About a week later, Morwen was back in the remainders bookshop – this time searching for a non-glitter, non-kitten birthday card suitable to be sent to her sister Charlie, who was currently teaching tourists to scuba dive somewhere off the coast of Australia.
Card in hand, she stood in a frozen queue next to a girl in school uniform carrying a tuba case, while a little old lady argued vehemently with a hapless shop assistant, a spotty faced youth whose name badge said “Hello, my name is Tom”.
The girl was obviously there with the little old lady, and just as obviously was mortified by her behaviour.
Hello-my-name-is-Tom was getting absolutely nowhere in this particular conversation, as he simply could not get a word in edgeways into the little old lady’s harangue.
The conversation went around in circles:
“I know you’ve had it in your bookshop – don’t deny it!”
“I’m not...” protested Hello-my-name-is-Tom.
“Because I’ve talked to the publishers, and believe me they are in so much trouble! But they had a list of book distributors and the book distributors had a list of shops, and your shop was on it.”
“But...”
“Don’t you but me, young man! I have a list! And your shop’s on it!”
Sure enough, she had a piece of paper grasped tightly in her wrinkled fingers. In her other hand was a cane which she brandished for emphasis. The cane was ebony, with a silver handle that looked a bit like a bent cucumber.
“But...” said Hello-my-name-is-Tom in a tone of increasing desperation.
“So I know you had a copy and I’ve been through every inch of this shop and I know it’s not here! I want you to tell me who bought it! Otherwise I’ll get the lawyers on you, see if I don’t! I know my rights!”
“But...” said Hello-my-name-is-Tom, looking like he was going to burst into tears at any moment.
The queue behind the little old lady was growing, and getting restless. Morwen checked her watch anxiously – she had to get back to work soon.
“Tell me who bought the book!” the little old lady yelled at him.
“But I don’t know! Hello-my-name-is-Tom wailed, and he frantically stabbed at a buzzer behind the cash desk.
The little old lady pursed her lips and looked disapproving.
“Well,” she said in tones of profound disappointment. “If you can’t tell me, I demand to speak to someone who can!”
Hello-my-name-is-Tom took a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder.
“Here comes my manager now, ma’am” he said in tones of profound relief.
The queue surged forward as the little old lady was taken to one side by the manager, where she continued her harangue. The manager looked tired, and was looking even more so with each word that came out of her mouth.
Morwen reached the front of the queue just as the manager was explaining patiently and repeatedly to the little old lady that no, he couldn’t tell her who had bought a particular book, because they didn’t keep those sorts of records, and even if he had CCTV, he wouldn’t be able to show it to her without a police request. And, with a touch of steel in his voice, he asked her to please calm down, otherwise he’d have to call the police to report a breach of the peace.
Morwen exchanged wan smiles with Hello-my-name-is-Tom as he beeped her card and handed over her change. As she turned away from the counter, she was knocked into and nearly sent sprawling by the little old lady, who was storming out of the shop, muttering to herself.
“Young people today!” said the little old lady on her way out the door. “Never looking where they’re going! Not able to answer a simple question! Ha!”
The young girl with the tuba case mumbled “sorry” as she ran after the little old lady18.
Morwen frowned, picked up the card from where it had fallen on the ground and rubbed her shoulder. The little old lady had been surprisingly strong and compact.
“How rude!” she said to herself.
Her phone yodelled. It was a text from Richard.
“Movie tonight? X”
Outside the shop a street performer wearing a rabbit costume was cycling on a unicycle and blowing bubbles. Morwen chucked a handful of coins in the hat lying on the ground in front of the performer, and went back to work.
___
18 From the shadowy recesses underneath the bottom shelf, a small, curved figure watched her go.
Friday, 10 April 2020
(Vegetables) Chapter Four: Cake Has Miraculous Powers – No Surprise There
When Rosa and Felindre came downstairs again, an hour and twenty three minutes later, Morwen and Richard had between them polished off the remaining bottles of wine, two party packs of mixed root veg crisps and had talked about work, hobbies, the care and upkeep of chickens, favourite vegetables to eat and grow and the time travel paradoxes engendered by Weeping Angels. Morwen had also baked a cake and was just pulling it out of the oven.
“Oh, that smells good!” said Felindre. “I could smell it from upstairs.”
She took a huge slice onto a plate and grabbed two forks, and dragged Rosa to sit next to her on the sofa.
“It’s another new recipe, from the book I got this afternoon. Chocolate and beetroot cake,” Morwen said. “I had a lot of beetroot from the allotment that needs using. Careful, it’s hot!”
She muttered to herself: “Hopefully this recipe will be a bit more successful.”
“It’s a taste combination that you’d think wouldn’t work,” said Rosa, her mouth full of cake. “But it’s soooo good! Yummy, gooey, chocolatey goodness!”
Between the four of them, they made short work of the first half of the cake, Felindre in particular making appreciative noises, and Rosa giggling as the two fed each other bits of cake.
Morwen rolled her eyes at them.
“Hey, less of the public displays of affection, you two. We have a guest.”
Richard was looking embarrassed again. To change the subject, he quickly asked Morwen:
“So, you were going to tell me how your phone got hit by lightning?”
Morwen had been spectacularly avoiding this particular question, but Rosa was quick to jump in this time.
“Oh, it was the damndest thing,” she said. “Myself and Mor were walking across the park one afternoon a few months ago when she got a call on her phone. She answers it, and out of nowhere, out of a clear sky comes this bolt of lightning, which hits her!
“I nearly died of shock, I tell you – we were both knocked over by it. But the only damage that was done was to her phone. Doctors say we were really lucky – we could have both been killed!”
“It’s fine,” said Morwen, in the tone of voice of someone who’d really rather be talking about something different. “No harm done.”
There was silence for a few moments. Then:
“So, what’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened to you Richard?”
“Um, not very much really. Normal life, parents, sister. I did go on a submarine voyage once, but it wasn’t that exciting.”
“My horoscope last week said that I’ll be going on a long trip soon,” said Rosa. “Which is true, because I’m going up to Scotland to visit friends in a few months, and that’s like a whole day on the train!”
“How about you? What’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened to you?” Richard asked Felindre, in an attempt to divert the conversation away from himself and/or horoscopes.
“I once was kidnapped by an evil genius and forced to listen to him expound on his evil plot in the form of songs from the musicals.”
“Really?” Richard asked incredulously.
“No,” said Felindre, and she took another huge bite of cake. As she chewed, she looked thoughtfully at Richard again.
There was another uncomfortable silence.
“Oh look,” said Morwen, draining her wine glass. “We’re out of wine. Richard, let’s go down the pub.”
“Brilliant idea,” said Rosa. “Let me get my coat.”
She got up from the sofa, only to have Felindre pull her back down again.
“What?” Rosa asked Felindre.
“I think we’ve had enough of the double date thing,” replied Felindre. “No offense Richard, but maybe some time with just you and Morwen would be good?”
Richard looked gratefully at Felindre, and then questioningly at Morwen.
“Fine by me,” she said.
Morwen and Richard left the room to grab their coats. They popped their heads around the living room door to say goodbye to discover that Rosa and Felindre were all over each other again. Richard didn’t know where to look, and was going that interesting shade of red14.
Morwen coughed loudly.
“We’re off,” she said. “Don’t wait up!”
Rosa giggled and looked at Richard.
“Nice to meet you, Richard,” she giggled, as Felindre was stroking her neck. “Next time, be more adventurous with the plants.”
Morwen grabbed Richard’s hand and dragged him out of the room.
Down the pub, Richard visibly relaxed, though he had insisted on buying the drinks.
“Very chivalric of you,” said Morwen, as he sat down on the padded bench next to her.
“Is that a nice way of saying old-fashioned?” asked Richard.
“Well, you are wearing a cardigan.”
“I’ve heard they’re coming back into fashion.”
“Yeah, and bow-ties are cool too.”
They smiled at each other.
“Rosa’s nice,” Richard ventured cautiously.
“She’s mad as a box of frogs, but she has a good heart,” Morwen replied. “I’ve known her since school.”
“What’s she do?”
“She works as a reporter and general dogsbody for a local paper. Mainly does horoscopes. You’d think that for someone who writes the damn things, she’d know how much rubbish they are, but she’s a true believer. Despite Felindre’s best efforts.”
“Which paper?”
“The Weekly Bugle. Terrible rag, mostly local advertising and the occasional lost cat notice. But it’s journalism, and Rosa’s determined that it’s her stepping stone to a Pulitzer prize.”
Richard frowned.
“The Weekly Bugle, did I hear that they’ve a new editor now?”
“So Rosa says. She’s terrified of her.”
“Ah,” said Richard, taking a swig of his pint. “Felindre – she’s a bit fierce...”
“That’s one way of putting it. She’s a black belt or something really high up in some obscure martial art. The last time a bloke put a hand on her when she told him not too, she damn near tore it off.”
“Ah,” said Richard.
“It’s ok,” said Morwen. “I think she’s reserving judgement on you, for the time being. You didn’t make the stupid crack about asking to watch her and Rosa, and that’s usually a good sign.”
“And you?” asked Richard.
“And me what?”
Richard cautiously put his hand on hers, where it rested between them on the pub table. Morwen turned hers over so they could interlace fingers.
“I, um, think you’re really beautiful, and clever, and sexy,” Richard said. “And I really like you, and spending time with you. This is our third date now, and I’d like there to be a fourth. Would that be ok with you?”15
Morwen smiled, and squeezed his hand.
“I think an option to renew is definitely in order,” she said.
“I thought you were a botanist, not an insurance broker,” he said, and kissed her16.
“Next date,” he said, “could we possibly avoid double dating with your housemate again?”
Morwen smiled.
“I think we can manage that. If,” she said, “you refrain from bringing me carnations again. Can’t stand the bloody things.”
They spent the rest of the time down the pub getting steadily drunker and talking about plants, and other random things. They obviously found it all fascinating17.
Oh, and it turns out that daisies are in fact Morwen’s favourite flowers, though carnivorous plants came a close second. Who knew?
It was late, and Morwen and Richard were both more than a bit drunk when they staggered back from the pub.
“Is that a glow in the dark rabbit?” asked Morwen as they were halfway down the road.
Whatever it was, it was gone before she finished her sentence.
Richard kept up his gentlemanly behaviour, kissing Morwen passionately on the doorstep, but not pushing to come in.
Morwen closed the door behind herself, and slumped on the other side of it, a soppy smile on her face.
It was the next morning, a Saturday, when Morwen wandered downstairs to let the chickens out and make coffee, and finally noticed the trail of clothes and underwear leading from the living room up to the closed door of Rosa’s room.
Morwen sighed, and kicked a pair of red lace frilly knickers under a pair of jeans.
The kitchen was a mess, and there was nothing left of the chocolate and beetroot cake except for a few forlorn crumbs.
Morwen sighed again. She pulled on a pair of wellies, and in her dressing gown, went into the garden to open the door of the chicken run. The chickens eagerly skidded down the ramp from their house and spilled out into the garden, clucking excitedly.
“Morning, girls,” she said, yawning loudly. “Be good, I’m going back to bed.”
She left them to their usual activities of scratching for worms and chasing bugs, went back inside, grabbed a mug of coffee and a box of paracetamol and went back to bed.
A pigeon landed on the kitchen windowsill, and pecked at the burnt popcorn kernels. A blast of outraged clucking from the chickens soon scared it off.
____
14 Honestly, if he was going to hang around Morwen for any length of time, he’d just have to learn to deal with her housemate and her girlfriend. Either that, or look permanently sunburned.
15 Bleurgh.
16 Double belurgh
17 It wasn’t.
(Vegetables) Chapter Three: The Perils Of Double-Dating Dinner Parties
The first visitor to arrive was extremely punctual. At the dot of 7 o’clock, there came a knock on the door. Rosa rushed to open it, pausing to check her reflection in the hall mirror and fluffing her blonde hair before opening the door.
On the other side of the door stood a young man, a bit geeky looking, pale, with dark, floppy hair. He was holding a bunch of mixed carnations and roses and a bottle of wine.
“Oh,” he said, somewhat taken aback. “Um, I’m looking for Morwen? Are you her housemate? Rosa, right?”
Rosa looked slightly disappointed.
“You must be Richard,” she said. “Mor’s told me a lot about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” he said.
“Actually, she’s said bugger all to me about you, but that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to say on meeting someone, right?”
“Oh,” said Richard. “Um.”
“Good call on the flowers,” said Rosa, eyeing them up. “Next time though, don’t be afraid to be adventurous. Roses are good, she likes them, but carnations are a bit tame, aren’t they?”
Morwen called from the kitchen:
“For goodness sake Rosa, let the poor man in!”
Rosa stepped aside as Richard came in, and made his way to the kitchen. Before she closed the door, she looked out and down both sides of the street, and sighed.
As she closed the door, a pigeon landed on the gutter immediately above it, and started preening itself.
In the kitchen, Morwen was scowling and carefully stirring a large steaming saucepan. The steam had turned her sandy brown curls frizzy and had given her a flushed face. She put the lid on the saucepan, and turned to Richard.
Slightly awkwardly, he offered her the bunch of flowers and the bottle of wine. She smiled at him then and took the flowers.
“Why don’t you stick that in the fridge behind you?” she said, waving the flowers at the wine bottle. “There’s some white already in there if you’d like some.”
“Thanks,” said Richard, swapping one bottle for another, pouring himself a glass and topping up the one on the counter next to Morwen.
“Ignore Rosa,” said Morwen, smiling at him as she unwrapped the flowers and put them in a vase. “These are lovely.”
Richard looked around the homely kitchen, paying special attention to the series of pot plants lined up on the windowsill.
“Is that a Venus flytrap?” he asked. “And a pitcher plant?”
“Well done,” smiled Morwen. “Most people don’t notice.”
“Rosa was right,” he said, “makes my carnations and roses seem really boring now. Can I help with anything?”
Morwen hunted around in a cupboard for a few moments and sighed.
As she straightened up, she said:
“Actually, yes. In the back garden, under the window, there’s a frying pan. You couldn’t fetch it for me, could you?”
“No problem,” said Richard.
He was back in less than a minute, holding said frying pan.
“Do you have rabbits?” he asked. “Only I saw the run in the back garden.”
“Nope,” said Morwen. “Chickens. Just as entertaining and cuddly and with the benefit of fresh eggs most days. They’re officially Rosa’s, but I’ve gotten fond of them. They’re probably asleep now. It being nearly dark and all.”
“Do they have names?” he asked.
“Gingernut, Bourboun, Snowball, Kimberley, Mikado and Coconut Cream.”
“Are they all named after biscuits?”
“Well, it was less cruel than calling them Korma, Jalfreezi, or Chow Mein. And there’s only so many egg-related pun-based names like Eggwina that I can think of.”
Richard looked quizzically at the frying pan’s charred contents.
“Um, why was this out in the garden?”
“Honestly, you don’t want to know.”
“Is that popcorn in there?”
Further conversation was stopped by another knock at the door.
“I’ve got it!” carolled Rosa, as she raced down the hall.
This time the visitor was a young woman. A very tiny, very pretty in a doll-like way, Asian young woman, who nearly got knocked over when Rosa enthusiastically hugged her. A close observer would have noted the minute dodge that the woman supressed in order to let Rosa hug her, and the six inch long silver hair sticks that held her long hair back in a bun. A not so observant observer would have seen the expression of exasperated fondness on her face.
“Fel!” Rosa shrieked9. “I’m so glad you could make it! Come in, come in!”
Richard and Morwen looked at each other and winced.
The evening started ok, with everyone being on their best behaviour. It went downhill though, as soon as the potato, leek, root veg and ginger casserole was served.
Felindre stared at Richard intently. He squirmed a bit and looked uncomfortable.
“Do I know you?” she asked him outright. “I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before…”
“I don’t think so,” Richard said thoughtfully.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said firmly.
Felindre looked unconvinced.
“It’ll come to me,” she said determinedly.
There was a moment of quiet while everyone took their first tastes of the casserole.
At least in part to avoid putting any more casserole into his mouth, Richard was the first to put his foot in it.
“So, Rosa, Felindre, got anyone special in your lives?”
Felindre glared at him while Rosa giggled, and put her hand on Felindre’s.
Richard turns a very entertaining shade of red when he’s embarrassed. He covered by gulping some more casserole, and then some water. It was anyone’s guess as whether the red face was then caused by the embarrassment, or the casserole.
“The casserole’s, er, very nice,” said Rosa, carefully putting her spoon on the table next to her bowl. “New recipe?”
“Yes,” said Morwen, blowing on her casserole to cool it. “New book. Not sure about the flavour combination and proportions though.”
“Not surprised,” muttered Felindre. “I think my mouth is on fire from the ginger.”
Morwen glared at her, and Rosa jumped in with:
“Fel, did you see your horoscope today? Because I checked it and it said,” and here she put down her casserole spoon to fish her mobile out of her pocket again to read:
“Some exciting possibility open could up for you, perhaps out of blue sky, perhaps doing something out of character. True, Mercury does start to rewind, so be careful of practicalities.”
There was a moment of silence.
Felindre rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of the casserole. A look of pain crossed her face as she forced herself to swallow. Almost to relieve the pain, she snapped:
“For pity’s sake Rosa, what have I told you about horoscopes! I can’t believe you’re so gullible!”
“You’re such an unbeliever, Fel! Science doesn’t mean you know everything. There are things that science can’t explain!”
“Rosa, horoscopes are bunk, and I know this because a) I’ve studied physics and astronomy, and therefore can mathematically prove that the midwife present at your birth had more of a gravitational effect on you than Jupiter did. And b) you write the blasted things for work, so you know exactly how vague and woolly they are!”
Rosa pushed her bowl of casserole away quickly, spilling some over the side of the bowl, and stood up from the table.
“That’s so like a Taurus!”
And with that, she ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Everyone stared at the spilled casserole as it steamed gently. Around the spill’s edges the table varnish was peeling.
Morwen fetched a cloth and wiped up the spill10. Then she started gathering up the bowls into a stack in front of her. No one had finished the casserole, in fact most looked hardly touched.
“Well, I guess I won’t be bothering with that recipe again,” she said.
Everyone could hear the sound of sobbing coming from upstairs. Morwen gave Felindre a look.
“What?” said Felindre. “I’ve had words with her before about horoscopes – she knows they drive me mad.”
“Felindre,” warned Morwen. “You know what’ll happen otherwise…”
“Oh, all right,” Felindre grumbled. And she too got up from the table and followed Rosa upstairs, muttering to herself about gravitational fields.
“Are they always like that?” asked Richard, when she was safely out of the room.
Morwen gloomily took another slug of wine and stared at the unfinished casserole, still steaming slightly in its dish on the table.
“No,” she said. “Most of the time they’re worse. At least no one started throwing plates this time around.”
“Oh,” said Richard.
“I think they’ve both bought into the whole ‘love is a battlefield’ trope thing. One thing for sure, they’re certainly passionate about each other.”
She sighed, and looked at Richard.
“But they’ve been together for more than a year now, which by Rosa’s standards is practically a lifetime, so something must be working.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by a quacking sound. Richard jumped and looked around nervously.
“That’s my phone,” said Morwen. “It’s been making strange noises recently. And I can’t seem to get it to stop.”
“Oh,” said Richard again. Then, brightening, he suggested:
“Maybe I could take a look? I’m good with mechanical things.”
His bright look faded dramatically when Morwen fished her phone out of her bag and handed it over to him.
The phone was a blackened mass of plastic, with scorch marks on the back. The screen had a small crack in the corner, and the power on button had melted11.
“What on earth happened to this?” he asked, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Oh, it got hit by lightning,” said Morwen.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How did that happen?”
“Long story,” said Morwen. “More wine?”
And she topped their glasses up, clearly not intending to elaborate on said long story.
Richard waited a moment, in case she did feel like explaining further, turning the phone over in his hands.
“I can’t seem to get it to work,” he said, poking at the screen.
“There’s a knack to it,” said Morwen, taking it from him.
The phone came to life with a musical chord (A minor), and the screen lit up.
“Hello, my name is SISE, how may I help you?” came from the phone in a melodious, female voice12.
“Not now Sissy, just checking texts.”
“You have one new text message. Would you like to read it?”
“Not now, thanks. Go back to sleep.”
“Ok,” said Sissy.
“Your phone talks to you?” asked Richard, somewhat redundantly.
“It does now,” said Morwen. “And it still works, pretty well. I figure, from the look of it, no one’s going to try stealing it. Plus, ever since it was hit by lightning, I don’t need to charge it up anymore.”
Richard looked at the phone suspiciously.
“Why ducks quacking as a text alert?”
“Dunno,” said Morwen. “It just seems to choose sounds at random. Last time it was an elephant call, the time before that the opening bars of Beethoven’s fifth. It’s fond of the latest viral video song though.”
“Oh,” said Richard.
“’Gangnam style’ I could handle,” said Morwen. “’What does the Fox say’ was ok too. Even the bagpipers playing the Hokey Cokey13. But I was glad when it stopped being the screaming goat, I can tell you!”
A loud bang came from the room above them, followed by some more clattering, and a peal of giggles.
“Sounds like Felindre and Rosa are putting their differences aside,” said Morwen. “I’ll hold off on dessert for a while. More wine?”
Richard helped her carry the casserole bowls into the kitchen, empty wine glasses in other hand. Neither of their glasses stayed empty for long.
___
9 Rosa does that – indicates enthusiasm via volume. You get used to it.
10 Adding another suspicious burned and brown patch to the collection of burns already on it.
11 Hey, it’s not like it was needed anymore.
12 A very sexy voice too, I hasten to add.
13 Maybe the Hokey Cokey is what it’s all about. But probably not.
On the other side of the door stood a young man, a bit geeky looking, pale, with dark, floppy hair. He was holding a bunch of mixed carnations and roses and a bottle of wine.
“Oh,” he said, somewhat taken aback. “Um, I’m looking for Morwen? Are you her housemate? Rosa, right?”
Rosa looked slightly disappointed.
“You must be Richard,” she said. “Mor’s told me a lot about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” he said.
“Actually, she’s said bugger all to me about you, but that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to say on meeting someone, right?”
“Oh,” said Richard. “Um.”
“Good call on the flowers,” said Rosa, eyeing them up. “Next time though, don’t be afraid to be adventurous. Roses are good, she likes them, but carnations are a bit tame, aren’t they?”
Morwen called from the kitchen:
“For goodness sake Rosa, let the poor man in!”
Rosa stepped aside as Richard came in, and made his way to the kitchen. Before she closed the door, she looked out and down both sides of the street, and sighed.
As she closed the door, a pigeon landed on the gutter immediately above it, and started preening itself.
In the kitchen, Morwen was scowling and carefully stirring a large steaming saucepan. The steam had turned her sandy brown curls frizzy and had given her a flushed face. She put the lid on the saucepan, and turned to Richard.
Slightly awkwardly, he offered her the bunch of flowers and the bottle of wine. She smiled at him then and took the flowers.
“Why don’t you stick that in the fridge behind you?” she said, waving the flowers at the wine bottle. “There’s some white already in there if you’d like some.”
“Thanks,” said Richard, swapping one bottle for another, pouring himself a glass and topping up the one on the counter next to Morwen.
“Ignore Rosa,” said Morwen, smiling at him as she unwrapped the flowers and put them in a vase. “These are lovely.”
Richard looked around the homely kitchen, paying special attention to the series of pot plants lined up on the windowsill.
“Is that a Venus flytrap?” he asked. “And a pitcher plant?”
“Well done,” smiled Morwen. “Most people don’t notice.”
“Rosa was right,” he said, “makes my carnations and roses seem really boring now. Can I help with anything?”
Morwen hunted around in a cupboard for a few moments and sighed.
As she straightened up, she said:
“Actually, yes. In the back garden, under the window, there’s a frying pan. You couldn’t fetch it for me, could you?”
“No problem,” said Richard.
He was back in less than a minute, holding said frying pan.
“Do you have rabbits?” he asked. “Only I saw the run in the back garden.”
“Nope,” said Morwen. “Chickens. Just as entertaining and cuddly and with the benefit of fresh eggs most days. They’re officially Rosa’s, but I’ve gotten fond of them. They’re probably asleep now. It being nearly dark and all.”
“Do they have names?” he asked.
“Gingernut, Bourboun, Snowball, Kimberley, Mikado and Coconut Cream.”
“Are they all named after biscuits?”
“Well, it was less cruel than calling them Korma, Jalfreezi, or Chow Mein. And there’s only so many egg-related pun-based names like Eggwina that I can think of.”
Richard looked quizzically at the frying pan’s charred contents.
“Um, why was this out in the garden?”
“Honestly, you don’t want to know.”
“Is that popcorn in there?”
Further conversation was stopped by another knock at the door.
“I’ve got it!” carolled Rosa, as she raced down the hall.
This time the visitor was a young woman. A very tiny, very pretty in a doll-like way, Asian young woman, who nearly got knocked over when Rosa enthusiastically hugged her. A close observer would have noted the minute dodge that the woman supressed in order to let Rosa hug her, and the six inch long silver hair sticks that held her long hair back in a bun. A not so observant observer would have seen the expression of exasperated fondness on her face.
“Fel!” Rosa shrieked9. “I’m so glad you could make it! Come in, come in!”
Richard and Morwen looked at each other and winced.
The evening started ok, with everyone being on their best behaviour. It went downhill though, as soon as the potato, leek, root veg and ginger casserole was served.
Felindre stared at Richard intently. He squirmed a bit and looked uncomfortable.
“Do I know you?” she asked him outright. “I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before…”
“I don’t think so,” Richard said thoughtfully.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said firmly.
Felindre looked unconvinced.
“It’ll come to me,” she said determinedly.
There was a moment of quiet while everyone took their first tastes of the casserole.
At least in part to avoid putting any more casserole into his mouth, Richard was the first to put his foot in it.
“So, Rosa, Felindre, got anyone special in your lives?”
Felindre glared at him while Rosa giggled, and put her hand on Felindre’s.
Richard turns a very entertaining shade of red when he’s embarrassed. He covered by gulping some more casserole, and then some water. It was anyone’s guess as whether the red face was then caused by the embarrassment, or the casserole.
“The casserole’s, er, very nice,” said Rosa, carefully putting her spoon on the table next to her bowl. “New recipe?”
“Yes,” said Morwen, blowing on her casserole to cool it. “New book. Not sure about the flavour combination and proportions though.”
“Not surprised,” muttered Felindre. “I think my mouth is on fire from the ginger.”
Morwen glared at her, and Rosa jumped in with:
“Fel, did you see your horoscope today? Because I checked it and it said,” and here she put down her casserole spoon to fish her mobile out of her pocket again to read:
“Some exciting possibility open could up for you, perhaps out of blue sky, perhaps doing something out of character. True, Mercury does start to rewind, so be careful of practicalities.”
There was a moment of silence.
Felindre rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of the casserole. A look of pain crossed her face as she forced herself to swallow. Almost to relieve the pain, she snapped:
“For pity’s sake Rosa, what have I told you about horoscopes! I can’t believe you’re so gullible!”
“You’re such an unbeliever, Fel! Science doesn’t mean you know everything. There are things that science can’t explain!”
“Rosa, horoscopes are bunk, and I know this because a) I’ve studied physics and astronomy, and therefore can mathematically prove that the midwife present at your birth had more of a gravitational effect on you than Jupiter did. And b) you write the blasted things for work, so you know exactly how vague and woolly they are!”
Rosa pushed her bowl of casserole away quickly, spilling some over the side of the bowl, and stood up from the table.
“That’s so like a Taurus!”
And with that, she ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Everyone stared at the spilled casserole as it steamed gently. Around the spill’s edges the table varnish was peeling.
Morwen fetched a cloth and wiped up the spill10. Then she started gathering up the bowls into a stack in front of her. No one had finished the casserole, in fact most looked hardly touched.
“Well, I guess I won’t be bothering with that recipe again,” she said.
Everyone could hear the sound of sobbing coming from upstairs. Morwen gave Felindre a look.
“What?” said Felindre. “I’ve had words with her before about horoscopes – she knows they drive me mad.”
“Felindre,” warned Morwen. “You know what’ll happen otherwise…”
“Oh, all right,” Felindre grumbled. And she too got up from the table and followed Rosa upstairs, muttering to herself about gravitational fields.
“Are they always like that?” asked Richard, when she was safely out of the room.
Morwen gloomily took another slug of wine and stared at the unfinished casserole, still steaming slightly in its dish on the table.
“No,” she said. “Most of the time they’re worse. At least no one started throwing plates this time around.”
“Oh,” said Richard.
“I think they’ve both bought into the whole ‘love is a battlefield’ trope thing. One thing for sure, they’re certainly passionate about each other.”
She sighed, and looked at Richard.
“But they’ve been together for more than a year now, which by Rosa’s standards is practically a lifetime, so something must be working.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by a quacking sound. Richard jumped and looked around nervously.
“That’s my phone,” said Morwen. “It’s been making strange noises recently. And I can’t seem to get it to stop.”
“Oh,” said Richard again. Then, brightening, he suggested:
“Maybe I could take a look? I’m good with mechanical things.”
His bright look faded dramatically when Morwen fished her phone out of her bag and handed it over to him.
The phone was a blackened mass of plastic, with scorch marks on the back. The screen had a small crack in the corner, and the power on button had melted11.
“What on earth happened to this?” he asked, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Oh, it got hit by lightning,” said Morwen.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How did that happen?”
“Long story,” said Morwen. “More wine?”
And she topped their glasses up, clearly not intending to elaborate on said long story.
Richard waited a moment, in case she did feel like explaining further, turning the phone over in his hands.
“I can’t seem to get it to work,” he said, poking at the screen.
“There’s a knack to it,” said Morwen, taking it from him.
The phone came to life with a musical chord (A minor), and the screen lit up.
“Hello, my name is SISE, how may I help you?” came from the phone in a melodious, female voice12.
“Not now Sissy, just checking texts.”
“You have one new text message. Would you like to read it?”
“Not now, thanks. Go back to sleep.”
“Ok,” said Sissy.
“Your phone talks to you?” asked Richard, somewhat redundantly.
“It does now,” said Morwen. “And it still works, pretty well. I figure, from the look of it, no one’s going to try stealing it. Plus, ever since it was hit by lightning, I don’t need to charge it up anymore.”
Richard looked at the phone suspiciously.
“Why ducks quacking as a text alert?”
“Dunno,” said Morwen. “It just seems to choose sounds at random. Last time it was an elephant call, the time before that the opening bars of Beethoven’s fifth. It’s fond of the latest viral video song though.”
“Oh,” said Richard.
“’Gangnam style’ I could handle,” said Morwen. “’What does the Fox say’ was ok too. Even the bagpipers playing the Hokey Cokey13. But I was glad when it stopped being the screaming goat, I can tell you!”
A loud bang came from the room above them, followed by some more clattering, and a peal of giggles.
“Sounds like Felindre and Rosa are putting their differences aside,” said Morwen. “I’ll hold off on dessert for a while. More wine?”
Richard helped her carry the casserole bowls into the kitchen, empty wine glasses in other hand. Neither of their glasses stayed empty for long.
___
9 Rosa does that – indicates enthusiasm via volume. You get used to it.
10 Adding another suspicious burned and brown patch to the collection of burns already on it.
11 Hey, it’s not like it was needed anymore.
12 A very sexy voice too, I hasten to add.
13 Maybe the Hokey Cokey is what it’s all about. But probably not.
(Vegetables) Chapter Two: Popcorn May Be Tasty, But It’s Not So Good On Salads
When Morwen opened the door to the kitchen, a great waft of smoke came billowing out – setting the fire alarm in the hall screaming blue murder. Another figure materialised out of the smoke, frantically waving a tea-towel and coughing.
“Sorry!” the tea-towel wielding figure shrieked over the fire alarm’s wailing, as it flapped ineffectually at the ceiling with the towel.
Morwen took a deep breath, and dove into the kitchen, where she quickly located the source of the smoke – a frying pan left on the hot hob. Grabbing another tea towel, she calmly picked up the frying pan and, carefully checking out the window first and being sure not to knock it against her collection of daisies and carnivorous plants, defenestrated it.
She opened the back door as well, to let the smoke escape, before finally pushing the (still apologising and tea towel waving) figure in the hall to one side. Morwen picked up the long bamboo cane that was kept in the hall for this very reason, and gave a short, sharp stab to the fire alarm.
It gurgled, and stopped shrieking8.
Morwen’s ears were ringing.
“Rosa,” she sighed. “What have I told you about trying to cook when I’m not here?”
Rosa twisted the tea towel in her hands. It was slightly singed in places, some burn marks darker and younger than others.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just trying to help get things started. I do want things to go well tonight! And my horoscope said that today was a day to revisit old challenges and that I was sure to succeed!”
Morwen frowned.
“Really?” she said.
Rosa put the tea towel into one hand and pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket with the other.
“My horoscope for today says: The Moon could see you keen to do something a bit different today, even if it is to worry your normal routine for the period. If we do this well and couple the timing with hard work, applications and no small little self-belief, you’re sure to have sown a vegetable,” she read from the screen.
“And that says to revisit old challenges and that you’re sure to succeed, is it?” said Morwen dubiously. “Just what exactly were you trying to sow a vegetable at?”
There was an inquisitive clucking from the back door.
“No chickens in the house!” called Morwen towards that general direction.
“I was trying to make a salad,” mumbled Rosa.
“Since when do you need a hot frying pan to make a salad?!”
“Since I saw on ‘Feasts with Friends’ that toasted nuts and seeds are really good on salads, and you toast them by putting them into a hot frying pan.”
Sure enough, now that the smoke had cleared in the kitchen, Morwen could see on the countertop a large plastic bowl containing full leaves of slightly wilted lettuce. They had mostly been pulled off the lettuce head, and showed signs of being hacked at with a knife.
The counter top was also covered in carrot and other vegetable peelings, and a salad dressing bottle lay on its side, slowly dripping its contents onto the kitchen floor.
“Why,” asked Morwen, “is there popcorn all over the floor?”
“Popcorn’s a seed, isn’t it?”
Morwen sighed and looked at her watch.
“It’s nearly twenty past six. They’ll be here at seven.”
Rosa twisted the tea towel some more.
Morwen shrugged out of her coat, hung it up, and put her handbag on the floor next to it.
“Right,” she said. “You clean. I’ll cook. And Rosa?”
Rosa had brightened up considerably.
“That bottle of white wine you’ve hidden in the airing cupboard? Go put it in the fridge. I’ve a feeling we’re going to need it.”
A scratching sound came from the kitchen, along with another inquisitive cluck.
“No chickens in the house!” called Morwen. And she went off to shoo the chickens out of the kitchen, not before one of them had made off with some of the veg peelings that were all over the floor.
___
8 In a way slightly reminiscent of a telephone dropped into a well.
(Vegetables) Chapter One: Displaying A Distinct Lack Of Narrative Sensibilities
If there was any narrative justice in the world, Morwen should have found the book in a dusty old second-hand bookshop. The type of place where old books balance precariously on every available surface, with a filing system only known by the ancient and slightly scary-looking proprietor, who watches you every second you’re in the shop, and sniffs at you disdainfully if you dare to attempt to buy a book.
It should have been bound in faded brown leather, of faintly disturbing provenance, with gilt lettering on the cover worn away by countless hands. It should have been hidden in the darkest and dustiest depths of the shop, underneath volumes of epic poetry in Ancient Greek and dry histories of the Etruscans. It should have been covered in dust, with a smell that evoked the weight of ages and its mysterious past3.
Instead, she bought it from her local remaindered book store, from a pimply young man with a name badge saying “Hello, my name is Tom”. It was not dusty, though the hardback cover was a bit battered and the dust jacket torn in the back. The only thing mysterious about it was the multiple layers of price stickers on it, marking it down from £9.99, to £4.99, to £2.99, £1.99 and finally the bargain price of 99p. Which, given it was the only book of its type on the shelf, wasn’t really all that mysterious when you got down to it.
It was called “The Art and Science of Fruit and Vegetable’s4” and bore a cheerful full-colour picture of a cabbage, some carrots, a red onion and a globe artichoke on the dust cover. From a quick flick through, it looked like a vegetarian cookbook.
Morwen picked it up and bought it, because it was 99p, and because she was cooking dinner that night, and fancied some new vegetarian recipes to deal with the glut of courgettes the allotment was currently producing. She also bought a set of notecards with flowers on them, an A5 ring bound sketchpad and three science fiction novels with pictures of space things5 on the cover (all three for the bargain price of £5). Even though she was offered a large bar of chocolate for the bargain price of ninety nine pence, she graciously declined6.
There were a couple of random pops, like the sound of the cork coming out of a champagne bottle, while she was paying for her books and stuff, but no one paid any heed to them7.
Thus laden with purchases, she went home, past several telegraph poles with signs on them about a lost guinea pig. Nothing of interest happened on the way. There were pigeons, but there always were.
___
3 In other words, it should have been mysterious and evocative and slightly dangerous seeming. It wasn’t.
4 Yes, really. Probably why it was in the remainders shop in the first place.
5 Spaceships or something. Mostly physically impossible, even in zero gravity.
6 She didn’t like that type of chocolate.
7 Except for the young man behind the till. But he looked like he was permanently frazzled, so it was probably nothing.
It should have been bound in faded brown leather, of faintly disturbing provenance, with gilt lettering on the cover worn away by countless hands. It should have been hidden in the darkest and dustiest depths of the shop, underneath volumes of epic poetry in Ancient Greek and dry histories of the Etruscans. It should have been covered in dust, with a smell that evoked the weight of ages and its mysterious past3.
Instead, she bought it from her local remaindered book store, from a pimply young man with a name badge saying “Hello, my name is Tom”. It was not dusty, though the hardback cover was a bit battered and the dust jacket torn in the back. The only thing mysterious about it was the multiple layers of price stickers on it, marking it down from £9.99, to £4.99, to £2.99, £1.99 and finally the bargain price of 99p. Which, given it was the only book of its type on the shelf, wasn’t really all that mysterious when you got down to it.
It was called “The Art and Science of Fruit and Vegetable’s4” and bore a cheerful full-colour picture of a cabbage, some carrots, a red onion and a globe artichoke on the dust cover. From a quick flick through, it looked like a vegetarian cookbook.
Morwen picked it up and bought it, because it was 99p, and because she was cooking dinner that night, and fancied some new vegetarian recipes to deal with the glut of courgettes the allotment was currently producing. She also bought a set of notecards with flowers on them, an A5 ring bound sketchpad and three science fiction novels with pictures of space things5 on the cover (all three for the bargain price of £5). Even though she was offered a large bar of chocolate for the bargain price of ninety nine pence, she graciously declined6.
There were a couple of random pops, like the sound of the cork coming out of a champagne bottle, while she was paying for her books and stuff, but no one paid any heed to them7.
Thus laden with purchases, she went home, past several telegraph poles with signs on them about a lost guinea pig. Nothing of interest happened on the way. There were pigeons, but there always were.
___
3 In other words, it should have been mysterious and evocative and slightly dangerous seeming. It wasn’t.
4 Yes, really. Probably why it was in the remainders shop in the first place.
5 Spaceships or something. Mostly physically impossible, even in zero gravity.
6 She didn’t like that type of chocolate.
7 Except for the young man behind the till. But he looked like he was permanently frazzled, so it was probably nothing.
The Strange Case of the Vegetable's in the Night Time: Prologue (maybe)
This is perhaps how it could have all begun… 1
Picture a standard suburban garden, with a small square of grass and a few shrubs, surrounded by a high brick wall. A kid’s scooter and a large, net-encircled trampoline give an indication of the membership of the family that lives at this particular address. Up against one wall is a large wooden rabbit hutch, with straw sticking out of the chicken wire that forms one of the large doors of the hutch.
A large, well-rounded2 pigeon lands on the lawn and pecks desultorily at the grass. A rustling comes from the hutch, and a pair of small, beady, black eyes look out through the wire. The pigeon looks up, then goes back to scratching at the lawn. A shrill “wheeep” comes from the hutch. The pigeon ignores it, as it does the next, louder and more commanding “wheeps” that come from the hutch.
There’s a sound of scuffling, and a small shower of straw, sawdust and sunflower seeds gets kicked out from the wire. The pigeon looks up, and liking what it sees, hops over to the sawdust. As it pecks through the debris for sunflower seeds and bits of corn, it can see the inhabitant of the hutch – a brown guinea pig with a white patch over its left eye.
The guinea pig, knowing that it has the pigeon’s full attention, chatters at the pigeon in a mixture of wheeps and clicks, telling it exactly what it will do, and how many more sunflower seeds it will receive if it does…
…Or it could have all been completely different. There’s only one creature who knows for sure what happened and when, and well, she’s not saying.
___
1 Probably not, but it never hurts to speculate.
2 Or, if you’re being uncomplimentary, fat.
Picture a standard suburban garden, with a small square of grass and a few shrubs, surrounded by a high brick wall. A kid’s scooter and a large, net-encircled trampoline give an indication of the membership of the family that lives at this particular address. Up against one wall is a large wooden rabbit hutch, with straw sticking out of the chicken wire that forms one of the large doors of the hutch.
A large, well-rounded2 pigeon lands on the lawn and pecks desultorily at the grass. A rustling comes from the hutch, and a pair of small, beady, black eyes look out through the wire. The pigeon looks up, then goes back to scratching at the lawn. A shrill “wheeep” comes from the hutch. The pigeon ignores it, as it does the next, louder and more commanding “wheeps” that come from the hutch.
There’s a sound of scuffling, and a small shower of straw, sawdust and sunflower seeds gets kicked out from the wire. The pigeon looks up, and liking what it sees, hops over to the sawdust. As it pecks through the debris for sunflower seeds and bits of corn, it can see the inhabitant of the hutch – a brown guinea pig with a white patch over its left eye.
The guinea pig, knowing that it has the pigeon’s full attention, chatters at the pigeon in a mixture of wheeps and clicks, telling it exactly what it will do, and how many more sunflower seeds it will receive if it does…
…Or it could have all been completely different. There’s only one creature who knows for sure what happened and when, and well, she’s not saying.
___
1 Probably not, but it never hurts to speculate.
2 Or, if you’re being uncomplimentary, fat.
Wednesday, 10 August 2016
Three more sonnets for fictional lovers
A key you give, to free me from my
chains
gladly received. I wish in truth it
would
unlock the bonds, break open what
remains.
I'd bear the lash, if cost be paid
in blood.
What would I choose, if I to choose
were free?
What twisting path, the calling of
my heart?
To choose a life, to choose a love,
to see,
I lack the skill. Some bonds will
never part.
Some chains are of the soul, or of
the will,
some forced, some sold, yet some are
freely taken.
Some I chafe against, yet bear them
still,
to others I will cling, or be
forsaken.
And so, though you may hand to me
the key,
the lock is held yet by cruel fate's
decree.
One voice alone can only do so much
a single line, a simple melody.
One voice alone another's heart may
touch
but feather-light. It is in harmony
-
in voiced joined - that true music
is made.
Those aching chords, that soaring
ecstasy,
that lingers long, though notes
themselves do fade
to feed the soul. Speak of
simplicity
of solo string, or fierce orchestral
might -
I tell you true, not one of them
compare
to your sweet voice, so glorious, so
bright.
To sing with you, I'll raise my
voice and dare.
Lay bare my love, so I might beg of
thee
to join me in euphoric harmony.
Give me pain, my love, and sweetest
bliss
I’ll take from you, or none at all
I’ll bear the whip, the chains, all
this,
and cry for more. I’ll scream. I’ll
crawl
for you, but you. Only at your hand
will I bear the lash. Only in your
fist
I’ll place the knife. Only your
command
I will obey. Only for your kiss
I will submit. Do what you will,
bind me, hold me, take my voice,
pierce me, hurt me, feel me thrill
all at your touch. This is my
choice.
For you I’ll beg, for you I’ll
plead,
your adoration my deepest need.
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