Nina

A cold gust of wind blew along the street, bringing the last few wayward leaves to order. They scuttled into a corner near the ice-cream shop and crowded into a heap as though they were trying to keep warm. Nina kicked them gently with her worn ankle boots, an old childhood habit. She caught sight of her reflection in the window. Her slight figure and neat bob belied her years. She could have passed for a young girl. She sighed and dug her hands deep into her pockets to try and keep them warm. ,She had come out of the factory to do some quick Christmas shopping and hadn't realized how cold it was. The sky was ominously grey and the nearby mountains were no longer visible. Nina walked on to the new emporium that had just opened up, maybe she could get all her presents there. She passed the Florists and paused to admire the lavish display of Christmas compositions. The young girl Giada who worked there was putting some finishing touches to the display of holly and mistletoe centre pieces.

' Did you have a nice birthday? Did you like the roses? Your husband said he's been sending you roses for forty years now. I think it's so romantic.' Giada beamed.

'Oh yes they were beautiful. Thank you. I like the silver glitter too, makes them look very festive.'

Nina walked on thinking about the roses. She had never got over the disappointment of that day all those years ago, when she had just left school. Fulvio had arrived at her house with his small cinquecento overflowing with roses. He had bowed low in a dramatic gesture and told her they were for her and could he take her out. Her mother and sisters had gasped and simpered and ran to tell her father. It was only when they had been married some years that he admitted that the roses were in fact free. His friend Marco grew flowers for the local market and had given him the first crop which would otherwise have been thrown away.
Now every year on her birthday Nina reminded him of this. Yesterday when he came in with her birthday roses she had put them in a vase without looking at him and mumbled

'What's the use of all these roses, they only last a couple of days.'

She didn't see the hurt look on his face as he left the room.

Nina walked past the war memorial. It was covered with garlands and red ribbons, damp and faded now after the November commemoration service. She looked at the familiar surnames engraved on the stone. Most of the family names of her small Northern Italian town were written there. Her mother's brother and her father's cousins, her uncle's best friend, not one family had been untouched. The same names were above the shop fronts and on the local builder's and plumber's vans and in the classroom registers. They told a story of sacrifice and survival. This Winter the mountains would soon be dotted with colourful skiers who would drink mulled wine and hot chocolate when darkness fell, but a hundred years ago there was quite a different scene up there. The soldiers in their dugouts would have watched gun fire light up the moonlit sky and sat shivering and frightened in their greatcoats waiting for dawn.
Whenever Nina and her sisters had sulked or threw tantrums because their clothes weren't washed or their hair was a mess or their boyfriends had left to work in Milan, their mother would point to the war memorial and remind them of the sacrifice that had been made so they could be free.

Nina turned as someone called her name. It was her neighbour Sandra coming out of the perfume shop clutching a whole array of gift-wrapped parcels.

'Oh Nina how nice to see you out and about, have you got time for a coffee''

Nina smiled at her . She liked Sandra. She had been her eldest son's Italian teacher and had given reassurance and comfort when Nina had despaired of her son ever passing his exams. He was now a confident young man in charge of the commercial side of the business and a devoted husband and father, but it had been a hard struggle for Nina..

'Thank you Sandra, I'd love to, I'll do my shopping first though because I've only got an hour.'

?I'll be in the café in twenty minutes then,who gets there first can order.'

Sandra left behind a waft of perfume, she must have been trying the samples. Nina pulled a strand of hair under her nose to see if the minestrone smell had gone. She seemed to smell of vegetable soup all the time. She was forever making soups and stews in the little kitchen at the factory for her son and daughter and the grandchildren. Most days there were six or seven people sitting round the small table. Nina was so tired. She had too much to do. She was a mother, a grandmother, an accountant, a cook and a cleaner.She hadn't been on holiday with Fulvio for years. She couldn't think of the future. She tried to take one day at a time.

Nina went into the emporium with a heavy heart. She greeted the young Romanian girl, Dana, who was married to Giacomo, who worked in the factory.
There was a mirror above the till and for a moment Nina didn't recognize the woman who stared back at her. How had she got so old? Where had all the years gone? Deep furrows on her brow and at the sides of her mouth gave her a permanently anxious look. She felt drab and grey and colourless.

 Dana smiled at her.
'What beautiful blue eyes you have got, you should wear blue to bring them out, we've got some new blouses in just the right shade, they're at the back on the left.'

'I've come to buy presents for other people no time to think of me.'

 Nina then felt ashamed then at her dismissive tone. Dana was probably only trying to be  kind. Giacomo was one of the best workers at the factory.
 She went to the back of the shop to search for gifts. This year had been the worst ever for the factory. Her husband had struggled to keep his forty employees working seven days a week. He was determined not to let any of them down. The markets had changed so much.  After the glorious sixties when their small region had exported as much as the whole of Greece, they were now having to compete with China and it seemed like a losing battle.
 Nina stopped in front of some pretty red nighties with fur trim. There had never been anything like that in the shops when she was young and it was too late now. Fulvio was so tired in the evenings that he went to sleep on the sofa. She would find him in the morning with the television still on. She couldn't remember the last time that she had woken up to find his warm body pressed against hers.

 Dana came up to her.
'Aren't they pretty? I've sent some home to my mother. You can be sort of Mother Christmas. There's one left in your size.'

Nina studied Dana's face. Was she making fun of her or did she really think she could wear one of those flimsy things? There was a strange flutter in her stomach at the thought. What would Fulvio say? She thought of the roses and wished she had shown some enthusiasm.
 Dana was pulling out some boxes.
'Here we are, this is perfect for you. Turn the lights down low and put on some nice romantic music.'

Nina stopped herself laughing as she saw the expression on Dana's face. She really was serious. On an impulse Nina hugged her.

'Thank you Dana, I'll take one and a blue blouse too. I'll come back tomorrow for the presents.'

 Dana gift- wrapped the red nightie saying it was her present to Nina. She knew it had been a hard year. Nina looked at herself in the mirror again. She couldn't stop smiling, was it her imagination or did she look younger, lighter. Her blue eyes shone brightly like a sudden patch of blue sky breaking through the clouds on a rainy day. As she crossed the square to meet Sandra she felt like a teenager planning a date for the evening. Maybe she could ask for some perfume samples.She imagined herself dancing with one of the roses between her teeth. It was as though something had opened up inside her letting in light and new possibilities.

 She would still take each day as it comes, but today was going to be really special.

Gemma

The Perfume counter was right in front of the revolving doors. Customers, on entering the store, were hit by a tantalizing mix of exotic spices and floral aromas to lure them towards the counter. Once there,  they were surrounded by  a dazzling array of posters showing beautiful women on the arms of handsome elegant men. The perfumes were displayed like potions with the  promise that whoever wore this or that perfume  would be transported to a magical kingdom of seduction and elegance. Gemma raised her wrist to her nose and breathed in the heady mix of vanilla and patchouli that Max had chosen for her.  It was an early Christmas present. She thought back to the conversation she'd had with her friend Marsha at lunch time.

' Gemma have you ever noticed how many men buy two bottles of the same perfume.? Don't you think it's funny? Maybe it's one for the wife and one for the lover, so as not to get caught out.'

Gemma felt herself redden. Was it possible that she knew Max was married? Anyway Max had told her there was nothing left between him and his wife. He wasn't even  going to buy her a present this year, just a box of chocolates  or maybe a CD so their little boys would be happy.

'If a man has a lover then he wouldn't be in love with his wife any more would he? He wouldn't care what she thought.'

'Oh don't you believe it Gemma. It's all about having your cake and eating it with them isn't it?  We watched 'Love Actually' last night for the umpteenth time and I told Mike that if he'd better not buy me a CD, poor Emma Thompson, I cry every time I watch that scene.'

Gemma felt very uncomfortable. She'd watched 'Love Actually last night too, wrapped in Max's arms. He'd kissed her long and hard and promised he'd leave his wife straight after Christmas.  She'd been seeing him for almost two years now. A weekend away once a month and snatched evenings when he told his wife he was working late. He'd promised to take her for a week to Scotland after New Year and tell his wife he wanted a divorce. She realized that Marsha was still talking.

'How are you getting on with your course? I think you'll be a great Nursery teacher. My little Sam adores you. It's Auntie Gemma this and Auntie Gemma that. He'll be going to Nursery school in September.  If you hurry up you'll be in time to teach him.'

Gemma noticed an elegant couple approach and went to serve them. The man was very tall and had thick dark curly hair, a bit like Max. How she loved running her fingers through his hair and looking at the way it curled over at the base of his neck. The young woman was tall and blond with a very low cut top and a white fur wrap. Just as she was about to serve them, a very handsome man wearing a Father Christmas hat pushing a baby and holding on to two little boys wearing antlers collided into Scarlet Johansson. Gemma went to help and then served the man who looked quite relieved. As he walked away she thought how lucky his wife was and how she would love a family like that.

When she'd finished serving the couple she thought about Marsha's advice. It was true that she'd been really enjoying the  Childcare and Nursery teaching course. She had always loved being around little children. Her sister was ten years younger than her and her  and she had  looked after her while her mother went out to work.  Gemma had  taken the job at the Perfume counter to help finance her studies and that's where she had met Max. He had looked so lost and helpless trying to find  a perfume for his grandmother.  When Gemma had suggested Old English Lavender he had been so grateful and asked  if he could take her out for a drink to show his appreciation.

The next thing she knew she was inviting him in to the flat which she shared with two other girls. It had all been so exciting. He was so much more sophisticated than the other boys she'd dated. He knew how to order the right wine in the fancy restaurants they went to, and he took her to the opera and the ballet in London.  By the time she found out that he was married she was completely obsessed with him. He reassured her immediately saying how his wife only thought about their two small boys and her job in the hospital. He was on his own all the time and it was over between them.  Gemma believed him and was determined to make up for all the neglect he had suffered from his wife.  

Marsha walked by and helped herself to a free spray of J.Lo's new perfume from the bottle on the display.

'Would you like to come to us this evening Gemma? I've made some special mince pies with whiskey, guaranteed to bring instant festive cheer.  Mike's going out for his office party. We could watch a Christmas film and maybe let Sam stay up a bit as a treat.'

'I think Max is coming to pick me up and then we were going...' She stopped, not really wanting to say what they were going to do.  Just lately they'd done nothing but go back to her room. She looked at Marsha and took a deep breath.

'That sounds nice Marsha, thank you. Maybe I could give Sam his bath and read him a bedtime story. It would be good for my training.' She smiled  at Marsha as she moved away and then started to tidy up the  counter.

A voice whispered in her ear, low and deep. Yesterday it would have sent a shiver of excitement down her spine but today it made her feel sad and lonely.

'Hello young lady, could you please help me choose a perfume for my poor old grandmother. I' d be ever so grateful.'

Gemma turned to Max with a bright smile.

'Sorry Sir but it's closing time. By the way which  is your wife's favourite perfume ?''

The silence that followed and the embarrassed look on Max's face told her all that she needed to know.

Dora

The phone rang three times and then stopped. Dora put down the minute matinee jacket she was knitting and settled in her chair. It was her son David 's signal. When the phone rang again she picked it up straight away.

'Hello David, I'm all ready with my list.'

'Fire away Mum, but don't forget it's Christmas next week and you'll be with us . Patty's got enough stuff here to feed an army. '

Dora smiled and relaxed into her chair. The sound of her son's voice always made her feel so safe, so happy and so hopeful.When the doctor had told her all those years ago that she would never have children, Sid had held her hand tightly and told her matter- of-factly that they could adopt, give a little child a chance of a happy home.They filled in the paperwork and were delighted when the call came to say that there was a newborn baby for them. David giggled and gurgled his way through his infant years and gave them unending joy. He'd burst in from school, socks falling down and jacket discarded on the floor, bubbling over with fun and laughter. When he was eighteen the law said he could trace his birth parents. He'd sat down next to them and looked them in the eyes.

'You're my parents, the only ones I ever want.' They'd tried to hide their tears of relief.

When David married Patty they gained a daughter. When their granddaughter Abbie was born, Sid and Dora looked after her while David and Patty were at work. Abbie had the same charming nature as David and she brought joy to them all.

'Well I've made two puddings this year so extra wishes. Now I'd just like some of those mini mince pies and some Yorkshire tea and maybe a bottle of mulled wine to offer the carol singers.That's all . Thank you so much David.'

Once a week David ordered Dora's shopping for her online and it was delivered to her door. Of all the modern conveniences it was the one that reminded her of her childhood. There were no supermarkets then and most of her mother's shopping was done on the doorstep, buying from the milkman, the grocer and the various travelling salesman. Her mother would have loved all the other inventions that had made life so easy though, a washing machine with a drier, disposable nappies, a microwave. Dora's favourite was still the duvet. A flick of the wrist and the bed was made.

'Mum, are you ok? Is your heating working properly now?'

David 's voice broke into her thoughts.

'Yes it's fine now, thank you. How is Abbie?'

There was a silence and Dora heard her son take a deep breath.

'The doctor says it's post- natal depression. She's been going for counselling.'

Dora had to bite her tongue and stop herself from snorting. She had no time for counselling. The doctor had made her go after Sid passed on. Dora had found herself sitting in front of a complete stranger and in just half an hour the wall that had been protecting her since childhood had crumbled away. She'd broken down in heaving sobs as she re-lived the times when her violent father undid his heavy belt to beat her brother Tom. He'd run off to Australia, a ten pound Pom they called them then, as soon as he was twenty. Dora had stayed to protect her mother and had been saved by meeting Sid at a local dance. She'd never seen or heard from Tom again. Sid had tried to trace him but never succeeded. Dora had left the counselling session feeling humiliated and exposed. She couldn't think how it would help Abbie. Dora thought it must be the boyfriend Oscar's fault. She couldn't understand why he didn't marry her. She was such a lovely girl and now with the baby it didn't seem right. Dora didn't understand it.

'Mum, I'll be round at ten on Tuesday. Patty's made up your bed.'

Dora tried to put some reassurance into her voice.

'It will be lovely to have a baby in the house at Christmas. Abbie will be fine. I'll be bringing my magic Christmas puddings.'

Dora put the phone down and looked at her knitting. It was a tiny matinee jacket for the Premature Baby Unit. She must have made hundreds over the years. Never did she think they'd be needed for her own little great- grandson, Harry. When David had rung to tell her that Abbie had been rushed into hospital with complications, Dora had felt a fear greater than anything her father could have caused with his violent ways. Harry was born at seven months but thanks to the doctors and his own fighting spirit he would be home for Christmas. Abbie though seemed to be in a state of shock and just moped about in her dressing gown all day while her boyfriend Oscar took care of the baby.

Dora put her knitting down and went to the kitchen . She sprinkled some more brandy on her Christmas cake and changed the cloth on the puddings. Every year she wished hard while stirring her puddings, eyes tight shut and gripping the wooden spoon. Sometimes they came true and sometimes they didn't.
As a child when she made the puddings with her mother they wished together, but it didn't improve  her father's temper or stop her brother leaving. Later she'd wished for a loving husband and found Sid, then for a baby and along came her beloved David. Last year she'd wished that Sid would get better but he'd left her in the Spring and this would be her first Christmas without him for fifty- five years. This year her wishes would be all for Abbie and Harry. Dora had bought some new silver charms and had wished hard.

Xxxxxxxx

Dora turned to Oscar who was sitting on her right and held out her cracker to him

'Don't pull too hard Oscar, I'll fall off the chair'.

Oscar grinned and tugged hard so there was a loud snap.He put on the paper hat and read out his joke.

'Where do Snowmen go to dance? To a snow ball.'

Everybody groaned. Dora was really warming to Oscar. She had watched as he 'd held the bottle and then rocked  Harry off to sleep. Mostly though she'd noticed how he looked at Abbie. She'd seen that look on a man's face before and it still made a warm glow steal over her heart. Sid had looked at her like that at the village dance and then had never really stopped. David was looking like that at Patty now as he raised his glass to her. She saw Oscar wink at Abbie and the warmth and love in her eyes as she looked back at him. Abbie was more like her old cheerful self. The counseller had managed to reassure her and give her the confidence she needed to look after Harry, perhaps there was something in counselling after all.

David stood up.

' I'm going to get Mum's marvellous pudding now ! Be prepared for the magic show everyone!'

They all cheered as David brought in the pudding, glistening with sugar and with beautiful blue and gold flames leaping over it. Patty served it with cream and brandy butter. Dora watched as everyone searched for their lucky charms. There was a squeal of excitement as Abbie found the little wedding ring charm and then she reddened and looked shyly at Oscar. Dora saw how the others quietly moved their charms about as realisation dawned. There was silence broken only by the snuffles from the cot. Oscar stood up. He moved towards Abbie and took the  charm ring ,then he dropped dramatically to one knee.

'Well as you are the one that got the wedding charm it must be a sign. You are the only one for me Abbie and well the thing is what I want to say is

 Abbie will you marry me?'

Then they were all crying and laughing and hugging at once as Abbie threw her arms round  Oscar.

'Oh yes !  Yes Oscar!Yes please !'

Harry woke up then and Oscar picked him up.

'Hey little fellow, an awful lot has been happening while you've been having your nap. Daddy's wearing a funny hat and Mummy's going to be my wife .'

Patty brought in the coffee tray . She handed round the coffee and then sat close to David. She kissed him tenderly.

'Merry Christmas Grandpa, what a wonderful Christmas this is turning out to be.'

Dora looked round at her family bathed in the glow of the lights from the tree. Her son and his wife, her granddaughter and Oscar and her little great grandson . How much she loved them. She knew Sid would be very happy.

It was only a lot later as they were all ready for bed that Abbie asked everyone

'Well what lucky charms did you all get?'

There was a lot of yawning and mumbling as they all said goodnight looking at each other with mischievous grins.

Dora looked at the photo of Sid as she turned off the light.

'Yes I know I'm an old fashioned fogey, but it worked for us didn't it my love? It seems he was going to ask her anyway, I just speeded things up. You were my hero Sid.

Merry Christmas '.
Then she blew him a kiss and carefully tucked the other four little silver charm wedding rings in her draw.

Help Line, Flash Fiction

It was the end of Tessa's shift, Finlay was meeting her, she felt hot at the thought.  One more call,

Loud sobs and a deep breath,

'It's my husband, ' it usually is, sighed Tessa.

'He's having an affair, ' he usually is, Tessa yawned.

'I've got twins, they cry all the time.
I look a mess, it used to be so perfect.'

More sobbing.

Tessa drummed perfect nails on the desk.

'I can't live without him, Finlay's my world.'

It was a punch in the stomach,

' Look just tell your husband....' She paused

'Tell him you love him.'

Turning Heads, Flash Fiction

'Et Voilà, do you like the back?'

Mary looked up from the magazine and stared in the mirror.
She'd asked Fleur to transform her and she certainly had.
She'd slunk into the hairdressers, wet from a car splashing through a puddle.

She stepped out, head high, relishing the curls bouncing on her shoulders. A car passed with a chorus of wolf whistles, a man on his bike blew a kiss.

A low voice in her ear, the one she wanted to hear, she turned round, the curls swayed and bounced.

'I'll never call you Mousy Mary again, please forgive me.'

Full of Woe

A wave of pain swept over Abbie and she grimaced, breathing hard and waiting for it to pass. She struggled to pick up her phone and look at the time. It was 11pm. It was still Tuesday, she might just make it. It had to be a Tuesday. Abbie hated Wednesdays. She'd been born on one and her mum was forever telling people how appropriate it was.


'Our Abbie's full of woe' she'd say in a gloomy voice to anyone who'd listen. 'Not like our Sophie, born on a Monday and beautiful as they come'. If the listener still seemed interested she'd tell them about Emma who danced into the world on a Tuesday and had been twirling and pirouetting ever since. Abbie's mum put such faith in any saying. If they saw a magpie on its own she'd get in a fluster until they spotted another one. Abbie often pretended she'd seen one just to calm her down.


Another sharp pain gripped her stomach and she cried out. John came hurrying into the room, blowing on a cup of coffee. He took a sip and reached for her hand. He winced in pain as she grasped it with force.


'You ok love? Sorry I just had to have some coffee, I feel so sleepy...'



John's voice was cut off as an alarm sounded and people came rushing into the room, bent over Abbie and wheeled her off. One of the nurses turned to him.



'Put on your gown and shoes and follow us, it's all going to be alright.' She smiled at him and then hurried after Abbie.



Abbie clenched her hands as pain swept through her and felt a wave of sheer panic, then a needle went in her and she lay back. She watched them in amazement as they groped around under the green cloth and then gasped in wonder as she saw him, it was him, all along she'd been waiting for him, she was totally unprepared for the force of love that hit her. The nurse, Julie, handed him to her and Abbie looked up and there was John, tears streaming down his face. He pointed to a glass window. There was mum, Emma and Sophie waving and crying and hugging each other.



Julie was writing out the forms and clamped a little arm band on him. She looked up at the clock.



'It's midnight, right on the dot. We can let you choose, Tuesday or Wednesday.'



Abbie glanced at John and grinned. John answered for her.



'I like Wednesday, it's a great day, all the best people are born on Wednesday.'

Breaking in

The front door slammed hard behind him, much harder than he'd intended, catching his fingers, he winced in pain as he withdrew his hand.  He was surprised to find that it felt good, some of the tension released from his body. He'd left his jacket behind and the cold wind lashed him like a whip. Well he wasn't going back that was for sure. He strode off along the lane his head bent down.

It was Joe's birthday and he was seventeen.

  The day had started out alright, with his mother Gilly and his step-father Nick coming into his room singing and bearing brightly wrapped gifts. His mates at school had wished him happy birthday and  Sonia Marshall had given him a saucy card. Grandma had said she'd pay for his driving lessons. It had made him feel sad to think that grandpa wasn't alive anymore, he would have loved Joe to have driven him around the countryside.

 When Joe had got home from school though, everything had gone wrong.
 They'd tried to skype his father Ben in China but he didn't answer. There was no message or card from him at all.
Maybe if Nick hadn't patted him on the shoulder in that condescending way it would still of been alright, but Joe had stood up abruptly, brushing him away and knocking over the chair.

 His mother had looked at them both in alarm and started to speak but Nick had put out his hand and said,

'It's alright Gilly, he's understandably upset, I'll deal with it.'

 Joe was seventeen now and didn't want to be 'dealt with'.

 He had yelled at his mother,

'It's all your fault, you weren't good enough for him, '

Then he had reeled in shock as Nick raised his hand as if to strike him. His mother had stared at them both in horror,

'Hey, hey, hey, calm down everybody, this is a special day.'

She had tried to put her arm round Joe but he had shrugged her off.

'Come on Joe, maybe you've even got a point,'

She had grinned and shrugged her shoulders.

' I wasn't what he wanted, otherwise he wouldn't have gone off and married a Chinese girl would he? '

She had paused, then her voice had softened, 'I'll always be grateful to your dad because I've got you, and  we've both got Nick to look after us now.'

Joe couldn't calm down though, he had felt such anger rising within him, he had glared at his mother and Nick,

'Well I don't want you. I want dad. I'm going to live in China.'

He couldn't believe it, when he heard his mother had started to giggle. No-one ever took him seriously. He was just a victim. He had marched to the front door and spat the words.

'That's it, I've had enough.'


Joe looked up and was surprised to see he had walked as far as the woods at the edge of the common. He turned off the lane into the woods. He'd go as far as the cottage at the end of the footpath.

Someone famous had moved into it. He'd heard his mother talking to his grandma about it, all excited, saying it was a singer from her youth and she wanted his autograph. Stupid music no doubt, all bouncy and cheesy, the sort she danced around to when she was doing the housework. He sniggered.

He looked across at the cottage. There was a washing line strung across the garden and some underwear was hanging on it, boxer shorts with bananas and black lace thongs. For a brief moment Joe imagined him and Sonia Marshall living together in a cottage like this. Then his anger returned.

The other day he'd overheard Nick telling his mother that Joe should get a Saturday job and earn some money, that maybe she mollycoddled him and that it was time for him to accept that life knocks us down sometimes and we have to get up on our own feet.Well, thought Joe, remembering how hurt he'd felt, listening to them talk about him like that, if this was life then he didn't want it. His father going to the other side of the world and having two Chinese daughters, his mother marrying Nick just a year later, and Joe? Who wanted Joe?

The cottage was in darkness and there was no car in the drive. Joe crept round the back of the house, trying not to make a noise on the gravel. He tried the back door handle but it was locked. He thought of his mother's giggling, well he'd knock that smile off her face, he'd get into trouble, that's what he'd do. Then his father would have to come back from China to sort him out. He scrunched up his hand into a fist and punched it through the glass pane on the door. It shattered into pieces and a sharp pain went up his arm. It felt good. He wanted to feel pain. He looked down at the blood on his knuckles.
He leaned in and opened the door and crept in the house. There would be things to steal from a famous musician surely. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom and then tiptoed to the far door and entered a sitting room.

Joe jumped in horror as he realized someone was sitting on the floor, crossed legged, wearing headphones and strumming a guitar. The floor was littered with beer cans and bottles, take-away cartons and brimming ashtrays.  The person playing the guitar must be the famous musician his mother was talking about. He had long unkempt hair and a beard, scruffy old jeans and what looked like a white t-shirt. He looked up at Joe and coughed.

'Hey man, come and join me, I could do with company.' He smiled and gestured to the floor.

Joe pushed away some of the mess on the floor and sat down, imitating the singer's cross-legged pose. The singer took off his headphones and plugged his guitar into the amplifier. He started to a play a tune that Joe recognized from his mother's CDs. There was a tambourine near the beer bottles and  Joe picked it up and tapped out the beat.
It sounded different played like this and something in the haunting melody made Joe feel lighter. As he shook the tambourine he started to sway and move his head in time to the music. It felt good. The music changed, the tempo quickened and  together they broke into song, Joe knew all the words and they smiled at each other as they sang.

The singer stopped and put down his guitar. He held out his hand.

'The name's Frank, nice to meet you.'

Joe hung his head. He felt ashamed, so ashamed. Here he was, seventeen, breaking into someone's house. The realization of what he'd done hit him and the shame washed over him. He blurted out,

'I'm so sorry, I really am so sorry, please don't tell my mum, she thinks you're wonderful, she'd be so ashamed of me.'

Frank nodded, 'I ain't telling no-one, but let's see your hand, go and wash it and get rid of the blood. There's some plasters in the bathroom cabinet.'

When Joe came back with his hand bandaged, Frank handed him a beer.

'You old enough to drink? '

Joe sat up straighter,

'I'm seventeen today,'

Frank raised his can,

'Happy birthday! seventeen's a wonderful age. It has to be my favourite so far, learning to drive, guitar lessons, first girlfriend, make the most of it mate. Anyway what are you doing on your birthday all alone, breaking windows?'

As he gulped down his beer, Joe told Frank all about his dad and the new Chinese family, his stepfather, his mother giggling and never taking him seriously, his grandfather dying just a few months before.

Frank nodded and listened.

'Sounds like we're both in a mess. My girlfriend left me last week. She said she can't take anymore of living in this cottage, she wants to go back to the city.'

His hand swept over the litter on the floor.

'Funny thing is that since she left I've already written a new song. Seems like being down makes me more creative. Want to hear it?'

As the opening chords of the song washed over him, Joe reached out for the tambourine and tried gently to join in. Frank's voice was low and husky as he sang out about the pain of losing someone, of letting them go and forgiving and accepting, The music poured down on Joe, reaching into the corners of his heart, flowing over him and removing all the darkness, a brightness flooded over him, renewing him and filling him with what he knew was happiness and joy.

As the music die away, Frank put down his guitar and peered at Joe.

'Music's like life see, we have to make our own music, just for the fun of it.'

He sounded like he was talking to himself and Joe waited for him to carry on.

'Hey what if I take you home and sing you happy birthday on my guitar, think you're mum would like that?'

Joe threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed. It felt good. He hadn't laughed like that for ages, he couldn't even remember.

'Oh she'd love it. She'd just love it. Let's go.'

Frank lay down his guitar on the floor like a baby being put in his cot. He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced,

'I'll quickly go and make myself presentable first.'

While he waited Joe shook the tambourine, a slow, gentle rhythm.  It would be the beat of his life, he could see so many wonderful possibilities, but he'd take it gently. Maybe he could take Chinese A level and surprise his dad, he' act as chauffeur to Nick and his mum when they went out for a drink, he'd ask Sonia Marshall if she'd like a lift to school, he'd take his grandma shopping , he'd get a Saturday job and earn some money to buy a guitar and he'd ask frank if he'd give him lessons.

Joe couldn't wait to get home now, to see the relief he knew would be on his mother's face when she saw him and to apologize to Nick.

Frank appeared at the door, transformed, his hair combed and pulled back, clean shaven and smartly dressed, he was holding a bottle of wine tied with a ribbon.

He smiled at Joe,

'Let's go Joe, we've got a birthday to celebrate.'

As they were walking back along the lane to Joe's house, Frank stopped and turned to Joe,

'Just one thing, next time you come and visit me, please knock.'

Pam's Secret

The kitchen door was wide open and loud rock music was blaring from the radio. Judith walked in and called out to her mother, Pam, who skidded into the kitchen singing along to the music and holding a broom as a microphone, swishing her dark brown hair from side to side and impersonating Tina Turner. She switched off the radio.

' You made me jump, how lovely to see you Judith, have you got time for a cup of tea?'

Pam stopped and looked more closely at her daughter. She gently pushed her down onto a chair and switched on the kettle.

'Everything alright Judy? You look done in.'

Judith burst into tears and her mother took her in her arms.

'There, there, what is it? Nothing a nice cup of tea won't put right.'

 She stroked her daughter's beautiful strawberry blond hair, pulled it up into a ponytail and started twirling it around the way she always had done ever since Judy was a toddler.

Judith sobbed loudly.

'John's been told he's got a low sperm count.' She broke into even louder sobs.

'We've got an appointment at the IVF clinic. I'm scared.'
She blew her nose loudly and wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

'Hannah at work went in for all that treatment  and it blew her marriage apart. Then Jemma from uni had triplets and she's always tired and snappy and her husband's having an affair. I don't want that to happen to me and John.' She broke into sobs again.

Judith and John had been trying for a baby for two years now. Pam hated that expression. As if reading her mind, Judy went on,

'John says it's taking all the passion and romance out of our marriage. He doesn't even want to make love any more.'

Pam could imagine what a blow it would be to John's masculine pride to be told he was firing blanks. He was always  doing something macho, playing rugby, body building, paragliding, rock climbing, scuba diving, going off with the Territorial army for weekends.

Pam went to pour the tea and handed Judith her favourite mug with 'May you be happy always' stamped on it. She'd added a drop of whisky to it and two heaped spoonfuls of sugar. She put her arm round her daughter and buried her face in her soft hair. She chose her words carefully, putting as much reassurance as possible into her voice.

'Oh darling, you'll be alright. You love each other so much. There are lots of options these days.'

'I know mum, but part of me thinks that maybe it's not meant to be. We've got so much going for us. I couldn't bear to lose him.'

Judith sobbed loudly and Pam stroked her gently, then handed her a tissue. Judith blew her nose loudly and looked at her mother, her eyes red and swollen. there was desperation in her voice when she spoke.

'Oh mum, I'm so frightened, I thought having a baby would be so easy.' She blew her nose again and put her hand on Pam's arm.

'Would you be very disappointed not to be a grandmother?'

Judith didn't see the shadow that crossed her mother's face. Pam handed the biscuit tin to Judith and took one herself.

'I feel very lucky to have you and so does dad.'

Pam stroked her daughter's lovely hair. Her heart felt heavy and a deep sadness settled over her.

She thought back to that Summer over thirty years ago.  She'd been married to Rick for six years and there was no sign of a baby. They were both under great strain, all they did was argue.  Rick was always working late at the office. He had a new secretary and he often came home when she was already in bed. She had tried to ignore the smell of alcohol and perfume that he brought home with him.

It was her mother's idea for her to go and stay for awhile on her auntie's farm while Rick was in the States on business.  Her mother said that all the fresh country air and home cooking would put some colour back in her cheeks. Pam's mother had sat her down and made her a cup of tea, just like she had with Judith just now. Pam shuddered slightly as she remembered her mother's soft voice telling her about the book she'd been reading. It was a historical novel of the sort she devoured, ' bodice rippers ' her father called them. She'd said that once women from noble families would go to great lengths to produce an heir. She'd said that in the past women had a do it yourself attitude to insuring that the family line carried on. In the book she was reading the heroine had sought out someone suitable with no link to her family life. Judith remembered nearly choking on her tea as her mother's message had sunk in.

That Christmas after her American holiday Rick had held her hand tight,and with tears in his eyes told their families that she was pregnant. He looked like he would burst with pride.
Rick was a doting dad from the start and adored his daughter.  There was no other woman in his life after that. Pam and Judy were his whole world.
There had been no more children.

Whenever she looked at Judith's glossy hair and brilliant blue eyes she thought of Anton, the young Danish boy who had been working on her auntie's farm that summer.
He was only twenty and had come to work on the farm and learn English before going to Medical school in Copenhagen.

Pam stood up, taking a deep breath. She turned the radio back on and tuned in to Classic Fm.

The sparkling melody of Beethoven's Pastoral symphony filled the kitchen. A strand of Spring sunshine arched across the room and lit up Judith's hair, she had folded her arms and laid her head on them, exhausted after all the crying.  She couldn't see the expression on Pam's face as she spoke quietly to her.

' The doctors have made a lot of progress with assisted pregnancies in the last thirty or so years Judith. Whatever you do I will support you, but your marriage is precious and must be protected.'

Judith looked up then and went to her mother and hugged her tight.

'Oh mum how do you do it? You make everything alright again. I feel much better. Somehow the fact that it's John's fault as it were, makes it easier. I couldn't live without him. Maybe we could adopt, but whatever we do, it's him that I want, he must come first. I'm going home now, I need to see John and reassure him.'

Pam waved as her daughter drove away and then stood quite still, looking out of the window, and letting the music soothe her.

She sighed heavily, pondering the weight that she had been carrying all these years.
Every generation seemed to have its own moral code. In the last thirty years everything had changed dramatically and there was no going back.

Pam picked up her phone, a tear falling on her cheek when she heard her husband's voice. soft and low and full of love.

'Hello Pam darling, telepathy, I was just thinking of you. How about if I take my two favourite girls out for lunch to the new restaurant by the river?It might make Judy relax a bit, if you get what I mean.'

For the first time in thirty years Pam felt a huge weight in her heart, her head throbbed and she had trouble to speak. Then she wiped away the tears, smiled at the sunbeams dancing across the kitchen. In a way she and Judith were the same, doing everything they could to keep the man they loved, doing it themselves, in different ways.

Moaning Minnie, just a second

Moaning Minnie hasn't written for a while, but I've just had a bit of a shock, nothing dreadful, but maybe a warning for those who don't know this.
It's very hot, very, very hot. We've been told to look after old people and young children. Well that's me, now, the old people..
There I was sitting on the sofa feeling sleepy because of the heat and I started watching 'A mermaid in Manhattan,' do you remember the film with Daryl Hannah and Tom Hanks ? Well I loved that film and as one of my granddaughters loves the Little Mermaid one day we watched the mermaid in Manhattan film and she loved that too. Of course, it's ridiculous and hasn't really stood the test of time, it seems even more ridiculous now, but I still enjoy watching it.  As I've seen it so many times, I thought, I can't possibly sit and watch it again. I read somewhere that we spend three years of our lives watching repeats, so I've decided not to keep on watching the same film again and again. So I decided to prune a few of my plants that are wilting in the hot sun, take away the dried up bits and pieces. I only had a very thin t shirt on because of the heat and when I leaned over my calle, a sort of lily thing, I felt an agonizing pain, like a knife going through me. At first I thought it was a wasp sting, but there was no sign of anything buzzing about. I called my husband and showed him what had happened and he was puzzled too. At first he thought I was just making a fuss He gingerly touched the leaves of the plant and said actually they are very sharp and pointy.Then he googled calle and discovered that they do actually sting you and cause reactions. By this time as you can imagine all sorts of horrible scenarios, not being brave and having been stung at least seven times by hornets and wasps.

I wished  that I'd watched the mermaid film, I really, really, wished I had. It got me thinking of how many times we'd love to turn back the clock, just a fraction of a second, just a tiny bit, and do things differently.
It only takes a second for things to go wrong, to say the wrong thing, to make the wrong move.
So what the heck if we do spend three years watching the same old films, it's much better than being stung by a toxic planet.
No more calles for me.

have a happy, hot summer and take care all of you.

The pointy plant

A Proper Dad

Right now, I'm feeling very nostalgic.
There is a family playing on the beach in front of me. What you'd call a 'hands on dad' is busy building a much turreted sandcastle with his little boy. The little girl is sitting on the sand proudly exhibiting her sand mermaid 's tail and watching her mum collecting shells to add the final touches.
They look like we did.

I keep thinking of that microcosm that is a family on holiday, of how I felt as though I existed in a glorious bubble when you took us on holiday. School, work, friends and relations were nothing to do with our holiday.

The rest of the year we didn't see much of you, so hardworking you were. You'd come and hug us goodnight when we were half asleep and it was bliss to breathe in that daddy smell of cigarettes and beer and revel in the feel of your work jacket, rough against my cheek.

On holiday you were all ours, we had you all to ourselves,like a great big cuddly toy. 

You had holiday clothes, two pairs of shorts and two shirts in green and petrol blue and they lasted like forever.

Another family are playing nearby. Two pairs of flip- flops as goalposts and a beach ball, they are making the World Cup look tame.

You would have approved, the simpler the better, fun for free, no need for expensive toys and gadgets when there was so much to enjoy for free. It was a lesson you passed on every day, the fundamental importance of play.

Those family holidays of my early childhood were so precious. memories to cherish forever and they lie still within me, a solid foundation of love.

The first holiday I clearly remember was going to Butlins. We bounced up and down on the bed the night before singing 'we're going to Butlins, we're going to Butlins!'

What I then remember, but vaguely, is an incident on the journey there in the car.
A prang and a shouting match between the other driver and you.  The bitter laugh when we arrived at Butlins to find the driver of the other car was coming on holiday there too.

We went to bed on bunk beds in little huts.  The last post was played when it was time to turn the lights out. In the morning there was more bugle playing from the loud speakers and a voice calling 'good morning campers'!

You told us it was like being in the army, you were going home and you 'd come back and get us at the weekend.

We accepted it, like we accepted that anything you did was a wise and sensible idea. We rode around on bicycles made for two and sang along with the redcoats and then we all went home.

Having cancelled out holiday camps as suitable family holidays, we next tried 'touring Scotland staying at Bed and breakfasts.' Like everything, you made it sound exciting, an adventure, so once again we were bouncing on the bed with excitement this time at the thought of sleeping in the car. You put down a plank of plywood on the floor and we both went to sleep in our sleeping bags. We went to sleep in England and woke up in Scotland. The adventure had begun. With you, our hero as the leader, we looked at Scotland with wondrous eyes. Here there were marvellous cattle, with horns and floppy fringes. There was heather growing as far as the eye could see and we picked a bunch to put on the bonnet of the car to make us feel part of Scotland. You told us stories of Picts and Celts and showed us stone ruins. You made us aware of history and respect for the lives of who had walked the same moors that we were on. You marvelled at the wonder of the Forth Bridge, full of admiration for the Scottish engineers that had built it a hundred years before.
Then we watched in total awe as you skimmed stones across Loch Lomond, not once or twice, but six times at least. We admired you even more than the engineers.
The Bed and breakfast places were all run by friendly women who easily succumbed to your charms and we were given Scotch pancakes, marmalade and Petticoat tails and Tablet, like our fudge but even better.  They called us 'wee bairns', it sounded nice.
In the evening you'd be offered a 'wee dram' and we listened as you were taught to say Scottish toasts and Scottish poems by Robert Burns. These poems and toasts stayed with us through the years, repeated at every suitable occasion.
We went across to the Isle of Skye singing one of our favourite bedtime songs, 'Speed Bonnie Boat.' We went to Edinburgh and had our photo taken with the Scottish guards in their kilts. At one stage our auntie and uncle turned up in their car, we didn't question it, there were no mobile phones then but we just thought it was quite natural that our lovely auntie was there to join in our holiday.
We left the land where streams had become 'burns' and lakes had become 'lochs', fudge 'tablet', children 'bairns' and pancakes were cooked on a 'griddle', forever with a special place in our hearts.
That holiday must have had a few challenges though we weren't aware of them. In the photos we are wearing our macs or thick sweaters all the time. Our mum is sitting in the car in all the photos.We are clutching our I-Spy books as though we are hoping to get some warmth from them and you found it hard to sleep in the nylon sheets at the Bed and Breakfast.

The following year you announced that you had read that 'the proper dad takes his kids camping.'
So your friend Ron lent you an army tent to see how you got on.
We went to Wales. This started off alright. We pitched the tent at a campsite by a little stream with a very attractive stone bridge. You taught us how to tighten the guide ropes, use a mallet to knock in the tent pegs and make sure the tent was nice and secure. We went to bed dreaming of little streams and thinking that the name Blodwyn was really pretty.
That night though there was a terrific storm. You spent the night digging a trench round the tent to keep the water away from our camp beds.  Our super hero always there to cope. We woke in the morning to find we were in a field of mud, the stream was a raging torrent and the bridge had disappeared.
The rest of the holiday seemed to be about visits to a district nurse to treat a carbuncle, a train ride up Mount Snowdon surrounded by mist and wearing our gum boots all the time. You bought us both wonderful presents on that holiday, a penknife for my brother and a  doll called Blodwyn in Welsh national costume.

The Welsh rain had done nothing to dampen your spirits though.
The 'proper dad taking his kids camping' though was here to stay. The following year you bought a secondhand tent. A beautiful orange and green tent, with a separate bedroom and a sewn-in groundsheet. We had a dummy- run in the garden. You showed us how to help you put it up. You bought a table and chairs that folded up to look like a suitcase. You bought a little camping gas stove and a car with a sunshine roof.
No raincoats or boots, no thick jumpers, nothing heavy was allowed in the boot of the car, we were going to follow the sun, we were going abroad, our names were put on passports, we were going to tour Europe. This was an adventure so great we were overcome with excitement.


The sensations and the emotions that this holiday provoked have stayed with me, in my heart and mind.
Off we went, our little bubble, our microcosm to Dover. We boarded the ferry and gazed in wonder at the white cliffs, at the luscious, foamy trail behind the ferry, the swooping seagulls, the salt spray, and then the sight of the French coast.  In those days we didn't have garden furniture of pavement cafes and the sight of Bologne with its' bright parasols, its' striped awnings, its' hustle and bustle, just an hour away from home, here was a whole different world. add to that, driving on the wrong side of the road, the different language, but all the time we were in our bubble, our family, with you.
Our English car with its English suspension and the steering wheel on the wrong side took everything in its' stride with you in charge. We stopped at Arras to stay with some friends who had taken refuge in England during the war. Their grandfather was English. They took us out in their French car, which happily bounced and swayed along the French roads. We jolted around in the back fascinated by the tall trees at the side of the road, the ruins which reminded us the war wasn't so long ago and they took us to a place called Vimmy Ridge. You didn't come, you'd had enough of all that. We followed our hosts around the French countryside, so peaceful now, no-one said anything, it was all so sad.
When we got back a lavish meal had been prepared for us, the house smelled of butter, we counted the courses, at least ten. We hugged and kissed and promised to keep in touch with the children the same age as us. We still do.

Then we were off again, in our English car with the sunshine roof. The French roads had done something to it. You said there was a bird in the bonnet. We went further south, the countryside kept changing, vast golden fields of sunflowers, The weather grew warmer. We could hear the 'cigale', you told us that meant we were following the sun. We opened the sunshine roof. We put on our snorkels and stood on the back seat, looking out of the sunshine roof.
We stopped for the night an a small hotel. You didn't speak French. In Arras you'd learned to say 'Je suis stupid', which eventually became 'Jazz we stupid' and raised many a smile for many a year.
All you needed to do was smile at the receptionist, point to us and you were understood. Then when we left the next day, 'addition'. You added to your repertoire as the holiday went on, 'Comment alley vous? Une chambre, and your favourite 'San fairy Anne'
We changed out of our English clothes into shorts and tee shirts. We stopped at a market and you bought us flip-flops. At first we shuffled along, falling over and treading on the backs, causing us to roll around in hysterical laughter, but soon we were flipping and flopping along like all the French children.
In England we'd always played the game of 'first one to see the sea.'  we were going through some heavily wooded hills when you shouted out 'sixpence for the first one to see it.' We sat up straight and stared in awe at the wonderful, powerful sight of the bright, sparkly turquoise Mediterranean sea. The smell of the pine trees, the sound of the crickets, and the sight of the sea, we had arrived.
We pitched our tent right on the beach where the sand was soft and white. There was no tide at all, our sandcastles didn't get washed away. The campsite was shady and smelt of pine. We had all that we needed. The campsite shop sold tomatoes and peaches. We'd never tasted anything so good. Sometimes we'd take a saucepan to have it filled with French chips or 'pomme frites', still my favourite food.
Our Uncle arrived, our mum's brother, we went to pick him up from the airport. He came towards us proudly bearing his duty free whisky. Like our auntie in Scotland, your sister, it just seemed natural and right that our uncle should appear.
We went in the sparkling sea with our lilos and snorkels. You couldn't swim, so you attached the lilo to a rope and tied the other end round your toe. You said you didn't want us to go across to Africa.

You lay on the camp bed in the shade of the Mediterranean pines in your holiday clothes. You were our sultan, our king. We, your devoted slaves, fed you grapes, fanned the air to cool you, revered you.
In the evenings we sat around in the cool of the evening. You invited people to share your whisky. They invited you to share their wine. we learned to say cheers in lots of different languages. many of the Germans had only one leg or one eye, or just looked sad. It made us think of Vimy Ridge and how sad we'd felt there.
We collected like shells and dried starfish and made a garden round the tent. we played with the other children, confused at first that they couldn't understand English when we spoke it really slowly.
Then one day we were off again. This time we were going north. We went over mountain passes and stopped to collect the snow in a bottle. We drove through clouds and near precipices.  Going round one particularly dangerous hairpin bend our mum opened the door thinking she hadn't shut it properly. She was sitting in the back with me. You looked in the mirror and your shoulders relaxed when you saw she was still there.
We delighted in the sound of the bells hanging round the necks of the Alpine cattle. We ate chocolate and bought a cuckoo clock and a Swiss knife.
By now our passports had lots of stamps in them, we had badges and stickers from all the places we had been. It just seemed that you looked at the signposts and decided where to go at random. When we saw ' Paris' on the signpost you said, 'let's go there' and off we went to that magical romantic city. The female counterpart to our more masculine London. We pitched our tent in the Bois de Boulogne and went on a tour of Paris by night.

You must have got the idea by now that my dad was not only a proper dad but a very special and precious dad.


I look at the family again. The dad is buying them all ice cream. I look at the notes I am reading for my Psychology course. The first seven years of a child's life are so important. It is then that the real, solid foundations are laid.
On our holidays as we moved around Scotland, Wales and Europe, we didn't know of the burdens you had to bear, we didn't know of the challenges you were facing. We didn't know that this was it.
You were our dad, our precious dad. we felt safe as long as you were there. Eight years of holidays and your love, a life time of cherished memories.

Thank you

There it is!!

Family Affairs

If the sleeves of the kimono hadn't been so wide, it would never have happened. If Bethany hadn't been holding her teddy so tightly and had let it go and if the sleeve hadn't got caught on the railing it would never have happened. She would never have fallen down the stairs and broken her arm and she would never have gone to hospital and her father would never have fallen in love with the pretty Polish nurse, Eva.
The sleeve incident was a grey cloud hanging over her, it was a ball and chain that she dragged with her every day.

The week before the kimono sleeve got stuck and she went tumbling down the stairs, Bethany's father had gone to Hong Kong on a business trip and brought them back a kimono each.
They were beautiful, real silk, white with poppies for Susie her elder sister, blue cornflowers for their mother Linda and pink peonies for Bethany.
If the sleeve of the kimono hadn't got caught on the bannister then Bethany wouldn't have fallen down the stairs. She'd been holding her teddy in her right hand and the sleeve caught on the rail and she lost her balance. Everything was a bit confused after that. She remembered gripping her teddy, and the dull pain in her leg. She remembered her sister screaming, even more so than when she found a spider in the bath or wasps settled on her sandwich.
She remembered strong arms and a kind face and then nothing. She'd woken up in a hospital bed and there was her father Mark holding her hand. There was a nurse standing next to him and she was smiling.
Susie and her mother weren't there. Her father stroked her hair and explained that Susie had had a panic attack and so he'd come on his own and Eva the nurse was here to look after her. Bethany remembered feeling a tremor of alarm go through her as Eva and her father exchanged smiles and Eva's hand lingered on her father's arm.

When Bethany got home from the hospital everything was different. Her mother cried a lot and her father was never at home. When grandma came round or Mrs Ellis from next door she could hear them saying that if she hadn't fallen down the stairs it would never have happened. The grey cloud grew darker. Her sister lost a lot of weight and hardly ever spoke. Her asthma got worse.
There was no laughter and giggling at bedtime any more. Bethany's friend Emma came round to visit her and wrote all over her plaster cast. Emma told her that the Netball team had lost the championship and it was all Bethany's fault.

Bethany had been back from hospital a few days when her teacher Mr. Browning came round to see her. He gave her lots of homework to help her catch up and a big box of chocolates. He came round a lot after that and gave her lessons and then went into the kitchen to have a cup of tea with her mother. At first Bethany could overhear her mother telling him the usual story of how if Bethany hadn't fallen down the stairs it would never have happened. After a week or two Bethany heard Mr. Browning calling her mother 'Linda' and her mother's voice out of breath and whispering.

Mr. Browning took Bethany and her mother to the hospital to have her final check up when her leg had healed. Her father was waiting for them with Eva. Bethany was surprised to see Mr. Browning shake hands with her father and watched in amazement as Eva and her mother laughed and joked together about the way her father snored.

Now here they were on a plane going to meet Eva's family in Krakow. Susie was sitting next to the window, still and silent.
Bethany stretched out her leg, the one that had broken, it had healed beautifully. She turned her ankle round in circles like the Physiotherapist had shown her.
She looked at her sister, a lump came to her throat. It was all her fault if Susie was so unhappy.
 Bethany could see her father and Eva in the row opposite taking their drinks from the stewardess. Something shifted inside her, she took a deep breath and felt her shoulders relax. She put her hand on Susie's and squeezed it.

'Susie, I want to say something very important.'

Her sister hardly moved but Bethany knew she was suddenly alert.

'I want to say that I am really sorry. I'm really sorry that I fell down the stairs and broke my leg and that now everything's different.'

 She was about to carry on but Susie turned to her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

'No Bethany I'm the one that must apologize. If I hadn't been so hysterical, if I hadn't had the panic attack then dad wouldn't have gone to the hospital alone. I'm so sorry I've ruined our family. I'm so sorry that I changed everything.'

They were both crying now, tears of release. Bethany pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, she felt the grey cloud lighten and start to evaporate, a huge weight was falling from her. She blew her nose and grinned at her sister.

' Not everything has changed Susie, we're still sisters, nothing can change that. We've got each other. We're really lucky.'

Susie dried her eyes and smiled at Bethany, her face alive with hope. Her hand crept into Bethany's again and gripped hard. the stewardess was asking what they'd like to drink.

They answered together, 'lemonade please,' and then collapsed in giggles.

Bethany raised her glass to her sister,

'We're going to have a lovely holiday, Eva's got two nephews our age, her mother's got a cake shop and I heard her say we are going to some salt mines to improve your asthma. We might even learn Polish.'

A Second Chance to join the dance of life

(1590 words)

The road wrapped itself around the village like a belt pulling in the terraced houses that seemed to be clambering to fall over the edge.

As he paused to admire the view across to the mountains Anthony took a deep breath and pulled in his stomach.
Five years of sedentary work had taken its toll in more ways than one.
He felt his shoulders relax and he closed his eyes, relishing  the feel of the warm Mediterranean spring sunshine on his face, the sweet, woody smell of pine and lavender fill his lungs.
He looked up at the walled gardens and took in the lush, rich blooms of the Bougainville cascading down and the memories came flooding back .
He imagined he could hear the silver sound of Sophie's laughter on the breeze and he turned to look at the village.

Once, he'd told her that he thought he'd been re-incarnated, that in a previous life he must have lived here, spending long afternoons in a cool bedroom, watching the sunlight push itself through the shutters, the linen curtains sway in the heat, as he traced a sun-tanned finger along her back.
She'd rolled him over and kissed him and then with one fluid movement had wrapped him tightly to her with the silk white sheet.

Afterwards as they sat on her small terrace watching the sun go down over the mountains she'd told him that she didn't believe in re-incarnation, what could be the point of it if you couldn't remember your past life, how could you possibly improve yourself? No, there was just one life and you had to live it to the full, there were no second chances.

A scooter rushed passed him and Anthony jumped. He continued his walk to the top of the village. He hadn't let himself think about Sophie for so long and his heart was now beating fast and his breath coming in gasps that had nothing to do with the steepness of the road.

It was his mother, Betty, who had told him about the reunion. One of the former students on Anthony's course in Avignon, Jean-Paul, had got in touch with her. Jean-Paul had written that he was organizing a reunion and wanted Anthony to be there.
Betty had discovered Facebook at the age of seventy. Her sister, Joan, had gone to live in Australia with her daughter, Claire, who'd married an Australian. Claire had set them up on Facebook to help with Joan's homesickness. At first Betty was hesitant but now she was enthusiastic, saying it had enriched her life enormously and she was back in touch with all her old school friends and now she'd bought a smartphone she could talk to Joan any time and had seen Joan's house, the beach and the view from Sydney Harbour bridge.

Anthony was afraid of all social media.. He'd always been a serious child, apparently taking after the father that he never knew. Naturally gifted at academic work and useless at sport, he had put all his energy into his studies. He'd had no time for parties or friends and his mother seemed relieved that she didn't have to worry about him the way Joan did about Claire, who was always at discos and then failed her A levels. The teachers at Anthony's school had insisted he tried for Oxford to study Law.  They said he had the perfect qualities of detachment and logic. They could see him destined for a brilliant career. It was his mother, who at the last minute had suggested  he could add French to his degree course and spend some time in France. She said that she'd been there on holiday as a young girl and would never forget the warm balmy evenings, the heady scent of lavender and pine and the cascading Bougainvillea.
Anthony took her advice and after brilliant exam results he went to Avignon to specialize in European law.

The meeting place for the reunion was in the little square at the top of the village at the Cafè du Pin. There were a few people sitting on the chairs outside the cafè and as he approached Anthony recognized Jean-Paul who stood up and walked towards him.

'Anthony, mon brave, how wonderful to see you! You are looking good, handsome as ever. '
He pointed to the group round the table,' Do you remember Vadim, Pablo and Liu?'

They all shook hands and smiled at each other, Anthony didn't remember any of them, his time had all been taken up with Sophie.

Jean-Paul pulled out a chair.

'Come and sit down, what would you like to drink? We are waiting for the others here and then going to the restaurant La Pomme du Pin. Do you remember it?'

Anthony shuddered, how could he ever forget 'La Pomme du Pin'? It was where he'd last seen Sophie. It was where he'd made a fool of himself. It was where he'd lost his chance of happiness. He'd asked her to marry him, to come back to England and make a life there with him. She'd bowed her head and he could see tears dropping onto the table. He could hardly hear her words as she told him that she was like the Bougainvillea growing round the walls of the village. she needed the sun and the sounds and the smells of her home. Anthony could still hear the noise his chair had made as he'd rushed away from the restaurant without turning back. He'd been so sure she would have said yes, that she'd have followed him to the ends of the earth.

Jean-Paul was greeting all the newcomers and Anthony listened in amazement at how they all knew everything about each other.

'Hi Vadim, I saw your photos of Madrid on Facebook, and the ones of California on Instagram were so cool. I've always wanted to do that hike.'

'Hey Pablo, congratulations on your award, and your trip to Cambodia was amazing, I had no idea their tourist industry was so advanced. Drinking champagne on a boat, hey!'

Jean-Paul came and sat beside him and spoke quietly in his ear.

'Sophie will be here soon. It's market day and she has a stall. It's really successful. She's got a website and customers from all over, but she'll never give up her stall. She says it's where her senses come alive. It's how she keeps in touch with people's needs and desires. You know how she always had a passion for texture and design. She's just landed a contract to do the interiors for a famous tennis player who's opened a hotel in Monte Carlo.'


Anthony gripped his hands together to stop them shaking and tried to smile. He knew so well about Sophie's love of all that was sensuous, soft velvets, cool linens, silk and satin and her passion for the colours of her Mediterranean home, the warm sand and terracotta, the lavender and the pine. He realized Jean-Paul was still talking.

'How about you Anthony? I heard that you were a very successful lawyer in the city.'

Anthony decided to be open, there was no point in pretending.

'You could say I was successful, for a while, but then I had what used to be called a nervous breakdown and now is known as post traumatic stress syndrome. So now I work freelance from home, translating documents into French.'

He left out the bits about how he'd sold his soul and worked all hours, decamping from the office to night clubs with all his colleagues, trying to find another Sophie, to find the sensations that she had awakened in him.

He didn't say how it was the child abduction cases that had broken him in the end, the sight of a grown man  howling in agony as he told how his wife had fled the country with their small children. and now he couldn't kiss them goodnight.

Jean-Paul nodded and there was understanding in his eyes, he put his arm round Anthony's shoulders and said almost in a whisper,

'She loves you Anthony, there's never been anyone else but you.'

There was a loud burst of laughter and Jean-Paul stood up to gather the crowd together, to move to the restaurant.

Then Anthony saw her, standing on the sidelines, looking straight at him, smiling. He felt as though time had stopped, it was like everything suddenly came into sharp focus and Sophie was right there in the middle of it. Anthony couldn't take his eyes off her, he knew that nothing else in the world mattered to him anymore except her.

He held his arms out and she ran into them and then he was burying his face in her hair and breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine and lavender and something that was only hers, and kissing the skin on her neck which tasted of the sun.

His voice was low and there was all the joy of his heart when he spoke, 'I've missed you so much.'

She broke away and there was mischief in her eyes, the smile he loved so well playing around the corners of her mouth,

'Do you remember the question you asked me in 'La Pomme du Pin'? What about giving me another chance to get it right?'

'Do you remember when I asked you if you believed in re-incarnation? Well, I think I was right. If you want me to, I want to spend my new life here, with you, Sophie ...'