Author: maleghast (Page 31 of 35)

The night is calmer now. When I decided to leave the party and head for bed the weather had become violent, as if the elements were angered by the celebrations and were now beating upon the door in protest.

I would have stayed up later, but I had that feeling, when one notices that every other adult in the room has a partner and you are the only person left who is completely alone in a crowd.

I said my goodnights, hugged a few good friends and shook hands with a few others and retreated up into the maze of corridors on the upper floors of the hotel, where everyone can have their own private kingdom until the morning.

The news was the usual quotidien round of moral disappointment and economic doomsaying as I made my preparations for bed; sometimes I wonder why I bother to watch it. I considered reading for a while and decided that I would enjoy my book more with a clear head.

Now in the dark, the breeze blowing over my bare legs there is silence, and though alone I feel content and I cannot explain why.

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Geoff stood in the doorway looking out at the rows of seats, the flowers and the carpeted aisle. In a couple of hours he would be waiting for Hillary to join him and then in front of all of their family and some of their friends they would tell each other that their love would be unstinting in faith and force for the rest of their lives.

He was ready; he had wondered for some time if he would be when the day came, but rather than a fit of jitters or recriminations a sense of calm had settled on his shoulders and he was at peace, happy.

He was fairly certain that there was no peace to be had in Hillary’s room where more women than anyone should reasonably gather together in a small enclosed space would be fussing over hair and make-up, accessories and shoes, trying not to cry for fear of damaging their mascara and not have time to repair it before the moment arrived.

He smiled to himself and hoped that despite all the panic she could feel the peace of this time; he knew that he would never ever forget it.

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Fenella sat on the grass bank and watched the crowds milling around her, plates of scones, strawberries and cream and glasses of Pimms clutched in their hands. There was a time, when she would have given anything to be amongst them, gossiping about this person and that person, were they in favour with the committee, had they been seen in the wrong kinds of clubs and so forth.

This year she was here to do no more than spectate; she should have stayed away as already her flesh was beginning to crawl. On the surface this bright society of cultured snacks, cocktails and tittle tattle had seemed so attractive to her when she had arrived in Westbury. Once she left the daylight world that had wooed her in and saw the darker side of Westbury’s people there was nothing left of that attraction. There was only fear.

Even now she was here to pretend that she was still a normal member of that world, when in truth she was far from that; in fact she was here to despatch the Chairman, and she intended to get away with it.

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Cal surveyed the scene, his hand resting gently on the edge of the bar. There was no doubt that the people in there were waiting to see what he would say or do or think. It was a tough gig to take over a successful niche bar, in this case a rock pub, and not piss off the hard core of regular customers that make it viable to even have the place exist.

He liked the place; sure he had only been there for twenty-four hours, but the vibe he was getting from the locals was that as long as he did not fuck up their pub then the fact that he had usurped a popular bar manager would be over-looked. From what he could tell, Snit and Hayley were just about the most popular management team in living memory, so he had a hell of a bar to clear.

The fact that the place was running low on all of the staples; cider, ale and post-mix coke to go with the Blackjack, was not helping. He could tell that he was going to like the regulars, because they were still there; just drinking vodka and tonic instead, at least until tomorrow.

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Thomas leaned back into the sofa and raised the goblet to his lips. The warm, slightly viscous cognac slipped across his lips and down his throat, heating up his mouth and chest. It was good brandy. There was none of the ragged edge that one comes to expect from the cheap stuff, slicing into ones gullet instead of the smooth slide of this fine drink.

He looked up to see Paul smiling at him, and then his own goblet;

“You like the Cognac then, Thomas?”

Thomas simply nodded, allowing a smile to spread across his face. There are those that would claim that gaining such pleasure from what is essentially a drug is not wise, but Thomas reveled in the sheer luxury of drinking such exquisite booze and had no shame about it;

“Paul, it is magnificent. Thank you mon ami. You must allow me to return the favour at some point. You do like whisky, don’t you?”

Paul nodded and his smile grew even wider. He took immense comfort in knowing that Thomas was as moved by the senses as he was; they were going to be good friends.

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Joe leant back against the hedge and stared up into the sky, his eyes fixed on the crisscrossing vapour trails from the many comings and goings at Heathrow.

He knew that he should not be breathless after a five minute walk, but there he was struggling to breathe and needing to stop after five minutes walking on the flat. He was only forty-two! How had it come to this?

He felt the outline of his fag packet under his thumb where he was bracing his hands against his thighs. Yeah, that was it; he’d left quitting too late. Sure it was… Except, what about the eight years he had not smoked for until six months before? Sure he wished that he had not started again when Sophie had left, but old habits are all you have when your wife leaves with her protegé.

He tried to calm down and concentrate on his breathing – in through the nose, out through the mouth. He noticed that Dee was walking over; that was it. He had been fine until he saw her!

“You alright Joe?”

He nodded, suddenly scrabbling for breath once more.

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Ewan leaned back against the steps and stared up at the clouds as they whipped by at an unusually high speed. Not the stately progress of white, fresh, cotton puff clouds, but more the barreling by of hard, grey, steel wool clouds that almost always heralded rain.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, savouring the acrid sweetness of the smoke; it was giving him everything that he had expected and needed of it. The night had been long and filled with circular internal discussions about his situation and the choices that he had made, but now in the dim morning light, looking up into the foreboding sky and down into the sleepy valley below he finally felt a moment’s peace.

There was nothing he could do to change the situation, there was going to be no way to resolve it himself. All he could do was take his hand off the brake and freewheel down the hill towards his destiny; let the chips fall where they may. She would either come to love him, or she would not but one thing was clear; it was not his to control.

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I have not been sleeping, and Sara has been asking me why. I lie awake at night, just looking at her trying to work out how she can still sleep next to me after what I did to her. And then I get out of bed and I go to make coffee and I try to tell myself that if she can forgive me then maybe I should too.

When she finally woke up we learned the truth. Her doctors were not able to explain it, but something had happened in the crash and even though there was no visible trauma Sara woke up blind. She was only in hospital for a week in the end, but Louise came and stayed with us for a month after she was released. I still had to work and Sara needed to have someone around.

So in the middle of the night, while I am drinking my coffee and wishing I could smoke, what I am really doing is looking for any tiny way for me to escape the guilt that I feel for her blindness. I know that she would be angry with me if she knew what I was doing, but she would be angrier if she knew I was lying to her about my insomnia.

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This Ficlet was written on the day, but posted to this blog at a later date, due to time pressures – if you don’t believe me check on Ficlets.com by clicking on the link above.

Tanya felt herself make a sudden and involuntary intake of breath, as the zepplin appeared out of the fog. It was almost silent, as it slipped into view, tendrils of mist curling down the sides of the hull, like strands of gossamer.

She had always been fascinated by dirigibles, she was fairly sure that it was because the first Bond movie that her parents had let her see was the one with the fantastic airship in a shed. Now here she was about to board her creation. She was a modernised re-creation of the Hindenberg that was no longer susceptible to the weaknesses that led to the famous disaster that destroyed the reputation of airships on the world stage.

If this flight went well she would be one step closer to making a success of the most off the wall idea that anyone had had for a while; the return of trans Atlantic airship cruising as an alternative to jet airliners. The concept was simple; rather than rush to New York in five to six hours, why not arrive having spent two and a half days in luxury?

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was written on the day, but posted to this blog at a later date, due to time pressures – if you don’t believe me check on Ficlets.com by clicking on the link above.

Eva pulled her hand back, shocked by the heat. She had not expected the stove to be on and so had simply reached out for the pan to pick it up by its rim.

The dull pain of a burn was already throbbing in her fingers as she plunged her hand into the cold water standing in the sink. She pulled the plug out and turned the cold tap on with her other hand, so that she could hold the affected area under cold running water.

As she stood there, attempting to protect herself from a nasty blister and a scar, she cast her gaze out across the beach. She knew that she often took for granted that she lived right on the beach, or as near as dammit at any rate. The deck outside the kitchen door ended a few feet from the sea wall, and the beach was the other side of that.

The sun was setting, and she could see Jake sitting in his usual place, playing. She wondered why he always came down to the beach to play at sunset; he would get a lot more from busking in the daytime, particularly on a Sunday when there were tourists.

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