Beat the Lockdown Blues with two compelling stories!
Two stories feature on my Showcase page right now. First, an audio version of The Woman Sitting Opposite; second a chance to read Happy Returns. Both stories are from my collection 20 Stories High, published by Armley Press. The paperback version is £8.99 from Waterstones, WH Smith and all top bookshops, though you'll have to order online while the Great Lockdown continues.
If you wish to order from Amazon, please click here.
If you wish to order from Amazon, please click here.
The Woman Sitting Opposite
My story The Woman Sitting Opposite (see picture above) is a tale of lust, deception and pay-back, and it now has an audio version. Read by poet/ playwright/ performer Helen Shay and me, it was produced by talented Adrian Jordan. All you have to do is click on:
https://adrianjordan.co.uk/?page_id=
So have a lovely listen!
https://adrianjordan.co.uk/?page_id=
So have a lovely listen!
Happy Returns
This is a funny but heart-rending story from my 20 Stories High collection, in which a boy comes home early to discover his father's infidelity.
IT WAS LAST WEEK of term and Thursday was Jason’s mother’s birthday.
He planned to spend Wednesday morning with Jemima, the pretty girl who shared his English timetable since the start of term and his single bed for the past three weeks. Then he would start his college vacation by taking the bus and the train to arrive early evening at his parents’ bungalow.
His father had volunteered to drive down and help bring back Jason’s stuff, but Jason pooh-poohed the idea. He had already taken home his laundry. And he’d sold his sound system to Li, the Chinese student whose room was three doors down. So there was only a change of clothes, a dozen books and three binders of notes to fit in his suitcase-on-wheels. And his laptop to keep him company.
Also, he didn’t want to risk his parents meeting Jemima. Not yet.
Of course, they knew there was somebody. But it was early days and he didn’t want expectations.
And then, on the Tuesday evening, Jemima got the phone call about her brother’s skiing accident. Toby, 16, had broken both legs. “Silly little bugger,” she said, but it meant her older brother Henry would be picking her up early in the day and taking her home.
“Sorry,” she said.
It meant they wouldn’t be spending the last night together, what with all the packing that had to be done.
“That’s OK,” said Jason. “Brothers!” he said. He was an only child.
*
There was an earlier train. He checked the time on the internet, finished his own packing, had an early night, and was up at seven in the morning to catch the bus into town. He was actually on the train, eating a BLT and drinking black coffee, when he realised his mobile was wrapped up in his tee-shirt at the bottom of the suitcase-on-wheels. So he couldn’t warn them of his early arrival. Oh shit!
Well, he’d just have to surprise his mother.
It was her birthday tomorrow after all and he’d been careful to pack the card in its pink envelope with the Garden Centre vouchers, so a little surprise today was OK.
He was in such good spirits by the time the train arrived that he decided to allow himself a taxi the last few miles. So it was early afternoon when he arrived, paid off the driver, rolled the suitcase up the drive, laid his laptop on the step and pressed the bell on the door.
After a minute, he rang again.
Two minutes after that, he thought: Oh shit! again. They were out.
Well, never mind. He searched his pockets for his home keys and let himself in. In the hallway he shouted “Mum!” and “Dad!” but there was no answer.
He put the laptop on the hall table, rolled the suitcase into the lounge, unzipped it and took out the pink envelope containing the card and vouchers. He would save the giving until tomorrow, until the big day itself. In the meantime he would find a discreet place to hide things. He went into the kitchen, filled the kettle, switched it on, found the instant coffee, took a bottle of milk out of the fridge.
When he turned round, his father was standing in the kitchen doorway in his towelling bathrobe and a pair of brown socks. Jason nearly dropped the milk.
“I nearly dropped the milk!” he said.
He made towards his father, arms outstretched to hug him, but the plastic bottle was big and heavy and got in the way.
“Well,” said his father. His sparse grey hair was unkempt. His eyes were troubled. Hairs sprouted from his nose and chest, as grey as those on his head.
“Would you like a coffee?” said Jason, “We’ve only got instant.”
“I know we’ve only got instant,” said his father, “I live here.”
Jason laughed. He made his father a coffee and handed it to him.
“You’re early,” his father said, “You weren’t expected until…”
“I know,” said Jason. “I know,” he repeated.
“Better go in the lounge,” said his father.
His father sat on the sofa and Jason on one of the armchairs. They sipped their instant coffee.
After a while, Jason said: “You’re not dressed then?” And then: “Where’s Mum?”
“Visiting.” His father paused. “She’s seeing her old work pal Carmen in Birmingham. They’re having a pub lunch. She’ll not be back until…” He looked at his watch. “Until teatime. Or thereabouts.”
After that they sat in silence.
Then Jason became suddenly aware of a noise: a soft, hoarse, repetitive noise. Like sobbing. “What’s that?” he said.
“What’s what?” His father smiled. Then: “Oh that. You probably noticed. We’ve got a new fridge. It makes these weird sounds. Very strange. Like a small animal trapped inside. That’s what your mother says.”
“Yes,” said Jason. He strained his ears to find the sound again but it had subsided. “Fridges!” he said and laughed. His father laughed too. Then the silence again.
And then the shuffling. Out in the hall. His father started to hum. It was the King’s Daughters bit from Zadok the Priest.
“Dad,” said Jason, “is there anybody else in the house?”
“Anybody else?” A look of surprise crossed Jason’s father’s face.
Jason thought back to the time when he was ten, when he’d started to read “The Fall of the House of Usher” on the lavatory. He laughed at the memory. Then he heard the flush. “There’s somebody else in the house,” he said.
His father stood up and drained his cup. “Yes,” he said, “there is.” He put the cup down on the window sill. “Yes. There is.” He marched to the lounge door and opened it.
Jason followed. He was just in time to see the door of the bedroom close. His parents’ bedroom.
His father placed a hand on the door handle. “Just wait,” he said. He opened the door and went in, closing it after him. Jason heard a short, whispered conversation. Then the door opened again. His father said: “Just had to make sure everything was decent.”
He opened the door wide.
Jason’s gaze swept the room. He saw flowered curtains, drawn against the early afternoon sun; the mirrored dressing table with his mother’s hairbrush and jewel box; the trolley with teapot and cups and – more surprisingly – an empty vodka bottle and two empty glasses; the bedside table with a box of tissues; on the carpet a large number of tissues screwed up among bits and pieces of women’s clothing.
And, most surprising of all, sitting up in bed, a woman who was around his mother’s age but was not actually his mother, wearing his mother’s ivory-coloured silk dressing gown. Her face was red, her hair dishevelled and she clutched another tissue in her hand.
“I’m afraid she’s had a drop too much of the Smirnoff,” said Jason’s father.
“Yes,” said Jason.
“We have to get her home,” said his father, “before your mother gets back.”
“Yes,” said Jason.
His father turned to the woman. “Dawn,” he said, “we’ve got to get you home.” She looked at him and whimpered. Jason’s father said to Jason: “She needs to clean up. I’ll get her into the shower.”
“Yes,” said Jason.
His father pulled back the bedclothes, revealing Dawn’s thin bare legs, riven by small blue veins. With his left hand, he pulled her legs to the side of the bed, then put his right arm behind her and hoisted her slowly to her feet. When he moved towards the door, dragging her with him, the dressing gown fell open and a plump breast was exposed. Jason looked away.
His father said to the woman: “You’ll feel better when you’ve had a shower.” He and Dawn disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed and Jason heard the bolt shoved into place. He turned, went back to the kitchen, made himself a second cup of coffee.
Then he went back to the bathroom door and listened. There was the rushing sound of the shower and the sort of gasps a drunken woman might make when cold water hits her naked body.
He went back to the kitchen. After maybe ten minutes he heard the shuffling in the hall again. He shouted: “Dad!”
“I can manage!” his father shouted back.
Jason washed his coffee cup.
After maybe another ten minutes, his father came back into the kitchen. He was dressed in a green pullover, blue shirt and brown cord trousers that matched his socks and slippers. He said: “I was thinking about a taxi.”
“Yes,” said Jason. He remembered the taxi driver had given him a card. “I’ll do it.”
“No. I’ll do it.” His father took the card and went into the lounge. Jason heard him dial the number and talk to the taxi firm. Then his father came back into the kitchen. “She’s not so bad now,” he said. “And she’s dressed. You look out for the taxi.”
Jason’s father went back into the bedroom and Jason went into the lounge and watched through the bay window.
When the taxi arrived, Jason had no idea how much time had passed. He heard the front door open and watched his father take Dawn outside and talk to the driver. His father handed over some notes, one of which was £20. The driver laughed good-naturedly.
When the taxi drove off, Jason’s father came back into the house. “Son,” he said, “I appreciate all you’ve done. But there’s still some clearing up. I’ll do it.” He got a black bin bag from under the sink, went out and came back with the vodka bottle inside the bag and the two glasses in his hand. He put the bag into the kitchen bin and the two glasses into the sink and rinsed them under the tap.
He went out again and returned with the silk dressing gown, put it in the washing machine and turned the dial to SILKS AND ACETATES. He said to Jason: “If you want to make yourself useful, you could get my coffee cup out of the lounge.”
“Yes,” said Jason. He did so. He gave it to his father. His father rinsed it under the tap and put both their cups into the dishwasher.
They went back into the lounge. Time passed.
*
Then there was the sound of a car and Jason’s father stood up and said: “This, if I’m not mistaken, is your mother. I always like things to be tidy for her when she comes home.”
Suddenly Jason remembered the pink envelope. When his father went out into the drive, Jason ran into the kitchen, looked over the worktops, ran back into the lounge, found what he wanted.
Then his mother rushed in, threw her arms around him, pulled him close to her. She said: “What a surprise!” She was a tall, still-beautiful woman. She said: “You’re looking very guilty. Have I caught you doing something you shouldn’t?”
Jason rocked on his heels. “I was hiding this,” he said, showing her the envelope, “but it doesn’t matter. Happy birthday! You can open it now.”
“And then,” she said, tearing the flap with her fingernail, “you can tell me all your news. Come on, tell me all your secrets.”
“Well,” said Jason.
He took a deep breath.
“There’s this girl called Jemima…”
He planned to spend Wednesday morning with Jemima, the pretty girl who shared his English timetable since the start of term and his single bed for the past three weeks. Then he would start his college vacation by taking the bus and the train to arrive early evening at his parents’ bungalow.
His father had volunteered to drive down and help bring back Jason’s stuff, but Jason pooh-poohed the idea. He had already taken home his laundry. And he’d sold his sound system to Li, the Chinese student whose room was three doors down. So there was only a change of clothes, a dozen books and three binders of notes to fit in his suitcase-on-wheels. And his laptop to keep him company.
Also, he didn’t want to risk his parents meeting Jemima. Not yet.
Of course, they knew there was somebody. But it was early days and he didn’t want expectations.
And then, on the Tuesday evening, Jemima got the phone call about her brother’s skiing accident. Toby, 16, had broken both legs. “Silly little bugger,” she said, but it meant her older brother Henry would be picking her up early in the day and taking her home.
“Sorry,” she said.
It meant they wouldn’t be spending the last night together, what with all the packing that had to be done.
“That’s OK,” said Jason. “Brothers!” he said. He was an only child.
*
There was an earlier train. He checked the time on the internet, finished his own packing, had an early night, and was up at seven in the morning to catch the bus into town. He was actually on the train, eating a BLT and drinking black coffee, when he realised his mobile was wrapped up in his tee-shirt at the bottom of the suitcase-on-wheels. So he couldn’t warn them of his early arrival. Oh shit!
Well, he’d just have to surprise his mother.
It was her birthday tomorrow after all and he’d been careful to pack the card in its pink envelope with the Garden Centre vouchers, so a little surprise today was OK.
He was in such good spirits by the time the train arrived that he decided to allow himself a taxi the last few miles. So it was early afternoon when he arrived, paid off the driver, rolled the suitcase up the drive, laid his laptop on the step and pressed the bell on the door.
After a minute, he rang again.
Two minutes after that, he thought: Oh shit! again. They were out.
Well, never mind. He searched his pockets for his home keys and let himself in. In the hallway he shouted “Mum!” and “Dad!” but there was no answer.
He put the laptop on the hall table, rolled the suitcase into the lounge, unzipped it and took out the pink envelope containing the card and vouchers. He would save the giving until tomorrow, until the big day itself. In the meantime he would find a discreet place to hide things. He went into the kitchen, filled the kettle, switched it on, found the instant coffee, took a bottle of milk out of the fridge.
When he turned round, his father was standing in the kitchen doorway in his towelling bathrobe and a pair of brown socks. Jason nearly dropped the milk.
“I nearly dropped the milk!” he said.
He made towards his father, arms outstretched to hug him, but the plastic bottle was big and heavy and got in the way.
“Well,” said his father. His sparse grey hair was unkempt. His eyes were troubled. Hairs sprouted from his nose and chest, as grey as those on his head.
“Would you like a coffee?” said Jason, “We’ve only got instant.”
“I know we’ve only got instant,” said his father, “I live here.”
Jason laughed. He made his father a coffee and handed it to him.
“You’re early,” his father said, “You weren’t expected until…”
“I know,” said Jason. “I know,” he repeated.
“Better go in the lounge,” said his father.
His father sat on the sofa and Jason on one of the armchairs. They sipped their instant coffee.
After a while, Jason said: “You’re not dressed then?” And then: “Where’s Mum?”
“Visiting.” His father paused. “She’s seeing her old work pal Carmen in Birmingham. They’re having a pub lunch. She’ll not be back until…” He looked at his watch. “Until teatime. Or thereabouts.”
After that they sat in silence.
Then Jason became suddenly aware of a noise: a soft, hoarse, repetitive noise. Like sobbing. “What’s that?” he said.
“What’s what?” His father smiled. Then: “Oh that. You probably noticed. We’ve got a new fridge. It makes these weird sounds. Very strange. Like a small animal trapped inside. That’s what your mother says.”
“Yes,” said Jason. He strained his ears to find the sound again but it had subsided. “Fridges!” he said and laughed. His father laughed too. Then the silence again.
And then the shuffling. Out in the hall. His father started to hum. It was the King’s Daughters bit from Zadok the Priest.
“Dad,” said Jason, “is there anybody else in the house?”
“Anybody else?” A look of surprise crossed Jason’s father’s face.
Jason thought back to the time when he was ten, when he’d started to read “The Fall of the House of Usher” on the lavatory. He laughed at the memory. Then he heard the flush. “There’s somebody else in the house,” he said.
His father stood up and drained his cup. “Yes,” he said, “there is.” He put the cup down on the window sill. “Yes. There is.” He marched to the lounge door and opened it.
Jason followed. He was just in time to see the door of the bedroom close. His parents’ bedroom.
His father placed a hand on the door handle. “Just wait,” he said. He opened the door and went in, closing it after him. Jason heard a short, whispered conversation. Then the door opened again. His father said: “Just had to make sure everything was decent.”
He opened the door wide.
Jason’s gaze swept the room. He saw flowered curtains, drawn against the early afternoon sun; the mirrored dressing table with his mother’s hairbrush and jewel box; the trolley with teapot and cups and – more surprisingly – an empty vodka bottle and two empty glasses; the bedside table with a box of tissues; on the carpet a large number of tissues screwed up among bits and pieces of women’s clothing.
And, most surprising of all, sitting up in bed, a woman who was around his mother’s age but was not actually his mother, wearing his mother’s ivory-coloured silk dressing gown. Her face was red, her hair dishevelled and she clutched another tissue in her hand.
“I’m afraid she’s had a drop too much of the Smirnoff,” said Jason’s father.
“Yes,” said Jason.
“We have to get her home,” said his father, “before your mother gets back.”
“Yes,” said Jason.
His father turned to the woman. “Dawn,” he said, “we’ve got to get you home.” She looked at him and whimpered. Jason’s father said to Jason: “She needs to clean up. I’ll get her into the shower.”
“Yes,” said Jason.
His father pulled back the bedclothes, revealing Dawn’s thin bare legs, riven by small blue veins. With his left hand, he pulled her legs to the side of the bed, then put his right arm behind her and hoisted her slowly to her feet. When he moved towards the door, dragging her with him, the dressing gown fell open and a plump breast was exposed. Jason looked away.
His father said to the woman: “You’ll feel better when you’ve had a shower.” He and Dawn disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed and Jason heard the bolt shoved into place. He turned, went back to the kitchen, made himself a second cup of coffee.
Then he went back to the bathroom door and listened. There was the rushing sound of the shower and the sort of gasps a drunken woman might make when cold water hits her naked body.
He went back to the kitchen. After maybe ten minutes he heard the shuffling in the hall again. He shouted: “Dad!”
“I can manage!” his father shouted back.
Jason washed his coffee cup.
After maybe another ten minutes, his father came back into the kitchen. He was dressed in a green pullover, blue shirt and brown cord trousers that matched his socks and slippers. He said: “I was thinking about a taxi.”
“Yes,” said Jason. He remembered the taxi driver had given him a card. “I’ll do it.”
“No. I’ll do it.” His father took the card and went into the lounge. Jason heard him dial the number and talk to the taxi firm. Then his father came back into the kitchen. “She’s not so bad now,” he said. “And she’s dressed. You look out for the taxi.”
Jason’s father went back into the bedroom and Jason went into the lounge and watched through the bay window.
When the taxi arrived, Jason had no idea how much time had passed. He heard the front door open and watched his father take Dawn outside and talk to the driver. His father handed over some notes, one of which was £20. The driver laughed good-naturedly.
When the taxi drove off, Jason’s father came back into the house. “Son,” he said, “I appreciate all you’ve done. But there’s still some clearing up. I’ll do it.” He got a black bin bag from under the sink, went out and came back with the vodka bottle inside the bag and the two glasses in his hand. He put the bag into the kitchen bin and the two glasses into the sink and rinsed them under the tap.
He went out again and returned with the silk dressing gown, put it in the washing machine and turned the dial to SILKS AND ACETATES. He said to Jason: “If you want to make yourself useful, you could get my coffee cup out of the lounge.”
“Yes,” said Jason. He did so. He gave it to his father. His father rinsed it under the tap and put both their cups into the dishwasher.
They went back into the lounge. Time passed.
*
Then there was the sound of a car and Jason’s father stood up and said: “This, if I’m not mistaken, is your mother. I always like things to be tidy for her when she comes home.”
Suddenly Jason remembered the pink envelope. When his father went out into the drive, Jason ran into the kitchen, looked over the worktops, ran back into the lounge, found what he wanted.
Then his mother rushed in, threw her arms around him, pulled him close to her. She said: “What a surprise!” She was a tall, still-beautiful woman. She said: “You’re looking very guilty. Have I caught you doing something you shouldn’t?”
Jason rocked on his heels. “I was hiding this,” he said, showing her the envelope, “but it doesn’t matter. Happy birthday! You can open it now.”
“And then,” she said, tearing the flap with her fingernail, “you can tell me all your news. Come on, tell me all your secrets.”
“Well,” said Jason.
He took a deep breath.
“There’s this girl called Jemima…”