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Our 800-word story sequence is nearing the end and this is the next but last of our solo pieces. The prompt for this one was ‘So, there I was, just standing there, when what I wanted to do was forbidden’. Unfortunately, it’s a wee bit clunky but that’s how it came out of the box, so we had to respect it. You’ll find Eden’s solo effort on  her own blog. I hope you like them both. Thanks for reading.

 

First Love

The songs all make it sound so easy, don’t they? Young lovers, hand in hand, strolling through some idyllic setting, the evening sun warm on their smiling faces, no thoughts of anything but the bliss of being together. Not that they wish harm to anyone else or are even aware of the existence of others, but the fullness of their love allows little space for anything or anyone else in their world.  Their love is a ‘many-splendoured thing’ and hasn’t yet been soured or contaminated by jealousies or habit or the tedium of familiarity. It’s not something that includes children, bank accounts, mortgages; it’s a precious, unique, shared sensation which gives them access to a soft, gentle eternity in a magical kingdom. Together.
And when life, inevitably, intrudes, it bewilders them with its complications, contradictions, unpleasantnesses, and serves only to reinforce their conviction that their love is the one real truth. The media’s preoccupation with the various excesses or deprivations perpetrated by their fellow humans is a jarring commentary on a place from which their adoration of one another has elevated them to a separate, flawless realm. They prefer to listen to the words of the poets

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On the other hand, despite what I’ve just said, if you haven’t been there, I’m not really sure whether I’d recommend it. It’s a fine balance. Your age has to be right – pretty young, of course. Probably early teens. Mid teens maybe, but only if you’ve lived a pretty sheltered life. And you’ve got to have had the right doses of reality – a few, but not too many. Certainly nothing remotely serious. No bereavements, obviously, and no big brothers or sisters with their own emotional hang-ups from the times when they’ve been there. Oh, and don’t get it mixed up with sex – that’s a very easy mistake to make.
Then, of course, there’s the collateral damage when it ends, or even, before then, the little fissures which just appear, letting in ordinary light and bits of reality. They’re minute and of hardly any significance really but they can feel like world-ending earthquakes. The trouble is, I can’t help you there because they’re so unpredictable. They could be just from a word that’s said, a name that’s mentioned, a misunderstanding about a meeting place, being late for a date or, even worse, missing one altogether. Once that sort of thing starts, it’s over.

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So what makes me such an expert? I don’t remember much else about back then. But that first love was different. I’ve still got such clear memories of it. It’s definitely left its mark. And it’s only happened once.
Because you learn from the experience and, every time you start to feel the same thing, you mostly know what to expect, so you never let yourself be vulnerable in the same way.
She wasn’t even my first girl-friend. There’d been a couple of others before her. But this one was love. It was at a party. I don’t remember any of the usual stuff – what she was wearing, her figure, her voice – none of that. It was her eyes. She was with a group of her friends; she looked up, straight at me, and kept on looking. Huge dark brown eyes, mesmerising. She was still talking with her friends, but those eyes kept coming back to me. I wasn’t hearing what anyone around me was saying any more. I just kept staring at her. In the end, I just walked away from my friends, pushed past the other little groups, went over to her, and we started dancing. Close.

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We just danced. No speaking. No words. We met up again the following evening, and the one after. And that was it. The kissing and all the rest of it started a week or so later. Soon we were together all the time –movies, gigs, restaurants. We even got a credit card together, so there were never any money issues. I told her I loved her. She said, “Thank you. I love you, too.” We both really believed it, really meant it. It lasted for nearly a year. Serious stuff. But then… well, one day it was over. I got a note from the bank saying we were over our limit. I didn’t understand it, but checked. We were standing in the queue outside a club when I told her about it. She didn’t seem bothered. Or even interested. Eventually she lost her temper. I hated seeing her upset. Tried to calm her down. Just wanted to kiss her, reassure her, tell her I loved her. Then she told me she’d been using the card to book weekends at hotels for her and this other guy. So, there I was, just standing there, when what I wanted to do was forbidden.

 

Amazingly, not only are Eden Baylee and I still writing stories together but we’re still friends. If you’re a regular visitor, thanks for your stamina and support and, if you’re new to the stories and enjoy the idea, there are plenty more of them back to the beginning of 2021.

Prompt: He swore on his mother’s grave, but then he swore on just about everything.

Parts 1 and 3 BK
Parts 2 and 4 EB

SNEAK THIEF

When things started disappearing at work – iphones, laptops, invoices, – everyone knew that Bernard was involved in it somehow or other. He’d started as a junior clerk less than a year ago but he was so bad at lying that his reputation was soon fixed, and new disappearances were greeted with shrugs and renewed decisions not to trust him with anything of value or significance. He always protested his innocence, of course, and nothing was ever proved but there wasn’t much room for doubt. If anyone ever confronted him directly, even with the merest hint of an accusation, he pretended to be deeply hurt, denied all knowledge of it, swore on his mother’s grave, but then he swore on just about everything. And when Tommy Simpson said that, anyway, he knew Bernard’s mother had been cremated, Bernard made up some story about that not being his real mother and that he’d been adopted.

In the end, it was the Head of Personnel, Sally Hughes, who sorted it all out. Mind you, she had to. Either that or she herself would be fired because she – or someone – had ‘mislaid’ the files of two of the company’s best customers, including all their account details.

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George Willows sat on the board, even after he’d stepped down as CEO. The tech company hired Bernard sans interview. That he was the former boss’s only son was supposed to be a secret, but someone talked. That’s how it goes when you pull in a salary for doing nothing. It pisses off the oldsters in the company. Still, despite a fat pay cheque, Bernard couldn’t satisfy his shopping addiction.

On the Friday before going on vacation, he sat in his cubicle and scrolled through Ebay. Those first few hours dragged until lunch time. How he loathed the mornings! He didn’t need anything, but as usual, he always found something that jumped out at him. And on this day, a set of headphones did just that.

Apple AirPods Max.

They looked sleek, came in different colours, and a pair (or two) would come in handy for his trip. Before he pressed the BUY button, he stood up and looked around the maze of the open concept office. All he saw were heads down, tapping on keyboards. He locked his screen and decided to take a walk. Why pay for the headphones if he might find them in the storage room?

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The colleagues he passed at their various desks no longer even bothered to look up at him. Somebody somewhere would have to deal with him at some point, and it shouldn’t be any of them.

Unbeknown to Bernard, however, one pair of eyes were closely focused on him. Peering through the slats of the blind in Sally Hughes’s office window, George Willows watched his son weave his way through the desks. Thinking she had nothing to lose, Sally had dared to contact her ex-CEO to report the company’s plight and ask whether, given his close relationship with the principal suspect, he might be able to suggest a diplomatic solution to the problem which might be less injurious both to Bernard and the company’s professional standing.

As Bernard, at the door to the basement stairs, took a quick look around the serried desks, then opened it and disappeared, Willows Senior, without a word to Sally, left her office and wove his own way to the still open door.

Bernard was using his cell phone to light the various shelves and boxes through which he was searching so he was unaware that he had company until a voice from the darkness asked ‘Looking for something, Bernard?’

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George flipped the switch and flooded the room in light.

Bernard swung around, his hand to his chest. “Dad! You scared the hell out of me!”

“What are you doing?”

“I … Mary asked me to find a stapler.”

“Cut the bullshit.” George stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Dad, listen—”

“Don’t Dad me! As if your poor attitude wasn’t bad enough, now you’re a thief as well?”

Bernard shuffled his feet. “Is Sally accusing me? She’s never liked me!”

The older man locked eyes with his son. “At this moment, the police are going through your desk. Are they going to find something that shouldn’t be there?”

The blood drained from Bernard’s face. He’d meant to return the files — top clients with tons of money. He just wanted to snoop through them when he was bored, but then he’d neglected to return them to the cabinet, not to mention an iPad and several pairs of sunglasses as well.

“You’ll return everything you’ve stolen, or I’ll advise pressing charges. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Dad.” He hung his head.

George walked out without another word. Bernard followed.

No sign of any police.

 

A reminder (or, if you’re new to these stories, a quick introduction): Eden Baylee, in Canada, and I, in Scotland, first got to know one another when we contributed separately to Richard Wood’s Word Count Podcast, which involved recording what we’d written for sound broadcasting. After a few solo efforts, we decided to co-author some and, when Richard decided to move on to other things, we just kept on with the collaborations (but without the broadcast element). We’ve never met but we’ve got to know one another quite well and we’ve been publishing our joint efforts on our separate blogs since January 2021.

This week’s prompt is: My brother did this weird thing with turtles.

Parts 1 and 3 were written by Eden and parts 2 and 4 by me.

 

The Reason for Turtles

My brother did this weird thing with turtles. We didn’t grow up with pets because Mom was deathly afraid of dogs, which strangely translated to cats as well. Goldfish didn’t count, and turtles definitely weren’t pets. A dozen of the snappers came through our door every couple of months. Mom brought them home from work, always on a Friday. I remember because we couldn’t bathe the next day on account of all the turtles in the tub.

On Sunday, however, Mom’s friends would collect their turtles by no later than 3pm. She was doing them a favour by getting them, so she set the rules.

“I have other things to do,” she said. “Can’t be waiting around all day.”

One time, Mrs. Duke didn’t show up for her turtles until after supper. It threw off Mom’s schedule and she crossed Mrs. Duke off the list—both as a friend and for any more turtles from her.

As for my brother, he liked playing with them, holding their shells and pushing them along the water like Hot Wheels cars. “Vroom, vroom!” he’d say.

Eventually, they all met the same fate, in a pot of boiling water, swimming with onions and carrots.

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This didn’t seem to bother Benny. When it was a turtle month, he’d get all excited, select a favorite, then, pre-race, spend ages in the bathroom training it. At least, that’s what he said he was doing, although since he was the one doing the pushing, I didn’t understand what sort of training the poor little turtle needed to do. Mom didn’t mind him doing it. What she did mind was that each time he chose a favorite, he gave it a name – the same one every time, Sheldon. He just put a number after it so they were Sheldon 1, Sheldon 2, and so on. Mom didn’t like it because Sheldon Duke was Mrs Duke’s husband before they got divorced. That was what caused the argument.

One week (we were on Sheldon 17), Mom made Benny show her which one he’d chosen as favorite. She marked its shell with a little cross and, that same evening, for supper, she made what she called Snapper 17 soup. Benny jumped up from the table, ran up to the bathroom and came back almost at once. He was crying.

‘Why did you do that?’ he shouted.

‘He looked like Sheldon Duke,’ said Mom.

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Up until that point, I had no reason to think Mom had any issues with Sheldon Duke. I always thought Mrs. Duke was the problem. She had a snooty air about her even though she was poor just like us, and of course there was that one time she came late to pick up her turtles. It surprised me that Mom cut her out of her life so abruptly, but she could be harsh that way. She once grounded me for leaving the front door unlocked after coming home from school. Ever since Dad died, things seemed to tick her off more easily. I could ignore her short temper, but Benny was more sensitive than me. He didn’t understand Mom’s mood swings, and every little thing made him cry. Mom couldn’t deal with it, so it was left to me to comfort him.

“Sheldon 17 was my favourite of them,” he said that night as I tucked him in bed.

“I’m sorry Ben, but you know Mom cooks all of them sooner or later.”

“Why can’t she let me keep one? That’s all I want, just one!”

I wiped the tears from his face and wondered the same thing myself.

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In the end, it was Jennifer who gave us the answer. Sort of, anyway. She’s my best friend at school and when I told her about Benny and his Sheldons, she just said, ‘No, turtles are good for people, bring them together’.

She says that sort of thing all the time. Scares me a bit when she talks about the Tai Chi and stuff her Aunt Margaret does. Goes all mysterious and says it’s about spirits and peace and things. I don’t understand any of it but she’s a good friend. Anyway, when she said that about turtles, I asked her how they were good for us. She got all excited and said ‘They’ve got protein, calcium, vitamins, phosphorous, zinc – loads of stuff we need.’

It didn’t seem to me to have much to do with pushing them about in a bath but when I got home I told Benny what she’d said. It really cheered him up.

‘So it’s OK for us to eat them then?’ he said.

‘Yes, it’s what they’re for. And Jennifer’s auntie says they bring us peace of mind.’

Benny laughed. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘not a bit like Sheldon and Mrs Duke then?’

That made him happy.