Category: Writer

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

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NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 23

The story continues.

Chapters 23 through 28 are done, and we are on the home stretch.

There are seven days and hopefully seven more chapters.

I have finally decided on how it’s going to end, and he’s not going to finish up with the one he thought he would.

And another twist that no one will see coming, even though there are hints.

I have in mind how this will play out in one of the last three chapters, and there is a devastating truth that comes with it, one that is going to be hard to understand for one of the two main protagonists.

Such is as it should be.

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment, Will’s life slowly starts to unravel, and it’s obvious to him that it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule: don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 9

Watching the watchers

…

My day’s entertainment was spotting the surveillance and then watching the surveillance.  It was an aspect of my job that was really strange, but it was important to keep an eye on your enemies, if only to be ready for the unexpected.

I didn’t expect anything to happen, for the time being, taking Larry at his word that, for some reason, he needed Juliet to win my trust before he made an approach.

And yet there was always an air of unpredictability in these matters, so I decided that if the opportunity arose, I’d surprise him.  In any case, I had a feeling Larry might get impatient and arrive with a small army before too long.

The librarian, to all those who didn’t know who she was, was the quintessential librarian on holiday.  She was very much a loner, who was quite capable of appearing like a lost schoolgirl on one hand, and someone very much at home, and at ease, in her environment.

She also had an air of danger about her, so she would be when push came to shove, a formidable opponent.

I couldn’t say the same for the Frenchman because there were times, I didn’t quite believe he was anything other than an abrasive Frenchman.  The only thing that kept me interested was the fact I couldn’t shake him.

I’d managed to lose the librarian several times, long enough to observe her, before I let her find me again.  Until the last time when she lost me, I came up behind her.

I’m not sure what I was thinking, but surprise often brought out a person’s true character.

When she turned around, his sixth sense finally kicking in, she jumped

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I said.

“We haven’t met before.”

“You were at the hotel this morning, and I got an icy look from you just before you left.  From them 9n, every time I turn around, there you are.”

“Coincidence, I assure you.”

“I hope so, because I cannot for the life of me wonder what your interest could be in me.”

“None.”

“Are you staying at the hotel?”

There had to be a point where. If she was a normal person, she would find this encounter creepy, and begin to think I was a stalker.  Not so far, which meant that she hadn’t time to formulate the proper response to our first meeting, outrage. Or at least genuine fear.

She had fallen back on training, training that I was familiar with.  The question then was, she might not be working for Larry, but Rodby.

“I can’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“Well or might be.  If you are a tourist, I live here, and know the city well, and could be at the very least an English-speaking guide.”

“I’m not in need of a guide.  I’m only here a few days and talking to you is wasting time.  If you’re following me, don’t.”

A last look up and down, definitely checking out what sort of threat I was, she then wandered off, cool and calm demeanor reacquired.

And, I thought, cover blown.  One down and one to go.

It might have been disconcerting to fund the Frenchman and Juliet having coffee at a small Cafe opposite a church on one of the wider streets in Venice.

After running into the librarian in St Mark’s square, I decided to walk a large circuitous route to Rio Terra Foscarini, at the end of which was a church and a Vaporetto terminal.

I was at the top of Campo Morosini, and saw them before they saw me, which left me with two options.  Crash the party, or leave them alone.  The latter seemed the best idea, and I doubled back and decided to check out the film festival events for the days.

Something else, which might be a worry, I had noticed the Frenchman had stopped following me.  At least now I knew who she was working for.

Changing my mind again, I decided to go home and contemplate my next meeting with Juliet.

Waiting, not far from the doorstep, was Alfie.

“Knew you’d get around to coming home sometime today.  How are you?”

“Confused.”

“Well, that’s not a good state to be in.”

I opened the door and let him pass in front of me.  A quick look to see if anyone was watching, there was no one that I could see, then closed the door.

If only that could shut out all the problems.

“Why are you confused?”

“Has Rodby put another dog on my tail?”

“You mean that woman you accosted in the souvenir shop?  Not aware of one, but you know Rodby, trusts no one and tells you only what he thinks you want to hear.”

So Alfie was not above telling me lies.  Or maybe he didn’t know, but I found that hard to believe.  And it was disconcerting to learn he knew of my every movement.  Was her surveilling me too, or just tracking me.  And how did he know about the librarian?

“She’s just one of two keeping an eye on me.  The other is a Frenchman, and I just saw him and Juliet having coffee.”

“Details.  What’s your plan for tonight?  You should be taking Cecilia.”

“She’s busy.”

“Not that busy that our affairs cone first.”

“It’s not that important.  I’m sure when she’s finished, she’ll be crashing the party.  But, in any case, there is no plan.  I’m not sure whether I want to interrogate her, or just play along.  Where’s Larry?”

“Still in Sorrento.”

“You will tell me the moment he leaves?”

“Of course.  If you want me to take care of the woman and the Frenchman, let me know.”

“Won’t that alert Larry that we’re on to him?”

“Possibly, but people disappear here all the time.”

“I don’t think we need to be that drastic.  Yes.  Let’s see what happens tonight.”

“Have fun then “

I was not sure who I had to worry about the most.  Rodby or Larry.  They both seemed overly obsessive.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 22

I’m still working on two back chapters, which might become three,

But…

I’ve been steadily working on chapters 24 through 29, which were dependent on the framework set up in the two previous chapters.

It has actually made it easier to see where the story is going and make changes in both parts as I go along.

That now leaves me at Chapter 30, which is a major turning point for the story.

In the outline, I had the two protagonists doing one thing, and now I’ve pulled the plug on them, and they are doing something else.

The problem was that it was too predictable.

Still, now I’m at chapter 30, anything can happen.

A to Z – April – 2026 – S

S is for – Speaking of the dead

…

There was no point in asking Jack.

He was the witness who had fourteen different answers for the same situation; in fact, it changed every time you asked him.

I used to think that he did it deliberately, that it was his way of avoiding responsibility, and it worked.  No one asked him to do anything or asked his opinion, and that threw all of it on me, the younger and only sibling.

For that reason, I left home as soon as I could.   Away from my parents, who expected so much, and my brother, who was oblivious to the problems he was causing me.

Of course, there was always going to be something to drag me back to that place.

Very early on a Saturday morning, the one day I got to sleep in, the cell phone rang at the ungodly hour of 5:03 am.  I remember the time because I also remembered who was calling.

My brother Jack.

I was not in a good mood.  “What?”

“Fine way to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.  Don’t call me again.”  And then I disconnected the call.

I made the fatal mistake of not switching off the phone.

5:07am.  Jack.  He was going to keep calling.  I sighed, got out of bed, picked up the phone and pressed the green answer button.

“Make it quick, I’m missing out on a much-earned sleep-in.”

“OK, if that’s the way you want it.  Mum and Dad are dead.”

Jack was the original little boy who cried wolf.

“Of course they are.  Are you sure they’re not at the mall shopping?”  He had tried this story once before.  He had half the town in uproar until they found him having coffee at a small cafe, and somehow made it all my fault.  As usual.

“No.  They would have told me.”

“They never tell you anything because you never can relay anything correctly.  Just hang tight, they’ll be home soon enough.”

“They’ve been gone a week, nearly eight days.  I think they’re dead.”

More than likely, they’d gone on a holiday, told him, and he’d forgotten or got it jumbled up in that complicated mind of his.  “There’s nothing wrong with them.  They will be back.”

I hung up, this time switching off the phone, and went back to bed.

…

It was never going to end there.  Nothing that involved Jack did, and his calling had brought all the bad memories flooding back, bad enough that there was no point going back to sleep.

I had to wonder if, after all these years, my parents finally decided they’d had enough of him and just left.  Certainly, the last time I had seen my mother, she was at the end of her tether.  They had come to visit me in the big city, as they called it, and I got the impression that being away was a relief.

I tried calling my mother’s phone, and it rang out.  It was charged, and on, not the state I’d expect if something had happened to her.  My father didn’t have a phone; he said they were the devil’s toys to seduce us, and there were times when I agreed with him.

An hour later, my cell phone rang again.  An unknown number.  Usually, I didn’t answer them, but for some odd reason, I did.

“Richard Westly?”

“Yes.”

“Sheriff Jackson, Black Ridge County Sheriff’s Department.  I assume you live in the old house at the end of Bridge Street?”

“I did.  Haven’t been there for a dozen years or so.  Why?”

Earlier this morning, the next-door neighbour came over to check on them and found the house broken into, and all three occupants were dead.  We believe all three are victims of foul play.”

“All three?”

“Your father, your mother, and your brother Jack.”

“When did they die?  When did Jack die?  Does anyone know?”

“The medical examiner is here, and the preliminary assessment is that they have been dead between four and seven days.”

“Jack too?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible.   I was just speaking to him about an hour ago.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026

365 Days of writing, 2026 – Day 94/95

Days 94 and 95 – Writing Exercise

…

I had a plan. 

I just didn’t have a plan B.

And, because of it, I had an extraordinary story to tell the grandchildren.

It started out with the best of intentions.

I had been talking to this girl, Wanda Richardson. 

My mother would say that she was not my ‘type’, but her idea of type was someone who was way out of my and the rest of my siblings’ reach.

She thought we were ‘well-to-do’, so much so that the whole of the dating pool we all had access to was beneath us.

Or them.

I did ask once why we were not attending a ‘posh’ school instead of the local high school and got a belting from my father for sassing my mother.

Later, I discovered that my mother had come from a wealthy family that had lost all their money the generation before, but she refused to change her lifestyle.

But that was all later, when I’d gone down a path that I could never come back from.

Like I said, it all started with the best of intentions.

..

Friday night, Wanda worked in the Diner.  Wanda’s parents didn’t have unreal expectations.  I didn’t tell my parents I had feelings towards her; I knew what would happen if I did.

I’d seen my older brother Louis go down the same path; they had embarrassed him, and he had to leave town and vowed never to come back.

I was going to do the same as soon as I graduated from high school.

Friday night, I would hang out at the diner and then walk Wanda home.  I wasn’t the ostensibly eligible boy, even though I was on the football team, and sometimes made up the numbers for the baseball team.

I just didn’t have that killer instinct it took to get ahead, or the parents who pushed their kids into the top spots in the team.

Academically, I would get good grades, but nothing special, even though I could get a place at a nearby college, if I wanted it.

My mother wanted mt to go to University.  My father wanted me to stay in town and integrate into his business.  He had hoped Louis would but he didn’t.  I didn’t want to either, but it was beginning to look like I wouldn’t have a choice.

Wanda didn’t care.  He parents decided she would find a nice boy, settle down, be a wife and mother, giving her parents grandchildren. 

The sooner the better.

She wanted to see the world first

As the final reward of high school came to an end, we spoke of many things.  They didn’t include dating, the prom, or what would happen next year.

Except this Friday, she was different.

I dropped by about half an hour before the end of her shift, busy as always, and I had a seat at the bar.  I ordered a pie and a soda.  The same as always.

“You should try something different,” she said as she walked past, just back from cleaning and resetting a table for the next group.

Richie Fincal and Mary, and his offsider, Mickey and Elise, Richie and Mickie in the football team, Mary and Elise in the cheerleader squad. 

Children of influential families are often the cause of trouble. 

Mary had tried all year to get Wanda into the cheerleaders, but Wanda had no interest.  Richie was disappointed I didn’t try harder because he thought I had talent.

The coach had other ideas, and I agreed with the coach.

“I’m a creature of habit,” I said.

“You should think about trying something new.  Women like their men to be more adventurous.”

That was a surprise.  She often said I should try something different, bur the was the first time she mentioned anything about adventure.

“I don’t know any adventurous women.”

She gave me a hard stare, the one when I knew she was annoyed.  “What am I, a librarian?”

I wondered what the significance of being a librarian meant.  This year, she had changed and spoke of things I knew little about.

I had to admit that she had grown up and left me behind.  For a while there, she had dated one of the football A team players and got to hang out with what were known as the cool kids.

Then they had broken up, and when I asked why, she wouldn’t tell me.  It must have had some significance because she cried off and on for weeks.

“No.  Too good for me.  I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.  “I’m going to wait on a few tables.  When I come back, I expect better from you.  No girl would be ashamed to have you as a friend, Billy.”

She passed by a few minutes later and put the pie with extra cream and I creams and the mistaken in front of me. “Enjoy.”

…

“You going down the cove later?”  Richie stopped as the four were leaving.  The others kept going.

“Thinking about it”, it was one of the few gatherings before the prom and probably the last time we’d all be in one place before graduation

Richie was just being polite.  I didn’t normally go because turning up without a girl with you invited comment.

Kids could be quite horrible, especially to those perceived not to have friends.

I chose not to be too friendly with anyone.

“John’s got a couple of kegs from his dad, drinks all round.  It’s going to be a good night.”

We were not supposed to be drinking beer.  I’d seen two effects: some of the boys and the girls changed when they had too much.  Last time there were fights, and the sheriff had his hands full.

I swore I would never go again.

“I’ll see how the night pans out.”

He saw me looking in Wanda’s direction.  “She’s out of your league, Billy.  Harry’s gonna ask her out tonight, so leave it be, eh.”

A pat on the back, and he was gone.

Harry was an ass.  I hoped she had the sense to say no.

…

Wanda’s shift ended, and I asked her if she wanted me to walk her home.

She refilled the coffee mug while I reckon she was deciding yes or no.  “I’ll sign off and get my coat.”

I finished the coffee and waited outside.  When she came, Harry stepped up.

“You want to go to the cove?”

He had an interesting way of asking, direct and with no please or thank you.  He just took it for granted you’d agree.  She had told me he just expected she would be acquiescent.  Girls were meant to do as they were told.

I guess he was a product of most men in town, my father and mother included.  It was why my mother was constantly at odds with her daughters.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“The gutless are expecting you.  I said you were coming.”

“You don’t have the right to decide what I do and don’t do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“This is exactly how this works.  Billy is taking me, you see his boat.”

“What boat?”

“His father’s boat.”

Was I?  I never said I would or could, for that matter.  He had banned everyone from going near it because, firstly, it was his pride and joy, and secondly, it was his hiding place from home and responsibility.  He had only shown me once.

“He’s lying if he told you that.”

“He doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Harry.  Good night, Harry.”

The look he gave her didn’t augur well.  For her or for me.  Especially after Richie warned me.

…

“Why did you tell Harry about the boat?”

“Because I’m tired of him bossing me about.  I told him it was over, but he just doesn’t get it.  Besides, you can show me where it is, what it looks like.”

“But you told him a lie?”

“And you can make it the truth.  This is your one chance to prove to me you care about me, Billy.  I’m sick and tired of being disappointed by every boy in this place.”

The gauntlet had been thrown down.

And to be honest, I should have taken a little longer to consider the consequences, but here’s the thing, I felt like this was the first and possibly the only chance to find true love.

As much as any teenager who’d never experienced it before, and was feeling a range of sensations that had no rational explanation. 

Of course, I had absolutely no idea what love was, but I did have these feelings towards Wanda, and I assumed that it was love.

“I didn’t know you were interested in me or in boats, or anyone else.”

“There is a lot you do not know about me that anyone knows or has taken the time to find out.  Take me home, and then I will meet you near the Fisherman’s Cooperative.”

I knew the place.

Her grandfather had a small chandler’s store next to the Fisherman’s Cooperative, which I had collected from her one weekend when she asked me to take her home, after visiting her grandparents.

She had been upset at the time, and I had got the impression she had been in an argument with Harry and had gone to be with her grandparents rather than her parents.

I found her grandparents to be far more reasonable people, and that her parents were much like mine, with unreasonable expectations.

After doing as she asked, I left her at the front gate and then slowly made my way to the wharf precinct.  Standing on the wharf, it was possible to see the cove and the bonfire in the middle of the sand, looking almost like a signal to guide a ship in or away from the rocks.

There was a lighthouse on the point.

It was dark, and the wharf was lit by a series of single bulbs that didn’t cover much area.  From the car park it looked like a weird if lights heading out to sea.

When I arrived, the full moon was out and made it very bright, but since my arrival, dark clouds had rolled in from the horizon out to sea, blocking the moon.  Then, lightning appeared, way out to sea, putting on a spectacular light show.

Just after the first cracking of lightning appeared to hit the end of the wharf, the lights sent out, the breeze picked up, and you could feel the rain in the air.  Wanda appeared beside me, almost scaring me.

“You’re jumpy,” she said. 

“It’s a bit spooky in the dark, and the storm that’s going to hit very soon.”

“I’d been quite warm.  What’s not to like about cooling rain?”

What indeed.  Clearly, the thunder and lightning didn’t bother her.

“So, show me this boat.”

It was moored a short distance from the wharf and an area with a series of sea anchorages.  My father didn’t like the idea of mooring in the marina bays because when he had, and a storm hit, it caused a lot of damage.

Riding it out moored to a block on the sea floor and a stabilising anchor seemed much safer.

The sea had been rising with the increased onshore wind, and while the moon had been out, old could see the sea-anchored boats rocking on the waves.

There were several people aboard their boats, but if the seas got higher, they might have to row ashore.

I took her to the middle of the wharf, where there were steps down to the sea, now washing over the bottom level, usually a foot over the water level.

The tide was coming in and would be at its highest in another two hours.  If the waves got higher, they would break over the wharf itself.  It had happened twice in the last year.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the bay, and I pointed to the boat.  A crash of thunder, followed by more lightning, gave her an extended view.

“That’s not a boat.  That’s more of a dinghy.”

What did she know about boats?

“It’s quite large when you are aboard.”

Rain started, just drops, picked up by the gusty wind.  I turned to tell her we’d better find cover, to find her on the other side of the wharf, looking towards the beach party.

The bonfire was blazing, the flames picked up by the wind.  There were quite a few people there, defying the weather.

“They’re going to get wet,” she said.

“I don’t think they care.  Two kegs of beer make people apparently waterproof.”

“And stupid.”

Last time I went on one of Richie’s beach parties, more than innocence was lost.

I saw Wanda shudder.

“Bad experience?”

She didn’t say anything, bur it wondered if the tears were from the rain or horrible memories.

Another gust of wind, and the rain increased.

“We’d better find cover,” I said.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me.  In my ear, she whispered, “Hold me.”

I did as she asked and we stood there, in the rain and the wind, her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her shuddering.

It was more than just the cold.

Then she spoke again, and it was like we were in a cone of silence. I could hear nothing else but her words, “I think I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do.  I can’t tell anyone, and the fact that you are holding me now is the only reason I haven’t thrown myself off the end of the pier.”

…

The rain didn’t matter, it was the least of her concerns, and it want bothering me.  It had been hot during the day, and the storm was expected.

I gave her time, waiting until she wanted to speak, or not.  It had taken great courage to tell someone who, in truth, wasn’t all that close or had earned her trust.

But then, who could she trust with that news?

I felt her move slightly, and she looked at me. 

“What do I do?  What can I do?”

“Breathe for starters.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Her eyes were watery, tears leaving streaks down her cheek.  There was a look of utter despair in her expression.

“Does anyone else know?”

“That Harry raped me, only my grandparents, who are sworn to secrecy.  They don’t know about the baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“As anyone can be.  Things happen or don’t happen, and it didn’t happen.”

It was about as oblique an answer she could give me.  I wondered if my sisters knew what she was talking about.”

“But it might not be the case?”

“I have to go with the worst-case scenario.”

“Right.  How long before anyone can tell?”

“One of my cousins got pregnant, and my mother said she knew the moment she saw her.  You’re supposed to have this glow thing.  Do I look like I’m glowing?”

I shook my head.  “You look very wet, I’ll say that much.”  I think it was the first time I realised that it was raining.

She smiled.  It was a sad smile, but it broke the gloom.  “Can we run away somewhere?”

“Would you want to run away with me?  I mean, we know each other, but,” I shrugged, “if you believe you can trust me, I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“Can I trust you?”

It was as an interesting question.  I had never been put in a position where someone had to take me at face value.  I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong, not like Richie and his cohorts, but then girls hadn’t taken much of an interest in me.

“I give you my word I would never knowingly hurt you.  I can’t say the same for my parents, though.”

“Nor could I mine, but it’s as much as I can expect.  We are both so not ready for this, but it have been thinking about what I was going to do.  The thing is, he’s just going to deny it, and being the son of a deputy sheriff, who’s going to believe me?”

She was right.  Harry was almost untouchable, and Richie and his friends fed off that implied immunity.  It was wrong, but it was a small town.  Her word against his, and the others who would close ranks, iy was to was easier just to disappear.

“Then we need a plan.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Anything to get out of going to the Prom, yes. But, sure, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “You know, I could get to love you.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

Searching for locations: Turangi, New Zealand, it’s an interesting town

Located at the bottom of Lake Taupo, in New Zealand, staying here would make more sense if you were here for the fishing, and, well, the skiing or the hiking, or just a relaxing half hour in the thermal pools.

I saw a sign somewhere that said that Taurangi was New Zealand’s premier fishing spot. I might have got the wrong, but it seems to me they’re right. On the other side of town, heading towards Taupo, there’s a lodge that puts up fly fishermen, and where you can see a number of them in an adjacent river trying their luck.

It’s what I would be doing if I had the patience.

But Taurangi is a rather central place to stay, located at the southernmost point of the lake. From there it is not far from the snowfields of Whakapapa and Turoa. Equally, at different times of the year, those ski fields become walking or hiking tracks, and the opportunity to look into a dormant volcano, Ruapehu.

It is basically surrounded by hills and mountains on three sides and a lake on the other. Most mornings, and certainly everyone is different, there is a remarkable sunrise, particularly from where we were staying on the lake, where it could be cloudy, clear, or just cold and refreshing, with a kaleidoscope of colors from the rising sun.

I don’t think I’ve been there to see two days the same.

However, Taurangi, on most days we’ve visited, is even more desolate than Taupo, both on the main street and the central mall. The same couldn’t be said for the precinct where New World, the local supermarket, a Z petrol station can be found. There it is somewhat more lively. The fact there’s a few more shops and a restaurant might help traffic flow.

There is also a mini golf course, and in the middle of winter, it is a bleak place to be, especially in the threatening rain, and the wind. It had also seen better days and in parts, in need of a spruce up, but it’s winter, and there are no crowds, so I guess it will wait till the Spring.

In the mall, there’s the expected bank, newsagent, gift shop and post office combined, and a number of other gift shops/galleries. But the best place is the café which I’ve never seen empty and has an extended range of pies pastries and cakes, along with the fast food staples of chips and chicken.
Oh, and you can also get a decent cup of coffee there.

There are two other coffee shops but we found this one the first time we came, we were given a warm welcome and assistance, and have never thought to go anywhere else, despite two known change of owners.

But despite all these reasons why someone might want to stay there, we don’t.

We have a timeshare, and there’s a timeshare in Pukaki called Oreti Village. That’s where we stay.

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

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

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

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

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

Not like now.

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

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

The cold air was refreshing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curiosity got the better of me.

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

“Get out of that room now.”

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

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

Damn.

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

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

Just in case.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I started heading down by myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I headed down.

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

One asked, “Can we get out of here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tell me?”

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

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

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

I was not.

They had found me.

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

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

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

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

© Charles Heath 2021-2025

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta reader’s view

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well, not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end of it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum: find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father, who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

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