The earlier you do something

I always had a great relationship with my parents. But especially father. He was quite happy for me to learn from my own mistakes. My mother, on the other hand, was more keen on trying to stop me from making impulsive decisions and getting me to think things through.

In many ways, I don’t blame her, especially when I was naturally an adventurous child, and ready to trust and love my Dad.

Well…. you have to be when he was the knife thrower in the circus, and you’re only 5!

The Letter

Ted got home from work feeling tired.  As the door opened, he saw the envelope with the hospital’s name on it.  His mouth went dry.  He picked the letter up and went into the kitchen, leaving the rest of the junk mail on the floor.

 

He sat on a chair at the kitchen table and opened the letter with trembling hands.  He gasped involuntarily at the news the letter contained.  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes – his usual habit when he had had a shock.  He looked at the contents and then threw the packet from him, whilst desperately feeling that he really needed the nicotine hit.  They’d have to go…and quickly.  What impact would it have if was not able to stop smoking?

 

He re-read the letter – part of him hoping he’d read it incorrectly.  No – the words were still the same.  His head started to spin as the implications of the words really started to bite home.  He felt sick to his stomach.

 

He’d have to change his whole lifestyle.  No more booze or takeaway meals.  Months of medical interventions.  Changes to his body that he didn’t want.  How many of his ‘friends’ would stick by him?  Would people point at him in the street and call him a freak due to the physical changes his body would display?  And what about the pain? He’d never really thought about that. He put his head in his hands and almost cried.  Why him?  What had possessed him to do what he had done?  Then, the sensible side of him took him by the shoulders and shook him.

 

“What’s done is done,” his sensible side said to him.  “You just have to square your shoulders and get on with it.”

 

Ted knew his sensible side was right.  But it still didn’t take the sense of panic and fear away from him completely.  All he knew was that what was left of his life would change forever.  And that scared him so much.

 

He decided to take his mind off things by making a meal.  He usually had sausage and chips on Tuesdays.  Thinking as healthily as he could, he decided to make an omelette.  Once he had made it, he found that his appetite had deserted him completely.  But, he knew he had to eat, so he forced down a few mouthfuls.  But that was all.

 

He picked up the letter again and re-read it….the news was still the same.

 

Dear Mr Jarvis,

 

We have the results of your tests.   We are pleased to inform you that you are the first man in the world to be pregnant.

 

Congratulations.

Dr M Wilson.

 

 

Ted held his stomach and wondered how much labour would hurt.

 

 

Welcome to Hell

CYSWIIY? (Can You See What It Is Yet?)

[As this monologue is being delivered, Sonia writes the acronyms on the white board)

I sometimes wonder if I’ve lost the ability to understand the English language. A bit of a blow if I have – seeing that I teach it at A level. Okay, I know language changes – it’s inevitable. It’s the speed at which it’s changing within my role as a lecturer that’s leaving me baffled.

I’ve just come out of a meeting with the SMT (Senior Management Team, apparently). The usual round of “You must all work harder.” Wonder if they sell extra hours on e-bay? I might be able to get through everything with another – say – four hours a day.

Anyway, back to the meeting. There were abbreviations and acronyms being flung about with gay abandon by the new principal and his new team. Not many of them actually made any sense to us plebs at the bottom of the pecking order – sorry, the DT (delivery team). Didn’t realise I’d been made into a midwife! No doubt the pregnant women will be lining the corridors and I’ll have to deliver babies whilst talking about the vagaries of grammar to the AS students. At least I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what the damn things meant. Anyway, we had a good time making up what we thought they meant, though, when we left the meeting.

QIF (pronounced ‘quiff’) put us all in mind of Teddy Boys. Quite ironic really – Tony who told us all about what the QIFs had been up to in the past few months, is quite bald (sorry – folically challenged). Unfortunately, because we don’t know what QIF actually is, we came up with the following: ‘Quick in Fights’ or ‘Quiche Inside Farms’ or ‘Quite Inferior Fools’ (appropriate given our view of management). Any of them would have done, really.

Then we had ALPS. Thought they were a mountain range myself. Perhaps we’re sending our students for yodelling lessons as part of our EP (Enrichment Programme).

ALIS? In the words of Chubby Brown, who the **** is Alice?

Sorry if I’m teaching my granny to suck eggs, but all of these acronyms are new to us in FE.

CIT? Communists In Transit? Can I teach? Catch Infamous Tourists? Clowns In Toupees?  (Another appropriate one for management, perhaps?

We’ve decided that at the next meeting we’re going to play Acronym Bingo. Sue’s going to put together the cards and we mark off the acronyms or abbreviations that are used at the next meeting. A pound a card – winner takes all. Or, should that be WTA?

We were all reminded by our sympathetic head of HR (surely you all know what that is – no? Human Resources) that if we have student contact above the hours on our timetable that we are entitled to TOIL. (Time off in Lieu), but it must be taken in the following week. Who are they kidding? Our time-tables allow us on average an hour off a day.   We’re on that many committees now that you haven’t got time to blow your nose, let alone have a lie in!

The one we are all familiar with now, is MIS (Management Information Services, just in case you didn’t know). However, the bright sparks down in the Corridor of Power – COP? – haven’t realised that the sign they’ve had put on the office door actually reads MIS Information. How appropriate.

The final point at the meeting was that our departments within the sixth form area of the college were going to be renamed. We needed to pass suggestions on to the HoD (visions of bricklayers bum-cleavage – not a pretty thought) who would, in turn, pass the suggestions on to the HoF (Head of Faculty). An appropriate name would be chosen from those supplied.

Of course, all of this eventually led at our informal debriefing (i.e. over coffee) to creating our own acronyms and abbreviations. If any of us have the guts, we’re going to try to get these in to the next DM (Departmental Meeting). Our hypothesis is that those from the SMT will just nod wisely when we use them.

The first suggestion – from Jo who teaches psychology – is that we should refer to the meeting as the WHITMA Meeting. (What the Hell Is This Meeting About?) We’ve decided on the following:

FUs (Funding Units) to refer to students. Actually, it’s quite an appropriate one in relation to the students in the disaffected unit. The acronym is also an abbreviation of their favourite phrase. Apparently, it’s often used in the text messages that they send to each other.

Teaching staff should now be referred to as OOPs (Overworked, Oppressed Persons).

Lessons will be known as PIEs (Process (or Product) Information Exchanges.

We will also be having OTOS (One-to-one sessions) with our FUs at various points during the year.

We were desperately trying to get the acronym PHuCKED for our department. We managed Psychology, Humanities, English and Department. We were literally Phucked trying to get the ‘c’ and the ‘k’ in there. Not that we thought that the name would get anywhere, but it raised a laugh or two in the desperate climate that we seem to be in at the moment.

***

[Monologue moves to next week – shown by Sonia having a change of clothing]

Just back from the latest meeting. Completely surprised. Our department is now known as Humanities, English Languages and Law – HELL. Seems that the acronym has been completely overlooked by our leaders.

Just check my email.   What’s this – a missive from HR.

[Reads email aloud].

The Principalship would like to remind all those in HELL that they are entitled to TOIL next week due to staff attending Parents’ Evening for AS Students.

 

Well, what do you know, maybe the SMT do have a sense of humour after all!

Harry and the New World Order

Harry was busy in the greenhouse planting up tomato seeds. An astute peeping tom would have known by the set of his face and the energy he was putting into planting the seeds that he was annoyed. If they’d stayed a little longer, they’ve have noticed that, after about ten minutes, the therapeutic effect of planting started to relax him.

Inside Harry’s head, the angry thoughts were being replaced by bewilderment. “Why can’t I understand what people are talking about any more?” He thought.

It hadn’t always been like this. At one time, Harry had been able to understand exactly what people were talking about. He missed the old terms that people used. His thoughts turned back to his first job at the ‘big house’ as an assistant gardener. The head gardener, Mr Andrews, had spoken of chains and furlongs and acres. They meant something to Harry. Now people spoke of hectares. To Harry this word conjured up visions of plant hunters finding vetch instead of an exotic specimen in some far-flung place.   He could imagine them shouting , “Heck! Tares!” at their find. The image made him chuckle as he planted the last of his tomato seeds.

That evening, Harry turned on the television. Even the news was at it – using words that he didn’t understand. At the end of the local news, the announcer informed him that he could, “Download the news onto his iPod.” Shortly after, Harry dozed off. As he napped he dreamt of shelling peas for Sunday lunch. However, these pea-pods came complete with fluttering eyelashes. The peas inside the pods had whites and irises. The eyes rolled around in disgust as they were lowered into the pan of boiling water. The nightmare made Harry wake with a start.

Casualty was on. It, too, was full of terms that meant nothing to him. “I’ve never had a day’s illness in my life compared to that poor lot,” he thought. However, the mere mention of ‘SHOs’ meant that he didn’t have a clue what was being spoken about. He wondered if SHO meant ‘Small Human Organs’.   It was no good. He couldn’t concentrate on the programme now.

With a sigh, he changed the channel. ITV was showing a police drama. It too, was filled with words and phrases that meant nothing to him. Someone was shouting for someone else to inform SOCO. “Must the name of a senior police officer,” he mused. However, the person who turned up and announced himself as SOCO was nothing more than the man who took fingerprints. Then someone else turned up and announced that they were SOCO. By now, Harry was more confused than ever – perhaps they were brothers, but that seemed a little unusual.

He tried another channel. A wildlife programme with Bill Oddie was on. He settled back and watched it. At least there weren’t any strange words in here. He enjoyed the programme. It was just a shame that so many of the creatures were so rare nowadays.

***

The next few days were spent with Harry having little contact with the outside world. Well, no-one really has time for a widower, do they? He collected his daily paper and bought a leg of lamb from the Bob the butcher.

“Emma and her two boys are coming for the weekend,” he informed Bob as he weighed the leg.

“That’ll make a nice change for you, Harry. They don’t get down that much now, do they? The boys must be quite grown up now. “

“Aye, Tom’s sixteen and Richard’s fourteen.”

“That’ll be £8.79, please.”

“How much?”

“Well, lamb’s nearly £3.50 a kilo.”

“Oh!” Harry replied as he handed over the ten pound note. He wasn’t going to let on to Bob that he didn’t know understand how heavy a kilo was.

On his way home, Harry thought about Emma’s call.

“Sorry, Dad, but John can’t make it. He’s working.”

“It’s not right, love. Work and home life should be separate. It’s wrong the way companies want people’s heart and soul nowadays,” he’d responded.

“It’s not like that now, Dad. Everyone’s worried about their jobs. We’re lucky that I’m working.”

Harry knew that it wouldn’t be long before the ‘boys’ wouldn’t want to be dragged down to visit an aging old man that they barely knew. He went to the greenhouse and wondered how work had taken over people’s lives as he watered his tomato seeds.

***

Emma, Tom and Richard arrived. Emma looked tired. Tom and Richard were at that gangly stage teenage boys seemed to reach. To Harry their hair was too long and their jeans too slack. At sixteen Tom was studying for his A levels and Richard was constantly tired.

“Stick in, son, you’ve got chances that me and your grandma never had. Education’s a wonderful thing,” he told Tom.

“Yeah.   Sure,” Tom replied with the indifference of a teenager who doesn’t realise the chances that he actually has.

Harry turned his attention to his youngest grandson. “And what are you doing with yourself?”

“Nothing much. Mainly playing with my Wii. Thanks for the Christmas money, though,” Richard answered brightly.

Harry went red and walked into the kitchen. Emma followed him.

“What’s up, Dad? I know that the boys should have written you a thank you letter for the money for Christmas…”

“It’s not that, love. I know that I didn’t have much of a hand in bringing you up. And I know that modern ideas of how to be a parent have moved on, but surely you need to draw the line somewhere.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll get Richard to say thank you for the money you sent, too.”

“I’m not talking about the money, love. There’s more important things than that. I mean, Richard’s nearly fifteen. Surely it’s not normal.”

“What’s not normal?

“Well…you know…I mean…surely he’s potty trained by now. I’m sure he was the last time he visited.”

Emma suddenly stopped looking puzzled and broke into hysterical laughter.

“What? What’s so funny?” Harry asked, reddening from embarrassment now.

“Wii isn’t…wee. Wii’s the name of a computer game thing that all the kids are after now. He’s not playing with his wee, he’s playing with his Wii,” Emma explained as tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks.

Harry still felt embarrassed. It was another example of how he didn’t understand what people were talking about any more. In an attempt to deflect the laughter, he asked about her.

“I’m fine,” she replied. The laughter replaced by a fleeting worried glance.

“Is there anything else, love?”

“Well, to be honest, there’s talk of redundancies at John’s works. We haven’t told Richard or Tom yet. We don’t want them to know until the last minute. You won’t say anything to them, will you?”

“Of course not, love. They don’t use that word now, though, do they? It’s downsizing now, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s meant to sound less threatening to the workforce,” Emma explained.

“ I was made redundant twice. It’s not pleasant, but you get through it. The way that me and your Mum used to look at it was that we had a long way to fall before we landed in the gutter.”

“I know. It’s still scarey though.”

“Come on, we’ll go and water the plants in the garden. It’ll make you feel better.

The weekend passed without any further complications. At least Tom and Richard didn’t speak in the way that left Harry baffled when he passed others their age in the street. Sometimes he felt that teenagers were speaking a completely different language to English.

***

The trusses on Harry’s tomatoes were doing well. They’d be ready just in time for the village show.   The phone was ringing as Harry entered the kitchen after tending to them.

“Hi, Dad, just to let you know, John hasn’t been downsized. His SMT called everyone together who was keeping their jobs at lunchtime today. He’ll get an official letter in the next day or two.”

“Oh, love, that’ll be a weight off your mind.

“It is. Anyway I just thought that I’d tell you the good news. We thought that we’d kept it from the boys. Turns out that they’d been wondering if we were going to get divorced. They’d picked up on the tension that’s been in the atmosphere at home over the last few months. At least everything’s sorted out now.”

Harry didn’t like to say that he didn’t know what an SMT was. To him, it could have meant anything from ‘Supermarket Traders’ to ‘Silly Mouse Traitors’. At least whatever it was, it meant that Emma and the boys were safe from having to ‘downsize’ to a smaller house.

On TV that night, Harry heard about mosquitoes being used to deter teenagers from congregating outside of shops. Initially, Harry thought the news reporter was referring to the aeroplanes that he was used to from WWII. He soon learned that it was a small box which emitted a high-pitched sound that only those between certain ages could hear.

***

The day of the local flower, fruit and veg show arrived. The village hall was packed for the announcement of the winner of the overall competition.

“It was a difficult decision to make,” the Vicar announced, “but the overall prize goes to Harry Hunter.”

Beaming Harry went to the front to collect his £25 prize and the silver cup. He’d take the flowers he’d entered in the competition to the cemetery and show Connie the cup and tell her all about his achievement before he went home.

The Vicar was telling Harry in hushed tones why he had won the prize. “To be honest, harry, it was your downsized cherry tomatoes that did it. They were the smallest, but sweetest ones that we’ve ever had entered in the show.”

Harry burst out laughing. The Vicar looked puzzled.

“Sorry, Vicar,” Harry said, and then leaned forward and whispered his reason for laughing.

At the village dance, the Vicar took great delight in telling everyone what had made Harry laugh so much.

“He simply whispered to me: ‘I always thought that ‘downsizing’ was a silly word’.”

 

 

China Plate Quilt

I really love blue and white china.  I have a board on Pinterest where I pin examples that I come across.

I think it was that love that lead me to decide to make a blue and white floral quilt.  I knew I had a stash of blue and white fabric that I could use.  In fact – blue is the predominant colour that I have in my stash.

At the same time, I decided that I wanted to do something that wouldn’t be too fussy with the fabrics competing with each other.  So, I decided to make a ‘staggered’ quilt, as I also had some plain white fabric.

The end result has been a 38 x 53″ quilt that I love.  The border is a handprinted Paisley pattern cotton from India.

I’d love to hear if you have a predominant colour or pattern in your fabric stash.

Make sure you know what you’re talking about…

I’d definitely had enough of typing up writs, affidavits and taking statements from what were – in effect – career criminals.  I’d spent ten years in the litigation department of Budgen and Scrudge – the past three providing summer holiday cover whilst I completed my degree in English.

George Budgen, the senior partner, had called me into his office on my last week of the previous year’s cover.

“Any idea of what you’re going to do when you finish your degree?”

“I was thinking of doing my masters.”

“So it’s just a thought at the moment?”

“Yes, the alternative’s teaching or lecturing.”

“Hmm.  I see.  We were wondering if you’d be interested in taking up a post here?  We’d be prepared to pay for you to convert your degree so that you could practice law.”

I was taken aback by this.  It must have shown on my face because Mr Budgen said that he didn’t expect an answer immediately.  I could think about it.  In fact I had the full year to consider what to do.

“I think I do need some time to consider.  It’s a very tempting offer, though.”

“You’ll make more as a solicitor than you will as a teacher or academic.”

Despite this, deep down I knew that if I said ‘yes’, then I’d be trapped.  The contact that I’d be offered would probably have some sever clauses attached to it – as the company would be paying to convert my degree.  It wouldn’t’ surprise me if they said that I’d not only have to see clients but do my own secretarial duties (alongside studying) too.  I also presumed that I’d be tied to the company for a period of at least seven years so that they got their money’s worth out of me.  At least I had a year to make my mind up.

***

The next year I was making my way back to the office to do my very last stint of holiday cover – which I had agreed to do.  Mr Budgen had done his best in the year that had passed to try to get me to take up the offer that had been made the year before.  I explained that I really wanted to work in a field where I would be using my degree rather than just forgetting about it.

I was working for a new solicitor in a new sub-department of the litigation department – medical negligence.  Rupert Davenport was the company specialist in this area.  Usually, I’d only cover for about two weeks whilst the usual secretary was on holiday.  This time, however, I was booked to cover for at least six weeks.

“What’s the deal behind all this?” I asked Janice, who’d I be sharing an office with for the next six weeks.

Janice rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Rupert’s only been here six months but he’s gone through three secretaries already.  He gave Linda a nervous breakdown.”

“Linda?”

“Yeah.”

This news really shocked me.  Linda Greenford always said that she spoke her mind because it hurt to bite her tongue.  She’s always struck me as someone who wouldn’t stand any nonsense from anyone.  I’d always been a little wary of her.  I understand that she’d grown up on one of the rough social housing estates in the town.  She always struck me as being the type who’d hit first and then ask questions.

“So what about the other two?” I asked.

“Handed their notice in.”

“What’s the matter with him?  He’s not a lecherous pervert, is he?”

“No, it’s worse than that.  He’s an utter perfectionist.”

“Must be a Virgo like me,then.” I laughed.

“You’ve no idea.  Honest, I’m pleased you’re here.  I’ve had to do Jamie’s work and his since she went.  It’s been hell.”

Before Janice could tell me more, there was a bellow (honest, that’s the only way I can describe the sound) from down the corridor.

“Has the new skiver arrived yet?”

I raised my eyebrows, and Janice gave a look that said, “I told you.”

Rupert Davenport entered the room and I extended my hand.  “Hi, pleased to meet you.  I’m Alicia,” I said.

He ignored my proffered hand, “I’m Mr Davenport.  I expect the highest standards from my staff.  If any work doesn’t meet my high standards, you’ll know about it.  I take two sugars and milk in my tea and I have a cup at ten-thirty and three-thirty.”

He turned and headed to his office, leaving me open-mouthed and rather confused – was I a secretary or a tea-lady?

“And that’s just the start,” Janice said.

“What happens if he doesn’t get his tea at the appointed time – it’s clear that he doesn’t die of shock or thirst.”

“It varies. Depends on his mood.”

Once again I raised my eyebrows at this news.  I found myself being surprised at my own reactions.  Before I’d done my  degree I’d have accepted this rudeness.  I’d have thought that Rupert was above me socially based on his cut glass accent and the fact that he had a degree.  Now, however, I just thought he was a complete idiot who thought that he was better than anyone else.

I went into his office and saw that there were six piles of files with Dictaphone tapes.

“Am I right in thinking that the files nearest the door are the oldest and should be done first?” I asked.

“Of course, you stupid fool.  God save me from temps.” The latter comment was muttered under his breath.

I smiled , picked up the files and retreated back to Janice’s office.

“I see what you mean,” I said as I placed the micro-tape in the transcriber.

“Don’t delete anything from the computer until he’s signed it off,” Janice warned.  “If there are any errors at all in the work, he’ll go ballistic and if you’ve wiped the tape he’ll …well, he threw something at Linda, it bounced of her desk and almost hit me.”

“Thanks for the warning” I said.

As I began to type, I became aware of weaknesses in Rupert’s grammatical style.  There were some real bloopers in relation to word order.  However, as a mere fool, it wasn’t my place to rectify his errors, was it?  He was obviously quite capable of making a fool of himself to those who knew how to construct a sentence.

I was about half way through the tape when Rupert stormed through.  “It’s 10.35.  Where’s my tea?”

“Oh, I thought that because there were six piles of files to catch up with that you might either make your own tea or have asked if I’d like a cup,” I said innocently.

“Me, make tea?”

Rupert sounded as though I’d made the suggestion that he should cut his head off to cure a headache.

I shrugged, “Just a thought.  I’ll go and do it now.  Which is your cup?”

“It’s a china one with a gold rim.  There’s a matching saucer, too.”

“Okay,” I replied nonchalantly.  I avoided making any comment about the symbolism of a small dainty china cup representing a traditional view of a female as someone to be cherished and looked after.

As I only ever drink black coffee, I know from friends that my tea-making skills aren’t up to scratch.  I tend to do everything wrong – put the milk into the cup first and then add a teabag.  Today’s task threw me more – I was quite surprised to find that there were no tea-bags, but a box of real tea in the kitchen.  I couldn’t see a tea strainer anywhere, so I decided to improvise.  There was a blue ‘jiffy’ cloth with a few stains on it resting on the sin..  Other than that, it looked and smelled fairly new, so I draped this into Rupert’s cup, added a spoonful of tea leaves and then, when the kettle boiled, I carefully poured hot water into the draped cloth and then let the leaves ‘stew’ for a bit (or whatever it’s called when the tea gain’s strength).  I jiggled the jiffy cloth up and down until I thought that the tea in the cup looked tea coloured and then took that and my black coffee upstairs.

I finished the tape that I’d been working on and went back to Rupert’s office.  I made sure that I knocked on his door before entering – well, he may have been doing something unmentionable, such as being cheerful or at least smiling. Even the “Come” command sounded so false.  Who the hell said that nowadays? Anyways, unlike Linda, I did bite my tongue – I simply smiled and picked up the next pile of files and tapes.  I did, however, notice that very little of the tea had been drunk.

“Was the tea okay?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, yes.  Just got carried away with work; didn’t have time to finish it.”

Ironically, this time I believed him.  I was sure that if he’d had time to drink the tea then I’d have been on the receiving end of some flack.

The next tape accompanied one file.  From experience I knew that this meant that one of the file needed a lot of work on it.  Inwardly, I supressed a groan as I realised that there seemed to be several statements that I needed to type for this particular case.

I’d just started on the second statement for the relevant case when a highly irate Rupert burst in to the office.

“And just what the fuck do you think this is?” he bellowed, thrusting a piece of paper into my face.

If I’d had my wits about me I wouldn’t have backed away from the paper.  I’d have simply said, “Excuse me, no on in my family talks to me like that, or thrusts things in my face like that, so I won’t take it from a stranger.”  However, I took the paper from him and looked at it.  There was a big red cross through the word ‘worth’ where I had actually transposed the letters ‘h’ and ‘t’ so that the word said ‘worht’.

“You stupid bitch, get this sorted.  I know what you’re work’s like now.  So from now on I expect everything to be perfect before I get it passed to me.  Type this fucking letter up again or sort it out or whatever you do with it.”

Before I could respond, he had stormed off and slammed the door to his office.

“Are you okay?” Janice asked.  She seemed more shaken than I was.

“Yes.  Can I borrow your dictionary a minute?” I asked.

“Yeah.  Here.”

“Thanks.”

I checked to see that the work I wanted was in the dictionary and was pleased to find that it was.

Once I’d checked, I went into the template letter that was sent out to accompany statements for Rupert’s letters and made a change to the relevant word.

This done, I continued typing the statements and had them finished by the time that I was almost ready to go to lunch.  I added the letter with the word change that I’d made to it.  I knew that there would be sparks, but I was ready for them.

I went into Rupert’s room with the statements and picked up the next pile of files.  My entrance was met with a sigh that suggested that I was nothing but an inconvenience.

Honestly, I’m not a violent person, but at that moment, I could have poked him in the eye with a blunt pencil.  Instead, I chose to give him what I thought was an enigmatic smile over my shoulder as I left the room.

I was just about to go out for lunch when he appeared at my desk.  His face was so red that I thought that he was going to have a heart attack.

“Are you completely dumb.  Aren’t secretaries supposed to be able to spell?” He yelled at me, thrusting papers in my face which I took to be the ones which I had just typed.

“Yes, I can spell. “

The visual response to this was stunning – I’d honestly never seen anyone’s face go so red.  In fact I did start to wonder if I’d gone a little too far.

“Spell?  Spell?” He was tearing up papers as he repeated the words.  Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth.  “You can’t even spell ‘amend’, for God’s sake.”

He physically pushed me at this point, yelling “You’ll re-do every single one of these letters and the statements that go with them

I picked up the dictionary, opened it at the appropriate page – which I had marked – and said to him, “You read the definition of the word ‘emend’ – it means makes changes to text.  You ‘amend’ relationships.  Given that you made it perfectly clear that you like everything to be perfect and grammatically correct, I used the most appropriate word in the letters.  And, while we’re on about it, when was the last time that you saw a bus taking x-rays?  I’m sick of typing expense sheets for people that include semantic errors such as ‘3^rd May, Mrs Smith travelled to hospital for x-ray by bus’ – surely you should be typing ‘Travelled to hospital by bus for x-ray’.”

The anger seemed to have been knocked out of him, but he was very sarcastic when he said, “And how would you know that?”

“Quite easily.  My degree is in English Language.”

“Oh yeah, and I bet you just scraped it.  Third class was it?”

“First class honours actually.  I notice that you only got a two-two for your degree – it’s on your certificate behind your desk.   Anyway, I’m off out to lunch now.  I won’t be re-doing those letters and statements.  All I did was follow your instructions which you expressly stated.  You said that you wanted everything done perfectly.  As my mother used to say – “Just make sure that you know what you’re talking about  before letting your tongue flap around in the wind.”

***

The change in Rupert was completely different by the time I got back to the office from lunch.  From that point on, he always asked me change anything that was grammatically incorrect or semantically off.  I wouldn’t say that we were bosom buddies, but we had a truce.

It was my last day and I was glad to be going.  I was sick of typing the same thing over and over again.

“I, er, just wanted to say thanks for your help,” Rupert said as I took the last set of legal files that I’d ever be working on into his office.

“That’s okay.  Don’t yell at the next secretary who writes ‘amend’ instead of ‘emend’ – just point it out to her in the dictionary.”

The End

First short story ‘published’ on WordPress!

Hi –

If you or anyone you know likes stories with a twist in  them, please ask them to check out ‘The Anniversary’.

Thanks

The Anniversary

I’m breathless and I’m only about half-way around the lake.

It’s boggy in places because of all the rain we’ve had recently.  It’s sunny today but there’s a bit of a nip in the air and there’s a bit of a breeze.   It’s creating ruffles on the water of the lake which doesn’t seem to reflect the blue of the sky – it’s steel grey.

I shudder.   I’ve never was confident around water.  The rest of them loved it, couldn’t get enough of it.

 I have to return here every year.  I never want to – deep down – but I know that I’ve got to come back.  It’s the only way I can be near my family again.  I know they’ll come.  They always do.

I’m startled by a small Jack Russell which pulls up short in front of me.  It looks up at me, cocking its head from side to side.

“Hello, boy,” I say bending to scratch behind his ears.

The response is a low growl and the dog backs away.

“Come on Jack,” a voice calls. I see the owner walking away from me so I can only see his back.

The dog gives one more growl and runs back towards his master.

I carry on walking.  I can see ‘our’ seat now in the distance.  I’ll head there and wait for them to arrive.  They’re happier now than they were the first couple of years.   I’m pleased.  I hated seeing them so upset.   I was sad, too, but was always pleased that they had each other.

I stop and listen to the birdsong.   I can make out chaffinches, chiff-chaffs and blue tits.  Of course, they all fall silent when I get anywhere near them.   A wood pigeon breaks cover and I jump as it does so – silently laughing when I realise what has caused me to jump.  I wouldn’t have noticed it, if it hadn’t decided to take off.

I’m at ‘our seat’ now.  I sit waiting.  As always, I feel ambivalent about the lake.  On the one hand, there are so many happy memories of times that we spent here: Jake and Marnie having the freedom to explore and be in the countryside, Mark and me walking hand in hand around the edge of the lake.  Me squealing and clinging on to the side of the boat as Mark and the kids deliberately rocked it to make me squeal.  Even Tilly, our Staffie seemed to grin at me!  Then I remember that it tore my family apart.  It changed everything…forever.

The sound of a boat engine draws me back to the present.  I wipe the tears from my eyes.  It’s them.  My smile freezes and my hand flies to my mouth. 

The boat draws near to the edge of the lake.  There’s another woman with them.  Marc jumps out of the boat and helps her on to the shore by taking her hand.  She’s a little younger than me.  I suppose that I knew that he couldn’t be alone for ever.  It’s still a shock.  I feel jealous.  It hurts that I never feel his hand on my shoulder again.  I can’t see him look at me the way that he’s looking at her.  It’s almost as if the hurt that I feel whips the wind up.  The ruffles on the lake turn into mini waves.  I hate it – it’s too much like the day of our accident.  Mark has his arm around her shoulder now and they are walking towards our seat.

I look at Jake and Marnie’s faces.  They seem comfortable with her.  They chat to her as they head towards me.  Again, I can’t quell a pang of jealousy.  They’re my babies (okay so what if  Jake’s nearly twenty and Marnie’s seventeen, that doesn’t come into it).

I look closely at her.  I’m searching for signs of wicked step-mother.  I don’t see any.   What I do see is someone who’s a little taller than me, about the same build and with the same colour hair.  It’s longer than mine – shoulder length, and in a bob style.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says, and walks on.  “I’ll see you later.”

They join me on ‘our seat’.

“Hi, Janie,” Mark says, looking straight ahead.  “That’s Karen.  It’s not serious, but we’ve been seeing each other over the last six months.  I hope you don’t mind.”

Of course, he can’t see me.  He can only sense that I’m here.

“Hi, Mum.  As you can see, we’re fine.  We miss you.  Karen’s okay.  Jake’s got a new girlfriend.  I’m still looking for a boyfriend,” Marnie tells me.

“Hi Mum,” Jake mumbles. 

He sits there, looking uncomfortable.  It must be strange talking to someone you can’t see.

The worst bit for me is that I can see them and hear them, but I can’t touch them.  I sit and listen and feel alternatively happy and sad as they fill me in on the last year’s news.

I also observe them very closely.  They all look fine. 

They won’t be here much longer.   They’ll move on soon.  Then, that’ll be it for another year. 

My attention’s drawn away from them by the sound of a scream from the water.   It’s only some teenagers messing about in a couple of rowing boats.  I want to shout out to them, telling them to be careful, but I can’t.  I’m frozen to the spot.  Two of the boys are rocking the boat from side to side and the girl is screaming as the boat looks as though it’s about to be swamped with water.  The boys in the other boat sop rowing and laugh.   Mark, Jake and Marnie are laughing, too.

“Stop it! Stop it!” I shout – half at the teenagers and half at my family. 

The teenagers stop.  Not because of me shouting, but because the girl has started to cry.   The two boys stand up – they’re arguing.  The other boat bumps into theirs.  One of the boys loses his balance, falls into the water and disappears. 

I gasp, remembering the shock of the cold water; fighting for my breath and then the blackness.  The boy comes up and is pulled into the boat.  All the teenagers are laughing and they continue on their way.

“We need to go, now,” Mark says.  “It’s almost time.”

“We’ll be back next year, Mum, ” Marnie says.

“See you,” Jake mumbles.

He’s right.  It’s almost seven years to the day since the accident.  They need to be where they were when our accident happened.

They head out to the edge of the lake back to the boat.  Jake and Marnie jump in and take their seats.  Mark starts the engine, and they head off across the lake.  I watch them go.

As they reach the middle of the lake, a speedboat approaches so quickly there’s no chance to get out of the way.  The bow of the speedboat’s so high out of the water that they can’t be seen. 

“No! No! No!” I shout as the speedboat collides with ours.  There’s a boom and both boats disappear under the water. 

That’s it for another year.  I get up and walk to the edge of the lake.  I throw in the wreath of flowers that I’ve brought with me.   I’ll never know why I survived but they didn’t – they were all such strong swimmers. 

I turn and head back to the hotel.  I’ll leave this evening after booking in for the same overnight stay next year.  The wind’s dropped and the blue sky’s being reflected in the lake now.

 

 

The End