365 Ficlets – Day #340 ~ “From Music to Monday”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. Really.”

She cocked her head on one side, frowned and then;

“That’s bullshit, and I don’t deserve that. Now come on, what’s wrong?”

Daniel sighed. He had really hoped that he had covered effectively enough, that she would not see through him and see the conflict between his happiness and his disappointment.

“You enjoyed the concert, yeah?”

She nodded, her frown turning into mild concern; suddenly she had no idea where this was going.

“Well I did too, so much in fact, but now we have to go back to reality.”

Still confused she motioned for him to continue.

“Here we are, together, seeing a band that means so much to both of us, at a time in that band’s story that is going to be very important, and I am so happy about that. I’m happy about getting to share this with you, and now it’s over and in another hour we’ll be getting off the train and heading back to our respective homes and neither of us will be able to explain to the people waiting for us why this night was so special.”

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365 Ficlets – Day #339 ~ “Sitting on the Fence”

“Is it always like this?”

I look around to find a young fellow who looks a little familiar standing next to me on the crowded platform. I am still trying to place him when he intervenes;

“You don’t quite remember me, do you? I’m the fencing club’s, vice-president’s boyfriend. We met at a party at the weekend.”

It all comes rushing back, and I am slightly embarassed by the fact that I probably did not quite remember him because I was off my face; as usual. It’s no secret that I don’t fence, or that I only really hang around with the University fencing club because of a social coincidence years before, but I imagined that this guy was wondering what on Earth I had been doing at that party.

Again he intruded on my inner monologue;

“You remember? I’m Ted?”

I decide to go with it;

“Yeah, Ted. Sorry about that. Monday morning you know? Yeah, Gina’s chap, I do remember. Just about anyway. Was I very drunk?”

He nodded and chuckled; I kept my face together, but inside my heart was sinking.

“So, anyway, is it always like this?”

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365 Ficlets – Day #338 ~ “Twilight Regret”

What I have always hidden from my children troubles me in these, my last hours. I have long since been certain that what I have told them about their mother and the way in which she left our lives is the only truth that they perceive, and that they have no reason to doubt me. Even so, I am suddenly moved to question my decision.

It was the long hot summer of 1976 when I lost her, when our Lottie was three and her brother Peter was only eighteen months old. Her work often kept her on campus long after I had left. The real beauty of my life as a mathematics fellow is that I have always been able to work anywhere, and so I could easily be present in our children’s lives where her requirement for laboratories made a very different impact on her time at home. I still remember the first night that she returned home, somewhat in a daze, her sentences filled with mentions of someone called Alec.

It took two gin and tonics and the dinner I had kept warm for her before I was able to decode that Alec was a new colleague.

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365 Ficlets – Day #337 ~ “Before…”

As Horace moved the blade back and forth in a gentle circular motion over the oiled stone he allowed his thoughts to drift to happier places and kinder times, trying to push from his mind that the morning would bring naught but blood and death.

Unlike many of the men under his command he was no longer enamoured of war. A lifetime of killing the enemies of Rome had left him more than jaded, it had genuinely damaged him. He had not seen his wife and sons for nearly two years, and the last time he had been free to spend time with them he had felt no peace whatsoever, constantly haunted by the faces of men with whom he had held no real quarrel and yet he had put them to the sword without a second thought.

It was of no comfort, even, that they would have just as soon run him through if he had not fought with all the fury and cruelty that he could muster. In the heat of war it was not hard to simply survive, but the ghosts that followed him around in the quiet between battles were starting to weigh heavily upon him.

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365 Ficlets – Day #336 ~ “La Revancha di Tango”

The house band was playing a rather dirgey tango as Tito walked into the hotel bar. A handful of couples were dancing, most of them American tourists gamefully attempting to tango rather than pulling it off, while most of the tables were occupied by local business men and their Friday night girls.

He made for the bar, cutting a swathe through the lazy clouds of cigarette smoke, feeling his heart quicken to the beat of the music, memories of dancing with Connie swirling around his mind, distracting him from his purpose.

He took a seat at the bar and nodded at the barman, who recognised him and moments later placed a mojito in front of him before gliding away to serve drinks for an impatient looking waitress. He stirred the drink lazily and waited; Sanderson was late, as ever.

He turned on the stool and placed his back against the bar, scanning the room for DIPA, sadly they were easy to spot. Satisfied that there were no faces he recognised, and no suspect new ones, he turned his attention back to his cocktail.

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365 Ficlets – Day #335 ~ “Morning Offices”

It felt odd to be there, even though he had often frequented churches in his childhood. Paul was sitting near to the back of the nave, trying to keep a low profile without seeming reticent. This was his first attempt at passing in the Cathedral, and he was conscious of the intelligence that he had received concerning one of the Canons and his ability to spot Keystone members.

Suddenly cued by an unseen nod or gesture the organist tailed off the soft incidental theme he had been playing as the congregation filed into the pews and then struck up a vibrant and powerful piece that Paul did not recognise as the choir entered the church.

The pomp and circumstance of the Anglican High Church no longer held any mystery for Paul, particularly after an assignment in South America the year before, but he did notice that having experienced Catholic congregations had fitted him well for the trick of seeming involved whilst actually observing. Finding those who were ripe for intervention amongst the worshippers was his goal.

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365 Ficlets – Day #334 ~ “Beyond his control…”

“What happens now?”

The young boy that I had known only for a short time, but whose face I already knew I would never forget, had the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he interrogated me.

“I mean will I have to go into a home or somethin’? I don’t to, I want to go home.”

I smiled, trying to reassure him and buy myself some time while I framed the most honest and yet kind response to his entreaty;

“The thing is, under the circumstances you are going to need an adult or two in your life. Do you have any grandparents?”

His eyes lit up, suddenly there was hope;

“Well, you know that my real Dad died in Iraq?”

I nodded,

“His mum, my real gran, is still alive. I haven’t seen her for about six years, and I don’t know where she is, but Mum told me only last week that she’d had a letter from her, with money in it for me, to hold until my birthday.”

I nodded again;

“Do you know her full name? We will probably be able to trace her anyway, but it may help.”

He pondered for a moment, then;

“I’m pretty sure it’s Fenella Cartwright.”

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365 Ficlets – Day #333 ~ “Earthquake Weather”

“I hate to say it, but it feels like earthquake weather.”

The groans around the bar were quite audible. It was not like we hadn’t heard Harry’s crazy predicitons before, but then he never let us forget that he’d been right in ’89.

He sauntered over to the bar, and laid down five bucks, as always. I fetched him a Bud and a shot and went back to cleaning glasses. Everyone else went back to their conversations, newspapers and so forth; everyone except for the woman sitting at the other end of the bar. She was clearly not local; the look on her face when Harry so glibly referenced earthquakes was enough to tell that.

I wandered down the bar to ask her if she needed another drink. As I approached she looked up, quite startled;

“Is there really a kind of weather that makes earthquakes more likely? I mean that old guy said it was ‘earthquake weather’ and then everyone just went back to their business, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.”

I chuckled and put the glass I was polishing on the countertop.

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365 Ficlets – Day #332 ~ “The Daily Commute”

Yet again the train was just sitting at a station between Reading and London. The PA carried the familiar grey monotone of an employee with all of the microphone technique of Napalm Death;

“We apologise to passengers for the delay to this service, which is due to unforseen circumstances on the track between Ealing Broadway and London Paddington. We hope to have you on your way as soon as possible, and once again thank you for your patience.”

Not a single person sitting on that train with me had any doubt what “unforseen circumstances” meant. Since the US had bombed Tehran in 2014 Britain has become one of the major targets of Islamic extremist terrorism, but then that would be because it was no secret that we let the American Air Force refuel, use our airspace unhindered and on top of that everyone simply assumed that British aircraft were involved. The war had been short and brutal, no doubt that ‘The Allies’ had won, but the aftermath? Well, I was glad to be late for work; better than being on a train bomb.

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365 Ficlets – Day #331 ~ “Itchy Insomnia”

The night is cold and dark here, alone. I lie under the stars, by virtue of a skylight, and all I seem to be able to do is stare up at them and count them one by one. No matter how hard I try to sleep, nothing but more wakefulness comes.

At first I thought that it was sleeping alone that drove me so far from the arms of Morpheus, but last night there was someone in my bed with me and I passed the night watching her sleep, and then dozing for a couple of hours before dawn when I could finally close my eyes. You might wonder if it is more specifically being without a certain someone in my bed, but seeing as last night was a one-off return match with ‘the one that got away’ I am not sure that she really is the cause of my insomnia.

It does not seem likely that I am anxious about work; all is well, and I am financially secure.

No, having examined all of the other possibilites I can only conclude that I cannot sleep on account of some latent guilt, or perhaps just the fear of being caught. Murder is so stressful.

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365 Ficlets – Day #330 ~ “Bad News”

“Mr. Jefferies, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped, he seemed to be able to sense the weight of what was coming. After a moment he simply nodded.

“Well, the thing is that as I said I have some bad news. There has been an accident, and I am sorry to have to tell you that your wife and daughter have been killed, Sir.”

Peter made no sound as his entire body started to shake; his entire frame exhibited wave after wave of tremors, each moment the amplitude growing and then subsiding. As the convulsion reached its height it seemed to me that he was about to scream out, keening for his family, but each time he swallowed his grief down and the shaking would subside for a moment or two and then start again.

I wanted to reach out and put my hand on his shoulder, or say something, but confronted with my brother’s grief like this I was suddenly powerless, speechless, and I realised that I had no idea how to reach anyone, let alone him, who was in that much grief. I sat beside him, confused and lost.

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365 Ficlets – Day #329 ~ “First Morning”

The sun was warm on Henry’s face as he stepped out of the patio door onto the deck. Breakfast was all laid out; fruit, granola, pastries, and the smell of bacon was wafting out from the kitchen. Looking around, he could not see anyone else out in the garden, so he settled at the table and started to serve himself some of the fruit.

It was good to be back in Cape Town, he could feel himself relaxing back into the pace of life and the sweet, succulent guava and mango were definitely helping to make his first morning feel as real as can be. The mountain was the other part of that anchor to memory and familiarity; ever present, always magnifying the character of the city whether clear and bright like that morning, or shrouded in its ‘tablecloth’.

He was musing on the view and finishing his fruit when Isabella appeared, as if by magic, and laid a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him.

“Welcome home, Henry. We’ve all missed you.”

Henry smiled up at her, happy to see her, and then he started on the fry up.

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365 Ficlets – Day #328 ~ “Time Delay”

Time has all of the power in our lives. Time enough to work, but not time enough to play; time enough to lose as much as we can win. It has been said that time is the fire in which we burn, and yet it is also the cooling spring in which we cleanse our souls. It is everything to us.

When the lightning struck the streetlight I can remember seeing time almost stop. As the power of the heavens surged down the pole and into the ground not four feet from me, seconds seemed as minutes, and I was completely aware of not only what was happening, but what was yet to come.

The pressure wave came surging towards me along the sidewalk, as the residual charge in the air made every hair on my body stand on end, and I knew that before another second had ticked by I would be launched into the air, backwards away from the streetlight.

I want to be able to say that I had a witty thought, or a great insight in that split second, but all I really thought about was Frannie. Then just the word ‘bugger’, large at the front of my mind.

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365 Ficlets – Day #327 ~ “A Nation of Shopkeepers…”

“Morning, Cal!”

I wave from behind the counter. Jimmy, like many of my customers, is almost always jolly when I see him. I often wonder if he and the others are quite so jolly after they have left the shop with their papers and their cigarettes and other sundries that I provide to their lives.

“Turned out nice again, eh Cal?”

Molly never says anything different, and after having her as a customer for nearly ten years I know to simply add a ten-pack of Marlboro Lights to the total for the copy of the Guardian and the pack of sugar free gum that she has placed on the counter as an accompaniment to these unchanging, empty words.

Shopkeepers know all too well that the greater share of human interaction is fleeting and meaningless, but I always try to remember how precious it is to me when I have a regular customer that will actually step beyond platitudes and linger for a few moments to share an opinion or better still, really care about mine.

As Molly and Jimmy leave I tidy the counter and wait for Susan to call in.

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365 Ficlets – Day #326 ~ “Tech Duty”

“What do you mean you’re not on Twitter?”

David was staring at me, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as he finished the above question. His reaction was as if I’ve just told him that I don’t enjoy having a woman blow me, or that even though I’m a meat eater I think that bacon is crap. The thing is that it’s a no-brainer to me; I don’t need to broadcast my every thought every moment that I thought it. Sure I’m working in “Web” and I blog, and I’m on Facebook, or Farcebook as I like to call it, but why is it beyond belief that I don’t have a Twitter account?

David got himself together and tried again;

“I mean how do you stay in touch with everything, man?”

This was not the first time I’d heard this, and I already had a stock answer;

“What did you do before Aprl 2007? Were you in a desert of solitude without any sense of human connection? Seriously?”

He didn’t get it, he went on for about another hour, so guess what? Yeah, I have a Twitter account now. Now the only thing left to do is to work out what the Hell to do with it?

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365 Ficlets – Day #325 ~ “Sleepless Nights and Loving Mornings”

I ran my fingertip along her shoulders and slid my other hand around her waist, pulling her gently against me, letting her know that I was there. She laid a hand on top of mine and gently squeezed it as she relaxed back into my embrace. She turned her head a little and whispered;

“Hello, Baby. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

I rolled my palm over her shoulder, cupping it and massaging it softly as I let her know that I was happy to be awake by starting to lay kisses around the nape of her neck.

“I see. You’re quite happy to be awake then?”

She asked the question in such a way that I had a distinct impression that she was playfully raising an eyebrow, but there was no brush off there; I could tell that as I felt her other hand gently running up the inside of my thigh.

“I love you, Baby. Take me to bed, or lose me forever.”

We laughed together; it had been such a long time since one of us had quoted the movie that had brought us together all those years before. I scooped her up in my arms, and carried her back to bed.

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365 Ficlets – Day #324 ~ “Home Invasion”

“Wake up.”

Fran was shaking me hard, her hands gripping tightly onto my shoulders. I clawed my way out of my sleeping state. Just as I was about to ask her what in the Hell was wrong with her she clamped her hand over my mouth and whispered in my ear;

“Listen. Do you hear that?”

I strained to hear whatever it was that she wanted me to hear, but the silence was all I could detect. I was about to tell her she was crazy, that it was just the wind, or the cat, when I did hear something. Someone or something knocked over something breakable, because there was an almighty crash from downstairs; something glass or china broke against the floor. The fear that ran through me at that moment was electric; someone unwelcome was in our house. Our son was sleeping down the hall from us, and the stairs separated us from him, so my thoughts immediately turned to his safety. I turned over and whispered to Fran;

“Wait here for me; I’m going to go and get James before he makes any noise.”

She nodded and I slipped quietly out of bed.

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365 Ficlets – Day #323 ~ “Back to the Bay”

“And what is the purpose of your stay, Sir?”

I smile at the immigration official;

“Some business, some vacation. You know how it goes.”

They nod and smile back, then hand my passport back to me and I’m in. Even someone like me, with no nefarious thoughts, with money in their pocket and with no plans to out stay their welcome, entering the United States can be a nerve-wracking business. Still now that I had passed the test I could make my way into the City and focus on the meetings that were the genuine justification for flying half way around the world, and even with that pressure hanging over my head, that was a relief.

I headed across the bridge from the terminal to the BART station and having bought myself a ticket waited on the platform for my high speed ride into the heart of downtown. London could learn a lot from San Francisco on this front. This was my second visit in just over a year and I was still impressed by how simply, efficiently and cheaply the airport is connected to the main part of the City.

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365 Ficlets – Day #322 ~ “Travelling Blues”

“Hello there.”

Oh God, she’s grinning in that way; you know what I mean, the way that your scary aunty did when you were a child. It’s been a constant stream of them, horny fifty-something widows and divorcées, ever since I boarded the boat. I really am starting to wish I’d listened to my friends who had warned me about the dangers of holidaying alone, on a cruise liner. Don’t misunderstand, if I was less than fifteen years younger than any of them then I would be happy of the attention, but not only am I still in a place where I want my lovers to at least be capable of having children, but I am on holiday alone not to find a replacement for my last one, but to simply get away and forget. Still, I am not able to simply ignore her or anyone else; we are on this relatively small ship together for ten days after all, though thankfully four of them were done;

“Hello. Taking the air?”

She nodded and sat down next to me, unbidden.

“I’ll be honest, I saw you head this way after dinner and I wanted to talk to you.”

My heart sank, the last conversation that had gone this way – after lunch – had been very depressing.

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365 Ficlets – Day #321 ~ “Torture”

Hot, too hot. Mouth dry, throat hurts. Eyes open? No, too bright.

“Are you ready to tell us what we wnat to know, Mr. Devlin?”

That voice… Who is that?

“Your current level of discomfort is not the end of the road. There is more to come if you don’t give us the information that we want.”

Have to focus. Is that the one who was called Ignatius by the tall one? Yes, the voice of Ignatius, I recognise him.

“Mr. Devlin?”

Open eyes; slowly. So bright in here. Can’t see him, must be a PA system. Sit up, straight back. Show him strength; resolve. Try to speak;

“N… Noh.”

Throat so dry, can barely make a sound.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Devlin?”

This is how they start. I say yes to anything and then I might say yes to more things. Have to fight the temptation, but so thirsty.

“How can that hurt, Mr. Devlin? Surely you can accept a glass of water?”

“No th… No thankyou.”

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365 Ficlets – Day #320 ~ “The Cut of Memory’s Knife”

“What are you doing here, Vic?”

Her smile sent a shiver through Paul, he remembered the time long ago when he would wake up to that smile. Having been put back out into the field, Paul had been given no information on his handler beyond the protocol and the eight meeting places. When he had picked up the location instruction he had wondered if it would be Harrison again; the last time in London it had been Harrison, but he had never thought it might be Victoria.

“Hello Paul. How’ve you been?”

Paul shrugged, still reeling internally while trying to come across as at least professional.

“You weren’t told it was going to be me, were you?”

“No, but it’s fine. I’m fine. How have you been Vic?”

She smiled again, and then suddenly she was all business;

“Well, we want you to infiltrate a new group working in and around Southwark. Their activities have started to become a little too out in the open, and we need to understand what their wider objectives are, so that we can plan the correct approach to frustrate their plans.”

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365 Ficlets – Day #319 ~ “Queen’s Walk”

The lights on HMS Belfast were like searchlights, illuminating imagined enemies or intruders, rather than being placed by design to showcase her odd, fading beauty. Paul looked out across the river, towards Tower Bridge; he took another pull on his hipflask, now only half full with the cheap whisky he had taken from Grant’s flat. “For the cold.” he told himself, but was it really?

He heard footsteps approaching, but in a move planned to suggest nothing but impeccable cool he continued to count the lights on the buildings on the North Bank, and refused to turn and acknowledge the approaching stranger. The footsteps stopped close by. He heard a low, gentle cough and then in a soft genderless voice;

“Excuse me, but do you know the way to Borough Market at all?”

It was his contact, and so Paul paused for a moment to frame his practised answer and then turned;

“I am afraid not, I am just visiting from Baltimore.”

He spoke as he raised his eyes, only realising that it was Victoria as he finished the protocol sentence.

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365 Ficlets – Day #318 ~ “Dark Night by the Fire”

The polished wood feels good in my hands. It’s funny the things that put us at ease, they are so rarely the same from person to person. In fact there are no other people in my life that feel even comfortable with firearms, let alone comforted by them.

Please don’t misunderstand, I am not a violent person, and I certainly do not relish the idea of shooting someone, but I have done just that in my past, just as many soldiers have. I suppose that the frightening truth is that if you spend long enough in the field you come to see it as the status quo, and ridiculous as it may seem to anyone else I am sitting here by my open fire, practically cradling my fathers twelve bore and thinking of the past.

If the shrink assigned to help with my re-entry into civilian life saw me here without the context of my true feelings I’m sure that he would immediately assume that I am contemplating suicide, but the weapon is not loaded. I don’t have ammunition in the house, it really is just that it is a touchstone to times gone by.

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365 Ficlets – Day #317 ~ “Train Dream”

The lights of Oxford were streaming past the train window as I awoke from an odd dream. The particulars of the dream were already lost to me, but I am left with a definite sense that I was frightened and confused. Judging from the looks of surprise on the faces of the two people sitting opposite me I had shuddered awake in some odd fashion, and I was left feeling incredibly self conscious.

The train was nearly back at Reading, so I started to put away the laptop and check my pockets, trying to remember eveything with the dim cloud of this unremembered dream.

The older chap across the table looked up at me;

“Are you ok there?”

I nodded, my embarassment rising, trying to break eye contact with him rather than acknowledge my odd outburst that had piqued his interest.

“It’s just that you were muttering a name under your breath. I mean, who is Deirdra?”

Suddenly the dream came rushing back to my mind, and I was lost in the dark calling out ‘Deirdra! Deirdra’, and I could smell the distinct odour of fresh blood nearby.

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365 Ficlets – Day #316 ~ “Riding the Rails”

As I pass down the aisle, lurching from side to side as the train shudders and jolts on every join in the track I dispense a litany of ’sorry’ and ‘terribly sorry’ and ‘oh do excuse me’ to the various people whose seats I bump into or whose newspapers I snag as I pass by.

When I finally reach the train’s buffet, after three carriages of offences against the peace and tranquility of my fellow passengers, I am greeted by a smiling face that already I can tell is softening me up for a disappointment.

“Could I have a coffee, please?”

The smile broadens, and the eyes widen in an almost undetectable act of supplication;

“I’m sorry, sir, but we are not currently able to serve any hot beverages.”

For a moment I consider launching into a comical rant about the fact that there is no one on the planet who uses the word beverage apart from the people who work in transport-centric catering, but in the end the poor woman’s visible anxiety encourages me to forbear. I nod and turn on my heel, plunging back into the morass of the three carriages between there and my seat.

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