

“I remember going home that night and my father completely losing it.  He expected more of me, so much so, I got to the point where I never thought I would ever live up to his expectations.”

“Alfie hasn’t, so don’t fret too much.  You got me home safely, and that was all that mattered.”

“Except if you had been in trouble, I would not have been much use.”

“Nothing happened, that was all that mattered.  However, not to get off track, though sometimes I believe you deliberately do it, it’s been two years.  You’re not married, and I’m not married, but Giles has asked me to marry him.”

“Westerby?”

She nodded.  “As you can imagine, my parents have been telling me I’m not getting any younger, and I should not wait for the man of my dreams to make up his mind.  Except, I really don’t want to marry Giles.  He’s a nice boy, but he’s too nice, no ambition, content to simply plod through life with two point four children, alternate Sunday lunches with family, and once a year camping vacation in Yellowstone with the rest of his family.  They’ve been doing the same thing for centuries.”

She sighed.  “Unless I get a better offer…My mother thinks I’m about to become an old maid left on the shelf and has been working her way through Oldbury County’s eligible bachelors.  Giles is the latest, and he’s keen.”

“Because no one else will take him.”

“Perhaps, but he can provide a girl a life of luxury to which she could become accustomed.”

“Is that what you want?”

“If there’s nothing else in the offing.  According to my mother, my childbearing days are rapidly diminishing.”

“You’re barely into your mid-20s.”

“You know, mother’s.  You also have one, and she longs to hold a grandchild, yours preferably, and more likely than one from your brothers.”  She shrugged.  “We could go home and pretend we’re engaged.  It’d solve the Giles problem, and we could string the engagement out for a few months and then let it fizzle.”

“Or we could just get married.  I mean, we always said we would.  If no one else wanted us, or at least had first right of refusal.”

“Would you still want to.  I mean, we were silly kids back then, all starry-eyed and full of impossible plans.”

“I meant it.  Didn’t you?”

“I did, but I never thought you’d remember.  I thought you were just saying what I wanted to hear.”

The fact I had forgotten about the pact was one thing, but I had never stopped loving her, not from the first time I saw her.  It was that proverbial, impossible, love at first sight.

“I loved you more than anything.  It broke my heart when you went home.”

“I had to.  I missed home too much.  You were the only one, and as you can see, I waited.  And then now I’m here giving you first right of refusal.”

“That sounds pretty awful, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t think of a better way of putting it.  You are my first and, to be truthful, only preference.  But, if you have had a change of heart…”

“I have not.  Let’s have apple pie and coffee to think about it, and if you still want to go through with it, we’ll go to Tiffany’s.  If we’re going to do this, let’s do it in style.” I took both her hands in mine.  “Oh, and just to be formal, will you marry me?”

“Fine.  I had hoped it might be more traditional, but yes.”

I kissed her hand.  “Excellent.  We will make a stop after going to Tiffany’s.  There’s a special spot in Central Park where I’m told you can propose.  We’ll get a horse and carriage and flowers.”

“And photographs.”  She smiled.

“And photographs.”

“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but not why.  It was my horoscope this morning, one that was too coincidental to not come true.  ‘An old friend will come back into your life, causing you to make a life-changing decision. 

In fact, I made three.  I quit my job, I decided to go home, and I proposed to and was accepted by the only girl I ever loved.  What more could any man ask for?”

The twinkle in her eyes told me there was a lot more than I could ever imagine.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

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 Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines 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 had been 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 get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.

I even 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 a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a 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 me, 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 that 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 Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaines 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 realised 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 realised 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 decided 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 studying 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 realised 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; she might have been 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 who recently moved into the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognised 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 wanted 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 me.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough that 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, rather than tell 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, that 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: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, 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 Blaines 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 and 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 2015-2026

Sunday In New York

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 101/102

Days 101 and 102 – Writing exercise

A random few pages of a novel you might write – the idea of a story

…

It was a perfect day for a funeral.  Overcast, cold, snow imminent, after a week of snow culminating on a blizzard the night before.

I shivered.  Was it her Ghost?

No one had told me Gwen had died, and I had to find out from a newspaper.  I guess that was the price to be paid for being an ex.

It was not my choice; she had decided to move on to bigger and better things with a man who was, in her words, aspired to far more than I ever would.

At the time, I would have agreed with her.  I didn’t make a fuss when I discovered the affair, nor did I make it difficult for her to do as she wished.  I loved her, always would, and it was better to let her follow her heart.

The children, Ben and Amber, decided they wanted to go with her; the thought of living in a mansion and having a life of luxury was more appealing than staying with me.

Again, I didn’t object, believing they would be happier there.

And now, twenty years almost to the day she left, here we were.  A cemetery.  The last place I expected to be ten days before Christmas.

Oh, by the way, I hadn’t been invited to the funeral service, so I didn’t get into the church, which was for families and celebrities only. No, I was at the burial plot, waiting to have the last word.

Perhaps not getting an invite was a blessing in disguise.

To say that I abhorred Jerry Northington-Jobson from the very first moment I saw him would be an understatement.

He was the only child of perhaps the fifth richest noble family in the country, spoilt beyond reason, indolent, rude, and the last man I expected Gwen would so much as look once at let alone twice.

When his parents died, in suspicious circumstances, I might add, he became the seventh Earl of something or other, the owner of a dozen estates in England and throughout Europe, and then Gwen’s second husband.

He was a lucky man.

Until she died.

In the last week, there was little else in the newspapers, every minute detail of his affairs, of his company’s misdemeanours, and the most telling of all, how he had, in twenty-plus years, spent every penny of his inheritance, and then some, on bad investments, gambling, and simply travelling around the world.

Had Gwen been alive to see it, it would have destroyed her.  I honestly believed she had no idea what their financial state would have been.

Nor would she, or any of her friends, had they been invited, have appreciated the funeral he had planned.

My cell phone vibrated in my hand.

“It’s over, sir.”

“Thank you.”

I felt, for a second, like I was in a spy novel.  It was nothing like that, just a friend who had got into the church where the service was being held, so I’d know when the coffin would arrive at the plot.

It seemed an odd way of seeing her to her final resting place, but it was the only way.  My request for a seat in the church had been denied.

It took about ten minutes before the procession came into view, with the priest leading the way.  Jerry Northington-Jobson, at the head of the coffin bearers, looked every bit the stricken husband over the loss of his wife.

Yet, according to the message I just received on the service, he had delivered a somewhat emotional eulogy that lacked, yes, real emotion.

It took five more minutes before the coffin was laid on the struts over the open grave, and those willing to brave the minus temperature to hear the last eulogy before her body was committed to the ground.

Fittingly, light snow began to fall at the same time the priest uttered his first words, in Latin.

I had forgotten they were both Roman Catholic.  That had been another strike against me; I did not have the same faith in God.

Then it was over, and the cold scattered the participants, and within a quarter hour, everyone was gone.  Everyone but this strange old man, standing at the grave, shedding a tear or two.

“Are you really an irascible old man?”

I turned, then looked down.  It was a girl, dressed in black, about five or six years old.

“It depends on who told you that.”

“My mother.  She tells me you are my long-lost grandfather, the one we never talk about.”

OK, that was a surprise.  Having not heard about any children, the children were too busy making asses of themselves in public as befitting the rich and somewhat famous; it was not improbable that this was my great-granddaughter.

“And why is that?”  I kept my voice in the same low conspiratorial tone.

“He deserted my grandmother, but I think he dodged a bullet.”

I almost laughed, just managing to keep a straight face.  She was obviously repeating what she had heard elsewhere, but it was hard to believe it would come from Amber.  The last words I spoke to her, she hated me.

“What’s your name?”

“Daisy “

“I’m Ken.  Sometimes irascible, but I don’t go out very often.”

“Do you always hide?”

“Not usually, but today it was prudent.  I don’t want to cause trouble at your grandmother’s funeral.”

“You don’t have to worry.  My grandfather has already done that.  My mother says he’s an ass too, so it must be something all grandfathers have in common.”

A distinct possibility, I thought.  I scanned the few people remaining, the snow falling harder now, and her mother was not one of them, or at least anyone I might recognise as Amber.  It had been so long that she may have changed, and I’d not know her.

“It is most likely because we are old.  Where is your mother?”

“In the church still.  She is not very well.  She told me to come out and see if you had come.  Her description was quite accurate.”

I had changed, too, so how could she know what I looked like?  Unless she had guessed that I might turn up at the funeral, invited or not.

“Do you think she might want to see me?”

“I think so.  It’s a bit hard sometimes to tell what she’s thinking.  Perhaps we should go and find out.”

The snow had settled in, falling steadily.  It was time to get indoors, preferably near a large fire.  There was one waiting for me back at the inn where I was staying for a few days.

“OK.  Lead the way.”

Her little hand slipped into mine, and we headed towards the church.  A thought did cross my mind that she was far too trusting of strangers, but then, I didn’t feel like one.  Perhaps she had sensed that.

Still, I would have a word with her mother about it.

We dusted off the snow before going into the church.  Not far from the entrance, a solitary person was sitting, head in hands.

Daisy left me and went up to her mother, shaking her.  “Mummy, mummy, I found the man.”

Her mother lifted her head slowly and turned towards me.

Amber.  All grown up.  That was the first shock; the second was that she was the spitting image of her mother, exactly as I had seen her that first day I met her.  So flawless, so beautiful, so English.

The second shock was that she was very, very ill.

“Hello, daddy.”

I walked over as she stood and held out her arms.  The next moment, she collapsed, and I just managed to catch her.

She was not just ill; she was very near death.  I recognised the signs; she had the disease that finally killed her mother.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 29

I’m in the middle of writing a new chapter, one that goes back a little in time, but helps set up events that occur later towards the end.

And true to form, it’s going a little off track.

There is scope for it to be a pivotal point in the story, but it’s not quite working out that way.

I’m doing this while I’m waiting for my usual Friday grandchild collection from school. Here I have to get here a half hour before pick up time to get a favourable position in the queue.

So it’s a good time to do some editing.

And it’s where I work on one of my stories, matched to a photo as inspiration.

Not today.

There are pressures in getting the NaNoWriMo project finished, and it’s getting away from me.

This part was not as easy as I hoped, so back to the job. Hopefully, there will be better news tomorrow

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.

I remembered the car slewing sideways.

I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.

Or I could be underwater.

Everything was blurred.

I tried to focus, but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.

What happened?

Why was I lying down?

Where was I?

I cast my mind back, trying to remember.

It was a blank.

What, when, who, why and where are questions I should easily be able to answer. These are questions any normal person could answer.

I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.

I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”

I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.

I was blind. Everything was black.

“Car accident; hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”

Was I that poor bastard?

“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.

“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”

“What isn’t broken?”

“His neck.”

“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”

I heard the shuffling of pages.

“OR1 ready?”

“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.

It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time underwater.

Or somewhere.

I tried to speak but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.

Was it night or was it day?

Was it hot, or was it cold?

Where was I?

Around me, it felt cool.

It was incredibly quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or that was the sound of pure silence.  And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.

I didn’t try to move.

Instinctively, somehow, I knew not to.

A previous unpleasant experience?

I heard what sounded like a door opening, and noticeably quiet footsteps slowly came into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.

My grandfather.

He had smoked all his life until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that, he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way down the same path. I could smell the smoke.

I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.

I couldn’t.

I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later, the clicking of a pen, then writing.

“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a bad accident. You cannot talk or move; all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days and just came out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She had a very soothing voice.

Her fingers stroked the back of my hand.

“Everything is fine.”

Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.

“Just count backwards from 10.”

Why?

I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning, I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.

It rose above the disinfectant.

She was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.

It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning, she was back.

“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very severely injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”

More tests, and then when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. This was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.

The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”

Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accidents, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.

How could that happen?

That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact that I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment, was the fact that I could not remember before the crash either, or only vague memories after.

But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name.

I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.

I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I will remember tomorrow. Or the next day.

Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake up feeling nauseous. I think they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that but not who I am?

Now I knew Winifred, the nurse, was preparing me for something unbelievably bad. She was upbeat and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”

So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.

But there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.

This time, I was left awake for an hour before she returned.

This time, sleep was restless.

Scenes were playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Other people, I didn’t know. Or I knew them and couldn’t remember them.

Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off, she came in early and woke me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.

“This morning, the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly, or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”

I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.

I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender; the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.

I was amazed to realise at that moment, I wasn’t.

I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.

I felt the bandage being removed and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.

Then a moment when nothing happened.

Then the pads are gently lifted and removed.

Nothing.

I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.

“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later, I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. There was ointment or something else in them.

Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.

She wiped my eyes again.

I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.

I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.

Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.

I nodded.

“You can see?”

I nodded again.

“Clearly?”

I nodded.

“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”

I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring; there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the most handsome of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.

I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.

They came at mid-morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. She was the distraction, taking my mind off the reality of what I was about to see.

Another doctor came into the room before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon who had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.

I found it hard to believe that if he were, he would be at a small country hospital.

“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months.”

Warning enough.

The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.

Then it was done.

The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with it. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.

I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand and was reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said, noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the result. The doctor said it was going to heal with little scarring. You have been extremely fortunate that he was available. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

She showed me.

I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess, I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.

And I still could not talk. There was a reason; he had worked in that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.

“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement in last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”

A new face?

I could not remember the old one.

My memory still hadn’t returned.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024-2026

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.”

© Charles Heath 2022

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 28

I never thought I would get to this point, where there’s almost a complete novel.

It is quite remarkable that it is possible if you decide to focus on getting a novel out in a month.

What it does tell you is that proper planning is really a necessity if you want to succeed.

But…

It’s not the be-all to end all.

I’m not going to stop flying by the seat of my pants, but it’s given me another insight into the writing process.

I’m up to the business end of the story, and it requires concentration, and it will not be the first time I have written a page or two, gone back to reread it and made an adjustment.

I have to be careful not to be overly critical. After all, it is only the penultimate draft, and I’m striving for, but not necessarily expecting perfection.

It won’t be, but I can always hope.

A to Z – April – 2026 – X

X is for – X Doesn’t mark the spot

…

The day he sold the house on Mulberry Lane where he had lain his head to sleep every night of his life was, he thought, the happiest he had ever been.

It was not as if it started out as a house of horrors; in fact, from the moment he could remember, about six or seven, it had been an idyllic refuge.  That was what his mother had told him, before he went to boarding school, before she remarried, before that man who told him the first day they met he was going to send him away, as far away as possible.

Those days before his world was turned upside down…

…

He stood in front of the cottage, now almost surrounded by the forest it had been nestled in.  He could just barely see the window on the second floor, a special room his first father had built into the roof, a room with a view of the valley and the small stream that ran through it, of the fields with the cattle and sheep, or crops, and then grass as far as they could see.

It was his playground to play hide and seek, to go down to the stream and swim on hot days in the summer or pretend that he was a pirate on the high seas.

And then after dinner, a story from his mother, he lay his head on the pillow and dreamed of the adventures he would have when he grew up.

Then, on a cold, stormy night, that world changed a little.  His father had been in an accident, and he was not coming home. It was just going to be them, and that life would not change.

For what seemed a long time, it didn’t.  Then another man came, a man who seemed to make his mother happy, but there was something about him.  He didn’t like him, and he soon discovered the man didn’t like him.

There was a wedding, and they went away, leaving him with his aunt, a rather severe woman who lived in Scotland, a long way away from his house in the forest.  He was there for what seemed a long time, then his mother returned alone and told him that his new father wanted to travel, and that she was going to travel with him, and he would be going to a special school for children with parents who travelled.

He asked why he couldn’t go with them, but she said that he was better off in the special school.  He would live there and get a special education, one that, if he stayed with them, he wouldn’t.  Then, as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone.

…

He did not know that it would be the last time he would see her.  He did not know that his mother had left responsibility for him with his aunt.  He was upset when she didn’t visit him at the school or come to get him during the holidays.  Those times he went to Scotland to stay with his aunt.

He did not know until he left the school that his mother had died that first year in boarding school, or that his new father had murdered her and stolen her fortune and his inheritance.

And now, standing in front of that house where he had been happiest, he tried very hard to remember his father and his mother, but not remember either of them.  Only that horrid man who had stolen everything from them.

That man he had buried at the back of the house, down the bottom of a well that no one would even find.

He spent six years tracking him down, and when he made an appointment to see him, the man had not recognised him.  It took a week to assume his identity and take everything back.  What was left of the fortune, the inheritance which hadn’t been touched, and the house which he discovered the man had not visited or maintained.  The man had perpetrated the same evil on a dozen other women, and he took all of that, too.

Then he told the man what he’d done and told him if he wanted it back to come to the cottage in the forest.  He was surprised the man agreed.

He had advertised the property and had a single buyer contact him.  The original owner of the property.  The offer was acceptable, they shook hands on the deal, and after a final look, and a lot of memories returning briefly, he left.

Those memories were of his childhood, and now that chapter had closed, he could finally get on with his life.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026