What a perfect evening
What a perfect first
date
From the very first
moment
We met beneath the
clock
Till I left her at her
door
Her sweet kiss upon my
lips
Was complete and utter
bliss
As I walk home, I relive
it
Her soft brown hair,
the hazel eyes
Her sweet smile and
her exotic smell
Oh, and her soft
caress
As in my head
I repeat each perfect
moment
Then rewind and watch
again
From the first break of day
Till the setting of
the sun
My heart is full to
overflowing
And I know that you
are the one
Even as the dusk
descends
And the world hovers
in twilight
My heart still holds
true
And I know all will be
alright
But when the dark
shadows merge
And the dusk turns
into black
My heart is filled
with dread
As the doubts come
flooding back
It’s in the darkness
where I succumb
Where I surrender to
the fear
I am weak and afraid
when I’m alone
But I feel strong when
you’re near
You can banish the
darkness forever
Filling my life with a
perfect light
With the love that fills
your heart
You can make everything
alright
Marry me and be my
wife
And keep the
forbidding dark at bay
I will know no fear or
darkness
Only light after our
wedding day
You had me loving you from day one
And I had you loving
me when it begun
But somewhere along
the way
Your cheating heart
decided to stray
You had me loving you
totally
And I thought I had
you loving me
But now your heart
resides elsewhere
And you have left me
in utter despair
You are still the one
that I adore
But you don’t love me
anymore
You still have me
loving you totally
But I no longer have you loving me
She is the Angel of the choir
She is my only hearts
desire
Her voice fills me
with rapture
A voice as sweet as
her nature
But though I am in a
state of bliss
I could never hope for
a single kiss
For she is but a
visitor from on high
An angel fallen from
the sky
No mortal voice could
so express
Each note in perfect
choral congress
She is the Angel of
the choir
She is my only hearts
desire
In truth I know she is
earthly born
But nonetheless I am
left forlorn
For I have her upon a
pedestal so high
That even an angel
fallen from the sky
When on heavenly wings
she flew
Would be less exalted
in my view
So I must watch my
angel as she sings
As my devoted heart
grows wings
And soars up high on
her sweet melody
I pray my angel will
only sing for me
My heart skips a beat
I have dancing feet
You have me in a spin
You make my head swim
My stomach is in knots
My eyes are seeing
spots
You make my heartbeat
fast
Oh, I’m in love at
last
Yes, its love without
a doubt
I had better ask you
out
If we had our time over
What could I have done
better?
I could have talked to you more
I should have listened to you more
I could have spent more time with you
I could have thought more about you
I could have been more
understanding
I could have been more
forgiving
I could have said I
love you more often
I could have held your
hand more often
I could have loved you
better I’m sure
But I could not have
loved you more
The village of Brocklington
was on the River Brooke about six miles downstream from Sharping St Mary in the
Finchbottom Vale which was nestled comfortably between the Ancient Dancingdean
Forest to the south and the rolling Pepperstock Hills in the north, those who
are lucky enough to live there think of it as the rose between two thorns.
The Vale was once a
great wetland that centuries earlier stretched from Mornington in the East to
Childean in the west and from Shallowfield in the south to Purplemere in the
north.
But over the many centuries
the vast majority had been drained for agriculture, a feat achieved largely by
the efforts of famous Mornington Mills, of which only three had survived to the
present day and even those were no longer functional and were in various states
of repair.
There were only three
small bodies of water left in the Vale now one in Mornington, one in Childean
and third of course was Purplemere.
One of the newest
inhabitants of Brocklington was a Purplemere native, Sam Townsend, who had
moved to the village to live with his widowed sister Ruth and her two children Olivia
and Cecily.
Sam was five year
younger than his sister who was a few months short of her milestone 30th
birthday.
They were unmistakably
siblings with their dark curly hair and green eyes.
Sam wore his hair
collar length while Ruth’s tumbled lavishly onto her shoulders.
Sam still worked in
Purplemere and travelled back and forth to work by train and every day, twice a
day, he would call in at Stephenson’s corner shop and see the lovely Adele.
Stephenson’s had
supermarkets and convenience stores all over Downshire and the one in
Brocklington was owned and run by Glen and Lisa Thompson and ably assisted by
their lovely Niece Adele who did a disproportionate amount of the work.
Glen was a surly old
goat and since she was orphaned at the age of 12 he had been like her father to
her although in truth he was old enough to be her grandfather.
Adele and her Aunt
Lisa were both really nice although Sam thought Adele was lovely, she was a few
years younger than him, with caramel coloured skin betraying her mixed race
heritage and she was tall and slim but her thick back combed black hair made
her look even taller.
She was a skinny girl
but not in a boney way she just had a skinny frame.
Her eyes were big and
almost black and she had a huge toothy smile, which lit up the whole shop when
she smiled, if not the street.
Sam would always flirt
dreadfully with her and her aunt and they would always flirt back and when it
came time to pay there was always a lingering exchange where their hands would almost
touch, but not quite, and occasionally he would caress her hand with his thumb
or brush his fingertips against hers and she would blush, and if she was on the
shop floor he would brush passed her very close and she would get very
flustered.
Alas on a particular
in June she and her aunty were at the cash and carry, so only the surly old
goat was in the shop and he was sat on his arse watching cricket.
Sam Townsend really
fancied Adele Young, who worked at the corner shop and he always flirted
outrageously with her but he hadn’t been able to use that to his advantage and
ask her out, he always entered the shop with the intention of asking her out
but she was so seldom alone, and when she was his courage failed him.
He entered the shop
and as luck would have it lazy Uncle Glen was out, and Aunt Lisa was ill in bed
and only the lovely Adele was in the shop.
When she saw Sam walk
in, she quickly fussed with her thick black hair and made herself look even
lovelier.
She was a skinny young
girl, too skinny for everyone’s taste but he was firmly in the “nearer the bone
the sweeter the meat” camp.
As he approached her
huge black eyes and toothy smile lit up her face and he felt encouraged.
So as there were no
prying eyes, when she handed him his change he blatantly held her hand and made
her blush and he was just about to invite her to the cinema when another
customer entered the shop.
It was Agatha Spivey,
a very stern looking middle-aged woman who disapproved of everything, and in
particular love, especially young love.
She never smiled and
peered superciliously over her spectacles at everyone, not a joyful person, so
he had to leave his question unasked, but hung around by the magazines, until
she exchanged pleasantries with Adele, if you can call them that, and then as
abruptly and as rudely as she first appeared, she was gone so Sam returned his
attentions to Adele, however before he could resume his activities with her,
Violet Bradley walked through the door.
She was also a
middle-aged woman, but as different from Agatha Spivey as cheese was from
chalk.
She looked a little
flustered when she walked in but then she often did, after more than ten minutes
of chattering and gossip there were five people in the shop, so his moment had
gone so he gave Adele a final smile and left wondering when he would get
another chance.
The problem was he had
never seen her anywhere other than the shop, she lived in the apartment above
the premises with her aunt and Uncle so he couldn’t catch her going to or from
work and as a regular patron of the Mulberry Tree he knew she didn’t go there
so he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it.
He was a less frequent
visitor to St Cuthbert’s but he hadn’t seen her there either.
So he was left for the
remainder of June only with his morning and evening encounters in the shop when
he hoped he would have a change of fortune.
Of course had he
spoken to his sister Ruth about his attraction to Adele, and furthermore the
difficulty he was having in speaking to her away from the shop, she would have
been able to tell him where and when he could find her with no difficulty at all.
But instead it was
left to chance.
It was Saturday morning
and July had arrived and furthermore it had delivered to the folk of Downshire
a very hot day, the hottest day of the year that far in fact.
It was Sam’s day off
from work and his sister Ruth had arranged for them to take her two daughters swimming
in Purplemere, which was always great fun.
They had to do it in
the morning as they had to leave early as they had been invited to a BBQ in the
afternoon back in Brocklington.
Sam left Ruth and the
girls swimming in the pool, because they wanted another five minutes, which they
stretched to ten, while Sam went and got changed.
The Purplemere Lido was
a very modern facility with up-to-the-minute unisex changing rooms with two long
rows of cubicles’ flanked by lockers.
He wasn’t altogether
sure if he liked the idea of unisex facilities or not, the jury was very much
out for him in that regard.
Sam was in a cubicle
getting dressed, he only had his shirt left to put on and he could suddenly
hear some familiar voices nearby and the first one was right outside his
cubicle door
“Come on luvvie” the
voice, said and the voice belonged to Aunty Lisa from the corner shop, so
therefore by extension the other voice had to be the lovely Adele.
“I’m nearly ready
Aunty, you go on without me and I will catch you up” Said Adele
The lovely Adele, from
the corner shop was only a few yards away from him and she was wearing a
swimsuit.
“Ok I will see you in
a minute” Lisa said moving away.
He left it for a
moment or two, listening intently to see if he could detect any movement and
when he thought he could hear her close the locker door and pad along the tiled
floor he open his door and found he had timed it to perfection as Adele was
right there wearing a black one piece swimsuit and clutching a towel.
“Hello Adele” he said
still stripped to the waist
“Oh Sam” she exclaimed
a little flustered, not quite knowing what to do and feeling a little self-conscious
as she was in her swimsuit.
“I didn’t know you
came here” he said
“Yes we do it every week”
she replied
He couldn’t stop himself
from casting an appreciative eye over her swim-suited figure, and she blushed
when she noticed him watching her.
Trying to cover her
embarrassment and failing she said
“Do you come here
often?”
And they both laughed.
“Who’s running the
shop this morning if you and Lisa are both here?” he asked her
“Uncle Glen and the
Saturday girls” she said as she watched him intently as he put his shirt on.
“Are you not coming in?”
she asked
“No I’ve been in
already, we’re going to a BBQ this afternoon”
“We?” she asked trying
to be casual
“My sister Ruth and
the girls”
“Oh” she responded
with obvious relief so Sam seized his moment and said
“Why don’t you come?
As my plus one”
“You want me to be
your plus one?” she asked
“If you’d like to” he
said
“Yes please, I would
like that” she replied, the delight was obvious on her face until a crest
fallen expression replaced it and she added
“But I have to work
this afternoon”
“What time do you finish?”
he asked
“Not until six” she replied
glumly “and then I’d have to change”
“Oh dear, it will be
all over by then” he said and he watched as her shoulders slumped
“I know” Adele said
resignedly
“So we’ll just have to
go into Purplemere instead” Sam suggested “Pizza and a movie maybe”
“Yes” she replied
“Definitely yes”
“Great, I’ll pick you
up at seven” he said and Adele nodded exaggeratedly in response.
Which was when Ruth
appeared and the girls were shouting excitedly for Uncle Sam so Adele gave him
a dazzling smile and skipped away towards the pool.
“Well that was easy”
he said to himself
“Was that Adele” Ruth
asked when she reached his cubicle
“Yes, we have a date
tonight” he replied smugly
“It’s about time” Ruth
said “I thought you were never going to do it”
It was fast approaching
Easter, another significant event in the calendar that held no fond memories
for him.
Steve Berry had grown
up with a dislike for all family orientated occasion, New Years, Easter,
Halloween, Guy Fawkes Night and especially Christmas with all its nauseating
jollity and faux fun.
Unlike most of the
people he knew he had no happy memories to anesthetise him against those
occasions.
His parents were
alcoholics and from a very early age he had learned to fend for himself and
most of his childhood memories of the big holidays he would rather have
forgotten.
That was until Holly
Davis opened his eyes to new possibilities and he realised that Christmas could
also magnify joy and that life was full of wonderful possibilities.
And as they lay in
each other’s arms in the early hours of New Year’s Day, having just made love
for the first time, Holly proposed that they run the Pig and Whistle together.
Despite his first
doubtful thoughts, when he thought it may just have been post coital exuberance
on her part, Steve agreed based on the way the two of them had worked together
through the Christmas period and the fact that he had fallen madly in love with
her.
When he returned to his
day job on January 5th his first action was to hand in his notice, much to the annoyance
of his employers and the consternation of his co-workers.
His second action was
to put his flat on the market and some of his friends suggested that he was
burning his bridges whereas Steve believed he was merely following his heart.
Holly was buying the
pub from her Uncle Phil, who sadly would not be around much longer as he was
gravely ill.
But even allowing for
the discounted price he was asking, she could only just afford it with the sale
of her house and virtually all of her savings, which didn’t allow her any extra
for the improvements she wanted to make.
She could of course have
taken out a mortgage for what she needed but she didn’t really want to begin the
endeavour with a huge debt and at the time she had no idea Steve had put his
flat up for sale, in fact Holly didn’t even know if he owned his own flat that
was until the beginning of February when he said
“I have officially
burned my bridges”
“What do you mean Hon?”
She said
“I am now unemployed
and homeless”
He said and handed her
the written offer on his flat
“What are you saying?”
Holly asked
“Our nest Egg” he said
“Are you sure?”
“All or nothing” he said
So Steve and Holly
became partners in the Pig and Whistle and they sealed the deal in what had
become the customary manner of making love.
The Pig and Whistle
had once been the Abbeyvale Railway Hotel, at least up until the second world
war when the Station was bombed out of existence by the Luftwaffe.
In the post war years
when the much of Abbeyvale was rebuilt a new station was also built, but it was
inexplicably sited a mile away from its Hotel.
The Hotel was then
sold off in 1948, after the railway network and infrastructure was nationalized
and renamed the Pig and Whistle.
It was ideally
situated close enough to the town to benefit from foot traffic but far enough
away from the hot spots to avoid the weekend binge drinkers and there was
another hidden benefit of their location which would not be discovered until
much later however.
There were significant
improvements made to the exterior of the building by Phil’s predecessor, upvc
soffits, guttering and double glazing were installed as well as a number of
others in fact it was improved to such an extent that they ran out of money,
which was how Phil managed to get it so cheaply.
He and his wife Pat
had big plans for the place and were going to throw themselves into it
completely, but when she died suddenly the light went from his world as did his
purpose for existing and he rather lost interested in the pub and the grand
plans he and Pat had.
Once they found some
time to draw breath they were sitting in the bar one morning before they opened
and Holly asked
“So where do we start?”
“The roof” he replied
There was some
remedial work required to the chimneys and some slates had been displaced in
the winter storms.
“We can claim for the
storm damage on Phil’s insurance and while they are up there they can do the
chimneys” he said
“Excellent” she said
“That will save us a bit”
“And then we should
complete the kitchen extension and the Conservatory” Steve said
Phil and Pat had applied
for planning permission before she died but it ran out in April so the clock
was running in that regard but Abbeyvale Conservatory’s were keen to finish the
job they had started more than a year earlier as they had already manufactured
all the panels.
In fact they were so
keen Steve was able to negotiate a reduction on the installation cost.
So that was all set in
motion and then they turned their attention to the interior and longer
discussions followed in that regard but as Holly had worked in hospitality
since she was at college Steve deferred to her superior knowledge of
hospitality and of all the things she had learned, the one that stood out for
her was not to put all your eggs in one basket, you needed to diversify but
equally not try to be all things to all men.
Holly had worked in
hospitality since she was at college and of all the things she had learned the
one that stood out for her was not to put all your eggs in one basket.
You had to diversify
yes, but equally you shouldn’t try to be all things to all men.
It was an old pub and
in keeping with the modern trend it had been knocked through into one big open
bar, Holly wanted to change that and reinstate the old layout and return it to
three separate bars.
The lounge bar for the
conversational drinkers, a TV bar for the sports fans and a games room with
darts and pool etc. and the conservatory would be for the diners.
“I bow to your
superior knowledge of hospitality Holly” he said “I’m just a bean counter, and
as such I can say that it would be a relatively small outlay to replace the
internal walls and it will be less expensive in the long run to heat three
small spaces than one large one”
“So is that a yes
then?” Holly teased
It was essential they kept
getting customers through the door so they couldn’t afford to have the pub
closed for any length of time.
A pub the size of the
Pig and Whistle would haemorrhage money at an alarming rate with the doors
closed.
Also they wouldn’t be
able to pay the staff while they were closed and Holly wasn’t happy with that at
all because she knew how tough it was for hospitality workers and they would
have to find other work and you then run the risk of losing your experienced
workforce.
So Holly decided they
wouldn’t close for any longer than was absolutely necessary for the refurbishment
and she would keep paying the staff if she could.
So they closed completely
for two days for the builders to put in the stud walls between the bars and
then they closed the lounge bar for one week to decorate, then a week later
they closed the TV bar for a week and repeated the process for the games room.
So by the middle of
March all three bars had been decorated and re-carpeted plus the Conservatory
was complete and ready for use.
The repairs and renovations
plus some new fixtures and fittings cost them just under half of their nest egg
which they were exceedingly pleased with.
But they knew that if
they didn’t get a steady trade through the doors the remainder would be eaten
up just in running costs.
They could put on
novelty nights like Pub quizzes, or a clairvoyant doing reading, open mic
comedy nights, poetry slams and the like but they planned to steer clear of
live music or DJ’s, Holly thought they were more trouble than they were worth
in the long run.
Also they had to make
the most of the special annual occasions, all those occasions that Steve had a
phobia about in fact, but they had just missed out on St Patrick’s Day.
But gimmicks only got
you so far, the bread and butter patrons needed a reason to come back for the
rest of the time.
The food would
certainly help with that especially with the conservatory.
It was midway through
March when Holly and Steve sat down to catch their collective breaths one evening
on the patio in the pub garden.
“You know what’s
next?” Holly said
“Another drink” Steve
said hopefully
“The garden” she said
bleakly
It would have been more
appropriately called the jungle which had been largely neglected, not only by
Phil but also by his predecessors as well because the extent of the growth that
had occurred had clearly taken more than a generation.
But as luck would have
it there were three regulars who drank at the pub, the Beaumont brothers, who
were proper old country boys and the jungle was right up their street.
When they approached
the Beaumont’s, they gladly picked up the gauntlet and they and various other
members of the family pitched up the next day and got straight down to it and by
the end of the second day they had made great progress and as they sat down to
an end of day pint Steve asked
“How’s it going?”
He hadn’t anticipated
it would take that long with such a large crew and his bean counters brain was
doing cartwheels
“Another days
clearing” Kenny Beaumont said “But you can at least get down to the River now”
“River?” he said “What
river?”
“The Trott” Old George
replied
Just at that moment
Holly stepped out from the Conservatory
“Did you know the
garden backed onto a River?” Steve asked
“No” she replied with
surprise
“Well it’s there
Missy” Old George said and chuckled
“Well we’d better go
and have a look then” She said to Steve and took his hand, pulling him to his
feet.
It was a much longer
walk than they anticipated, the pub garden which they thought was huge to begin
with was almost three times bigger than it appeared to be before the Beaumont’s
got to work.
In fact it was bigger
than either of them had anticipated and the great bonus was that the garden led
down to a section of the river Trott, only accessible from the pub garden.
Holly and Steve didn’t
even realise they were that close to the river
“Wow” Holly said as
they stood on the bank
“ka-ching” Steve
responded
“Spoken like a true
bean counter” Holly said and laughed
It was with Easter in
mind, the first major occasion of the year since the refurb was completed and
their first chance to do something special.
When the Beaumont’s
had finished clearing the pub garden there were quite a few large areas of bare
earth which needed to be turfed in order for them to make the best use of the
garden and the new found view of the river.
And a month later it
had taken sufficiently to take a light cut and the overall effect wasn’t bad at
all, viewed from the patio.
The improvements to
the beer garden would bring in great rewards with summer just around the corner.
Holly and Steve knew
that the improvements to the beer garden would bring in great rewards with summer
just around the corner.
It wasn’t quite an uninterrupted
view of the river Trott, as they thought it expedient to have a small wicket
fence put up to separate the garden from the running water and thus prevent
small children venturing to close and being washed away.
Holly had arranged an Easter
Egg hunt straight after church, they had invited the children from the local
area via Sunday Schools, cubs, brownies and primary schools, the idea being that
the children would come along for the egg hunt and their parents would spend
over the bar and buy from the BBQ.
Holly and the other
girls had been out that morning and hidden the cream eggs and every child who
took part would get a ticket for the Easter Egg raffle.
They had an excellent response
in the April sunshine and there were so many children they had to go out in
groups, the youngest one’s going first.
“Ok Children, only six
eggs each” Holly said dressed in a pink puffy dress and a flowered Easter
bonnet. “One…Two…Three…Go” she said and off they went in all directions like
marbles in a game.
Steve was down by the
fence making sure none of them reached the water’s edge and he watched the
beautiful girl in the Easter dress amidst the mayhem laughing as the children
raced around her and he knew at that moment without any shadow of doubt that he
was in love with her heart and soul.
When all the children
had their eggs everyone repaired back inside for the big draw, which was
tactically delayed to allow the adult’s time to recharge their glasses and it was
in the bar after the last prize was won and presented that Steve stepped forward
and called.
“Could I please just
have your attention for a moment?”
The assembled crowd
hushed and turned their gaze on him and he continued
“I would just like to
take this opportunity to thank our lovely hostess Holly for putting on such a
fun activity today”
An appreciative round
of applause rippled around the bar in response and then he added
“And I would like to
present her with this special gift”
And Steve handed her with
great aplomb, a handmade Easter egg which she quickly unwrapped
“It’s lovely” she said
“Thank you” and then she kissed him.
“Read the
instructions” he instructed
On the egg was a hand
written card which read
“Must be opened upon
receipt”
So Holly placed the
egg on the table and obediently untied the ribbon holding the two halves of the
egg together.
And as they separated
it revealed inside, where the handmade chocolates should have been, a small square
box.
She handed the egg to
Steve and opened the box to reveal that it contained a small Ceylon sapphire
ring he had bought in a local antique shop.
“Does this mean what I
think it means?” she asked quietly
“I don’t know, do you
think it means that I want to marry you?” Steve said
“Yes” she said
“Good because that’s
exactly what it means” he replied
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she
screamed and the whole place was in uproar and the tills went ka-ching.
His name was Owen Carrington and he was a writer and he was sitting in front of his laptop staring at an open page in Word headed “An Untitled Screenplay by Owen Carrington” below it was one other word “The” followed by a space and the pulsing cursor irritatingly waiting for more, but if he were to give it more, it would, like some crazed addict, just keep demanding more and more words, he knew it would never be satisfied.
Owen had reached a hiatus
in his writing career more commonly referred to as writers block.
It hadn’t always been
like this, he had some success in the field modest though it might have been,
and he wrote two novels which were successful, one stage play very well
received and several screenplays perhaps less so.
This early flourish
had at least provided him with a reasonable return and gave him something of a
nest egg, but, and there was always a but, but his early success had petered
away.
Luckily he didn’t go all
diva on his way up and had been able to survive on the good will of friends and
acquaintances on the way down.
He milked all his contacts from University and the wider publishing world and
picked up as many writing gigs as he could, a column here and an essay there.
His literary agent was
worse than bloody useless so they parted company then he was thrown a lifeline
by a close friend when he landed a prolonged spell as an Agony Aunt which he
found most enlightening and he even had a three month stint as an Astrologer
writing Horoscopes for the Shallowfield and Childean Chronicle while the
regular astrology numpty, Mystique, went travelling to the East to find herself.
That gig ended when she returned having only got as far East as Sharpington.
But after that the block returned and he tried everything to break it, he even
moved to Paris in an effort to immerse himself in its vibrant and colourful
landscape with the hope that it might stimulate his writers bent but he just
ended up getting pissed a lot.
So he reached the
fulcrum, he was 27 years old staring into the abyss of his thirties and the
money he had accrued from his successful phase as an Author was now running
dry.
He had a stark choice
to make, firstly he could blow the rest of his savings on a ticket to the states
and join the swelling number of University graduates already there and try to
compete with the fertile minds of those unconstrained by his affliction.
Secondly he could give
up writing and get a proper job, a teacher maybe or God forbid an editor or
thirdly his personal favourite, pray hard so he could just shake the writer’s
block.
As luck would have it,
he didn’t need to make a decision, as fate took a hand when his Uncle Glyn died
on New Year’s Day and left him his Cottage in Denmead and a small cash sum,
more than enough to keep him going for a few more years.
Owen’s Uncle Glyn died
on New Year’s Day and left him his Cottage and a small cash sum more than
enough to keep him going for a few more years.
He left it to him
because he felt they were kindred spirits, he wanted to be a writer himself but
his father made him get a proper job, Owen really liked him and he was a great story
teller, and it was his Uncles colourful tales that helped him when he was writing
his novels.
His death came as a
shock as it was sudden though not unsurprising given his life style.
So that was how he
found himself living in a lovely Victorian Cottage in the quaint Downshire
Village of Denmead.
It was a very tranquil
place though not without its distractions.
From his study he
could look out through the open French windows and across the expanse of lawn
to a stand of ancient woodland, there was no fence to separate garden and wood
the two just merged.
And on the other side
of the wood was the hub of the village, the Green Oak, everyone seemed to go
there at some point, either for a drink, the restaurant or the coffee suite.
So it was while he was
still in the grip of his writer’s block that he set off for a walk through the
Normandie woods seeking inspiration.
It was a glorious day
at the beginning of May, unseasonably warm in fact and after an hour he had
worked up a thirst so he headed towards the Green Oak.
When he got there,
there seemed to be a big do on at the pub but he made his way to the bar anyway
and he was pleased to see the gorgeous Juliana Molesworth was serving.
Ever since he first
met her he’d had a soft spot for Juliana, and he often fantasized about her.
She was only just
twenty and he later found out she was home for the weekend from Abbottsford
University where she was studying English and creative writing.
Since his arrival in
the village back in January and it being known he was a writer it was perhaps
not unsurprising that they would gravitate toward each other.
They had talked many
times about her various writing assignments, which were her opportunity to pick
his brains on writing issues and his chance to admire her at close quarters.
She was five foot
eight with short curly red hair, stunning blue eyes and a gorgeous figure and
stella legs.
As she was working the
bar that day she was dressed in her uniform of short black skirt and crisp
white blouse.
“Hello stranger” She
said smiling broadly
“I was wondering if you
might pop in”
“Hi Juliana” he
replied, “I’ve come out looking for a muse”
Juliana raised an
enquiring eyebrow
“Writers block”
She nodded
understandingly
“Do you want the
usual?”
“Yes please” he
replied looking around at his fellow guests “oh and have one yourself”
“I’ll have one later,
if that’s ok?” she said as she set a pint of Mornington on the counter in front
of him.
“No problem”
Just then a loud group
of punters arrived at the bar demanding her attention.
“I’ll see you later”
Owen said and went in search of inspiration.
Owen left the Green
Oak after finishing his pint, he would have had a second but it was too noisy
so he set off for a walk around the village and headed towards the Church of
Saint Jane Frances de Chantal and then he spent another two hours strolling
around the environs of Denmead and found himself back in Normandie woods hot,
tired and still lacking inspiration.
The combination of drinking
at lunchtime and the heat of the sun had left him light headed so he was glad
to be in the woods within striking distance of the cool sanctuary of the
cottage.
He had just stepped
beyond the tree line onto the fringe of his lawn when he was hailed by a voice
from behind him.
He turned around and saw
gorgeous Juliana emerge from the woods, he assumed she must have finished work
for the day as she had changed out of her uniform and was wearing a lovely
green summer dress and having caught a glimpse of her bra strap he imagined
that everything beneath her dress matched.
“If you’ve finished
work come and have that drink” he said
“Ok, I was hoping
you’d say that” she said and sat on the patio while he opened the back door and
went inside, he returned a minute or so later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Did you find her?” She
asked
“I’m sorry?”
“Your muse” she
clarified
“Alas no” he replied
“She was conspicuous by her absence”
“Oh dear” she said
“Would it help to talk to me about it”
“Well I need all the
help I can get” he said “I’ll get my laptop”
He opened his laptop
and set it in front of her and the screen showed an open page in Word headed
“An Untitled Screenplay by Owen Carrington” and below it was one other word
“The” followed by a space and the pulsing cursor.
“Oh dear” she exclaimed
“You really do need help”
“I do have a synopsis”
he said defensively
“Can I see it?” she
asked
He used the mouse pad
to open another word document and then let her read it.
After that they sat
and drank and talked and typed for the next two hours when the temperature
started to dip so they moved indoors.
“Would you like
another drink?” he asked
“I’d rather have a
sandwich” she replied
“Oh I think I can do better
than that” he said “Do you like pasta?”
“Oh yes” she replied
and half an hour later he put a steaming bowl of pasta in front of her.
After the food they
sat and drank and talked and typed some more and at some point over the next
three hours they both dozed off.
After a nap of
indeterminate length he awoke to find Juliana leaning against him with her head
on his shoulder and he smiled and kissed the top of her head.
“Come on sleepy head”
he said as he gently woke her “I’ll walk you home”
As he walked her home
in the moonlight she suddenly asked
“So am I your muse?”
“If you want the job
it’s yours”
“Well you really do
need one” she said “But I was really hoping for something more” and she stood
on tiptoe and kissed him
“Well why can’t you be
both?” he suggested
“Yes please” she
replied and they kissed again.
“Well that was an
interesting day” he said as he climbed into his bed and as he drifted off to
sleep he reran the most interesting aspects of the day through his head, namely
the goodnight kiss with Juliana in which she had said she wanted to be his
girlfriend.
He began his sojourn
that morning searching for a muse and by the time the day as ended he had found
her and she was so much more to him than a muse.
He woke in the early
hours of the morning with his head buzzing with words and phrases so he got up
and went to his study where he opened his laptop, and selected the page that
had become so familiar to him headed “An Untitled Screenplay by Owen
Carrington” and below it was one other word “The” followed by a space and the
cursor pulsing, impatiently awaiting input, almost like it was tapping its foot
as it stood ever ready to receive further instructions so he sat down and miraculously
he began to type the words the cursor craved and they flowed out of him like a
river, if not a torrent.
Four hours later he stopped typing but only then because he was hungry and he
found he had typed five chapters.
Owen was euphoric,
with Juliana as his muse and love he had broken his block.
He went to the kitchen
and ate a hearty breakfast but decided on a hot shower before continuing and
while he was showering his mind was buzzing again but this time it was purely
thoughts of Juliana and when was he going to see her again.
He dressed for the day
with the intention of going to track her down but when he looked at the clock
it wasn’t even 7 o’clock.
So he returned to his
computer having deferred his search for his new love until a more respectable
hour and as soon as he sat down the river of words flowed again and he
continued to write for the rest of the morning and he only stopped then when he
caught sight of Juliana coming across the lawn.
He rushed out to greet
her and a passionate kiss soon followed and they spent the rest of the day
together, with him writing on his laptop and her reading the finished chapters.
So that was how
Juliana the muse and Owen the writer came to be together and thanks to a
beautiful student his writer’s block was gone, and although he had begun by
trying to write a screenplay he actually ended up writing a book which didn’t
perturb him in the slightest.
The screenplay would
come later and he would collaborate on it with Juliana.
The genre was a new
departure for him too as he was more used to gritty crime stories and so he was
surprised that it appeared he had a
penchant for writing romantic novels, with a hint of bodice ripping.
The knowledge gained
from his time as an agony aunt would no doubt be invaluable.
However he decided not to publish under the name of Owen Carrington but rather decided to use a pen name and the one he settled on was Clarissa Greenoak, not chosen because the use of a classy name might lend the book some literary weight but because it was the name of a girl and that always sold better than a man.
The village of
Highfinch sits just on the edge of the Pepperstock Hills and the Lily Green
Hollows Golf Club separates the village from the Hamlet of Lily Green, and the
combination of those two and Kingfisherbridge made up the parish of St Martins.
Among the residents of
Highfinch was Marina Salem who was one of the practise nurses, at the Highfinch
Doctors Surgery.
She was a tall and slender
girl with jet black hair and alabaster complexion and part of her duties
involved home visits, because the district nursing teams in Purplemere and Finchbottom
wouldn’t go that far out into the Vale.
The Finchbottom Vale
which nestles comfortably between the Ancient Dancingdean Forest to the south
and the rolling Pepperstock Hills in the north, and those who are lucky enough
to live there think of it as the rose between two thorns.
The Vale was once a
great wetland that centuries earlier stretched from Mornington in the East to
Childean in the west and from Shallowfield in the south to Purplemere in the north.
But over the many
centuries the vast majority had been drained for agriculture, a feat achieved
largely by the efforts of the famous Mornington Mills, of which only three had
survived to the present day and even those were no longer functional and were in
various states of repair, the result of the reclamation of the Vale was a large
and sparsely populated area.
The Dancingdean Health
Centre in Shallowfield covered much of the Southern Vale, Childean serviced the
East and Purplemere and Finchbottom, the North.
But the Western end of
the Vale was made up of sizable Villages with their own Doctors Surgeries so
they fended for themselves.
Which was why Marina
did home visits and on one seemingly normal day, her final call was in
Kingfisherbridge at White Rose Cottage.
Marina was twenty seven
years old but looked much younger but professionally she was a first class nurse
despite her age.
Her patient that day
was Paul Russell, a sergeant in the Downshire Light Infantry.
He had been severely
wounded by an IED in Afghanistan his left leg had gone below the knee and his
right just above and his physical wounds had all but healed, but that wasn’t
where his real problems lay.
Marina’s job was to
manage his medication and massage what remained of his legs or more accurately
his stumps and to try and raise his spirits.
She knocked on the door
and a moment or so later Mrs Russell, the patient’s mother answered the door.
“Hello dear” she said
“Hello Mrs Russell” Marina
said “How’s the patient today?”
“The same” she said
blankly “I don’t know how to help him”
“Just be supportive”
She said
“It’s hard though
dear” she said putting on her coat and going to the foot of the stairs.
“Paul! The nurse is
here” she shouted up the stairs “the pretty one with the black hair”
Marina smiled and Mrs Russell
said
“You can go up when
you’re ready, I need to do some shopping”
The Taliban may have
been responsible for taking his legs but Paul Russell’s other problems were of
his own making.
It was no wonder his mother
was so exasperated as his self-esteem had been blown away along with his legs
in fact it was less than zero as he never ventured out of his room and he hid
from the world.
He drove his fiancé
Karen away because he thought she was only staying with him out of pity, which
she wasn’t.
But over the six
months she had been seeing him she had seen a small improvement.
Marina walked up the
stairs and found Paul lying on his bed with his eyes closed as if he’d fallen
asleep in front of the TV and he never stirred even when she knocked on the
door.
She knew he was awake,
it was a game he played on some of her visits, pretending to sleep and so as
not having to engage in any kind of conversation.
“Hello Paul” she said
but there was no response.
“So we’re playing that
game again are we? Very well if that’s what you want”
It had been a long
tedious shift so she was in no mood to take any shit from him.
Over the months she
had been visiting him, twice a week, sometimes three times, she had got quite
good at reading him and she thought she was making progress but then he started
with the silent treatment again.
She pulled back the
covers roughly to expose his mutilations and she noticed his body tense.
As usual he was only wearing
a t-shirt and a pair of army green boxer shorts.
She opened her bag and
took out a tube of bio oil and began to massage it into the skin on his stumps
and thighs.
She continued to chat
to him all the while she was massaging him even though she got no response.
When she had finished
she recovered the remains of his legs and said
“Ok Paul I’m all done,
I won’t be coming again I’ll get Eileen to take over”
At this point, Paul
vocalized for the first time
“No don’t do that”
“Oh he speaks” Marina
taunted “but I’m afraid it’s too late”
“No please” he begged
“You’ll like Eileen
she doesn’t do small talk either” she said “so you’ll get on like a house on
fire”
“But I want you” he
insisted
“Why?” he said “When
you lie there pretending to be asleep all the time I’m here”
“Because…”
“Because what?” she
pressed him
“Because I’ll miss you
if you stop coming” he replied
“Well if you keep your
eyes shut you can pretend it’s me” Marina said
“I’ll know” he said
“How?” she scoffed
“How exactly would you know?”
“Because of your
footfalls on the stairs, the sound of your breathing, your perfume and your
gentle touch” he said “that’s how I’d know”
“Well that’s an eye
opener” she thought
They spent the half an
hour after his disclosure that he would miss her if she stopped seeing him, chatting
it through and she said she wouldn’t go through with her threat to hand his
case on to Eileen on condition that he engaged with her and started to wear his
prosthetic’s.
He promised her that
he would, and she took him at his word.
By rights she should
have reported Paul’s declaration to Lorraine Weaving, the practice manager, and
taken herself off his case, but she didn’t, and at first she wasn’t sure why,
any emotional attachment with patients was strictly a no no.
As she walked down the
path towards the lane Marina thought that was a job well done and she was
feeling very pleased with herself as she made her way to the car, because she
felt she had made real progress and that mattered to her a lot, and more than any
other patient for some reason.
When she reached the bottom
the car Mrs Russell was just coming up the lane.
“Hello Mrs Russell” Marina
said
“Are you off dear?”
she asked “How’s the boy?”
“You know, I think we
may have turned a corner” she replied
“Oh I do hope so dear”
Mrs Russell said with a sigh
“He has promised to
start wearing his legs” Marina said
“Really?” his mum said
“That is progress”
“A bit of gentle
nagging may be required” Marina said
“Oh I think I can
manage that dear” she said
Over the following
weeks Paul was good to his word and he engage fully with her and he had been
wearing his legs more and the evidence of that was clear to see on his stumps.
He had also started
going to the Downshire Light Infantry barracks in Nettlefield once a week.
So he was making
tremendous progress and she knew that she would have to discharge him very soon
and she should have been happy about that.
Throughout its history
the Finchbottom Vale was largely dependent on agriculture and so it remained
into the 21st century but many and varied occupations and endeavour’s thrived
alongside the traditional rural livelihood’s but whichever path Paul chose in
the future it was going to be a difficult one, but one thing was for certain
his military career was over.
Marina’s job was to
manage Paul’s medication and massage what remained of his legs or more
accurately his stumps, but when she visited him her biggest challenge was to
cure his near terminal case of self-pity and low self-esteem.
One day her schedule was
lighter than usual so she was expecting a prolonged visit with Paul, as she
walked along the path to white Rose Cottage a couple were just leaving the house
next door and as was her habit she smiled and said
“Good morning”
And genuinely expected
the customary response of echoing the greeting but instead got something quite
different.
“I’ll give you good
morning you skinny slut” she bawled
“You keep your eyes
off my husband”
Marina was not,
despite her slender stature, averse to the idea or indeed the execution of
launching the gobby bitch over the hedge into the lupines but instead chose
something that would enrage her even more.
She did think to say that
if she wanted her husband she’d have him but thought that might be too
inflammatory.
So instead, as she
stood on the doorstep waiting for Mrs. Russell to answer the door.
She gave the husband
another smile, this was accompanied by a long appraising stare followed by a
wink and the man’s wife launched into a tirade of abuse which was made worse by
the fact Marina smiled at the woman as she was raging.
The poor husband had
to physically restrain her and manhandle her towards their car.
The last thing she was
expecting when she said good morning to them was to be verbally abused and
warned to stay away from her husband by her patient’s gobby neighbour
In truth Marina hadn’t
really looked at her husband and when she did look him over after the event she
didn’t think he was anything special, besides her interests lay elsewhere.
Mrs Russell opened the
door.
“Hello dear” she said
“I see you’ve met the new
neighbours”
“Yes” Marina said
still smiling “she’s a colourful character”
“Well her language certainly
is” Mrs R said and then added “He’s nice though”
After having done the
usual massage treatment in the lounge they sat on the patio and she said
“You’re doing really
well so I’m going to have to cut you down to one visit a week, but you need to
build up the muscle in your right hip and thigh, so in addition to your
sessions in Nettlefield I want you to see the physio at the surgery once a week”
“I’d rather go
fishing” he said which Marina thought was encouraging but not as important to
his recovery.
“You won’t get your
muscles stronger sitting on a river bank” she said
“Lake” he corrected
her
“What?”
“I prefer lakes to
rivers” he said
“Well Sgt pedantic my
answer is still the same” Marina said, looked at her watch and drained her cup
and was about to leave when she had a thought
“I will do a deal with
you” she said “If you do, let’s say 4 physio sessions I’ll take you fishing”
“Deal” he said and
held out his hand to shake, which she took and the pair only released each
other’s hands when Mrs Russell emerged from the house to collect the cups.
When she left the Russell’s
after about forty minutes she saw the angry neighbour’s husband walking back
towards her.
Despite her smiley
response to the initial assault Marina was actually quite hurt.
She’d never thought of
herself as a slut, in fact she had only had three sexual partners and she had
never even kissed another woman’s man.
She was a bit angrier
now the insults had sunk in and she was up for a fight so she braced herself.
“I’m sorry about
earlier” he said completely disarming her. “My wife is very jealous and it makes
her a bit crazy”
“Where is she now?” she
asked
“At work” he replied
“Come in for a coffee,
by way of an apology”
Although she had
plenty of time she politely declined his offer because she had something on her
mind.
It was on the 1st of
July and although her schedule was very heavy in the morning she would make
sure she got her full allotted time with Sgt Russell, but it was with a little
sadness that she approached the Russell’s Cottage for the final time.
There was no confrontation
with the neighbor’s on that occasion as she walked along the path, though she
did notice the curtain twitch, so Marina turned and smiled.
There was no repeat of
the verbal abused by the neighbour’s wife who had previously, and completely
unprovoked, called her vile names and warned her to keep away from her husband.
“Good morning” she
said when Mrs. Russell answered the door
“Hello dear” she said
“my word its busy this morning”
“Yes?” Marina said
“Oh yes dear” she
confirmed “We have a real house full”
“Well it’s my last visit
today” Freya said
“I know dear” Mrs R
said “We’ll miss you”
When Marina went inside
she found the patio was full of soldiers and she got a very rousing welcome.
That afternoon she was
back in the surgery running the clinic and she was walking towards reception
with practice manager Lorraine Weaving, who was completely bald.
But as she approached
the seating area she spotted her wounded soldier, obviously waiting for his 4th
physio appointment.
“Come on Lorraine I’ll
introduce you to my soldier”
“Oh ok” Lorraine
retorted, who actually had no interest whatsoever in meeting her soldier.
“Hello serge” Marina
said and then realised he was not alone
“Hi Marina, this if my
CO” Paul said “Captain Loosemore”
“Pleased to meet you
Captain” Marina said “This is my colleague Lorraine Weaving”
“Peter” he said and
shook Lorraine’s hand
Lorraine liked him,
his handshake was firm, his handsome face was warm and open and his voice was
like honey on her ears.
“Peter” she said
“I’ll take you through
Paul” Marina said and left the Captain and Lorraine in reception still shaking
hands.
As she walked with him
to the Physio room he said
“You know this is
session number 4”
“I do”
“So you know what that
means then” he added
“Yes, I have to take
you fishing” Marina said
“So?”
“So it’s my day off on
Friday” she replied so I’ll pick you up at nine”
“Great” he said and
put his hand on the doorknob
“Oh what should I
wear?” she asked as an afterthought
“It doesn’t matter
you’ll look great whatever you wear” Paul replied “But no heels”
There were only three
small bodies of water left in the Vale by the 21st Century, one in Mornington,
one in Childean and third of course was in Purplemere.
And it was Purplemere
that they headed for, it wasn’t his favourite of the Mere’s but it was the most
accessible to him until he got better on his legs.
But although it wasn’t
his favourite lake he did have a favourite pitch at Purplemere.
It was a warm sunny July
day by the mere so he set up the folding chairs on the little peninsula where
they could fish beneath the shade of his favourite old oak tree.
Once they had set up
he showed her the basic principle of casting and then he said
“Come and stand in
front of me and look towards the water”
Marina did as she was
told and he was stood behind her holding the rod in his right hand but before
he could show her any more she turned around and kissed him and after a full minute
she said
“Look what I caught”
In response Paul dropped
his rod and wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss.
