ksjp17

[Kes]

8.  Gateway

He liked Admiralty Arch.  Walking down The Mall towards it he could appreciate its curve, the way it formed a grand processional entrance.  On the other side of it traffic snarled its way through the rush hour.  God help you if you were an out of town driver and weren’t sure what lane to be in.  Someone, when asked to define exactly what a split second was, had replied that it was that period of time in London between the traffic light turning green and the driver behind you hitting his horn.  And it was true!  You needed to be sharp, know what you were doing, which lane to be in, or else!

But Admiralty Arch held all that back, so that walking on this side of it felt like it was the gateway between heaven and hell.  St. James’s Park on his right was green and fresh, despite the heat.  People were strolling through it, in a city where no one strolled at that time of day, too anxious to get home.  Some were getting in a bit of sun-bathing, others just sitting there, people watching.  Great place for people watching!

Yes, there was traffic going up and down The Mall, but on a straight, wide road, everyone moved along at a measured pace.  None of that stopping and starting, crawling, then speeding up, which was the norm on the other side of the Arch.  He’d heard it was going to be turned into a luxury hotel.  They’d need superb sound-proofing if that’s what they wanted.  He thought it was a bit of a shame if that is what it became, but supposed there couldn’t be many alternative uses for a building like that, situated where it was.

He realised that if he didn’t hurry up, he’d be late meeting Anne.  It would be stupid to have spent the whole day anticipating this, and then be late for it.  He started walking more quickly, so that the Arch grew rapidly in size.  Imposing wasn’t adequate for it.  It hadn’t been built as a gateway to Buckingham Palace, but it did the job alright.  Now he knew he was going to be late and started to jog.

A car blared its horn at him.  Yes, yes, he’d seen it, knew it was there.  Honestly, you’d think some people had nothing to do in life but sound their horn at pedestrians.  Nearly at the Arch now.  Was that Anne in the distance?  He speeded up a bit.  Yes, he was sure it was her.  Through the gateway, now he was sure it was her.  Just get across the road and he’d be on time after all.

 

[Kes]

9.  Death

She was shaking, visibly shaking, her face totally without colour, mouth open as she gasped, eyes wide and staring.  Firmly, almost roughly, he caught hold of her, forced her to turn to him and then folded his arms round her, holding her close.  “Don’t look”, he said, knowing that she didn’t need to look to picture every detail.  He could feel her try to say something, but the words wouldn’t come, caught as they were in the thicket of her emotions.

His cheek rested on the top of her head, her soft hair tickling his skin.  Finally the words came out, falling and tumbling the way small stone fall noisily down a slope just before an avalanche.  “I saw it.  He just stepped out.  The driver didn’t stand a chance.”  And then the tears, hard, gulping.

He held her tightly.  Over her head he could see that someone had put a coat over the body.  The driver was being sick in the gutter, people were staring.  He could hear an ambulance siren getting nearer.  “No point rushing”, he thought.  “Nothing you can do for him now.”  Then he thought of the driver.  He would need treating for shock at least.

More words coming out, repeating and repeating.  “I saw it happen.”  “It could have been you.  You don’t always look.  It could have been you.”  And more tears, softer now.

He found himself stroking her head, gently, rhythmically.  She was hardly shaking now, but clung to him as if to hold herself upright.  Her face still white.  Was she going to faint?  “Do you want to sit down somewhere?”  “No, I don’t want to move.  Not yet.  It could have been you.”

Police there now, directing the traffic around the scene, a small screen put up to give the dead man some privacy, some dignity, while the medics prepared to get him on a stretcher.  “The police are asking for witnesses.  Are you up to it?”  He hoped she’d say no.  He didn’t want her to have to relive this by giving testimony at the Inquest.  “I’d better.” she said.  Slowly he led her to the policewoman who was taking details.  “I saw it happen.  Do you need my name and address?”  The policewoman looked at her, noting her appearance, her stammering speech.  “It’s alright, miss.  We have a large number of witnesses who agree on what happened.  But thank you for coming forward.”

Relief flooded through him and he gave a grateful smile.  “Come on, love, let me get you home.”  “It could have been you.”

 

[Paladin-Cleric of Awesome]

Oh good. You didn't kill him. I wa concerned you would do something like that.

 

[Kes]

Nah, though I think I set up the possibility in the reader 's mind reasonably well with entry #8.

 

[Kes]

10.  Opportunities

You either take your opportunities, or you make them.  And she now realised that she was probably going to have to make them.  The events of yesterday made that abundantly clear, as well as adding a layer of urgency to this.

She had been genuinely shocked to see the state Anne was in when he brought her home.  For the first time in years she had forgotten herself enough to feel deep concern for Anne without thinking about how Anne’s state might impact on her own life.  Maybe that’s why when he’d suggested she make some tea for them all, she had gone and done it without the usual air of long-suffering effort that normally clung to her actions.

By the time she came back Anne was unselfconsciously nestled up against him on the sofa with his arms around her.  She could see that all of Anne’s attention (what little there was, she was in a state of shock, after all) was focused on David.  There was no chink to insinuate herself into their little bubble of mutual awareness.

She took the opportunity to observe David closely.  She could be far more overt about this than on his first visit when she’d had to abide by social conventions and not stare at him in a calculating, analysing manner.  His body language spoke of being totally at ease with Anne, even in this situation.  As, unfortunately, did hers about him.  She felt a sharp prickle of anxiety – Anne was perfectly content to get her comfort and reassurance from him; she hadn’t once looked to her mother for this.  This was serious, more serious than she had realised.

Then Anne simply getting up and announcing that she was going to lie down and sleep.  Gone, with no chance to do anything.  David had stood up too, and said he’d better be going.  He gave a smile which a more impartial observer might have described as charming but which, to her, had a shimmer of the snake about it.  Then he, too, was gone.

Right, action plans to be drawn up.  She’d have to create some opportunities to get Anne away from him.  First thing, phone Bob.  Anne had always been fond of her uncle and enjoyed her visits.  It would be easy to get him to send an invitation to come down for a weekend.  And no room for another, male, visitor.  That would give her time to develop a bit of congestion of the lungs which would, of course, require sea air.  Anne was due a few days holiday, so she could use that to come down to Eastbourne with her.  Actually she loathed Eastbourne, but it seemed a good choice as there was nothing to attract David down there.  She thought it was a bit too soon to have palpitations; they might be needed later on.  Having checked Bob’s number, she reached for the phone. 

 

[Paladin-Cleric of Awesome]

Oh please, please. I want to smack this woman, I really, really do!

Cary on please.

 

[Kes]

11.  33%

You are supposed to spend at least one third of your life asleep.  He supposed that made sense – 8 hours was often touted as what to aim at.  The extra that a baby did was probably balanced out by the fact that you slept less when you were old, so over a whole lifetime, yeah, a third was about right.

Not tonight, though.  This was going to put a dent in his lifetime’s average.  2:30 already, and sleep seemed as far off as when he’d turned the light out.  Rearranging the pillows did nothing, a waste of time doing it, really.  Maybe the thing to do was just give up the whole idea of sleeping and get up, do something, rather than lie there getting more irritated.

He checked his emails on his phone.  Nothing, not that he’d expected anything.  Only his personal account.  He wasn’t going to check his work account – they already got more than their fair share of his time as it was, sucking up his life like an industrial vacuum cleaner tackling the dust on a carpet.  Mostly he enjoyed his job, but the concept of a work/life balance was laughable!  If work was supposed to take up one third of his day, he’d have to say that whoever thought that one up didn’t work in the City of London.  He couldn’t think of anyone he knew who worked just an 8 hour day.  And it wasn’t just the people in jobs like his; the underground was crowded even at 6:30 in the morning, which is when he usually travelled in, and it was obvious that it wasn’t just office workers there.

He idly surfed on his phone, visited a few sites that he used a lot, but nothing grabbed his attention.  He wondered what percentage of his day was taken up with the internet; probably too much.  Back to his emails.  Nope, still nothing.  Everyone he knew who might be sending him a message would be fast asleep.  Another waste of time.

Looking out of the window he could see no change in the brightness of the sky.  What time was sunrise now?  Only a few weeks ago it was light by 3:00 am, but already you could tell the difference.  Maybe 4:30 before the street lights were unnecessary.  He let his eyes wander around the skyline.  A few lights on in people’s homes.  Were they suffering insomnia like him?  Maybe they had a baby that was bawling and keeping them awake?  Or maybe people who worked an early shift?  How did they get their one third worth’s sleep?  He felt a bond with all the insomniacs around him, though he could hardly count himself as one of them.  He usually managed to sleep alright.

Of course he knew quite well why he couldn’t sleep.  He was worried about Anne.  They’d spoken on the phone and she had sounded so listless, as if seeing the accident had drained all the life out of her as well as out of the man who had actually been hit.  They hadn’t met last night; he was working late and she had wanted to sleep early.  He wanted so much to be with her, to comfort her, to hold her if she was having nightmares.  He hadn’t told her yet that he loved her, but he knew that he did.  But now was not the time to tell her; it wouldn’t go in, and could look a bit manipulative.  If there was one thing he was determined about, it was that he was not going to manipulate her the way her mother did.

The next thing he knew it was 5:15.  He’d fallen asleep looking out of the window and all he had to show for it was a stiff neck and a feeling of slight nausea.  One third of your life in sleep?  Huh!  Dream on!

 

[Kes]

12.  Dead Wrong

How could she have been so mistaken?  Impossible!  Simply impossible!  Bob had always played ball before, ever since they were small children and he’d discovered that if he didn’t fall in with her plans, their parents always seemed to know about any of his misdemeanours.  Even in her present mood she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the months of compliance she’d got after she’d found him smoking behind the bus shelter.

And now he’d let her down; not just let her down, but gone clean against her intentions.  He’d been more than happy to invite Anne down for the weekend, particularly when she’d told him it was to give her some peace and quiet after that horrible experience.  How she had impressed upon him the need for space, for tranquillity, “get her away from all her noisy friends so she can enjoy the countryside”. 

She should have been there when he phoned Anne to invite her, and now it was too late.  Anne had already left for the station when he’d phoned up to check that her boyfriend wasn’t a vegetarian or anything.  “Why do you want to know that?”, she’d asked, anxiety already seeping into her.  “Oh, Anne asked if he could come down as well.”  “But I told you that she needed a quiet break.  And anyway, you’ve got no room!”  “Anne said that it would help her enjoy herself, and so I asked the Palmers next door if he could stay with them.  We do a lot of favours for each other.” 

She’d been wrong in her assumption that Bob would follow the letter of her instructions, wrong in thinking that this would be the first step in hollowing out Anne’s relationship with that man.  “That man”.  That’s how she referred to him in her mind.  She couldn’t bring herself to use his name; somehow that might personalise him, make it more difficult for her if he solidified into a real human being with a name, a history.  He was the enemy, the one who might take Anne away from her; no need for any label other than “that man”.

She sat there, jaws clenched, eyes hard, mind working away.  Obviously that man couldn’t have known what she had planned, but he’d got the better of her anyway.  If he thought he was going to get Anne, though, he was wrong.  Dead wrong.

 

[Kes]

13.  Running Away

It was dark, the sort of dark that seems almost solid.  No streetlights, the moon must be covered in cloud, as there wasn’t a glimmer.

Her breath came rasping, like it was full of ice particles to tear and cut at her throat.  She paused – had no choice really, as she needed somehow to take a few deep breaths, give her shaking legs a moment of ease, her heart a chance to slow down.

The sweat on her face and body began to chill in the slight breeze, and with it she felt the chill of panic.  Which chill was it that made her teeth chatter?  She wanted to cry out, but dared not.  That would give her position away.  It would know where she was, come straight for her.

She went on, in a stumbling run, feeling the ground begin to rise as she went.  Maybe at the top she would see where she was, work out how she’d got there.  Brambles now, catching at her clothes, pulling at her with thorny fingers.  Why was she only in her night clothes?  No jeans to protect her legs or jacket to shield her arms.

No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t go any faster.  Her legs felt like wooden blocks now, heavy, stiff, unresponsive.  Still no lightening of the dark.  She understood now the meaning of darkness “pressing in”.  it was like one of those rooms where the walls slowly close in until they crush you.  That’s how the dark felt.

Still she ran, stumbling, falling, getting up, knowing that each time she slowed down it got nearer.  “Dear God, let me get to the top.  There must be light up there.”  The ground only rose more steeply.

Now she could hear it – faint, but the sound slowly swelling, like one of those orchestral chords that build up in a great crescendo until the final bar bursts over the audience.  No, she must get to the top before it caught up with her.

Was that a very slight lessening of the dark ahead?  Too little to say it was a light, but maybe less void-like in its intensity of black.  By now she could hardly move her legs, scarcely draw breath.  Keep move, keep running!  But she couldn’t.  Desperately she tried still harder, but couldn’t get away.

Until finally it was upon her, the sound enveloping her in its totality.  The sound of screeching brakes and dull thud.  The man’s scream mingling with her own as she woke up.

 

[Paladin-Cleric of Awesome]

Awww, poor Anne. Some hugs and cuddles from David might help I think. Lots of hugs....

I would have said hugs from her mum as mums hugs are the best... But I'm not sure this particular mother would be very cuddly...

 

[Kes]

I can think of lots of adjectives for her, but cuddly?  Nah, unless a piranha can cuddle with its teeth.

 

[Paladin-Cleric of Awesome]

Lol. Very, very true.

Looking forward to more of course.

 

[Kes]

Why, thank you!  I thought from the lack of responses from anyone that maybe this story wasn't working, or the quality of the writing had nose-dived, but if there's even one person interested, that's enough!

 

[Paladin-Cleric of Awesome]

Oh dear me no. Your writing is excellent (much better than my rough and ready draft lol) obviously there's bits of the story I feel might be missing as your going via the prompts, but its cohesive enough that it doesn't really matter (though I expect a fully revised edition when this is over do you hear me).

And I will be reading until David and Anne get married and that mother gets her comeuppance!

I also want to meet uncle bob.

I think the lack of response is more that so many people update so often some people get lost in the shuffle. I'm just lucky enough to be on when you post. Lol.

 

[EvilEagles]

Thread updated upon request.

 

[Kes]

I've failed my own challenge within a challenge.  I couldn't think how to weave 'Judgement' in at this stage, so I'm now not following the exact order of prompts.

15.  Seeking Solace

Anne had always loved coming down here.  Although she never used the word, it had been a sort of sanctuary for as long as she could remember, a place where she could just be herself, whatever that ‘self’ was that day, and not have to be the good, quiet, obedient child she was at home.  It had been a place where she could seek support and comfort for herself, instead of having to give it.  She’d always been aware that her aunt and uncle liked having her to stay.  She didn’t know the half of it!

Bob had worried what her life as a child would be like.  He’d established the pattern of having her stay with them as soon as he could.  “You don’t want a small child under your feet all the time!  You’ve enough to cope with.  Christine and I are prepared to take her off your hands, once in a while, give you a break.”  He’d been careful not to sound too eager, and to couch the whole thing in terms of Margret’s comfort and convenience.  And it had worked extremely well.

Anne’s school holidays and some weekends had been spent with them.  Usually she had arrived looking a little pale, a bit anxious, always checking to make sure she was doing the ‘right’ thing, wasn’t being a nuisance.  But within a few days, she had always relaxed, dropped what could see were her ways of coping with her mother, and would become just a normal girl – vast amounts of energy and a love of climbing trees.

Bob knew he got almost as much out of it as she did.  She was the child that he and Christine had wanted but never had.  Of course they were both careful to treat Anne as a niece, not a daughter, but watching her grow up, knowing that Christine had steered her through the perils of puberty, allowed him to think of himself as a sort of father.  Certainly more of a father than her own had been.  He’d left by the time she was two, unable to take any more of the reality of Margret at close quarters.

The solace that he and Christine had received from looking after Anne had been matched by the solace that Anne received from them.  Without their love, support and guidance she would probably have gone off the rails, or become a down-trodden little doormat.  As it was, she had blossomed under their care to become the young woman she was now.

Cooking up this little ruse to get Anne away from David had probably been the kindest thing that Margret had done in years, if only she knew it.

 

[Kes]

17.  Vengeance

Although Margret had told him of the accident, and Anne’s reaction to witnessing it, he’d not been prepared for how white and drawn she had looked when she had arrived.  Anxiety quietly knotted itself around his stomach, not eased by seeing her try to put a brave face on it.  And he’d heard her in the night; the quiet whimpers, then the scream.  She’d had a few nightmares when she was a child, obviously a bit prone to them.  How he wished Christine was here, she’d know how best to comfort the poor girl, but Christine was away at a conference in Birmingham until tomorrow evening.

He looked out of the kitchen window, down the garden to the seats at the bottom, by the birch trees.  David had arrived that morning and now the two of them were sat there, not talking, just being quietly together.  He hoped he wasn’t imagining the bit of colour that had crept back into her face.

The saying “Vengeance is a dish best eaten cold” came into his mind.  He’d often thought of getting revenge on Margret for the years of pain she’d dished out to him.  How often he’d squirmed under her amused surveillance.  How often he’d gone along with her plans and whims, just to keep her quiet and amenable.  Why should he think of that now, though? 

His chopping of the tomatoes slowed down and came to a halt while he dug around in his motives to see what was there.  And then he smiled.  He remembered thinking when Margret first called him that, even allowing for the circumstances, she seemed more ready to let Anne out of her sight than he’d expected.  When she’d reacted the way she did on learning that David was coming down, be became curious.  Now he’d seen them together, he knew exactly what Margret was up to!  He was a bit surprised, actually.  This wasn’t a very subtle move on her part.  Perhaps she was losing her touch?  Subtlety  had always been such a key feature of her manoeuvres. 

Hmm.  He thought of the ways he might help these two.  If they weren't right for each, let them find out in their own way, in their own time, not have Margret decide for them.  Oh, the irony of it!  To get his revenge on Margret by doing good!  His laugh of pure joy echoed around the kitchen and drifted down to were David and Anne were seated.

“Happy bloke, your uncle”, said David.

 

[Paladin-Cleric of Awesome]

Judgement could be Bob's judgement of David... Or Davids judgement of Bob as compared to Anne's mother????

Loving Bob so far. He's awesome!

 

[Kes]

Yeah, I've got plans for Bob.

 

[Kes]

14.  Judgement

Bob was certainly a decent cook, David decided.  The meal, though simple, had been delicious and well presented.  He liked it when people took the time to think how food could appeal to the eye as well as to the palate.  As he thought about it, he guessed that attention to the small details was part of Bob’s character.

He glanced briefly at Anne.  She was beginning to look a bit less fraught, no longer looking like she was wearing a back board to keep herself upright.  There had even been an unforced smile at his dreadful pun about the bread.

He looked back at Bob, at his animated face as he and Anne discussed the best time to prune some shrub that he’d never heard of.  What did he know about gardening?  As far as he was concerned, a small window box constituted a serious agricultural challenge, one he’d never thought himself equal to taking on.  He’d had no idea that Anne was this knowledgeable.  Something else he’d have to learn about.

And then he stopped himself.  No, he didn’t need to do that.  So what if Anne was better at something than he was?  Part of his mind knew that this was the healthy, rational attitude to have.  But another part skittered around in competitive anxiety.  He’d always been better at most things than the people he knew; brighter, fitter, funnier, more hard working.  Sure, there were people better at these things than him, but he didn’t know them, so somehow it didn’t matter in the same way.  But now here was someone he knew who was good at something he sucked at.

He knew what was going on.  For as far back as he could remember, he’d been expected to do well at everything.  Those expectations, all meant so proudly by his family – “Look at what our David has done!” – had stopped being a spur when he was about 15, and become a weight on him.  He was always judged by the highest standards.  There was never a question of being “good enough”.  It had to be better than that.  And now it was deeply engrained in him.  Sometimes he had thought of deliberately failing to reduce the expectations.  But he never had; he couldn’t do that to his family who’d given him so much.

That was one of the things he liked about Anne.  She didn’t sit in judgement on him in the same way.  Maybe he could try and find the courage to suck at gardening.