A Messy Job

He could hear her through the wall.

Singing.

She was some species of Christian he decided, because it was nearly always hymns. Good old fashioned hymns... Now Thank We All Our God... Onward, Christian Soldiers!

He remembered them from his schooldays, although he probably hadn’t set foot in a church since then. But on a Sunday morning, more often than not, he’d hear her through the wall. Singing.

It became part of his Sunday morning too, along with the bells from St Anselm’s. 10.15 they’d start, just when The Archers started, and he turned the radio off. Bells calling people to the service at 10.30. ‘10.30 Holy Eucharist’ - he’d seen it on the noticeboard - followed by ‘11.30 Coffee and Chat’. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than that, Coffee and Chat, with a bunch of do-gooder Christians. Oh no. Trying to get him to come along, hold hands or something, making up wishes to some nonsense in the sky. No thank you. No Coffee and Chat for him, thank you very much.

But he liked to hear her singing through the wall on a Sunday morning - that didn’t feel like nonsense. That felt like something real. Somebody feeling something real inside - like a sunny memory. And it touched something real in him - like Nana singing when he was a boy. It didn’t really matter what the words were, he could hear that something in her voice. All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small... And did those feet in ancient times...

He could hear her when he was in the kitchen too. Well, he could hear her moving about, turning on taps, opening cupboards and drawers. He wondered what she was cooking. Water in the pipes. Kettle on. Water rushing down the drain. The washing machine spindrying. Sometimes he could hear her kitchen radio - Two Counties Gold she listened to - he recognised the jingle. She’d sing along to that, too. All the oldies - Gerry and The Pacemakers, Glen Campbell, Nat King Cole. Actually, he preferred sensible talk, not the nonsense they gabbled between songs. He could hear the presenters joking with each other. That wasn’t proper radio. It’s like the listeners weren’t even there - just these two smart alecs having a joke with each other and chatting about rubbish.

And the music. It took up too much space in his head. He couldn’t think with all that noise going on. No. If it wasn’t sensible talk then he’d rather have silence.

But he didn’t mind hearing her sing along to the radio. That was different. Like Nana used to. Kind of comfortable. Reassuring. Even when she couldn’t remember the words and just made things up that sounded like they might be right. No. He didn’t mind hearing her singing along through the kitchen wall. He found himself tapping his foot when he was washing up. Sometimes he’d turn off the PM programme while he was sorting his tea out, so he could hear her better. His knife chopping the carrots would slip into the rhythm of the song. He’d stir the soup in time to the chorus.

She’d been living next door a good few weeks before he actually saw her. Then he did see her one morning setting off for work. About eight thirty. Younger than he thought she’d be. In her forties, maybe? Hard to tell. She was greying, but not grey. Silvering. Nice smile, though, he thought. Good teeth from what he could see. They looked real. Although they could be dentures. That might put a different spin on things. Mother had had all her teeth out when she was forty. Save on the dentist bills. Just easier, she said. Did people still do that? No, he didn’t think people still did that. Did they?

Good nose. Not too small. Little bit crooked but that didn’t matter. His was, after all. Everybody’s nose was a little bit crooked if you looked closely. Unless they’d had a nose job done. Then they looked odd. Straight. Or like a pixie. No better a bigger, crooked nose than one that had been messed about with.

She was a handsome woman. Not pretty, no. Not a conventional beauty by any means, no, but handsome.There was a grace about her. Grace? Well, a straightforwardness. She moved with spirit as she walked down the road. A generous spirit, that lit up her face. Attractive. Definitely attractive.

Maybe he should pop round one afternoon. Take her a house warming gift. A plant or something. He’d think about it.

He ought to get a haircut. And a shave. Yes.

He thought about a house warming gift. But couldn’t think what the best thing would be. And then it seemed like too long after she’d arrived anyway. And it’s not as if she had come and knocked on his door had she. Although maybe she had and he hadn’t heard. Or he’d been out. Oh dear, he didn’t want to seem unfriendly. He hoped she wouldn’t think he was stand offish. He could be a friendly neighbour. As long as there weren’t too many demands. He’d feed her cat if she needed him to. Did she have a cat? He wasn’t sure. But if she did.

He found himself standing more often in the bay window at the front of the house, at different times of the day. He found it was a very convenient place to stand with his coffee in the morning. At about eight thirty. Every morning. During the week. He’d often see her leave the house at that time. Coat on over some kind of uniform by the looks of it. Nurse, maybe, or a carer. Definitely a carer rather than an authority figure like a police woman. Not that. She looked like a carer. Someone who cared for other people. Yes.

She looked very smart. He hoped she didn’t think he was stand offish. Perhaps he should still pop round and say hello. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. It’s never really too late to be neighbourly, is it. Perhaps he should bake a cake and take it round. No perhaps not. That would be a little too forward.

He would often stand in the window, too, at around a quarter to six. He’d take a yellow duster from the kitchen cupboard and dust along the windowsill. Pick off the dead flies and pop them in the waste bin. He wanted the place to look nice. If she happened to glance in. Tidy. Clean. He liked things tidy and clean. He could look after himself after all. He wasn’t needy. He didn’t need help.

Or he would stand there and drink a cup of tea. He decided it was a good place to stand and drink a hot beverage and watch a little of the world. And often he would see her coming back along the road just then with a carrier bag or two. Lidl. If he was honest, he preferred Sainsburys. But wasn’t that a lot of shopping for just one person? He could see she struggled with the gate and all that shopping. Perhaps he should pop out and help her. She’d done some shopping yesterday. And now here’s more. All for just her? She didn’t seem overweight. Perhaps some of it was cat food. Although he hadn’t seen a cat. And he’d never seen anyone else in the house, or come to the house, or leave the house. He never saw anyone, a man or anyone, come to the house to collect her to take her anywhere in the evening. Or at the weekend. No family ever came to visit her. No children. Perhaps she was lonely. Perhaps he should pop round one weekend and see if she wanted to play cards or something. Or was that a little too presumptuous? Yes perhaps it was.

He found himself wondering about her as he cleaned his teeth. Wondering what her story was. Widowed maybe? Oh how sad. She’s only young to be widowed. Cancer probably. Or divorced. Oh dear, yes, maybe divorced. That put a different complexion on things. So she was married but she couldn’t live with him, or he couldn’t live with her. Couldn’t stick at it, though, and work it through? That’s disappointing. When people can’t stick at it and work it through. But then maybe it would have been for the best. Maybe he was abusive and she was just better off out of it. Like Nana with that bastard of a man. She stuck it out too long and look where that got her. Nana should have known from the outset really. But times were different then.

Or maybe she was lesbian. No. She couldn’t be. She was too attractive. She often had lipstick on in the mornings. And besides she was a bit too old for that sort of thing.

She seemed happy though. Content. She’d smile at him when she saw him there waiting. With his cup of tea. She’d give a little wave perhaps. No, she definitely wasn’t lesbian. Sometimes she’d do a little face to show him how heavy the shopping was. Or what a tiring day she’d had. Or that it was cold and that it looked like it might snow.

Sometimes she’d mouth a question at him - Are you ok?

Me? Oh yes I’m fine, thank you. How are you?

Tired.

He couldn’t hear her properly. Not through the double glazing. But they’d smile at each other and were neighbours for a moment. And she’d fish out her key and struggle with her shopping as she unlocked the door. Then she’d give him another little wave as she pushed the door shut with her bottom. He’d just get a little glimpse of the inside of the hallway when the door trapped on something. Something on the mat. Letters. Post. Circulars. There was a lot of post on the mat. A lot for someone who lived on their own. Why didn’t she pick them up? Was she too busy to pick them up? How busy do you have to be not to pick up your post from your doormat. Even if it is just to put it in the blue bin. Was she untidy? Was that the problem? Was she one of them hoarders who never threw anything away? Is that why her husband left? She was so untidy he couldn’t stand it any more and left. So that was why she was on her own.

He hoped she didn’t think he was being rude, by not going round. He would feed her cat if she asked. But he wouldn’t offer. Not yet anyway. But if she asked. Although it would be tricky to find everything if the house was so untidy. Poor cat. Probably hungry if it wasn’t getting fed regularly. Perhaps he should buy some cat food just in case. Just in case it came looking for something to eat. No, he’d better not interfere.

Besides he’d never met one of her type before. He wouldn’t know what to say.

prompt: Messy job

Electric Tomatoes

3^rd April, 2020

Me, reading A Messy Job

Mum Said

I

Mum said

“Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head…

Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head, wink in her eye!”

The man

down the road

showed Mum his willy

from his bedroom window

when she was on the way to Wanstead Flats –

She was eight.

She was scared.

He winked,

but she didn’t tell anyone.

Mum said

when she was young

she thought

there were men, women and nuns,

and nuns went around

on wheels

under their long black dresses

– and that was a bad habit.

Mum said

When she was at boarding school

during the war

she used to eat soap

to make herself sick

so she could have a day in bed

- but it never worked.

And at dinner time she used to put

the fat from her meat

up her knickerleg

so she wouldn’t have to eat it.

And during

the War

she had to learn

how to fold toilet paper

so she could wipe

again and again

with the same piece.

And she said

that she wrote off

and got a signed photograph

of Gregory Peck.

She loved Gregory Peck

and wanted to marry him.

But the nuns took Gregory Peck away

and tore him up.

And Mum said

one of her friends at school

was her cousin

and she was called

Ursula Mary Brock

which meant

She-bear-bitter-badger

and one was called

BCM

which meant

Big Country Mary

but I don’t know why.

But the best of her friends

was Auntie Mon.

And they always called Mum

‘Tiddler’

because she was small,

and that’s why all our cousins called her

‘Auntie Tid’

even though by then

her legs were thick as tree trunks.

So Mum said.

“Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head…”

II

Mum said

she saw the curtains burning

in a house

as she walked down

Woodcote Road.

She said

she thought the owners must know

so she didn’t bother to tell them.

And Mum said

she had danced with Mr Waverley

– Mr Waverley from The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

– but not with Napoleon Solo,

or even Ilya Kuriakin.

And one time

when she had gone to a dance

with some friends

a young man noticed the wet patches

under Mum’s arms

while he was dancing with her

and he said:

“Coo – you sweat a lot, don’t you!?”

which put her off a bit.

And she said

she and

Dad

had had

Tea

with

the Queen Mother

– but not in her house.

You had to have good manners

and not put the elbows on the table.

III

Mum said

she thought

she had just

happened to be born a child

– that was just what she was,

not a man,

or a woman

or a nun.

And because they were all children

Dom and Jack

poured

methylated spirits

onto Mum’s doll’s house

and set it on fire

– with a Swan Vesta –

and Mum got very upset

but of course it didn’t burn.

And once

she crept through

into the neighbour’s garden

and did a poo in the bushes.

And she said

one time

because they were all children

they had all sneaked through

into the neighbour’s garden

for a dare

and then the neighbour had come

and all the others had run away

and left Mum

who was too little to run

to face the neighbour

all on her own.

And Mum said

Uncle Jack

used to say

“Comment-allez votre Bum?”

And when he had swallowed a pin

he had to go to hospital

and they fed him cotton wool

to stop the pin sticking inside him

in his stomach.

“How did she die?

Nod in her head, wink in her eye!”

IV

And Mum said

great-great-granddad

was an Alsatian

and his family name was

Dreyer.

So, in Alsace,

where they spoke German,

they called him Herr Dreyer

– but I don’t think he was a barber.

Mum said

that

great-great-uncle Somebody

lived in Russia

and kept a circus

and was finally

done-to-death

by a yak.

Cousin Stella said he was gnawed by a gnu

but I don’t think that can be right.

And Mum said

that there was an ancient Spanish cousin

who did an act with snakes

and it was charming.

And somebody else

was so tall

they fitted into the

Guinness Book of Records.

Because gnus don’t gnaw

and they don’t live in Russia.

And Mum said

Granddad

electrocuted

the East coast Railway Line –

it was his job,

and he got paid

a thousand pounds a year

but he died before I was born

because he had smoked too many cigarettes.

And Uncle Dom

put his foot through the ceiling

while he was fixing the electrics

in the loft.

And Uncle Jack

got a tattoo

of an anchor

on his arm

when he was in the Navy Blue,

like Popeye,

but afterwards he felt stupid

so he would never

take off his shirt on the beach.

And they all sang

“Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

– how did she die?

Nod in her head…

Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

– how did she die?

Nod in her head, wink in her eye!”

V

And Mum said

of all her best friends

her best friend was

Auntie Monica

who was her sister

and who she loved better

than anyone.

And they were fiends –

the very best of fiends.

And they looked after each other

and called each other Feenie.

And when they got older

one Feenie bought

a birthday card

which said:

“Happy Birthday

to a real

(excuse the nasty word)

OLD

friend!”

And she wrote in it

“To Feenie

love

Feenie.”

And she sent it to the other Feenie.

Then

when it was the first Feenie’s birthday

the other Feenie

sent it back to the

first Feenie.

And it got sent

backwards and forwards

from Feenie to Feenie

until it fell down the back of the fireplace

in Tall Elms.

VI

And Mum said

Nana

had arthritis

and she lived in bed

and moaned

and would not have any one to feed her

in case they tried to scrape

Rice Krispies up her chin

with a spoon

and put them in her mouth

like they do with babies –

she wouldn’t have that.

And Mum said

that even though Nana could hardly walk

she got up

the day before she died

and tried to do the ironing

and the housework.

And afterwards

everyone looked at each other

and said:

“She must have known,”

and

“She didn’t want to leave things in a mess.”

And Mum said

that after Nana had died

Mum was traveling on the upstairs

of a bus

and she looked out the window

and there was Nana

sitting on a bench

on the Leytonstone High Road –

just along from Bearmans.

“Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head…

Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head, wink in her eye!”

VII

And Mum said

When she first met Dad

she wrote a thing in her diary

and this is the thing:

“Met a Ron – with a car,”

because it was unusual

in those days.

And the Ron took

her out to do

kissing in the car,

and

when they’d finished

and wiped their mouths,

the Ron started the car

to drive home

but when the headlights went on

there were a great lot

of rabbits

all sitting around on the grass.

And Mum thought it was a sign

because she was a Catholic.

VIII

She was an old, old, old, old lady.

And her eyes were a misty blue.

and she never said “yes”, and she never said “no”

all she said was

“I love you!”

When Mum was in her hospital bed

and it was my last time

she said,

“It’ll be all right.”

And she looked so old,

though everyone said

she was still so young,

and it seemed like there was

only one thing she could do.

So she had a cup of tea

from a baby blue beaker

with a spout

and then she went to sleep

and we all went home.

But we stopped

in a lay-by

and had the deepest of cries

with rain crawling down the window.

And Dad turned around

in the car

and tried to hug us all

at the same time.

Then in the morning

very early

she died.

They

telephoned

to tell us

and I ran upstairs to tell Kate.

And afterwards

I knew that Mum was right –

it was all right

because

she didn’t get stuck –

dying –

at least I don’t think she did –

she didn’t try to come back.

And Dad and Kate

went to get her stuff

because she didn’t need it anymore.

“Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head…

Old Mrs McGinty’s dead

- how did she die?

Nod in her head, wink in her eye!”

*

I look out of the bus window

from the upstairs

and I often do see her

out of the corner of my eye,

but then when I look properly

she turns into someone else.

*

And Auntie Joyce said

that when we were camping at Daccombe

Mum said to her

when they were walking in the lane

that she just hoped

we would be old enough

to remember her

even if she died.

And then she did,

and I do

and I remember all the things

Mum said.

August 2005

The Last We Heard

They’re late, said Connie

Fashionably, said Mike

Typical, said Connie, flicking the switch on the kettle again. She slid the tea tray onto the counter and loaded it with cups, milk jug, sugar, a plate of fig rolls.

You wait, she said, she won’t apologise - it’ll be some hold up somewhere. Something about the one way system or something, you wait.

Mike went back through to the lounge and dropped onto the sofa. He picked up the paper, folded it back on itself then reached out a hand and picked a tortilla chip from the bowl on the coffee table.

Don’t touch them, snapped Connie from the kitchen.

What? said Mike

Those tortilla chips. They’re for later.

I didn’t.

Yes, you did. I can hear you.

I can have one - I only want one.

Leave them alone. And don’t lounge about, you’re messing the covers.

Oh, for f...

The train pulled into Bengaluru station and was immediately surrounded by peddlers, young boys selling watermelon slices and mangoes, girls hawking spicy dalls, lassi in old yogurt pots, puris and bananas. Older men had bags full of mobile phones. Women were selling sunglasses and scarves made from old sari material, packets of sweets, some of which she recognised from home, others with gaudy wrappers emblazoned with incomprehensible Hindu script. The noise and the heat and the smell of the city assaulted her. She felt her heart race. She grabbed her rucksack from the overhead rack and pulled her cotton neck scarf up over her mouth.

The aisle was already jammed with passengers trying to disembark. After a month in the country she had learned to assert herself and demand her space among the thronging travellers. Even as she did so though she felt a hand on her bottom as she pushed past an elderly gentleman. She reached behind and pushed his hand away, turned and looked scathingly into his eyes. He smiled lasciviously at her and licked his lips. She felt the urge to lash out but pushed on past and allowed the flow to carry her down the train to the door.

On the platform, she closed her ears to the clamour, avoided eye contact with anyone and resisted the hands holding out their wares as she made her way through the crowd.

At last, said Connie, as she heard the car door slam outside. Get the door, Mike, they’re here.

Mike was already in the hall.

Connie heard them greeting each other as he opened the door. She dried her hands on a tea towel, checked her hair in the reflection of the glass-fronted kitchen cupboard, brushed her hands over her hips and breathed.

Come through, Kat, she called, I’m in the kitchen.

She heard her sister noisily double-kissing her husband.

Mwah, mwah, Michael, sweetheart. Ooh, you’ve put on a few pounds I see. Well, why not, eh?

It’s just puppy fat, Katrina. Besides Connie likes my love-handles.

I’m sure she does, darling, I’m sure. Don’t mind me. I love a man with an appetite, don’t I, Derek.

Derek didnt respond, he was still at the car handing the suitcases out onto the pavement.

Connie felt the bustle of the woman approaching down the hall, heard Derek talking to Mike behind her.

You all right, old bean?

Fine, Derek, just fine. Just leave them by the stairs, we’ll take them up in a minute.

Put on a few, have you? Too friendly with the beer, Mike, eh? Need to get down the Virgin Active, Mike - a bit of cardio, weights, get them abs back. That bloody one way system's a bit shit, isn't it?

Connie, my darling!

Kat was in the kitchen, arms outstretched demanding her sister’s embrace.

Hello, sis. Mmm, you smell nice. What’s that?

Oh Conn, I’ve discovered this heavenly website selling vintage perfumes. It’s absolutely delicious. This is a 1956 Hermés - it’s divine. I’ve only got 5 mils and it cost a fortune but I just love it!

How can you buy perfume online? How do you know what it smells like?

Oh, you’d be amazed! Amazed! People who know write reviews and they’re so brilliant ...they can just describe it absolutely, like fine wine... and you just get to trust certain vendors, you know. So if they like something you just know you will too. It’s sooo addictive. Don’t tell D, but I’ve spent an absolute fortune. But better that than alcohol and drugs, that’s what I say. I’ll send you a link, darling, you’ll absolutely die!

Tea, Kat? said Connie.

Have you got any lapsang? I’ve just got really into it, we don’t drink anything else at home, at the moment.

No ‘fraid not. Builders or Earl Grey. We cater for both ends of the social spectrum here.

Oh, Connie, you’re so funny, I forget! Oh well, we’ll slum it and go for the Earl Grey I suppose. With a slice of lemon. I’ve discovered I’m lactose intolerant.

She scoured the map in the Rough Guide and, feeling less than confident, left the station by the main entrance and out into the street. The air was thick with car fumes and the smell of drains, burnt rubber, stale spices, frying onions. She swung her rucksack off her back as she took stock. A rickshaw driver shouted at her from the rank of waiting vehicles.

Missy, missy - you need hotel? I take you hotel? Good price, missy. Best price. I take you?

She had no time before the man jumped into her hesitation and came running over. He placed a hand on her rucksack strap.

I take you, wherever you want to go. Hotel? Guesthouse? I take you my cousin place - very clean, no fuckers. I take you. Safe place. You come.

She looked at him. His hand on her bag - but he wasn’t pulling. Not physically anyway. He waited. She felt...OK? It would be easier than trying to find somewhere herself. The Rough Guide was proving somewhat out of date. Well, it was nearly twenty years old. She’d only brought it because Dad had insisted - he’d found it useful.

Where is this place?

Salliban Street. Very good place. Clean. No bugs. No fuckers.

What did he mean ‘no fuckers’? No fakirs? She should walk away, shouldn’t she? No fuckers, what did that mean?

My cousin, he good lady, he good cook. Keep clean place. Good place, no..

No fuckers, yes, I get the picture.

So the cousin was a woman, was she? Right. Did that make a difference? Yes she had to admit it did. If he was telling the truth, of course.

Salliban Street?

No, no Salliban Street.

She couldn’t tell the difference between her pronunciation and his. But then...

Oh, Sullivan Street.

Yes, yes, Salliban street.

She checked the map again, but couldn’t find it.

How far is it?

Five minutes. Five miles. Five kilo.

How much?

Ten rupees.

Ten?

Eight. Eight rupees.

Ok.

Five. Five rupees. Come I take you.

She looked into his eyes to find her trust. He looked back. Was it there?

How’s work, Connie? asked Derek.

Oh you know - same old, same old... understaffed, underpaid and overworked.

It must be dreadful having to go to that awful place everyday, said Kat.

Well it’s... it’s not awful. The kids are great.

So depressing, said Kat. They can’t pay you enough as far as I’m concerned. So glad I’m past all that. Derek’s had a big promotion, did I tell you? Fortunately! Don’t know how I’d cope otherwise.

It’s more of a sideways move actually, said Derek, but it’s a bit more dosh. Every little helps, as they say, eh Mike.

Yes, indeed, said Mike.

Yep, every little helps.

How’s Cybil, sis? asked Connie.

Oh, don’t ask, said Derek.

Cybs? Oh she’s still off on her travels somewhere. She went to Oz and was working on some organic farm or something. What did they call it, Derek?

Woofing.

Woofing - yes, that was it.

Working on an organic farm, explained Derek.

Right, said Connie.

God knows why anyone would want to do that when you’ve got the whole of Australia to explore, said Kat. Then she spent a week in Thailand and a week in Vietnam of all places. Then the last we heard she was going to stop off in India and find herself for a bit or something. That was a couple of months ago though... She was going to Jaipur, then Bangalore... but we’ve not heard much from her since she got there. But that’s so like her!

Maybe found more than she bargained for, eh Mike, said Derek. She’ll probably turn up with an Indian husband... or a girlfriend, Heaven forbid.

Don’t you worry about her, Kat? said Connie.

Me? Worry? Oh she’s a big girl. She can look after herself. We always brought her up to trust her instincts and shout loud, didn’t we, D.

Oh yes, yes, definitely, female intuition and all that malarkey.

an unknown hand

After the speeches we all drifted out into the hotel grounds.

The sun was shining and the early daffodils and crocuses made for a beautiful display along the borders by the gravelled car park.

The photographer walked to his Subaru and started to unpack his larger tripod. He looked at the sky.

As the wave of guests grew behind them, the first pioneers started to wander onto the grass. There were one or two quiet shrieks of alarm as stilettos sank into the lawn, still soft after last night’s rain. Little groups congregated in their respective tribes – bride or groom. Elaborate hats caught a little of the breeze. Men gravitated towards one another, cigarettes were lit, connections with the appropriate party were outlined and coincidences smiled at.

In an attempt to fracture the wedding apartheid, I found myself talking with an older gentleman dressed in a immaculately tailored light grey suit with a highly decorated silken waistcoat, a flounced cravat at his neck and silver hair sleeked back across his head. He explained that he was the uncle of the bride, had flown in from Geneva the previous afternoon, was intending to spend a month in the country visiting old acquaintances, galleries, the opera, Oxford Street.

After some moments, I felt a light snag of my trousers just below the knee. Without looking, I reached my hand down to adjust the offending wrinkle, but found instead the hand of a small child taking my own. I assumed it was Charlie, my son, who had been released by his mother to wander between the legs of the guests. But after a moment I realised I was holding the hand of an even smaller unkown girl, encumbered by a large nappy, who was attempting to persuade me through little guttural ejaculations to pick her up. I simultaneously became aware of a sudden hue and cry close by, and the alarmed voice of a woman reached my ears.

"Cassie! Cassie! Cassiopeia! Where are you?"

prompt: an unknown hand

Fly

In dreams I can fly

it is simple enough
a tightening of muscle
a shortening of sinew
a concentration of blood

there is
no frantic flapping of limbs
no wild leap into the air

No

I simply close eyes

tighten the core
breathe
flute my exhalation
through whistling lips
until I float
up, up into air
suspended

from the bubble

in my skull

in dreams I am free
from the poison of gravity

I tried it again today
in gusty hope
tried it as I walked home
in the belly of the wind

how certain I was
remembering the ease of dreams
feeling the fillip
beneath my arm pits
as my father
standing behind me
would grip his fingers
under these skinny pockets
and gift me moments
of fumbling flight
feet flailing free

laughing to dizziness

but today I was wakeful
and it is too hard
to tense each muscle

around the liver
summon blood

from distant corners

of a corpse

my will is oh so soft
while I am awake
and my father

is long dead

but one day
when my bones
are hollow as birds
and left sky-bleached
under gracious clouds
the ludicrous air will
whisper through them
of how I once could fly

Lamp light

Outside the day holds out its hands

invites the night

a dog barks
on the mantle the clock ticks

The room dissolves from its corners
rug, armchair, wallpaper
weeping into darkness

She switches on the lamp where she sits
custard light spools out across the table

her lap and her open book

He rises stiffly
lifts his sciatic walking stick
guides the edges of the curtains 

to meet across the thickening evening

The girl down the corridor

I have never told you
have I
about the girl
whose name I never knew
with angular features
a long sharp nose
and shaped eyebrows
skilfully shadowed eyes
with hair
cut short
and gelled up
into a fine comb

who had a room
down the corridor
from you in halls

I never told you
did I
how she and I
caught each other's eye
from time to time
how she would smile at me
even while you held my hand
and how
while we were studying in your room
you and I
I would listen for footsteps in the corridor
Fancy a coffee?
I would say
and you always would
and I would dutifully trip along
to the kitchen
in the hope that she might be there too

and sometimes she would be
and while the kettle boiled
we would courteously
dance
a light flirtatious gavotte
between sink and cupboard
kettle and coffee jar

and I would fail to say
all the things to her
that I had planned to
because of you

and she would ask about you
because that was a respectful
and a safe
thing to do