The A to Z Challenge – G is for “Going out of my mind…”

Accidents can happen.

Sometimes they’re your fault, sometimes they’re not.

The accident I was in was not. Late at night driving home from work, a car came speeding out of a side street and T-boned my car.

It could have been worse, though the person who said it had a quite different definition of the word worse than I did.

To start with, I lost three months of my life in a coma, and even when I surfaced, it took another month to realize what had happened. Then came two months of working out my recovery plan.

If that wasn’t trial enough, what someone else might describe as the ‘last straw that broke the camel’s back’, my wife of 22 years decided to send me a text that morning, what was six months in hospital, to the day.

“I’m sorry, Joe, but enough is enough. I cannot visit you anymore, and for the sake of both our sanity, I think it’s time to draw a line in the sand. I know what happened isn’t your fault but given the prognosis, I don’t think I can cope with the situation. I need time to think about what will happen next and to do so, I’ll be going home to spend some time with family. Once again, I’m so sorry not to be doing this in person. I’ll let you know what I decide in due course. In the meantime, you have my best wishes for your recovery.”

In other words, goodbye. Her family lived in England, about 12,000 miles away in another hemisphere, and the likelihood of her returning was remote. We had meant to visit them, and had, in fact, booked the tickets shortly before the accident. I guess she couldn’t wait any longer.

My usual nurse came in for the first visit on this shift. She had become the familiar face on my journey, the one who made it worth waking up every morning.

“You look a little down in the dumps this morning. What’s up?”

She knew it couldn’t be for medical reasons because the doctor just yesterday had remarked how remarkable my recovery had been in the last week or so. Even I had been surprised given all the previous negative reports.

“Ever broken up by text?”

“What do you mean?”

“Frances has decided she no longer wants to be involved. I can’t say I blame her, she has put her whole life on hold because of this.”

“That’s surprising. She’s never shown any disappointment.”

“Six months have been a long time for everyone. We were supposed to be going home so she could see her family. Maybe that’s what it’s all about.”

I gave her the phone and she read the message.

Then she handed it back. “That’s goodbye, Tom. I’m sorry. And no, I’ve never had a breakup by text, but I guess there could always be a first time.”

She spent the next ten minutes going through the morning ritual, then said, “I’ve heard there’s a new doctor coming to visit you. Whatever has happened in the last few days had tongues wagging, and you might just become the next modern miracle. Fame and fortune await.”

“Just being able to walk again will be miracle enough.”

That had been the worst of it. The prognosis that it was likely I’d never be able to walk again, or work, and the changes to our lives that would cause. I knew Frances was bitterly disappointed that she might become the spouse who had to spend the rest of her life looking after, and though she had said it didn’t matter, that she would be there for me, deep down I knew a commitment like that took more internal fortitude than she had.

She ran her own business, managed three children into adulthood, and had a life other than what we had together. When I was fit and able, and nothing got in the way, it had worked. Stopping everything to cater to my problems had severely curtailed her life. Something had to give, and it had.

But, as I said, I didn’t blame her. She had tried, putting in a brave face day after day but once the daily visits slipped to every other day, to once a week, I knew then the ship was heading towards the rocks.

This morning it foundered.

I pondered the situation for an hour before I sent a reply. “I believe you have made the right decision. It’s time to call it and going home and take some time to consider what to do next is right. In normal circumstances, we would not be considering any of this, but these are not normal circumstances. But, just in case you are worried about the effect of all of this on me, don’t. I will get over it, whatever the result is, and what you need to do first and foremost is to concentrate on what is best for you. If that means drawing a line on this relationship, so be it. All I want for you is for you to be happy, and clearly, having to contend with this, and everything else on your plate, is not helping. I am glad we had what time we had together and will cherish the memories forever, and I will always love you, no matter what you decide.”

It was heart-felt, and I meant it. But life was not going to be the same without her.

…

I’d dozed off after sending the message, and only woke again when my usual doctor came into the room on his morning rounds, the usual entourage of doctors and interns in tow. I’d been a great case for sparking endless debate on the best route for my recovery among those fresh out of medical school. Some ideas were radical, others pie in the sky, but one that seemed implausible had got a hearing, and then the go-ahead, mainly because there was little else that apparently could be done.

That doctor, and now another I hadn’t seen before was standing in the front row, rather than at the back.

The doctor in charge went through the basics of the case, as he did every day, mainly because the entourage changed daily. Then, he deferred to the radical doctor as I decided to call her.

She went through the details of a discovery she had made, and the recommendation she’d made as a possible road to recovery, one which involved several radical operations which had been undertaken by the elderly man standing beside her. When I first met him, I thought he was an escaped patient from the psychiatric ward, not the pre-eminent back surgeon reputed to be the miracle worker himself.

It seemed, based on the latest x-rays that a miracle had occurred, but whether it was or not would be known for another week. Then, if all went well, I would be able to get out of bed, and, at the very least, be able to stand on my own. In the meantime, I had endless sessions of physio in the lead-up to the big event. Six months in bed had taken its toll on everything, and the week’s work was going to correct some of that.

It meant there was hope, and despite what I said and thought, hope was what I needed.

There had been ups and downs before this, fuelled by a morning when I woke up and found I could wriggle my toes. It was after the second operation, and I thought, given the amount of pain killers, it had been my imagination.

When I mentioned it, there was some initial excitement, and, yes, it was true, I wasn’t going out of my mind, it was real. The downside was, I couldn’t move anything else, and other than an encouraging sign, as the days passed, and nothing more happened, the faces got longer.

Then, the physiotherapist moved in, and started working on the areas that should be coming back to life. I felt little, maybe the pain killers again, until the next, and perhaps the last operation. I managed to lift my left leg a fraction of an inch.

But we’d been here before, and I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

…

Annabel, the daughter that lived on the other side of the country, finally arrived to visit me. I had thought, not being so far away she might have come earlier, but a few phone calls had sorted out her absence. Firstly, there was no much use visiting a coma patient, second, she was in a delicate stage of her professional career and a break might be the end of it, and thirdly, she accepted that I didn’t want to see her until I was much better.

She was not very happy about it, but it was a costly venture for her, in terms of time, being away from a young family, and just getting there.

Now, the time had come. She had a conference to attend, and I was happy to play second fiddle.

After the hugs and a few tears, she settled in the uncomfortable bedside chair.

“You don’t look very different than the last time I saw you,” she said.

“Hospitals have perfected the art of hiding the worst of it, but it’s true. The swelling had receded, the physios have revived the muscles, and I have a little movement again.”

“The injuries are not permanent?”

“Oh, they’re permanent, but not as bad as first thought.”

“Pity my mother isn’t here.”

“She was, day after day, through the darkest period. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But your mother is an independent woman, and she has always been free to do what she wants, and I would not have had it any other way.”

“But deserting you in the middle of all this…”

“It’s been very debilitating on her. I can understand her reasons, and so should you. She will still be your mother no matter what happens to us.”

There had been a number of phone calls, from each of the children, decrying her actions after she had sent a text message to each of them telling them what she was doing. She had not told them she was leaving, in so many word, but leaving the door ajar, perhaps to allay their fears she was deserting them too. Annabel had been furious. The other two, not so much.

“And this latest development?”

I had also told her about the miracle worker, and the possibilities, without trying to get hopes up.

“On a scale of one to ten, it’s a three. We’ve been here before, so I’m going to save the excitement for when it happens, if it happens.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

It was a question I’d asked myself a number of times, one that I didn’t want an answer to. Hope was staving it off, each day a new day of discovery, and a day closer to the idea I might walk again. I had to believe it would happen, if not the next day, the next week, month, year, that it would eventually happen.

For now, all I had to do was stand on my own two feet.

It was ironic, in a way, that simple statement. ‘Stand on your own two feet’. Right then, it seemed so near, and yet, at the same time, so far away.

I didn’t answer that question, but did what I usually did with visitors, run a distraction and talk about everything else. This visit was no exception. I had a lot of catching up to do.

It’s odd how some call the day of momentous events D-Day because to me nothing would be more momentous than the invasion of France during the second world war.

Others were not quite of the same opinion. It was going to be a momentous day.

It started the same as any other.

The morning routine when the duty nurse came to do the checks. Then the physio, now a permanent fixture mid-morning, just after the tea lady arrived. Deliberate, I thought, to deprive me of my tea break, and some unbelievably delicious coconut cookies.

Then the routine changed, and the escort arrived to take me down to the room where the physio had set up an obstacle course. It looked like one, and I’d told him so when I first saw it, and he had said by the time he was finished with me, I’d be able to go from start to finish without breaking a sweat.

In my mind perhaps, but not with this broken body. I didn’t say that because I was meant to be positive.

An entourage arrived for the main event. I would have been happier to fail in front of the doctor, the miracle worker, and the physio, but it seemed everyone wanted a front row seat. If it worked, the physio confided in me, there was fame and fortune being mentioned in Lancet, what was a prestigious medical journal.

Expectations were running high.

The physio had gone through the program at least a hundred times, and the previous day we had got to the point where I was sitting on the side of the bed. We’d tried this ordinary manoeuvre several times, previously without success under my own steam but this morning, for some reason it was different.

I was able to sit up, and then, with a struggle move my legs part of the way, and with a little help for the rest.

What was encouraging, was being able to swing my legs a short distance. IT was those simple things that everyone could do without thinking, that had seemed impossible not a month before, that got people excited. I didn’t know how I felt other than I missed those simple things.

Then the moment had arrived. Hushed silence.

There was a structure in place. All I had to do was pulled myself across, at the same time sliding off the bed and into a standing position. There was a safety harness attached so that if my grip slipped it would prevent me from falling.

It was probably not the time to tell them the pain in my lower back was getting worse.

So, like I’d been instructed, and going one step further than the day before, I reached out, grabbed the bars and pulled myself up and over, at the same time, sliding off the side of the bed. I could feel the tug of the safety harness which told me I had left the safety of the bed, and was in mid motion.

I could feel my legs straightening, and then very softly landing on the floor, the safety harness letting my body drop down slowly.

The pain increased exponentially as the weight came down onto my legs, but my body had stopped moving. I could not feel the tightness of the harness, but a rather odd sensation in my legs.

All that time I had been concentrating so hard that I had heard nothing, not even the encouraging words from the physio.

Until I realised, from the noise around me, that it had worked. I was standing on my own two feet, albeit a little shakily.

And I heard the physio say, in his inimitable way, “Today you just landed on the moon. Tomorrow, it’s going to be one small step for mankind. Well done.”

…

The A to Z Challenge – E is for “Every cloud has a silver lining”

There wasn’t a year went by when I was reminded of a saying that a childhood friend, Jack Mulligan, had one told me, when one door closes another one opens.

I forget why he said that, but I suspect it had something to do with a chip on my shoulder over not being the same as other children in the street.

We were definitely not equal with them, and it had shown. And school could be hell when kids see prey and attack mercilessly.

When I left the school, and the family moved away from Odyssey Falls, I never saw Jack again, though I followed his progress, as well as several others, for a few years, up until I read about a car accident, and not only his death, but that of my first love, Cecilia Zampa.

After that, I forgot about Odyssey Falls, and a life that had not been particularly good.

It took another friend, one I’d made during a stint in the National Guard, to bring back a single memory, and one thing led to another as it inevitably does, until I found myself waking up in the Sad Sack Motel on the city limits of Odyssey Falls, one very cold, snowy morning.

It would not have happened if it had not been snowing so hard, and the road that passed through the city had not been covered in snow.

Not that I knew, the moment I woke up, that I was in Odyssey Falls, we had not passed the sign telling all that they were about to enter the most scenic city in the state, and it could have been anywhere.

“What the hell happened to us?” The croaky voice that was the result of 40 cigarettes a day, sounded startled, and belonged to my travelling companion, Melissa, last name not sure.

“We hit a bank of snow, and the cops said to hole up in the motel until the road was cleared, hopefully this morning sometime.”

“Is there a reason we’re in this bed together?

A good question. Until two days ago I’d never met Melissa before, she had been seeking a lift when I’d stopped at a gas station to fill up, and it beat making the drive by myself.

“Your idea. I said I’d sleep on the floor.”

“Did we…?”

“No. I started on the floor and you took pity on me.”

I saw her glance under the blanket, just to make sure, but she still had most of her clothes on. She rolled over. “What time is it?”

“Still dark. A few hours before it gets light. I’m going out to get some coffee, you want any?”

“God, no. Maybe later.”

I thought I’d got out of the bed without waking her, but obviously the opposite was the case. It had been a strange night, and she had talked in her sleep, and it didn’t take much to realise she had not been treated well by the men in her life. I didn’t sleep much, too many bad dreams myself, and I was heading to the truck stop a few hundred yards up the road.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” I said just before opening the door. There was no reply, so I guess she had gone back to sleep.

It was dark and cold, the hour or two before the sun made an appearance. In that dark, it was quiet, the traffic on the road stopped waiting for the snow ploughs to clear the way.

The truck stop stood out like a beacon in the night, like a light drawing an insect towards it on a hot summers night. A find memory popped into my head and was gone again by the time I reached the door.

It was bright inside, and busy, a lot of stalled drivers taking the forced down time to get breakfast. I wandered up to the counter and sat on one of the well-worn stools.

Back in my day, this place was all,shiny and new, and the place to go and meet up with others before getting into mischief. The city had been in its heyday then, when it was a stopover for those going east to west or vice versa, and there were a dozen cafes and even more motels.

This appeared to be the last, showing its age, and perhaps if the snow had not cut the road, would be empty. When the new turnpike had been built, 20 miles south, the effect on the city had been catastrophic, even more than when the timber mill closed after all the trees had been cut down.

The two events had reduced the population from a peak of 200,000, down to the 8,109 today, turning it into a veritable ghost town. Its halcyon days adorned the walls in photographs, now faded and wrinkled.

As soon as I sat down, one of the two women behind the counter noticed and came over, a half full pit if percolated coffee in one hand and a cup on a saucer in the other.

She looked tired, not in the way that indicated the last hour of a 12-hour shift, but tired of life.

She put the cup in front of me, and said, “coffee?”

I nodded, and she poured.

“Milk, sugar?”

“No.”

It was then I noticed the signature white tuft of hair that all the Zampa women had. This one had to be Cecilia’s younger sister, Marilyn.

I saw her giving me the once over, as if I had one of those familiar faces.

“Martin?” If she was Marilyn, she would have to recognise me, even though I was older and half the weight. She knew of my unrequited love for her sister and had, like many others, derided me for it

“Marilyn?”

“Ain’t seen you in a lifetime.”

“A mistake I assure you. Wasn’t expecting a prom queen to be a waitress in a dump like this.”

“OK, so I deserved that. I was a different person back then and believe me God has been punishing me ever since. The burgers are quite good here, believe it or not.”

“For breakfast?”

“You’d be surprised.”

I probably would, so I ordered it on her recommendation, and she went off to the kitchen. I was expecting her to yell it out across the room, but she didn’t.

Whilst mulling over the coffee, I tried assembling the history we shared, but it was only bits and pieces. The best I could remember was her sister being sympathetic towards me, but Marilyn, being the one who hung out with the football team, and the quarterback prom king, had made my life miserable.

She was far more beautiful than her sister but had that mean streak that every girl who knew she would be the most desired girl in school had towards people like me.

Fated too to marry the quarterback who had been drafted into a team that was a steppingstone towards fame and fortune, she had foolishly allowed herself to get pregnant, and then dumped when the lad left town. From what I remembered reading afterwards, it was the only child she had, and had never married since.

The quarterback, he wrecked his knee and tumbled out of favour and the big time, only to return to town and end up working in his father’s factory, at a sight less that he would have got in the big league.

She came back and dumped the burger in front of me and refilled the coffee cup. It was black and very strong, and I could feel it waking me up, and to an extent sober me up. I was lucky the cops had not realised I’d been drinking, and that was the cause of the accident, and equally lucky that no one else had been involved.

It was the sum of my life, going on benders and losing whole weeks at a time. It might have been the catalyst for finding myself back in the one place I said I’d never return. But the mind does play tricks, and it had decided the only place I was going to find salvation was this place.

And if that was the case, I don’t think I was going to find salvation.

When daylight broke and turned the darkness into a sea of whiteness, I’d finished. She’d been right, the hamburgers were good.

I paid the check and climbed back into my anorak. It had started snowing again, and it would be cold. Then, outside the door, it took a moment to remember which way the motel was.

Behind me I heard the swish of the automatic doors open and close, then Marilyn, “where are you staying?”

“Briefly at the Sad Sack, until the road clears.”

“Not staying?”

“There’s nothing to see or stay for. My parents live in Florida, my brother and sister somewhere in Europe and Asia respectively. There’s nothing here.”

“In a once thriving city, you’re not right, once everything closed down, and the new turnpike opened, people started drifting away, and now the only people we see are those that have lost their way. As for our generation, everyone has gone, except those who have nowhere to go.”

“I thought you had that dream of going to Hollywood.”

If I remembered correctly, she had been the star of several stage productions, and was quite good. Everyone had been impressed with her singing and dancing, and the drama teacher
was going to talk to a friend in the business.

“Me and a thousand others. Being good in a backwater doesn’t guarantee you anything but heartache, and disappointment. Then my mother got cancer and I had to come back to look after her, and work in the motel. I had my chance, and it didn’t work out.”

“For what it’s worth, everything I tried turned to crap. From what I’ve read, all of us had the same bad luck. You still own the motel?”

“My mother died, then dad, which was no surprise. Now my brother runs it, let’s me stay there, and the mean bastard makes me pay rent. You should come visit before you leave. Unless you’re married or something.”

“Once, but she found someone else, more successful. But my heart wasn’t in it, there was no one after Cecilia.”

“She liked you, you know, but she had aspirations that were never realistic.”

“What about you?”

“That’s a story that requires copious quantities of alcohol to relate. And time. If you change your mind, come and see me, it’d be nice to see a familiar face.”

“Walk you home?” It seemed almost a novel idea.

“Why not?”

When I got back to the room, it looked like a bomb had gone off in it.

Melissa was not in the room, and when I checked she was not in the bathroom either, that was a bigger mess. She had used all the towels and left them lying in a sopping heap in the corner. The sink had strands of black hair.

I came back out of the bathroom and was hit by the heady aroma of perfume. Had she spilled it on the floor, there was a stain beside the bed. On the bedside table was a scribbled note.

‘A salesman staying next door said he was leaving, and I hitched a ride with him. Thanks for the ride and room.’

Although I’d not expected any recompense, leaving a few dollars might have been an acceptable gesture, but she had not. I shrugged. I was considering leaving myself right after having a shower, but there didn’t seem to be the same desire to leave in a hurry.

Perhaps seeing Marylin and being reminded of Cecelia might have done that.

I took a last look at the room from the doorway, then pulled the door shut. At the very least I needed new towels.

Three doors up I ran into Marylin now changed into a cleaner’s uniform, and dragging a large cleaning car with, yes, new towels.

“No rest for the wicked then?”

“The cleaning lady rostered on today didn’t turn up for work. I don’t blame her. Sleep will have to wait. You are leaving now?”

“No. My travelling companion of a few days has up and left after using all the towels.”

She pulled two off the top of the pile and handed them to me. “Does this mean you’re staying?”

“For a day or two maybe. I have to go and see the old house where we lived, and you did intimate you had a story to tell, and I’m a sucker for stories.”

“Then when I get off shift I’ll call you. Every cloud eh?”

I had no idea what that meant, nor cared. For the moment I had something else to care about, other than the fact I was dying. My mind went briefly back to the doctor’s surgery a week before. The doctor delivered the news deadpan, and I took it in numbly. It had only hit home that morning just before I’d got out of bed.

The reason for coming home, the only home I’d ever known. Maybe now I could come to terms with it. Marylin smiled at me when I looked back, just before I went into the room. Perhaps that was another reason my subconscious had brought me here, to see Cecilia’s sister, to be reminded of what I’d once felt. Perhaps I’d felt that for her sister too.

Only time would tell, and although I had little of it left, it was time to take a few chances. Then I realised what she had said, that ‘every cloud had a silver lining’.

I looked up, just as the snow started again. I think I finally realised what fate was telling me, and for the first time since being told the bad news, I didn’t feel angry or sad, that everything would be the way it was meant to be.

The A to Z Challenge – F is for “For heaven’s sake…”

It was a combination of circumstances, not all related, but coming at me out of left field, circumstances that would prevent me from going home when I said I would.

I had every intention of getting there and as testament to that, I had got to the airport with baggage two hours before departure time, and had reached the departure gate with 20 minutes to spare, ready to board the plane.

I’d even got a business class ticket so I could travel in style.

What precipitated the set of circumstances? A simple phone call. I should have turned it off five minutes before boarding, but I didn’t but because I’d forgotten to, simply because I’d been distracted.

The call was from Penelope, my hard working and self-sacrificing personal assistant. I had offered to take her with me so we could work on a business plan that had to be presented the day after I was scheduled to return, but she had declined, which when I thought about it, if she hadn’t it might have created problems for both of us.

With a huge restructure going on, I was running behind in getting it completed, and had promised to finish it while at home.

The call: to tell me I had left a folder with vital research back on my desk, and she coming to the airport to deliver it, and she was, in fact, was in the terminal building when the boarding call came.

When I met her at the gate, only a few passengers had to be loaded. Being business class had afforded me a few extra minutes. File delivered, I left her looking exasperated and headed down the boarding ramp.

I was last aboard, and seconds after being seated, the door was closed.

I quickly typed and sent a message to tell everyone I was on the plane, eliciting two responses. My mother was glad that I was finally coming, the other from my elder brother, saying he would believe it when he saw me.

It was not without reason; I’d been in this situation before; on the plane ready to go.

Last time the plane didn’t leave the gate, a small problem that caused a big delay, so much so, I couldn’t get home.

Not this time. There was a slight lurch as the push tractor started pushing the plane back from the gate. A minute or so later the pilot fired up the engines, a sure sign of a definite departure. Nothing could stop us now.

It was a reassuring vibration that ran through the plane before the engines settled into a steady whine, a sign of an older plane that had flown many miles in the past and would into the future.

We stopped while the push tractor was disengaged and then the engines picked up speed and we lurched forward, heading towards the runway for take-off. In some airports this could take a long time, and tonight it seemed to take forever.

I looked out the window and saw a backdrop of lights against the darkness, but no indication where we were. It didn’t look like the end of the runway because I could not see any other planes waiting to take off.

Then the engines revved louder and for a pronged period. We didn’t move, but remained where we were, until the engines returned to what might be called idling speed

It was followed by an announcement from the pilot, “This is the captain speaking. We have encountered an anomaly with one of the engines, so to be on the safe side, we are returning to the gate and will have the engineers have a look at it. I do not anticipate this should take longer than 30 minutes.”

A collective groan went through the airplane. Those savvy with these problems would know that the odds were we would not be leaving tonight. The airport curfew would see to that.

But a miracle could still occur.

The plane then started back to the terminal. Another message from the pilot told us we would not be going back to the gate, but to a holding area. Time to have a glass of champagne the steward was offering before going back to the terminal for what, an interminable wait.

It seemed the gods did not want me to go back home.

…

When we got back to the parking spot, three buses and four delays later, I headed for one of the several bars to get a drink, and perhaps something decent to eat.

Then I saw Penelope, sitting by herself, a glass of champagne sitting half drunk in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” I said as I slid onto the stool beside her.

She started, as if she had been somewhere else, and turned to see who it was. The faraway look turned into a smile when she recognised me. “Getting drunk.”

“I thought you were going home.” A nod in the direction of the bartender, followed by pointing to her glass and indicating I wanted two, got instant service.

“I saw an ex heading to a plane with his latest squeeze. Made me feel depressed. I heard your plane was returning so I decided to wait. Better to get drunk with someone you know than drink by yourself, or someone you don’t. I’ve had three offers already.”

I wasn’t surprised. She was very attractive, the sort of woman who was the most popular at any of the work functions but was equally surprising was that she was not with any of those potential suitors. In fact, as far as I knew, she was not in a relationship.

“No one at home to amuse you?” It was not the sort of question I should be asking, because it was really none of my business.

It elicited a sideways glance, as if I stepped over an invisible line.

“Sorry, none of my business.”

She finished off the glass in front of her, just as the new round arrived in front of her. I gave the bartender my credit card and asked him to start a tab. I’d just heard that the plane was going to be another two hours before we’d be leaving.

“I live with two other girls, but they are more interested in finding stray men and getting wasted, not necessarily in that order, and that’s not what I want to do.”

“Get wasted or find stray men?”

I was not sure how anyone had the time and inclination to do that, but a few weeks back I spent two evenings with a friend of mine whose marriage had fallen apart. The people there seemed either desperate or looking for a one-night stand. It had amused me to discover most of them were married, and not divorced, and that the girls knew what to expect.

“Both apparently.”

“How do you expect to find the man of your dreams if you don’t go looking.”

“I am, this place seems as good as any, but the man of my dreams doesn’t exist.”

The bemused expression and the tone of her voice told me she had had more than the one drink before I got there. Even then, judging from several previous parties for work we had attended, she had a much greater capacity for alcohol than I had.

She finished off the glass just brought, and seconds later her eyes seemed glassy. Perhaps it was time for me to put her in a cab and send her home.

“Another,” she said, “and then you can be responsible for me.”

I had no idea what that meant, and I think, judging by the facial expressions, she didn’t really care.

“Perhaps…”

She didn’t let me finish. “Perhaps you should buy me another drink and lighten up.” And the look that came with it told me not to argue the point.

I got the bartender’s attention, and he responded by bringing two fresh glasses and a bottle. I told him to leave it. It gave me a minute or so to contemplate what she meant by ‘lighten up’. I was so used to seeing her work ethic and diligence, this was a different side to her.

I took a sip and could feel her looking at me. A glance took in the near permanent bemused expression.

“Are you going to be alright getting home?” It was probably not the question I should have asked, but in the back of my mind there was a recent briefing given to all of management on the subject of sexual harassment and intra office romances.

“I’m fine. It’s not as if I do this a lot, but the last week has been difficult. Not only for me, but for you too. But you have to admit you put yourself under a lot of pressure.”

She was starting to sound like my conscience. It was something I’d been thinking about on the way to the airport, but decided it was part of the job, and I knew when I accepted the position what it would involve. My predecessor, much older than I was, had fallen on his sword, the pressure destroying his marriage and almost his life.

“So I said, lamely, It goes with the job, unfortunately.”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. They might think it does, but they don’t care. They sit in their ivory tower and watch their minions crash and burn. There’s always someone else waiting in the wings to take your place, believe me.”

It was an interesting perspective, but where did it come from? I knew she had been at the corporation for a number of years, and I had been lucky enough to draw the long straw when having her assigned to me as my PA when I took the position. One of the other executives had lamented my good fortune, but he had also said she was one of the few who were there to guide those management considered were management prospects.

I just thought I was lucky.

“I might end up in that ivory tower one day.”

“Why?”

She turned to look directly at me. It made me uncomfortable now, as it had on other occasions, and I had begun to think it might have something to do with unspoken feelings. I liked her, but I doubted that was reciprocated. And, after the lecture on office romances, I promptly put those feelings in the bottom drawer and locked it.

“Doesn’t everyone aspire to be the best, and climb to the top of the corporate ladder?”

“For that you have to be devious and ruthless, and from what I’ve seen, you’re neither. You’ve heard the expression ‘good guys come last’. It’s true.”

I was guessing from the people she had worked for, she had firsthand experience. My predecessor was a ‘good guy’ and some said he was eaten alive by the office predators. I knew who they were, and avoided them. Perhaps she knew something I didn’t, but when would she have told me? Not tonight, no one could have predicted the plane would break down.

“You’re telling me this now, why?”

“You’re smarter than all of those above you put together. You don’t need them, but they need you. But, you won’t get any concessions, not until you get near the top. By then you will have had to sell your soul to the devil.”

Good to know, on one hand I was about to see my soul to the devil, and on the other that I was smart, just not smart enough to see the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

I noticed she hadn’t touched the latest glass of champagne. Nor was she the languid barfly she’d pretended to be earlier.

“You’re advice, if I’m listening correctly, is that I should be looking for another job.”

“Actually, you shouldn’t be listening to me at all. Too many drinks and I pontificate. Some people become happy, I become,” she shrugged, “unhappy. Take no notice.” She swung around to the front and picked up the glass.

“OK.” I turned around to look at the departures board to see my flight had been cancelled, and I should go to the check in counter. “My plane is completely broken, so it looks like I’m staying home.”

“Or you could take me to dinner.” She looked sideways again, the bemused expression back.

“Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”

“Only if you were in upper management, married, and asking me to have an affair. Last I looked you’re not in upper management, not married, so there’s no hint of an affair. For heaven’s sake, it’s only dinner.”

She was right on all counts, and it was only dinner.

“Why not?” I said, more to myself than to her.

“Good. And you’d better get me on the plane too. We need to get that report done, and it’ll be an excuse to stay at a hotel. I know you wouldn’t want to stay in your old room at your parents’ house.”

She was right about that too, I had long outgrown them, and staying at home would only lead to arguments. “How could you possibly know that?”

She smiled. “You talk in your sleep.”

…

The A to Z Challenge – E is for “Every cloud has a silver lining”

There wasn’t a year went by when I was reminded of a saying that a childhood friend, Jack Mulligan, had one told me, when one door closes another one opens.

I forget why he said that, but I suspect it had something to do with a chip on my shoulder over not being the same as other children in the street.

We were definitely not equal with them, and it had shown. And school could be hell when kids see prey and attack mercilessly.

After that, I forgot about Odyssey Falls, and a life that had not been particularly good.

It would not have happened if it had not been snowing so hard, and the road that passed through the city had not been covered in snow.

“What the hell happened to us?” The croaky voice that was the result of 40 cigarettes a day, sounded startled, and belonged to my travelling companion, Melissa, last name not sure.

“We hit a bank of snow, and the cops said to hole up in the motel until the road was cleared, hopefully this morning sometime.”

“Is there a reason we’re in this bed together?

A good question. Until two days ago I’d never met Melissa before, she had been seeking a lift when I’d stopped at a gas station to fill up, and it beat making the drive by myself.

“Your idea. I said I’d sleep on the floor.”

“Did we…?”

“No. I started on the floor and you took pity on me.”

I saw her glance under the blanket, just to make sure, but she still had most of her clothes on. She rolled over. “What time is it?”

“Still dark. A few hours before it gets light. I’m going out to get some coffee, you want any?”

“God, no. Maybe later.”

“I’ll see you when I get back,” I said just before opening the door. There was no reply, so I guess she had gone back to sleep.

It was dark and cold, the hour or two before the sun made an appearance. In that dark, it was quiet, the traffic on the road stopped waiting for the snow ploughs to clear the way.

It was bright inside, and busy, a lot of stalled drivers taking the forced down time to get breakfast. I wandered up to the counter and sat on one of the well-worn stools.

As soon as I sat down, one of the two women behind the counter noticed and came over, a half full pit if percolated coffee in one hand and a cup on a saucer in the other.

She looked tired, not in the way that indicated the last hour of a 12-hour shift, but tired of life.

She put the cup in front of me, and said, “coffee?”

I nodded, and she poured.

“Milk, sugar?”

“No.”

It was then I noticed the signature white tuft of hair that all the Zampa women had. This one had to be Cecilia’s younger sister, Marilyn.

I saw her giving me the once over, as if I had one of those familiar faces.

“Marilyn?”

“Ain’t seen you in a lifetime.”

“A mistake I assure you. Wasn’t expecting a prom queen to be a waitress in a dump like this.”

“OK, so I deserved that. I was a different person back then and believe me God has been punishing me ever since. The burgers are quite good here, believe it or not.”

“For breakfast?”

“You’d be surprised.”

I probably would, so I ordered it on her recommendation, and she went off to the kitchen. I was expecting her to yell it out across the room, but she didn’t.

She was far more beautiful than her sister but had that mean streak that every girl who knew she would be the most desired girl in school had towards people like me.

And if that was the case, I don’t think I was going to find salvation.

When daylight broke and turned the darkness into a sea of whiteness, I’d finished. She’d been right, the hamburgers were good.

I paid the check and climbed back into my anorak. It had started snowing again, and it would be cold. Then, outside the door, it took a moment to remember which way the motel was.

Behind me I heard the swish of the automatic doors open and close, then Marilyn, “where are you staying?”

“Briefly at the Sad Sack, until the road clears.”

“Not staying?”

“There’s nothing to see or stay for. My parents live in Florida, my brother and sister somewhere in Europe and Asia respectively. There’s nothing here.”

“I thought you had that dream of going to Hollywood.”

“For what it’s worth, everything I tried turned to crap. From what I’ve read, all of us had the same bad luck. You still own the motel?”

“Once, but she found someone else, more successful. But my heart wasn’t in it, there was no one after Cecilia.”

“She liked you, you know, but she had aspirations that were never realistic.”

“What about you?”

“That’s a story that requires copious quantities of alcohol to relate. And time. If you change your mind, come and see me, it’d be nice to see a familiar face.”

“Walk you home?” It seemed almost a novel idea.

“Why not?”

When I got back to the room, it looked like a bomb had gone off in it.

I came back out of the bathroom and was hit by the heady aroma of perfume. Had she spilled it on the floor, there was a stain beside the bed. On the bedside table was a scribbled note.

‘A salesman staying next door said he was leaving, and I hitched a ride with him. Thanks for the ride and room.’

Perhaps seeing Marylin and being reminded of Cecelia might have done that.

I took a last look at the room from the doorway, then pulled the door shut. At the very least I needed new towels.

Three doors up I ran into Marylin now changed into a cleaner’s uniform, and dragging a large cleaning car with, yes, new towels.

“No rest for the wicked then?”

“The cleaning lady rostered on today didn’t turn up for work. I don’t blame her. Sleep will have to wait. You are leaving now?”

“No. My travelling companion of a few days has up and left after using all the towels.”

She pulled two off the top of the pile and handed them to me. “Does this mean you’re staying?”

“For a day or two maybe. I have to go and see the old house where we lived, and you did intimate you had a story to tell, and I’m a sucker for stories.”

“Then when I get off shift I’ll call you. Every cloud eh?”

Only time would tell, and although I had little of it left, it was time to take a few chances. Then I realised what she had said, that ‘every cloud had a silver lining’.

The A to Z Challenge – M is for – “Murder at the mansion”

My great grandfather used to say the mark of a man was not how wealthy or wise he was, but by how much respect he garnered.

Well, my great grandfather was wealthy, wise, and also respected … by everyone but his children.

It was an interesting tale, oft-told by my father over the dinner table, when we, his children, would bemoan the fact that he was too hard on us.

Like my great grandfather, our father had also made something of himself, took every opportunity afforded him, and made it a success.

Yes, there were failures, like how our mother couldn’t handle the success and virtually abandoned us because of him, like our first stepmother, who hated children, and for a while, virtually turned him against us, setbacks that were eventually overcome.

To the outside world, we always said everything turned out all right, but the reality of it was completely the opposite. Appearances were just that, appearances.

My eldest brother, John, was out the door as soon as he could escape, and into the military, and from that moment we never really saw him.

Then there was me, Toby, with a name I hated, stuck at home to weather the endless storms, and to look after my youngest sister Ginny, who really didn’t have a care in the world.

I don’t think I ever got to have a childhood.

And lastly, my younger sister, Melanie, the tearaway tomboy troublemaker, a devil in disguise, that was responsible for ten nannies in twelve years.

We were as disparate and different as any group of siblings could get, and that was all because of how, in the end, our father finished up exactly like the man he often disparaged, our great grandfather.

Wealthy, yes, wise, the jury was still out in that one, and respected, yes, by everyone but his children.

And, now, I was looking at the body of the man I called my father, sprawled out on the floor, and it was quite plain to see he was dead.

There was no mistaking the bullet hole in his head, Or the puddle of blood emanating from the back of his head.

Someone, obviously, hated him more than we did.

…

I was surprisingly calm in the face of such a calamity, faring better than Ginny, who was the first to discover him.

She was once subject to bouts of hysteria, and that it had not happened in these circumstances was, in a sense disconcerting. She had reason to hate him more than the rest of us, the reasons for which I had only learned the night before.

She was sitting on the floor, not ten feet from the body, staring at what she had described as the devil incarnate. She had every reason to kill him, in fact, I had wanted to myself when she told me.

And when confronted him and demanded to know the truth, he had laughed at me, telling me that it was just a figment of her imagination.

I had to call the police, but before that, I needed to have a clear idea of where everyone was.

It was a weekend where, for the first time in twenty years, all four siblings were home. It was ostensibly for an announcement regarding the family, read how my father was going to bequeath his worldly possessions in the event of his death.

And I suspect, to tell us about the fact he was dying, the running battle he had with cancer finally getting a stranglehold in his body, and that he had about six weeks to three months left.

Not that he had said anything, I had received an anonymous email from his doctor telling me, that he didn’t believe we should not be kept in the dark. But it was not the news I’d shared with the others, hoping the man himself would.

That secret had died with him.

John and Melanie had both yet to put in an appearance. It had been a late night, and we had all ended up in John’s room, drinking shots of whiskey and talking about how different our lives had been, and how it had been too long apart.

I’d been very drunk at the end and barely made it back to my room before collapsing on the bed. I had no idea what happened to the others.

Ginny didn’t drink, or so she said, but the few drinks she had, had no effect on her. She had Bern in a dark mood and no wonder. She had left all of us in utter silence, devastated at the revelation our father was a monster, the reason why our mother left, unable to do anything to stop him.

She should have taken Ginny with her, but she didn’t, probably saving Melanie from a similar fate.

Threats against his life flew thick and fast, and the once made by John actuary sent a shiver down my spine. He was the only one experienced in killing, and I could totally believe he could kill in cold blood and not even blink.

Had he?

“Fuck!”

Great timing. John just walked into the room, still in his pajamas and looking disheveled, as if he had just fought off a pack of bears.

“This your doing?”

“What? No. Saying and doing are two different things, Toby.” He looked down at Ginny. “Ask her, she had more reason than any of us.”

I was going to, but she seemed in a catatonic state.

“No. I did not, and believe me, I’ve wanted to for many years.”

Ginny, obviously not in a catatonic state.

“Have you called the police,” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let’s think about this first. Any sign of a breaking?”

I checked the French windows behind the desk and they were intact and locked. The room, other than the body on the floor was as it always was.

Not a book or paper out of place. The desk was clear. Usually, there was a computer and cell phone on it.

“His laptop is missing. A robbery gone bad?”

“Robbers don’t usually carry guns, let alone be able to shoot so accurately.” He was standing over the body making strange body movements, then, “whoever shot him was behind the desk. He must have heard something and came to investigate.”

If it was any time up to the fifty shots of whiskey, we would have heard a gun going off.

“Silencer?” I said.

“I’m a light sleeper, so I would have heard it. Others too. It screams premeditation. Robbers don’t bring guns with suppressors. If it was a case of being caught unawares, that shot could have gone anywhere. No, whoever was in her was looking for, maybe found, something, and may have made enough noise to get his attention with the intention of killing him.”

“Holy Mary mother of God!”

Melanie just arrived, riveted to the spot, just inside the door.

“I take it you didn’t do it?” John said to her.

“Me? You have to be joking. I wouldn’t know what end of the gun to use.”

Not true, I thought, Melanie was in the gun club at her exclusive school and won various awards for pistol shooting, and we’ll as an expert clay pigeon shooter to boot. But it was school days, a long time ago.

I looked at her pointedly, and I think she realized what my glare implied.

“I think it’s time we called the police,” I said.

“Can’t we just dig a hole and bring him out there somewhere and pretend he’s gone away?”

“A thought, but not practical, unless one of us did it and we need to hide the evidence. Anyone going to own up?”

No one spoke.

“Good. Just remember from this point on, if you have any deep dark secrets, they won’t be for much longer. We will be the prime suspects. Leaving isn’t an option.”

“Let the chips fall where they may. At least the bastard got what he deserved.

I pulled out my phone.

“Last chance.”

John was looking resolute. Melanie was in a state of shock. Ginnie went back to being almost catatonic. I don’t know what I felt, sad, maybe, but with all that had come before, perhaps a sense of relief.

I dialled the number.

“Daisy. No, I’m alright. We have a bit of a problem here. Someone has shot and killed my father. I think you’d better get here.”

“Right. Don’t touch anything and keep the scene clear. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

I disconnected the call and put the phone back in my pocket.

At that same moment, I had a great overwhelming feeling that one of them did it. I couldn’t see how anyone from the outside could or would.

As John said, let the child fall where they may.

“OK. Daisy wants us out of the room. Let’s go.” I said, helping Ginnie up from the floor

“Daisy? She that girl you were pining over back in elementary school?” John muttered.

“Married her too. Deputy sheriff now, so be a good boy. And don’t think our relationship will make this any easier.”

As I closed the door to the office and turned the key in the lock, I could hear the sirens in the distance.

The die, as the saying goes, was cast.

The A to Z Challenge – D is for “Do you know where you are?”

D is for “Do you know where we are?”

Bus tours were hectic at the best of times, so many stops in so short a time. It was ideal if you wanted a taste of each country, then come back later to explore those you liked the most, but you have to be willing to make sacrifices.

Then, on tour, it does not bode well if you embark on the tour with your relationship teetering on the edge of disaster. If relations were tense before, then by the second or third day, it was going to be like a volcano erupting if anything went wrong.

It was my idea we go away for a short, sharp tour, what was to be the first together for nearly 20 years together. The children had grown up and we had sacrificed travel until they had left the nest. Eloise was transitioning from being a full-time mother to back in the workforce, and I was scaling back so we could spend more time together.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get the memo that told everyone, but me, that our relationship was foundering. It was not as if I didn’t ask the right questions, it was just I interpreted the answers incorrectly. It thought the measured reluctance to go was her reluctance to be away from her grandchildren.

It was not.

There were other factors in play, those little annoyances that caused discussions to become arguments, and then glowering resentment. That summed up the mornings where we had to be up and ready early to have breakfast, pack and be ready to embark the bus at an early hour, following late nights.

Eloise was not at her best under those conditions. Day two had been a trial, day three a battle, and day four, well, that’s where everything went wrong. The alarm didn’t go off, we got up late, and by the time we came down, the bus had gone.

Yes, we literally missed the bus.

I went to bed on day three with a premonition. It was something she said in response to a comment I made, one that didn’t register at the time, but came back to haunt me in the dead of night.

She said, in not so many words, if I had not dragged her on this wild goose chase…and stopped there, perhaps realising she was about to say something she shouldn’t. I thought it was to spare my feelings.

It was not.

In the last few months, after getting a promotion at her workplace, a company run by my best friend who had always said she could come and work for him when she was ready to go back to work, that it was too soon to go away.

Even when she said it, I missed the implication.

There had been late nights and trips away, the added responsibility, she had said. She said she wanted to make the right impression. Tony, my friend, had said that she was perfect for the job, and said she was in good hands to learn the trade. I thought, given the new independence and responsibility she would recover from the slight depression from no longer being needed.

At three in the morning, staring at the ceiling, I finally got it. The change in her had been remarkable. She was happy again with a job she liked and a place to be.

So was Tony, whom I had noticed over the same journey, after being dumped by his wife, had been in a similar sort of funk.

It didn’t take rocket science to see what was happening.

Down in the breakfast room, we were having coffee. There was a smug expression on her face, one that told me that she had no intention of continuing this farce, and after getting no sleep, I was both tired and where I should be annoyed, I was a little numb.

“Should I Call the tour director, ask him if we should try to re-join the tour, or should we just let it slide?”

She gave me a look of disdain, or what I thought was disdain. I was perhaps feeling a little judgemental.

“If the bus had not been leaving so early, we might have made it. Perhaps it was not a good idea to pick one that requires us to be up at the crack of dawn.”

Any other time, I might have got annoyed, but now I knew, or thought I knew what was driving her attitude, I just sighed inwardly and put on my happy face. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

“We’re somewhere in Germany, and we don’t speak the language. It might be a little difficult…”

“You forget I travel to Europe a lot. I might not be fluent, but I have got a smattering of a few of the languages.” Particularly Italian, but that was down to spending time with Gabriella, one of the subsidiary managers I had to deal with.

“I’m surprised then you wanted to come here for a holiday.”

“It was for your benefit, and mine to a lesser extent, simply because travelling to these countries doesn’t mean I got to tour them. You know how it is, meetings from dawn to dusk and not much time for anything else. Besides, I was happy to wait until you could come with me before I did any sightseeing.”

Her phone was sitting on the table, and suddenly rang. She almost managed to snatch it up before I saw the caller ID. Tony. She disconnected the call without answering. It was not the first time it had rung.

My turn to give her a look of disdain. “You should have answered it.”

“It was nothing.”

I had my phone with me and looked up Tony’s number then dialled it.

“George, this is a surprise. How’s the trip going?” He said, knowing who it was calling him.

“I’m sure Eloise has kept you fully informed, but from my perspective, not so great.”

I could feel Eloise staring at me.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but she…”

“Tony, don’t insult my intelligence. I know. And I’m not angry or annoyed or anything really. I blame myself for being so stupid. I thought I’d call you, since she didn’t answer, to tell you she’ll be coming home. I’ll take her to Berlin and get her a flight back as soon as practicable. We can talk, if you like, when I get back, but that might not be for a while.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“It probably is, Tony, but like I said, I’m neither angry or annoyed. I’ll let you get back to work, and Eloise will no doubt call you soon.”

I disconnected the call and put the phone on the table.

“You’ve got it all wrong, George.” It was a measured response, and one I expected.

“The last three or so months tell me a different story, Eloise. You’re happy, and it had nothing to do with me. All I seem to do is make you angry, and I can see why now. I have to accept responsibility for the mistakes I’ve made. None of this is your fault.”

“Tony is a good friend, George, but it’s not what you think. I might have thought once of twice about having a relationship with him, he certainly thinks we are heading in that direction, but I haven’t done anything, nor would I.”

“He makes you happy, Eloise. I don’t and believe me that’s all I want for you. Perhaps I was too wrapped up in my own little world to notice how much we’ve drifted apart. AS I said, that’s more my fault, not yours. And I don’t blame you for wanting more than I can give you.”

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

“You always were, are, and will be the only one Eloise. That will never change. It doesn’t matter what I think or feel, you have to decide what is best for you, and I want nothing other than what’s best for you. If that means being with someone else, then so be it. I will not stand in your way, or make things difficult for you.”

“And if that’s not what I want?”

“What do you want?”

“To hear you tell me that you love me, like you used to tell me.”

“I thought you knew that.”

“You stopped saying it. And, yes, you have been in your own little world, and I expect that was because I spent too much time looking after the children, and being too tired to make time for you, so I too should accept some responsibility for the mess we are in.”

Not what I was expecting to hear.

“Like I said, you don’t have to make excuses, the fault is mine.”

“No, it’s not that simple. You know, it seems stupid that we had to travel umpteen thousand miles to the middle of nowhere, just to finally have a meaningful conversation. Do you actually know where we are, because I don’t. And what’s strange to me is that I don’t really care. I’m going to say this once, George, so listen carefully. I do not love Tony, nor am I having an affair with him. What he thinks is going on is his problem, not mine. I have a husband, and I care as much about him as he cares about me now that he has finally told me. I do not want to continue this bus tour, but I do want to see Europe, so firstly, we have the room until eleven this morning which gives us three hours to reacquaint ourselves with each other. Then you’re going to hire a car, and we are going to find our own way, perhaps get a little lost along the way, and the best thing about that is that we will get lost together.”

She stood, held out her hand, and said, “Now, come with me, and we shall speak of this no more.”

How could I possibly refuse such an offer?

The A to Z Challenge – C is for “Call me!”

You know what it’s like on Monday morning, especially if it’s very cold and the double glazing is failing miserably to keep the cold out.

It was warm under three blankets thick sheets and a doona, and I didn’t want to get up.

It doesn’t help if in the last few months, the dream job you once had had turned into a drudge, and there was any number of reasons to stay home rather than go into the office. Once, that was trying to find an excuse to stay home because you’d rather go to work.

That was a long time ago or felt like it.

My cell phone vibrated, an incoming message, or more likely a reminder. I reached out into the icy wasteland that was the distance from under the covers to my phone on the bedside table. It was very cold out there, and for a moment I regretted that impulse to check.

It was a reminder; I had a meeting at HR with the manager. I had thought I might be eligible for redundancy since the company was in the throes of a cost cutting exercise. Once I might have been apprehensive, but now, given my recent change in department and responsibility, I was kind of hoping now that it was.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Time to get up sleepy head. You have a meeting to go to, not one to be late.”

It felt strange to wake up with someone else in the bed. My luck in that department hadn’t been all that hood lately, but something changed, and at the usual Friday night after work drinks at the pub I ran into one of the PA’s I’d seen around, one who was curious to meet me as much as I was to meet her.

One thing had led to another and when I asked her if she wanted to drop in on the way home, she did.

“I’d prefer not to. I can think of better things to do.”

“So, could I but that’s not the point. Five more minutes, then I’m pushing you out.”

She snuggled into my back, and I could feel the warmth of her body, and having the exact opposite effect than she intended. But she was right. It was important, and I had to go. But, in the meantime it was four more minutes and counting.

When you get a call from the head of HR it usually means one of two things, a promotion, or those two dreaded words, ‘you’re fired’, though not usually said with the same dramatic effect.

This year had already been calamitous enough getting sidelined from Mergers and Acquisitions because I’d been usurped. That was the word I was going with, but it was to a certain extent, my fault. I took my eye off the ball, and allowed someone else to make their case.

Of course, it helped that the person was connected to all the right people in the company, and, with the change in Chairman, it was also a matter of removing some of the people who were appointed by the previous incumbent.

I and four of my equivalent managers had been usurped and moved to places where they would have less impact. I had finished up in sales and marketing, and to be quite honest, it was such a step down, I had already decided to leave when the opportunity presented itself.

My assistant manager, who had already put in his resignation, was working out his final two weeks. I told him to take leave until the contract expired, but he was more dedicated than that. He had got in before me and was sitting at his desk a cup of coffee in his hand and another on the desk.

“How many days?”

“Six and counting. What about you? You should be out canvassing. There’s at least three other places I know would be waiting to hear from you.”

“It’s still in the consideration phase.”

“You’re likely to get the chop anyway, with this thing you have with Sharky.”

Sharkey was the HR manager.

You know something I don’t?” I picked up the coffee, removed the lid and took in the aroma.
“They’re downsizing. Broadham had decided to go on a cost cutting exercise, and instead of the suggested efficiencies we put up last year, they’re going with people. I don’t think he quite gets it.”

“You mean my replacement doesn’t know anything about efficiency. He makes a good yes man though, telling Broadham exactly what he wants to hear.”

Broadham, the new Chairman, never did understand that people appointed to important positions needed to have the relevant qualifications and experience. My replacement had neither. That was when the employees loyal to the previous Chairman had started leaving.

We had called it death, whilst Broadham had called it natural attrition. He didn’t quite understand that so far, over 300 years of experience had left, and as much again was in the process of leaving.

“Are you going to tell Sharky you’re leaving?”

“I’ll wait and see what he has to say. I think he knows the ship is sinking.”

There wasn’t much I didn’t know about the current state of the company, and with the departures, I knew it was only a matter of time. Sharky was a good man, but he couldn’t stem the tide.

He also knew the vagaries of profits and share prices, and we had been watching the share price, and the market itself. It was teetering, and in the last few months, parcels of shares were being unloaded, not a lot at one time, but a steady trickle.

That told me that Broadham and his cronies were cashing in while the going was good, and quite possibly were about to steer the ship onto the rocks. The question was who was buying, and that, after some hard research I found to be certain board members. Why, I suspected, was to increase their holdings and leverage, but I don’t think they quite realised that there would be nothing left but worthless stock certificates.

It was evidence, when I finally left, that I would pass on to the relevant authorities.

In the meantime, I had a meeting to go to.

“Best of luck,” my assistant muttered as I passed his desk.

“If I don’t return, I’ll will have been escorted from the building. If that happens, Call me.”

It had happened before. When people were sacked, they were escorted to their office, allowed to pack their belongings, and were then escorted to the front door. It would be an ignominious end to an illustrious career, or so I’d been told by the girl who was no doubt still asleep in my bed.

She had heard the whispers.

The walk to the lift, the traversing of the four floors to the executive level, and then to the outer office where Sharky’s PA sat took all of three minutes. I had hoped it would be longer.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said, “go on in.”

I knocked on the door, then went in, closing it behind me. “Now, sir, what on earth could you want to see me about?

The A to Z Challenge – B is for “Because it’s not me”

If the was one fault I had, it was prevarication.

For a long time, I had always been afraid of making a mistake, after I had done exactly that. They said our mistakes didn’t define us, but that one had. I had lost the trust of everyone, from my parents to friends.

It was only a small lie, or so I told myself, but it had far reaching ramifications, and almost cost someone their life. But whilst I believed it was not all that bad, and the police had agreed that anyone who had been put in the same position would have done the same, there were those who didn’t agree.

It was a moment in time I often relived in my mind, over and over, and eventually led to several outcomes.

The first, I left home, the town where up till then I’d lived all of my life, walking away from family and those who used to be friends, knowing that what they said and what they felt were two entirely different things. For all concerned, it was better that I left, cutting all ties, and make a fresh start, away from those whom I knew would never forget, even though they forgave me.

The second, and most dire, I changed my name, and my history, even how I looked. Today, I was a very different person to that of thirty years ago.

The third, I moved to another country, and vowed never to return, always looking constantly over my shoulder, expecting someone from the past to find me. I instinctively knew that I would never escape, that one day a stark reminder would come back and destroy everything.

I picked the one occupation that would keep me both occupied and invisible.

Journalist.

I had started at the bottom, literally writing death notices, and worked my way up to what is ubiquitously known as ‘foreign correspondent’, going to places where no one else would go, those hotbeds of unrest, and war zones, reporting from both sides.

Perhaps it could say I had a death wish, a statement my editor had once said when he came to see me in hospital back in London after I’d been caught up in a rocket attack and repatriated. He had come to offer me a job back home, to tell me my tour was over.

I declined the opportunity, and he left, shaking his head.

But that was not the only visitor that came to the hospital that day. The other visitor was an elderly man, immaculately dressed in a pin stripe suit and bowler hat. It screamed public servant, and the moment I saw him wandering up the passage, a chill ran down my spine.

Although he looked like he was looking for someone else, I knew he would eventually finish up in my doorway.

Five minutes after I first saw him.

When he appeared at the door, I thought about ignoring him, but realised that wasn’t going to change anything. Besides that, I guess I wanted to know why he would want to see me.

“James Wilson?”

“Would it make any difference if I said no?” Well, it didn’t mean I couldn’t spar with him, just a little. “Who are you.”

“Do you mind if I come in?”

I got the impression he would do it anyway, irrespective of what I said. I said no, and as I suspected he came in anyway, closing the door behind him, then took a minute or two to make himself comfortable in the visitor’s chair, what was an impossible task.

Then, settled, he said, “I understand you have just been repatriated from Syria.”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

It wasn’t common knowledge where I’d come from, so this person knew something about me, which was immediate cause for concern.

“The bane of a reporter trying to cover a dangerous situation,” he said, with just the right amount of levity in his tone. “I get it, by the way. I once had that devil may care attitude you need to get the story. I was chasing a Pulitzer, believe it or not, and used a few of those nine lives in the process. Which one are you up to?”

I was going to say that awards didn’t matter but among those whom made up the press pack in those God forsaken places, there was an unwritten desire to be rewarded other than by pay. For me, though, it was not a defining factor.

“Lost count. But why would that interest you, or whoever it is you represent? By the way, just who do you represent?”

Second attempt at finding out who this man was. If he was dodging and weaving, it would suggest a clandestine organisation.

“People who would like to use your unique talent in getting into trouble spots around the world. We’re not asking you to come work for us exclusively, rather piggyback on the job that you already do so well.”

An unnamed man from an unnamed organisation. What he was offering wasn’t unheard of, and I had been warned, more than once, that jobs like he was suggesting were more often than not offered to people like me. With that came one line of advice, turn around and run like hell.

But, with nothing to amuse me in hospital, I was curious. “Doing what exactly?”

The fact his expression changed indicated my response had taken him by surprise. Perhaps he was used to being told where to go. Not yet. I had this fanciful notion in the back of my mind that what he might offer might get me closer to the story.

“Keeping your eyes and ears open. We’ll tell you what to look for, all you’ll be doing is looking for evidence. There will be no need to go looking for trouble, if there’s evidence we ask you to report it, if not, no harm done.”

Not so hard. If that was all it was. The trouble was, if something sounds simple, which that did, but inevitably, it was going to be anything but. I’d heard stories, and the consequences.

“You’re presuming that my editor will send me back. He just offered me a job at home.”

“I think both of us know you’re not interested in domesticity. If he isn’t willing to adhere to your wishes, I’m sure we could find someone else who would be willing to take you on. You have had several offers recently, have you not?”

So, without a doubt, he knew a lot about me, especially if he asked around. I had had several offers, but I was happy where I was. I liked the no questions about your past that my current employer had promised.

Yes, looking at the determination on this man’s face, I had no doubt they or he could do what he said. No one comes to a meeting like this without holding all the cards. Also, not that I wanted it to be so, It told me that my agreement was not necessarily going to be optional.

But I was happy to dither and find out. “Since I’m not sure when the hospital is going to discharge me, and the fact I’m not exactly very mobile at the moment, can I consider the proposal. Right now, as you can imagine, getting back to work is not exactly a priority.”

“Of course.” He took a card out of his coat pocket and put it on the bedside table. “By all means. Call me on that number when you’ve decided.”

He stood. “It will be a great opportunity. Thank you for your time.”

Of course, the two impressions I was left with were, one, he had me mixed up with someone else, and two, that I would never see him again.

It was an impossible task, for me at least, because I did not have a poker face, and could rarely carry a lie. I would be the last person they’d want for the job.

And thinking that, I rolled over, put it out of my mind, and went back to sleep.

The A to Z Challenge – A is for “Anyone can have a bad day”

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, longer than usual, I got home late to find the building’s security system malfunctioning, and after everything that could go 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 feeling stuffy, 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 realized 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 localized blackout, or perhaps a brownout. We had been having problems across the city with 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 it was a burner may have had something to do with it.

About the 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 the battery was depleted. I noticed then though 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 recognize 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 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 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 slamming 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 popping 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 allowed 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 realized 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 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 the bed very soon.

“You tell me?”

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

“The simple truth, 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 here.”

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 happened, and then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.

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

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

The A to Z Challenge – I is for – “If you had but one wish”

It was one of those moments.

Across a crowded dance floor, your eyes meet, and then that tingling sensation down your spine.

A girl who could be a princess, who might be a princess in any other lifetime, and a girl who might just outshine Annabel.

And then the moment is gone, and I could not be sure if it really happened.

“You seem preoccupied.” The almost whispered voice beside me belonged to Annabel, who had mysteriously disappeared and as mysteriously reappeared by my side.

“Just checking who are the pretenders and who are the aspirants.”

Annabel and her parents had a thing about people, who had money, who didn’t, who aspired to be part of society, and those who thought they were. It was a complication I didn’t need.

“Does it matter?”

Interesting observation, who was this girl, and what have you done with Annabel? I turned slightly to observe what some might call my girlfriend, but I was never quite sure what I was to her. Perfect in almost everything, I noticed one slight flaw, no two, a smudge in her make and hastily applied lipstick.

Did it have something to do with her mysterious disappearance?

“Perhaps not. We can be gracious no matter what the circumstances.” A moment, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, as if preparing for a death-defying leap into an abyss. Then, with an enthusiasm I certainly didn’t feel myself, she said, “Let’s mingle.”

Being with Annabel could be an experience in itself, the way she carried herself, the way she radiated warmth and humility, and then sometimes when in high dudgeon, you wanted to be anywhere else. Today, she shone. I could see the write-up in the social pages of tomorrow’s newspaper, exactly where she wanted to be. Relevant.

I knew the drill, as consort, to be one pace back and one to the side, being aloof but not aloof, on hand to provide the comment that complimented Annabel’s narrative.

I had suggested that we might take to the dance floor, once around the floor to make an impression, but Annabel, being 3 inches shorter than me in heels, was reluctant. Not because she couldn’t dance, well, that’s not exactly true, it wasn’t one of her strong points, but there were more pressing things to do. She didn’t say what they were.

To her equals she was all smiles and politeness, to the aspirants she was gracious, to the pretenders, short but sweet. In political parlance, we would be pressing the flesh. In any political arena, I suspect, she would excel.

Then, suddenly, we chanced upon Mr. And Mrs. Upton, and their son Roderick. I’d seen them once before, at Annabel’s parent’s house when I had been invited to dinner and had noticed, in front of him she was quite animated. This time her expression changed, and it was one I’d seen before, one I thought was exclusively for me.

I was wrong.

Although that look disappeared as quickly as it came, and she had reverted to the usual greeting, she did take Roderick’s hand when she was re-introduced, and while to all others it seemed like the second time she had met him, I could see it was not.

He looked uncomfortable, and, as he made a slight movement, I could see a smudge of makeup on his lower jaw, and lipstick on his collar, in a place that would not normally be seen. It was simply a quirk of fate.

By the time I’d processed what I’d seen, we were meeting the next person.

The princess.

“Miss Annabel McCallister, I presume?”

Annabel, suddenly, seemed flustered. She usually knew everyone at these affairs, to the extent I thought she had a bio specially researched for her, but the princess apparently was not on the list.

“You have me at a disadvantage. Whom might you be?” The tone was slightly brittle, the cheeks slightly reddened, and she was annoyed and embarrassed. Someone’s head will roll for this.

“Frances Williams, or the Boston Williams.” An offered hand, taken and then released. When Frances saw her puzzled look, she added, “I belong to the distant branch who live across the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Crumbling castles, and once upon a time, tea plantations.”

And then I committed the ultimate crime, I spoke. “Surely you do not live in a crumbling castle?”

Annabel scowled, Frances laughed, “Oh, no. Daddy’s spending a few million to fill the cracks so it isn’t as draughty.”

Interview killed stone dead. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Frances. Perhaps our paths might cross again.” In which I read, I hope they do not.

Frances was a girl who could play Annabel at her own game, and quite likely she would win.

We did the obligatory waltz, her strongest dance, and it was one of fluid motion and great concentration, in order to shrug off the Frances factor. After that, she said she needed a few moments to get some air, and it was probably perverse of me to think that finally, someone had bested her.

I had no interest in further mingling and found a quiet corner in which to view the proceedings and contemplate where the princess had disappeared to.

Apparently not as far away as I thought. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

I guess I could feign ignorance, but the princess was all-knowing and all-seeing, and now beside me, close enough for another tingling sensation in my spine from the timbre of her voice.

“A tryst with Roderick, I suspect.”

“Handsome lad, cheeky grin, just enough nervousness that someone would suspect they’d been shagging.”

I turned to look at the amused expression. “Who are you, really. You’re definitely not one of the Boston Williams.”

“No. They’re too stuffy for me. My real name is Cherie, not French, but I can speak it if you like?”

“Probably not. Mine is schoolboy at best. How did you get in here?”

“A rather enterprising waiter, and a hundred dollar note. Most of these twits wouldn’t know the real thing even if they fell over it.”

“An attention-seeking journalist then?” She would not be the first, to try to see how the so-called other half lives.

“Perish the thought. I just love these affairs, the people, the atmosphere, the food, and the drink. And meeting people like you, a contradiction in every sense. You don’t want to be here, and yet here you are. You don’t want to be with her, and yet you are. Duty? Obligation?”

“All of the above.”

“And now you know she’s having a dalliance.”

“What rich and famous couple are monogamous? You read the papers, its musical beds. It comes down to how much pride you want to swallow for the sake of family, business, and appearances.”

She shook her head. “That’s not you. Humor me, come to the Cafe Delacrat tomorrow, 10:00 am. We’ll chat.”

I took Annabel home, and it was like nothing had happened, and she was not seeing anyone else. The girl, if nothing else, was a consummate actress, and had I not seen the evidence, I would still think I was the only person for her. But she was inordinately happy, and I had not been able to do that for her for a long time.

Perhaps it was time to move on.

I nearly decided to stay in bed and not go to the Cafe Delacrat, but the thought of seeing the princess once more was the compelling argument to go.

When I got there, a few minutes before the hour, she was not there, and I thought to myself, I had been tricked. That thought magnified when it came to a few minutes after when the waiter brought out the latte. The coffee aroma was good, so it would not be a wasted visit.

And, like the princess she was, she arrived late. Dressed in a yellow summery dress with flowers, red shoes and handbag, and the obligatory scarf and sunglasses, she looked movie star stunning. She sat down, and the waiter was there before she finished squirming into the seat.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Latte.” He probably knew, but I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

“I didn’t see you arrive, otherwise…”

“Very few people do.”

“By the way, you look amazing.”

“What? This old thing. It’s been sitting in the back of the closet since I last visited San Gimignano. Have you traveled?”

“Yes.”

“Man of few words. Compliments women. Apologetic. That girl is not for you.”

“And you might be?” I was wondering what her motives were.

“Me? No. Too old, a bit of a lush, certainly not monogamous, and frankly, you could do a lot better. In fact, you deserve better.”

“Then…”

She was watching the other side of the road, the front entrance to a rather pricy hotel in fact, as a taxi stopped and two passengers got out. When it drove off, I could see a man and a woman, and when I looked closer, I saw it was Annabel and Roderick, holding hands and looking very much in love, as they literally bounced into the hotel. No baggage, 10:00 am, no prizes for guessing why they were there.

“How did you know?”

She shrugged. “I know she is not the one for you. So, if you had but one wish, who would you wish for? I’m sure, over time, there has been a girl who stole your heart. We all have one, in my case, probably two, or three.”

Who was this woman, my fairy godmother?”

Yes, she inspired me to think, and closed my eyes to go back to a time in university when I ran into this amazing girl who spent far too much time helping others than to worry about herself. We spent a lot of time together, and yet we were not together in that sense, as much as I wanted to be. I sense though it was not the time or the place for her, and, after two years, she simply disappeared.

“Miranda Moore.”

I hadn’t realized I’d said her name out loud.

“Yes?”

I opened my eyes and looked up to see the very girl, a few years older but no less attractive than she was then, apparently a waitress at that cafe.

“Peter?”

“Miranda? Wow. I’ve been looking for you, high and low. What happened?”

“My mother died and I had to go home. It’s been a few years of hell, but, like you say, wow. Looking for me, you say?”

“High and low.”

“And now you’ve found me?”

“I’m not letting you disappear on me again. Can we…”

“I finish at noon. Come back then, and I’m yours. God, it’s so nice to see you again.”

Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance

One writer's experiences, and battles with words

Tag: #AtoZ

The A to Z Challenge – G is for “Going out of my mind…”

The A to Z Challenge – E is for “Every cloud has a silver lining”

The A to Z Challenge – F is for “For heaven’s sake…”

The A to Z Challenge – E is for “Every cloud has a silver lining”

The A to Z Challenge – M is for – “Murder at the mansion”

The A to Z Challenge – D is for “Do you know where you are?”

The A to Z Challenge – C is for “Call me!”

The A to Z Challenge – B is for “Because it’s not me”

The A to Z Challenge – A is for “Anyone can have a bad day”

The A to Z Challenge – I is for – “If you had but one wish”

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One writer's experiences, and battles with words

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