SAMHAIN

Every year I'm the zombie.  I get tired of it, but as they point out, I'm tall and have a slight twist in my back that makes me loom in a sinister way.  Lily is the vampire, type cast also, but she seems to relish it. She looks beautiful in her red dress, her black hair flowing down.  James is our axe wielding ghoul and Alice with her crooked nose and piercing eyes is the witch.
"Are we ready?" she asks us and we nod.

At precisely midnight we hit the street to blend with the raucous students and the shop girls who've been wearing their fancy dress and drinking cider all day.  We don't stay among them, we are looking for a fancier place.
"It's this way," says James.
"I've looked forward to this," Lily adds.
We enter and walk by the concierge who doesn't even look at us.  The carpeted corridor leads to the lift and the lift takes us to the penthouse.  We knock on the door and hand the youth that answers a bottle of wine, he invites us in immediately.
"See anyone you know here?" Alice asks with a low chuckle.
I nod smiling, thinking how funny it is that they're having the same conversations.  Jason Derrin is discussing property with Phillip Timpson in the usual Derrin versus Timpson portfolio competition.  There is Caroline Bundy on and on about the yacht her Daddy has bought her.  The Bundys always spoiled their children.
"Hey!" she cries coming over to me, "that severed head you're carrying looks real!"
I put it carefully on the table, reach forward with both my hands and snap her neck before she can protest.  Then I turn on her friend.  Screams and cries fill the room, but no-one comes.  Lily is flying about, tearing throats with her teeth and James is cutting heads with his axe.  Alice has done her part, her magic has sealed the doors, no-one can get in and no-one can get out.

I remember being a lad and asking Cora Bundy to play with me and she refused because I wore rags, was poor, was not good enough.  I recall Josh Derrin running poor Lily down with his horse when she stepped in the road to beg for money to feed her children and how Paul Timpson accused Alice of being a witch when she'd refused his advances.  Off to the gallows she had gone, her family having to pull at her legs to end her suffering.

It's funny how so little changes, money stays in the same families and guising still gets done, although they call it trick or treating now.  What they call Hallowe'en is Samhain to us, the night when the partition falls away and the dead come from the dark.  Tonight we came looking for the blood of those that hurt us and we found them the same as they've ever been.

THE PLAYROOM OF THE ONE PER CENT

“Right,” said Sean they pulled up, “here goes!”

Sally gazed at the primary school; “It looks wonderful, oh I hope you get in, Olivia, remember best behaviour!”
Inside they were greeted by the deputy head; “Mr and Mrs Chantry, welcome.  You must be Olivia.”
Olivia hid behind Sally’s legs.
Sally smiled; “So pleased to meet you, Mrs Evans, call me Sally.”

 

Mrs Evans didn’t volunteer her first name, she led the way round the school, showing them classrooms full of busy looking children who were learning to read and write.

 “What’s in there?” Sean asked pointing to a red door.
Mrs Evans smiled and opened the door obligingly.  Olivia gasped.  Inside were all her favourite toys, My Little Ponies, Shopkins, Moshi Monsters, the Baby Annabel range, all that a she could want.  The girls in there were wearing Disney Princess dresses and dipping Marshmallows into a chocolate fountain.  The boys played with Lego or ran around the place, there didn’t seem to be anyone telling them to pay attention and they weren’t doing any of the boring school work the other children had been doing.  Mrs Evans shut the door again.
“What was that?” Sally asked.
“Oh, that’s the playroom for the one per cent,” Mrs Evans replied, “when are you five, Olivia?”
“In December,” Sean answered.
“You’ll be starting with us in September,” she said smiling.
Sally’s face broke into an enormous grin; “So, she’s in?”
“Of course,” Mrs Evans said.
 

Olivia talked a lot about the playroom she’d seen, Sally had to constantly remind her she was going to school to learn.  After the first week Olivia complained of having to read and write all day and not getting to play in that playroom.

“I’m sure you’ll turn will come,” Sally reassured her.
“They say it’s just for the one per cent,” Oliva replied.
“That can’t be right.  Now remember we’re going to the beach on Saturday.”
“After your home-work,” Sean smiled, remembering that Mrs Evans had told them the children were given spelling tests and writing to do at weekends.

Olivia began her home work at 9am on Saturday morning, Sean tested her spelling, there seemed to be word after word after word and poor Olivia was getting tired.  At 11am they still weren’t finished, Olivia was writing a paragraph about her home, then another about her favourite things and another about her favourite colour.
“This isn’t right,” Sally said to Sean, “so many words to spell, how many were there?  Thirty?”
“Ten for me, ten for Emma and ten for Charlotte,” reported Olivia, rubbing her aching hand.
“What?  Are you doing homework for other children?” asked Sean.
“Yes, the story about colours is for Charlotte and the story about favourite things is for Emma.”
“I’m putting a stop to that!” exclaimed Sally.
 

Monday morning Sally marched into Mrs Evans’ office.  “Why is my daughter doing homework for Charlotte and Emma?”

“Charlotte and Emma are members of the one percent.  The one percent don’t get homework, they do just what they feel like doing.  We share their work out among the others.”
“But – I don’t get it, when is it Olivia’s turn to be in the one per cent?”
Mrs Evans laughed; “Your child?  In the one per cent?  I’m sorry Mrs Chantry, you’re dreaming …”
“So, it’s the same children all the time in the one per cent?  And Olivia will never go into the playroom?”
“That’s right.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Mrs Chantry and we teach the children that from an early age.”

 

THE JONES' BABY

Ollie wanted to keep kicking his ball at the line of empty cans he’d set up in the garden, but Mummy put them back into the recycling and asked him what was wrong with the new Lego set.  Five minutes later she reminded him they had to go to the Jones' baby party.“There’ll be other children to play with,” she reassured him.

Only adults milled about in the pristine house, eyebrows were arched at the sight of Ollie and he held on tight to Mummy’s hand.

“Heather, so glad you could come,” Mandy Jones said.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise …” began Mummy.
“It’s OK,” Mandy smiled down at Ollie who hid behind Mummy’s legs, “there’s a buffet over there if you’re hungry.”
The food was unrecognisable to Ollie, there were no sausages on sticks or crisps.  He asked Mummy what it was.
“Canapes, houmous, salad, olives and bread,” she said, “it’s all very nice, why don’t you try …?”
“No,” Ollie snapped.
“I’ll get him a bag of crisps,” Mandy’s husband, Derek said kindly, “what flavour would you like, Ollie?”
“Where’s the baby?” Ollie asked.
"Ssh,” Mummy said.
After a bag of sea salted potato chips, Ollie left Mummy talking to her friends and explored the house.  He thought it was strange that there were no toys for the baby to play with and everything was so clean and tidy.  In other places he’d been to where there were children, there was always mess.  Here everything smelt like his house did when Mummy went mad with the Hoover.   He found his way into the nursery.  It was beautiful, a lovely white wooden cot, a mobile of vintage cars, a soft blue carpet, a small wardrobe, a mobile library with shiny new baby books in and finally a toy chest.  He ran towards it desperate for entertainment, but when he opened it all the toys in there were still in their boxes.
“Ollie!” It was Mummy’s voice.  He hurried down the stairs to see her waiting at the bottom for him.
“It’s rude to go wandering around other people’s houses!” she hissed.
“Mummy, all the toys were …”
“Ssh!”
Finally, Mandy bought a Moses basket down to the living room and put it on the table.  One by one the adults looked in it.
“Mandy, your baby is perfect and will be forever,” sighed Jenny.
“He’ll never let you down,” stated Simon.
“You’ll never have to worry about him,” Tina said, touching Mandy’s hand, face full of compassion.
“So beautiful,” whispered Mummy.
Ollie tried to get past Mummy to see into the basket, but the table was too tall for him.  Determined to have a look, he stood on a chair and looked in.
“Mummy, there’s a dead baby in there!” Ollie cried.
The room went silent, then hands grabbed him, pulled him off the chair and propelled him towards the door.
“Get him out of here!” Derek hissed tightly.  Ollie caught a glimpse of Mandy collapsing in tears onto Tina’s shoulder.
“So insensitive to bring a child,” Jenny remonstrated with Mummy.
“I’m sorry, no-one told me!” she cried.

Outside the Jones’ house, Mummy marched to the car with Ollie following miserably behind.

“Well, there was something to be said for the Jones’ baby,” she snapped, “at least he’ll never ever embarrass them!”

OUR JOURNEY

The sun shone from a blue sky, the birds sang and the ground was firm beneath our feet.  Confidently, our arms around each other we began our journey.  I told you that it would be easy because it’s us and there’s nothing we can’t cope with.  You believed me and stepped forward full of hope.

You complained when it started to rain, but I reassured you it was just a shower.  It kept coming though.  You set your mouth in a firm line and carried on quietly.  I told you how much I admired your stoicism and my praise helped you continue.  We decided it would be easier just to hold hands and carry our luggage which was starting to feel a bit heavy.

After the rain cleared, we found ourselves in a different place.  The way ahead was flat, the ground boggy and the sky grey.  No birds sang and there was nothing to look at.  Every day was the same.  I became tired of it and complained.  You sympathised and would listen to me saying the same things over and over each day with great patience.  I recall now that you never told me how you were feeling; I guess I didn’t give you the chance.  Sometimes we’d go for days without holding hands.  It was on one of these days that the fog came down and I lost sight of you.

I was furious, how could you leave me to carry everything?  Somehow our baggage had increased.  I think it was something to do with the heavy days of dragging through the mud, we seemed to have more equipment, but it was a burden rather than a help.  I shouted your name, but couldn’t see you anywhere.  I became scared, especially when a sudden gust of wind blew the fog apart and for one second I thought I saw you.  You were not alone out there.  You were walking with someone else, arms round each other like we used to.

The mist closed in again before I could make a positive identification and I carried on down the road until I found you, waiting for me at a junction, your eyes red from crying.  We walked on in silence, sharing the load again, but you weren’t as talkative as you used to be.  I got the impression you resented something.

We’ve reached the bottom of the hill now and we can’t see the top of it.  For the first time we have stopped, uncertain of our way.  I’ve consulted the map, we have to climb.  I remember the time I told you what a lovely journey we’d have together.  What a lie.  You glare at me and turn your back, leading the way up, I can’t see your face, but I can guess it has that grim little expression you’ve been wearing for days.  God I’m sick of it.  I carry on after you sullenly, wondering what the point of this is - a silent journey, up an endless hill with no end in sight.

TRAGEDY

It wasn’t that Costas was abusive, he was just an unreliable liar.  He’d taken all the money Helena earned and ploughed it into failed businesses or gambled it on the stock exchange.  There had been nothing but the bare minimum for Helena and their children, so when they woke one morning and he was gone, everyone was rather relieved.  The children ran round the house looking for traces of him.

“His clothes have gone, Mummy!” Irina shouted.
“His car’s not in the garage!” called Dion.
“I think he’s left us,” Helena said.  The baby cried in the cot and Matthias sat down in his play pen with a bump.
“Good riddance,” Helena’s mother said when she arrived to look after the younger children.

Helena took her older children to school and went to work at the department store.  If she was careful, she’d have just enough money to pay rent and feed her family.  At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Costas anymore.

That evening a powerfully built man knocked at Helena’s door and handed her a bit of paper.

Helena read it; “This isn’t right!”
“Ring the helpline,” the man said.
Helena shut the door and stared at the letter again.  It was from the well-known loan shark ‘Immediate Money ForU’.  Costas had borrowed £330,000 from them.  No reputable bank would have given him such a loan; he didn’t even own a home to secure it against.  No wonder he’d ran away.  She tried his mobile for the twentieth time.   Five minutes later and her phone rang, it was a woman called Angela ringing from Immediate Money ForU; “You owe us £330,000,” she said aggressively.
“No Costas  …”
“Costas has gone abroad, he’s signed the debt over to your family’s name.”
“He can’t do that!”
“You were his partner at the time, you’re liable for the debt.”
“But I don’t have any money!”
“Your family will help you …”
“It doesn’t matter if they do!  We can’t pay it back, it’s impossible with the amount of interest you’re charging …”
“Helena!” Angela’s voice was patronising, “you can’t borrow money and not pay it back.”

The next day at the school gate Helena could hear the whispers from the other mothers:

“She borrowed £330,000 from the IMFu and can’t pay it back.  Poor Angela is at her wit’s end.”
“Her whole family has been brought into it.”
“They’re refusing to pay.”
“Well, if she refuses her children should be expelled and the department store should sack her, she doesn’t deserve any support!”
At work it was the same, Helena was irresponsible, untrustworthy and reckless, no-one sat next to her at lunch time.

That evening Helena’s family visited, her mother held her as she wept; “It was Costas!”
“I know.  We’re trying to find him,” her father told her.
“We’re all in this,” said her sister, “and we’ll stick together.”
“The IMFu are acting like bullies, we’ll refuse to pay!” her youngest brother stated.
“Hold your head up high, ignore what they’re saying about you,” the eldest one said.

“I’m sorry,” the manager at the bank said; “I’m going to have to take the bank cards of you and your family, the IMFu have told us not to give you anything unless you start paying them back.”

“But how will we feed ourselves and our children?” Helena asked.
“Not my problem,” the bank manager said.

Helena had to do it, she left her children with her sister and went to see Angela.  Angela was very nice, she made Helena tea, she said that the loan could be paid off over an indefinite period of time; “Your children can leave school aged 16 and work for me.  I will take the pensions of your parents and they can go back to their jobs, your brothers and sisters can make cut backs to their lives and their children’s lives.  You will all work together and pay the debt …”

“But my parents are retired and my children want to go to university.”
Angela shook her head; “You should have thought of that before borrowing the money.”
“Even if we all work, my mother, my father, my brothers and my sister, even if our children start to work now, we can’t cover even the interest you’re asking for!”
Angela sighed; “Don’t worry, Helena, I have a solution, why don’t you speak to one of our advisors about another loan.”

THE GREATEST OF THEM ALL

Welcome to the land of Far Far Away and the Kingdom of Andalasia’s School for Future Princesses - it’s our first ever Sports Day.  We understand that looking perfect, meeting princes and singing ballads are more important, but unfortunately sport has been forced onto the curriculum by the Health and Equality Committee.

Our winners are Ariel at swimming, Elsa and Anna at ice skating, Rapunzel at high jump and Mulan at archery.  Cinderella’s upper body strength allowed her to succeed at javelin and Jasmine’s sword fighting is impressive.  Those who have done less well are Aurora who is sleeping off the 100 metre sprint and Snow White who is singing a song about how losing doesn’t matter.  Belle and Tiana refused to take part, respectively preferring books and business studies.
 
The next event is awkward – the Health and Equality Committee tell us that parents must take part, so we have a Mother’s Egg and Spoon Race.  However, while Aurora, Mulan and Tiana have Mums; Belle, Jasmine, Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White and Elsa and Anna do not.  As numbers are thin on the ground, we’ve let stepmothers and guardians take part too.  So joining Eudora, Fa Li and Queen Leah are Lady Tremaine, Queen Grimhilde and Mother Gothel (poor Rapunzel still thinks that woman is her mum).

Grimhilde and Gothel are squabbling about which of them is the fairest.  Tremaine has asked Cinderella to carry her egg and spoon.  The whistle goes, Tremaine with Cinderella gamely balancing her egg has taken an early lead.  This has enabled her to avoid the spell that bends the spoons of Eudora, Fa Li and Leah.  They are returning to the start to collect new ones while likely culprits Gothel and Grimhilde close in on Tremaine.  Oh no!  What a nasty tumble Gothel has sustained, she’s reached out though and managed to grab the ankle of Grimhilde, severely hampering her.  Serves Grimhilde right!  We have secret footage of her in the toilets ten minutes before the race chanting ‘Mirror mirror on the wall, may Mother Gothel have a fall’.  Miraculously they haven’t dropped their spoons and enchantment is suspected as their eggs are floating.  Grimhilde has given Gothel a good old fashioned kick in the face and is pursuing Tremaine relentlessly to the line.  Quick thinking spectator Elsa has cast a spell so that anyone else doing magic will be frozen out.  Speed counts from here.  Look at Gothel, she’s got a broken ankle and a bruised face, but she’s still crawling towards the line, I think she may even beat Leah, Eudora and Fa Li who are just beginning the race again.  Grimhilde, clearly the fittest of them all, has caught up with Tremaine, right at the finishing line and it’s a draw!  Gothel has managed to crawl to third place and the rest of the mothers chattering quite happily together have wandered over the line joint last – far too kind hearted to compete.

Well, who deserves the trophy?   Gothel with her grim determination to keep trying no matter what?   Grimhilde for her fitness and sheer ruthlessness?  Or Tremaine for being able to delegate the less important tasks and set winning as her priority?  Step up ladies and share the glory!  What role models you are - ruthless, bossy, strong, uncompromising and determined.  These are wonderful qualities which we hope you will pass to your charges to make them fit for today’s society.  Look, there’s generosity for you, Grimhilde is offering Gothel and Tremaine apples, how kind.

THE NOISE

The new home was as pristine as the last and the garden was decked out in fairy lights.  The house warming party looked like it was going to be the same as all Henderson gatherings, perfect.  The beer was the right temperature, the champagne had the correct crisp biscuity bubbliness and there was a balance of healthy and decadent at the buffet.  Their friends and colleagues were torn between envy and joy at being present at such a sumptuous event. 

Kelly sighed contentedly and smiled at Clarice Henderson; “This is a great house warming party, such a lovely house.”

“Yes,” Clarice said frowning, “except the Noise.”
“What noise?” Kelly asked.
“Can’t you hear it?” Clarice enquired. “When we viewed it, it was lovely and quiet, but from the minute we moved in there was this noise.”
Kelly frowned as Clarice went away to circulate, usually at a Henderson party the hosts controlled the conversation so well that nothing strange was ever said and the subject matter was never deep or taxing.  There wasn’t usually anything to worry about, but now there was.
“David,” Kelly called her husband to the drinks table.
“What dear?”
“Can you hear a noise?”
He listened; “No.”
"Neither can I.  Clarice thinks she can.”
“So does Roger.”
Kelly looked at Roger Henderson, he wasn’t his usual cheery self, he was rubbing his temples.  When he saw her looking a smile covered his face like a mask.
“What did he say the Noise was?” Kelly asked.
At that moment Oscar joined them at the table; “Is this the Noise?” he asked, “it’s such a puzzle!  I can’t hear it.”
“Neither can we.”
Oscar hummed a spooky tune; “Only they can.  Apparently it’s like a high pitched whining sound.  Roger said it started off in the background, but recently it’s been getting louder and louder.  They’ve had the Council round and everything.”
They watched Clarice cross the lawn to her husband, at one point she stepped clumsily into a flower bed.
“Is she drunk?” Kelly hissed.
“Apparently they’re not sleeping,” Oscar said, “the Noise keeps them awake.”
“It’s not as good a party as usual,” David complained, “shall we make it an early night dear?”
Kelly shook her head, she wanted to stay to the end to gather as much gossip about the strange fate of her successful friends as possible.
Alison topped up her glass and turned to them; “Are you talking about the Noise?”
“Yes!” whispered Kelly.
“Did you hear they had the Council round?  They couldn’t measure anything!  Said there was nothing to hear.  So Clarice went to the doctor.”
“But they both can hear it,” Oscar frowned.
“Yes but Roger wouldn’t go...”
“Oh, is this about the Noise?” William had arrived, “load of nonsense if you ask me.”

The group at the drinks table looked round to see if the Hendersons had heard.  The Hendersons were alone in the middle of their perfectly manicured lawn, Roger was clutching at his head in pain and Clarice was clinging to him crying.

BRING AND SHARE

“I’m going to say something,” Elvina announced.
“Don’t,” her mother replied, looking up from dressing the child, but Elvina was on her way out.
At the meeting hall the women stood around the table.
“He’s late,” Sara observed.
Elvina put her bag on the table, “Fish.”
“Rice,” Sara gestured to a sack.
“Bread,” stated Beth.
“Potatoes,”  Farah added.
“Milk,” said Luella.
The man walked in, smiled in his charming way and rubbed his hands; “What a lot there is here!  I need a bit more than last time, my mother is sick and my cousin is visiting to tend her.”
There was an excuse to take more every time.  Elvina spoke up; “What have you brought?”
“Nothing,” replied the man shrugging, “if you think hunting is easy, try it.”
 

When he had gone the women gathered together; “What is the point of him?” Elvina asked.

The question was greeted by a shocked silence.
“Well too ...” began Farah.
“When was the last time he lay with one of us?” Elvina demanded angrily, “the youngest of our children is two and I don’t see any of you ...”
“Protection,” Beth said firmly.
“If he wasn’t causing wars with neighbouring tribes we wouldn’t need protecting,” Elvina answered.
The women looked at each other.
“He hasn’t brought anything for weeks,” Luella said softly, “he must be struggling ...”
“How long are we going to make excuses for him?” Elvina demanded, “I say banish him.”
Sara’s hand shot up; “Aye!”
The others stared at each other in shock, then slowly put their hands up; “Aye.”
Elvina anticipated their question, “I’ll bring the meat.  How hard can it be?”

 

Killing the deer wasn’t hard, but dragging it back the miles she’d covered tracking it was.  Elvina’s resentfulness kept her going.  She thought of slamming the carcass on the table, her friend’s impressed faces and how they would all live in peace with more food.  No more free loading man.  She found herself late to the table and hurried inside, the deer on her shoulders to be confronted by the man sitting on the great chair with Farah on his knee, kissing his ear and stroking his shoulders, Luella was bringing him a mug of milk, Beth was taking off his shoes for him and Sara was tending to a small flesh wound on his shoulder.  On the table lay two deer carcasses.  Elvina met the man’s bold stare; his hard eyes were full of triumph.  She looked at her friends and they turned their backs on her, but the man put out his hand and smiled.

She felt the weight of the deer, the heaviness in her limbs; but more than that, she remembered the triumph of the kill.  Elvina turned away.

“You should have kept quiet,” her mother told her as she returned.

The child ran to her and Elvina gathered the boy in her arms; “We’re banished,” she said.
“We won’t survive without the community!” the old woman replied.
“They’d like us to think that,” Elvina fetched the deer carcass smiling in pride.
Her mother stared at it resentfully; “You’ve chosen a hard road.”

DATE NIGHT

People in the office did a double take when I came in.

“Have you done something new?”

“There’s something different ...”

I was wearing make-up and had straightened my hair.  Normally I didn’t make such an effort.

At lunch Max smiled broadly; “Sally, you look hot.”

“You can’t say that,” I scolded.

His brown eyes were warm; “Why not?  We’ve worked together for years.  What gives?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh dear God!”

“I have a big date lined up, been preparing for weeks.  I went on a diet after Christmas, bought a Prada dress.  I’m going to look amazing and be amazing – I hope.”

“This is with your husband, John, right?”

“Of course!” I widened my eyes, shocked that he could think otherwise, “everything’s organised.  We’re going to that French place, Truffles, but first a dozen red roses are being delivered with some champagne and chocolates, pour moi!” I giggled, “I don’t know whether to have those before we go out or ...”

“After,” interrupted Max, “definitely after.  Where is Carrie going to be?”

“Staying with John’s Mum.  All night.”

“Sounds amazing,” his voice was as accommodating as his eyes, “I have to salute John, he’s gone to such an effort.”

“Oh no,” I said, “I did it all.”

“What?  Even the flowers?” Max sounded shocked.

“And we’re not allowed to talk about work.”

Later when I left Max I thought he looked sad, maybe he was on his own this Valentine’s Day.  I rushed home, John’s Mum was collecting Carrie straight from school, the house was mine.  I danced as I got ready, music blaring.  John and I hadn’t spent time in a restaurant alone together for ages.  I hoped he wouldn’t be late.  Five minutes after I’d finished dressing his key rattled in the lock and in he came.  We looked at each other, I started to smile, but he turned away and looked at his phone; “No talking about work.  Got it,” he was referring to my earlier text, “huh, the office has e-mailed.  Be right with you.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought I looked good, my tight little dress, my hair all done.

The roses arrived with the champagne and chocolates.  I whooped with delight as I opened them.   

“Fucking hell!  How much did they cost?” John asked.

By this time the taxi had arrived to take us to our romantic destination.  John sat in the back, answering work e-mails; “I’ll be with you in a sec love,” he said at five minute intervals.

In the restaurant I had his full attention.  He muttered a compliment about my dress, then frowned at our surroundings; “It’s crowded.”

It was crowded.  Tables for two crammed next to each other so that it was impossible to have a private conversation.  It didn’t stop the determined couples though, they stared into each other’s eyes, giggled and whispered.  One couple were even kissing.  I flashed back to twenty years ago when I’d got on that train for a 400 mile journey that I didn’t come home from.  John was waiting at that cold northern station, his mouth had been hot and hungry, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the takeaway while we waited for our food.

I looked now at a stranger opposite me, clearly uncomfortable because he couldn’t look at his smart phone, unable to think of one thing to say to me because we couldn’t talk about work.  I didn’t know what to say either.  My phone bleeped.

“Excuse me,” I said.

It was a text from Max; ‘Hope you’re having a great night.  I bet you are being amazing x’.

I stared at it and thought of his warm brown eyes and deep voice.  I looked at the x at the end of the informal text and thought of Carrie.  My hands started to shake.

SEA DEFENCES

Nothing would grow on their land after the first time it happened. Then, just as the green shoots were appearing and everyone went about wreathed in smiles, it happened again. Mother went mad afterwards. Father tried to console her, said they'd buy some livestock and she'd laughed hysterically at him, mouth drawn back over teeth, a snarling expression.
"With what? And they'd live on what? Air? We never should have come here, I shouldn't even listen to you, you're a dreamer! Useless, useless, useless man!"
She'd got up with the dawn. Later they'd found the single set of footprints leading towards the sea, being erased by incoming waves.

Now the boy repaired the sea defences with his grandfather. The old man was still strong at seventy years old. He hauled sandbags as a man of thirty might, plugging gaps with them, carrying on tirelessly while all along the coast their neighbours did the same. He caught the boy staring at the dark clouds piling in from the west, the distant waves and the shivering sand. He clipped his ear. "No daydreaming!"
"When's Dad coming back? Why isn't he helping?"
"He'll be back in the morning with a sore head and no more money. He doesn't see the point in this. He doesn't think sea defences work."
"I think he's right. They didn't work last time."
"Not for the land, but they saved the house didn't they? Tide didn't come up as far as the first time. If we don't try, we don't improve." The old man slammed a sandbag on top of the wall with a frustrated air, then poked the boy's  forehead roughly, "in here's where you want your sea defences, if you believe the sea can win, it will."
The boy rubbed his head sulkily and turned away to look at the darkening sky.

The old man thought of his son and daughter-in-law, they hadn't been strong enough to face things through. He wondered if the boy would turn out just the same. The boy thought of his mother, would they find her body and which way would she be facing? Did she change her mind when the tide turned and the sand shifted? Did she struggle as the ground beneath her gave way and her feet began to sink? Would they find her facing seawards in peaceful acceptance or frozen in panic towards the salt poisoned barren land?

PAPER ROUND

I hate wearing my hi-vis vest, but Mr Andrews insists.  I grab the waterproof bag and get on my new bike, my best Christmas present.  I cycle along the pavement into the dark Friday morning.  If I can get the Standard delivered before Billy Norris delivers the Teedleside Review, I’ll be in Mr Andrew’s good books.  He may even give me a bonus.

Carlotta Nolan gets her kicks by dressing beside the window, light full on.  There she is; a stunner in beautiful lingerie.  She sees my bike lights and gives me a little wink.  I ring my bell.  There’s Billy Norris’ bike unattended in the dark, Billy is yards away struggling to shove a Review through a letterbox, I can hear growling - a dog has got it.  I pull my penknife out and gouge his front tyre, payback for when he twisted my handlebars that time.

I pedal to the Penfolds’ second home.  Mr Andrews says they paid silly money to live in it Fridays to Sundays, that people like them price locals out of the housing market.  It didn’t stop him from listening to them complain though.  Am I really noisier than a London bin man?  I’ll give them noisy!  I hurtle past their fence, rattling my bicycle chain along it, clang, clang, clang!  That’ll wake ‘em!  I giggle as I push their paper through their door, then off again, past their fence, clang, clang, clang!  Hahaha!

There goes Nervous Neville Fergus out to his car, jumping as I appear out of the dark; “Jim, you gave me a scare!” he says that every morning.  I pass him his paper and he thanks me before driving off.  As I start up the hill I’m nearly flattened by Marco the Builder’s white van haring round the corner.   He turns up straight after Mr Fergus leaves.  Mr Andrews says that Mrs Fergus looks happier these days, but progress on that conservatory is slow.

Mr Miller never speaks to anyone.  The garden is over grown, no-one sees his wife anymore and he never turns on the lights.  He’s in though, standing in the pitch dark hallway waiting to grab your hand as you put his newspaper through the door.  I park my bike and run like hell to the front door, I shove the paper through, there’s a bang on the other side and he snatches it from me, a cry escapes from my lips and I run back, hoping no-one heard.  They’d call me a right wuss.

The rain’s easing off as I reach the Post Office.  My old rival Billy Norris is there with his big brother, tall as he is wide, not in as good shape as he was sixty years ago when he gave me that hiding, but still ...  “What?” I say as I approach them.

“You bust my tyre Jim!  I saw you!” snaps Billy.
“I did not!” I deny strenuously.
“You’re old enough to know better than to lie!” Billy’s brother growls.
“It’s not fair!  I didn’t do it,” I whine, “I’m only here to collect me pension, I don’t want trouble.”  I shuffle past them and take my place in the silver haired queue.
I feel a sharp shove from Billy’s brother between my shoulder blades as we wait for our stingy annuities and young Mrs McManus looks up from the counter; “Play nicely you sweet old boys, I don’t want any trouble in here!”

THE LIVING

I marvel at how well preserved my corpse is. I can feel it decaying from the inside, but when I look in the mirror my body hasn't changed, so I go on.

It's painful being a walking corpse. There are sores where my heart used to be and they open at the slightest criticism. The foul smelling pus that pours out disgusts the Living. I clean the wound, flush the dead flesh down the toilet and carry on. I try to pretend nothing has happened but the Living remember.

The Living are getting on with things - bargains on eBay, redecoration, paint, carpets and DIY. They talk about weddings they went to and restaurants, of holiday destinations and television. They see my lack of interest as rude, but I'm preoccupied with trying to hide the stink of corruption permeating from under my baggy clothes. How I envy the living, their thick skins and ability to concentrate on the most trifling of matters. I can't remember what that was like. It was such a long time ago

You occasionally look for signs of life and it frustrates you when you can't even detect a heartbeat. You demand unfairly that I do something about it, you say the smell is getting to you and nobody enjoys fucking a corpse. I don't blame you my darling. I can remember love and I can go through the motions, but it isn't enough. You have learned the truth about the empty vessel that once looked as though it housed life and you can't get away fast enough.

FRAGILE THING

We built it from pieces of jigsaw puzzles, egg shells, rubber bands and the bones of long dead ancient things.  It became everything to us, the driving force for all we did; our pathway to God.  We soon learned how fragile it was and maintained it; adding new parts and jamming them together if they didn’t fit with extra strength glue.   Our faces were close against it as we worked ceaselessly.

The outsiders came and watched from a distance, talking among themselves.  We ignored them, they were not appreciators of what we had made and they could never understand it.  One day we heard laughter.  We turned from our work and saw a caricature of what we had made.  Stark light showed elastic bands at breaking point, cracking eggshells, jigsaw pieces that didn’t really make sense, clumps of smelly glue and the brittleness of the ancient bones.  We acted immediately, turning our backs to our creation and our faces to theirs, we drew our swords.

The destruction of the outsiders was necessary; we must control how our creation is seen.  Its beauty is best displayed in the half light or else the glue that holds it will melt away.  It must only be spoken of in the most reverent whispers for laughter will smash the shells and cast those brittle bones asunder.

THE BIG STORY

“Hey, happy New Year!  How was your Christmas?” Susan asked as Penny entered the office.
“Christmas was OK, but no-one came at New Year, they were all sick,” Penny replied.
“Tell me about it.  Chris called in sick this morning.  Said he was coughing so much he fell and hit his chin on the counter.”
“Knowing him, he fell over drunk,” Penny replied.
All around the office they could hear people coughing and grumbling.  It was hard for Susan to concentrate on her research.  The newsroom wanted her to come up with at least three January dieting fads and a comparison of their success rates.
Natasha strode in dressed to the nines as usual, a waft of perfume preceding her.
“You’re on with Charlie today, Chris is off sick,” Susan told her.
“Hungover again,” sighed Natasha and went on her way.

Later Charlie and Natasha debated diets on the lunchtime news after cursory coverage of the ferry sinking in the Mediterranean.
“God, I feel rough,” Penny complained to Susan after watching the broadcast, “I think I’ll go home.”
Susan nodded distracted and began her research on the effects of sea sickness medication.  It was thought that this combined with alcohol had caused a crew member to drive the ferry onto the rocks.

Later Susan went to her doctor’s office to collect a repeat prescription.  It was full of people coughing and shivering.  Susan put her hand over her mouth.  Behind the desk a tired looking doctor was talking urgently to the practice manager.  Susan caught snatches of their conversation; “... epidemic ... phones ringing and ringing ... out of hand ... patients collapsing ... emergency call outs ...”

Typical, she thought, a bit of flu and the overstretched system collapsed.  As she was about to leave a woman behind her fainted.  Susan tutted, some people would do anything to jump the queue for the doctor.

At home her boyfriend shivered under a duvet complaining of headache and fever.  Susan warmed him some soup, then continued to work on researching the efficacy of abs exercises.  Did they burn fat or simply create muscle behind the fat causing the post Christmas bulge to grow?  She left her boyfriend to sleep alone, his soup untouched.  In the morning he didn’t come out of the bedroom to say goodbye to her and outside their front door was a body.  The homeless guy.  There was blood around his mouth.  Susan shuddered, stepped over him and continued on her way.  Someone else would call the Police, she was far too busy.  All morning her smart phone had been alerting her to emails from work.  The abs exercise report had to be written and the sea sickness piece finalised.  Chris was still off sick, Penny was too ill to come in and Natasha was running late because she’d had to take her children to the doctor.

Hardly anyone was in the office, Susan was able to concentrate on meeting her deadlines.  Charlie approached her desk looking uncharacteristically troubled; “Chris has died,” he said, “pneumonia.”

Susan looked up from her keyboard, her face draining of colour.
“Now, Susan, don’t get upset, we all knew he drank.  It wrecked his immune system.”
“There was a dead homeless guy outside my house this morning,” she whispered.
“Oh dear, not a good start to the day all round.  Hey ho, must keep going, the News never stops.  What’s the progress on that abs exercises piece?”