family

Reasons for JOANNA

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We all have family don’t we? It doesn’t matter if you live in an adopted family, or with a single parent, or with both parents and a whole host of siblings. We have family. And we are affected by them, we can’t help it.

I have a big sister who I’ve always wanted to be like, and a little brother who always won all the medals for football and continually bounced balls off the back of my head when we walked anywhere. They helped to make me who I am today. As did my parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Family is what shapes us.

Sometimes, family is embarrassing. When someone begins a sentence, “Did you know your mother…..” I’m never sure what might be coming next. (Usually it’s something good, of course). And in turn, I as a mother feel deeply about everything my children do. Doesn’t every mother feel guilty when things aren’t perfect? When your child has a cold, don’t you wonder if you’re giving them enough vitamins? When your child fails a music exam, don’t you wonder if you should have insisted they practiced more often?

I remember as a teacher, when I needed to speak to a parent and I called for them at the school gate, “Mrs Brown, do you have a minute?” Their eyes would look worried. They always worried I might be going to tell them Billy had done something wrong, or was struggling to keep up with his peers.

These are the ideas that I wanted to consider when I wrote Joanna. Everyone has family, even those in our society who do terrible things. But they are rarely considered. Do you know who Hitler’s mother was? If he had siblings? How they felt about the things he did?

I wanted to write about the family of a psychopath, but first I had to fully understand what it meant to be a psychopath. I have already told you about what I discovered. Then I needed to explain to my readers what it meant to be a psychopath – and when you write a book, you don’t tell, you show. So I showed the reader what the world looked like through Joanna’s eyes, how she felt, what she wanted. When I had done that, I could move towards her family; I could show how they felt, the struggles they experienced being part of her, loving her. I hope, when you read my book, you will understand…

Published by The Cobweb Press
ISBN : 978-0-9954632-2-6
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Available from book shops (if it’s not in stock, they can order it for you).

Also available from Amazon:

Thank you

PS. This evening is the ‘official’ book launch. This is terrifying! Although the local newspapers and radio have been very kind, and the launch has been well publicised, I have this fear that no one will attend. Being an author has many opportunities for public humiliation – you are very ‘out there’ when you publish a book. Hopefully it will be a wonderful celebration with lots of friends and interested people. I will let you know on Monday how it goes.

Swigging Wine in the Supermarket Carpark….

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When you have a family, even when in theory they have grown up and moved away, there are always unexpected laughs and worries.

One big worry for me recently has been one ‘child’s’ health. I was more worried than him I think, and had a few sleepless nights, before his endoscopy showed he didn’t have cancer or Crohn’s disease. I knew in my head that the odds were good, but mummies worry. It’s what we do. He was very relaxed about the whole thing, was sure they’d find nothing major wrong (which was correct) and even, during the procedure, made them laugh by asking if they could “keep a look out for my car keys while you’re there, because I’ve lost those somewhere.”

The hospital sent him home with a written report, which even included photographs. Why would anyone want photos of their insides? Son assured me it was the male equivalent of baby scan printouts. He said he was trying to decide whether to put them on Facebook to show all his friends, or cut them out to put in a card for his girlfriend. I do hope he was joking.

This worry did not however, lead to swigging wine in the supermarket carpark – whatever you might hear to the contrary. That was something else. We are preparing for the launch of JOANNA, and need some decent wine that doesn’t cost a fortune. So we bought a couple of bottles which were on ‘special offer’ and tasted them with some friends, to check they were okay. They were, so the following day we went back to the supermarket to buy enough for the launch. Except they had sold out. Hence we realised that wine on ‘special offer’ sells out quickly, so we needed to buy it when we saw it. But I was keen to taste it first (so we didn’t serve awful wine to our guests). So, we bought a bottle of each, took them into the carpark, and had a quick taste…It was embarrassing. I don’t really have a self-image of me and my husband swigging wine from bottles in supermarket carparks. But we were. And a few people noticed (but didn’t comment, which made it worse). Son found it hilarious.

One of the nice things about the health scare, was it meant we had Colon-Boy at home for the week. (If you read that name, it means he hasn’t yet! Sometimes I write things which I know my family will tell me to remove when they read it. When you get to my age, you get your laughs where you can, and I see it as ‘pay-back’ for all those two year old tantrums in supermarkets I had to endure when I was young and stressed….) Having a son at home does entail a certain amount of male competitiveness, especially with food. I will ask, “How many cheese and leek pastries will you eat?” First male will ask for two (even though he never eats more than one), second male will then ask for three. I cook them, even though I know both males will be trying to smuggle pastry into the bin without me seeing. Sometimes I pretend I don’t have enough, just to save them. Other times I cook what was requested and then stay at the table while they try to force themselves to finish. Like I said, it’s kind of payback. (If you have young children, hold on to these thoughts – your time will come…..)

The chickens are still shut inside. They’re very unhappy, and keen for the bird flu epidemic to finish (not that it is anywhere near our county), so they can be released back into the garden. I am also unhappy, as I have to clean them out at least once a day. I’m also slightly worried what will happen when I do release them. Cockerels have a tendency to fight over new territory, and when I release them, they will have forgotten they’ve already been in the garden, decide it’s new territory and fight over who is boss. Cockerels will fight to the death. So I’m not really sure how to release them safely. I currently have three cockerels – two are full grown, one is the November hatchling. I may not have three next time I write…..Will do some internet research and try to find a way to release them without starting a war.

The ducks are less unhappy. They are classed as ‘released birds’ (like game birds which have been released) so although I’m feeding them under cover, they’re still on the pond. Which is fenced. Except I keep finding them on the lawn, because they’re very good at escaping. When they see me and Kia, they know they’ve been naughty, so they instantly start to run (even though they can all fly) round to the gate, and back onto the pond. They’re like naughty children!

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If you would like be one of the first to buy a copy of JOANNA (and drink some ‘not too bad’ wine) then perhaps you would like to come to the book launch. It will be on 29th March, in Kent, UK. If you’d like an invite, fill out the contact form below:

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Thank you for your response. ✨

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Thank you for reading.

A Walk on the Wild Side…

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img_0963So, Husband announces he wants to walk ‘somewhere prettier’. We’re on a mini-break in Devon, staying in a cottage practically on the beach, but we haven’t actually seen much of the ‘typical’ North Devon scenery. You know, the rolling hills with tiny fields and lots of green.

I thought our village was pretty perfect, but I try to be accommodating, so I said he could choose. This was a mistake.

Firstly, he scurries off with the map and plans a walk which, for some unknown reason, needs to be a secret. I am to have no input at all as to where we go. At this stage, I thought this was fine, a nice surprise, no danger involved or anything like that.

Then we pack the dog and boots into the car, and off we go, heading towards Barnstaple. After a while, we left the main roads and drove along ever narrowing lanes. When the satnav stopped naming them, and then stopped showing them at all (so it looked as if the car was heading through space) I should have been warned. But I wasn’t (I am very easy-going, cheerfully gullible, things like that.)

We arrived at a carpark. The bridleways beyond were fenced, with gates and styles for access. There were, I will admit, a couple of signs, warning the military used the area. But there were no “Keep Out” signs, no locks on the gates, no signs that said “Danger”. None that I saw anyway. So on we marched.

We quickly came to undulating sand dunes, grassy areas, and marshy ponds. It was rather lovely. We headed off, towards where we thought the coast was.img_0965

It was then that I spotted some runners, way off in the distance. They were all wearing white tee-shirts, and I thought perhaps these were the army training exercises. Nice place to run, next to the sea. As I watched them, I realised there was another group, slightly nearer to us, wearing camouflage gear. And firing guns. This felt less safe.

Husband assured me they were probably ‘outward-bound types’ or shooting blanks, and we were fine, we just needed to avoid walking in front of where they were aiming. I sort of believed him. After all, the military wouldn’t shoot in an area used by dog walkers, would they?

A little later, as we skirted the men firing guns, to climb other dunes in our quest to find the sea, we saw some military vehicles. They had their headlights on, and were coming towards us at speed. I wondered if we were going to be arrested. But they zoomed off in another direction before they reached us.

Then we heard machine guns firing. At this point, I got stroppy. I told Husband I was very unhappy and felt uncomfortable about being fired at, and I wanted to go back to the car. He agreed. Trouble was, we were lost.

We had made so many detours, it was hard to remember even which direction we had come from. The area was huge, in different circumstances (ie, not being fired at) it would’ve been lovely. After wandering for a while, Husband looked at phone to see if it had a map. It did. It also showed our position, and where we had parked the car (clever phone).

We made it back to the car, neither shot nor arrested. We did see a few signs that we missed on the way in though….

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Thank you for reading.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the rest of our holiday (nothing quite as exciting. Thankfully.)

xxxxx

anneethompson.com

Family Life and stuff

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We went to see daughter’s new flat. We filled the car with her stuff (actually, we could’ve filled many cars with her stuff, but we were only allowed to take permitted items. She’s a bit scary) and drove into London (well, the edge of London.) Her flat is very nice – Victorian with lovely high ceilings and a bay window. Though husband was somewhat perturbed because amongst the many photos of friends and family, he could not find one of himself. And daughter was somewhat perturbed as the boys arrived with a HUGE photo for her wall of…….themselves.

We then went out for coffee. Boys commented that they could tell they were in London by both the prices and because the first items on the menu contained, “avocado, quinoa, and bee pollen” (what the heck is ‘bee pollen‘????). They are Northerners at heart. They told me the cafe was “Very Shoreditch”. (In case you don’t know, ‘Shoreditch’ is the word that now replaces ‘hipster’, which is the word that replaced ‘trendy’, which is the word that replaced ‘hip’. Apparently. Keeping up? Me neither.)

They’re funny though. I photographed their cocktail menu, for when we have parties. Thought it might make you smile:

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A few years ago they built a bar in our garage (they told me it was temporary. It’s been there about 5 years now.) When we have parties, if they’re home, they man the bar. They’re rather good at it. Despite drinking way more alcohol than I approve of, they’re also quite responsible. At our latest party I spotted them filling a vodka bottle with water – they told me it was to add ‘shots’ to drinks for our friends when they were drunk enough…..Hmmmm.

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Thank you for reading.

anneethompson.com

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Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

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So, have you watched ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’? As part of the whole, ‘family at home for Christmas so we ought to do something’ time, we went to the cinema. Afterwards we had dinner at Pizza Hut (even though I promised myself about ten years ago, that I would never have to eat in a Pizza Hut again.) It was actually a really fun evening. I’ll tell you about it (with a warning if you haven’t seen the film, this does contain spoilers.)

For those of you who don’t know (mainly you, Mum) ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ is another film in the Harry Potter series – you know, the ones about the boy who is a wizard, who makes friends with the ginger-haired boy, and the girl who all the teenagers now fancy? Well, this film is supposed to be before all that took place, in the 1920’s, and is set in New York. I came away with very mixed feelings about it.

Firstly, it is excellent entertainment. I usually get bored in films aimed at a younger audience (the Harry Potter books and films didn’t quite do it for me if I’m honest.) This film however, I watched throughout without ever wondering how much longer before it ended. The plot was good enough, but the acting was excellent (perhaps J.K. Rowling decided experienced adult actors would make a better film and so wrote a book with only grown-ups in it. Or perhaps I am too cynical.) The special effects and scenery were all convincing, making for something of a visual treat. If you like a bit of make-believe, I expect you will love this film.

However, and this is quite a big however, there was something that left me feeling uneasy. It didn’t feel the same as the Harry Potter films, which I felt never really strayed from storybook witches and wizards. Now, I was not one of those Christians who refused to read her children ‘Hansel and Gretel’ or ‘Sleeping Beauty’ because they contained witches. I do believe there are spiritual forces that are evil, I do believe we shouldn’t mess with that stuff, and occult practices and ‘real’ witchcraft is dangerous. I just do not happen to put the witch in Sleeping Beauty into this category. It is a story, unrelated to real life, and the witches in it are not representations of people involved in the occult. I wasn’t so comfortable with this story. With Harry Potter, I felt the message of ‘good defeating evil’ was very clear. There were witches and magic, but it was all storybook stuff, and the baddies were easy to spot, and it was all far removed from reality.

In Fantastic Beasts we were presented with the New Salem Philanthropic Society. These were humans who were against witchcraft. It all felt a bit too much like things that happened in real life. Even the name is not exactly made up. And yes, I realise that people claiming to be Christian have done some pretty terrible things (in the past and present) and I know the ‘witch hunts’ in Salem were very bad. But why bring reality, even a touch of it, into a fantasy film? What is the point being made?

There was also an execution scene. It was, I felt, not really in keeping with a children’s film. Although what actually happened wasn’t gory or gruesome, the thought of someone walking towards a death sentence is not one I would want my 12 year old thinking about.

Not that I was with 12 year olds of course. I was with my family, who enjoyed the film. Their only comment was that when the characters gave instructions to their wands, it always worked, and when they do the same with their phone: “Hello Google, what is the time?” the phone always gets it wrong: “Certainly. Phoning Grandma.”

After the film, we went next door to Pizza Hut. We used to go to Pizza Hut a lot as students. We had no money, and it was a cheap place for a ‘special meal’ when we wanted to go out. I have moved on from those times. Husband hasn’t. He went excitedly to the salad bar, to show his sons how to extend the perimeter of the salad bowl with slices of cucumber, thus enabling extra salad to be heaped into the bowl. Sons were unimpressed and pointed out that unlike in the ‘olden days’, you could visit the salad bar as many times as you wanted. I actually, was unkeen on eating any salad at all, as on our way in we had passed a small child who appeared to be massaging the lettuce.

Actually, it wasn’t too bad. If you ignored the sticky menu (a variation on a ‘taster menu’) and the sticky seat and the sticky table, everything was fine. The waitress was friendly, the pizzas were nice, and the wine went down very well. The males in the family then made a comparison table of stats showing how the price per size of pizza compared to pizza express – but I don’t think this is an obligatory activity if you choose to go with different people.

Take care,
Anne x

Counting Stars is available from Amazon to read on a tablet or Kindle. A great read, at £1.99, with 5*reviews! Go on, why not treat yourself?…..

 

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Thank you for reading.

xxxxx

anneethompson.com

xxx

2017 has begun…

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img_5539Christmas has been tidied away for another year. So, what do you do with all the cards you received? ‘Regift’ the things you didn’t like? Hide them in a drawer? Force yourself to use them because whoever chose them for you hoped you would enjoy them? Happy to take everything off the Christmas tree and throw it in the garden? Or feel nostalgic as you remember where each bauble came from?

I could of course, say something religious here. I could talk about trying to not ‘pack away’ Jesus for another year. But I think I’ll let you think about that one on your own. I shall focus on cards.

My favourite card this year was from one of my friends who doesn’t speak any English. She’s a really close friend, we meet whenever we have time, and chat about our children and husbands and mother-in-laws. Even though Chinese people don’t really ‘do’ Christmas like we do, she knows it matters to me, and she always buys me a Christmas card. This year, the front of the card said, “Happy Christmas Grandad”. I was momentarily confused, then realised that she must have bought it on her own, when her children (who all speak excellent English) weren’t with her to translate. I love it. It has gone into my bedside cabinet with cards from my husband.

I always keep my cards from my husband. He also keeps mine. This was extremely useful the year when I forgot Valentine’s Day until late the night before. I was able to sneak into his bedside cabinet, pick a card I had sent him a previous year, put it into a fresh envelope, and give it to him with our morning tea, the same as every other year. Yes, I know, terrible. But he didn’t notice (he’d have been hurt if he knew I had forgotten.)

Sometimes cards go wrong of course. My brother taught the kids club at church for years, and when he stopped leading it, he was presented with a giant card during the service. He felt rather touched. Until he opened it, and it was blank! The person asked to buy it had thought someone else was going to write in it, and the person presenting it thought it was finished. (These things happen in churches. It teaches us forgiveness I guess.)

Then there was the year after my Dad died, when Mum received cards from friends saying they were sorry to hear that Dad had died – but the envelope was addressed to “Mr and Mrs”. I guess they went into ‘autopilot’ when writing the address bit. Mum didn’t mind, she thought it was funny.

Actually, Mum kept her sense of humour throughout the horrible trauma of Dad dying. I remember one incident, when he was very poorly (he had cancer, so nothing happened easily.) Mum was always very friendly to the children who lived in the road, and they wanted to cheer her up. So, one night, when they were going to a fancy dress party, they decided to knock on her door first, to show her their costumes. Dad was upstairs, very poorly. Mum heard a knock on the front door, and opened it to find – The Grim Reaper! Luckily, Mum just laughed. (I don’t think the children had really thought about what they were wearing, they just wanted to show her their costumes.)

Hope your year has started well. I recommend you keep a few cards hidden for emergencies.

Take care,
Anne x

Happy New Year!

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Happy New Year! I hope you have enjoyed the whole Christmas period and 2017 is a good one for you. I always think the new year is like an unopened gift, none of us know what it will bring, but it makes us look ahead, to think about things we might like to change or try harder with.

One thing I would like to change is a Christmas gift husband bought for our sons. We had a ‘Men in Black’ party, so he thought it would be a good idea to give them alien guns. It wasn’t. The gun lit up when fired and made a noise. A very loud, irritating noise. Like those toys which people who have never had children buy for your toddlers (and you remove the batteries as soon as they leave.) Except, my sons are not toddlers. They are 20 and 22.

Did you like my story? It was bit of an experiment. Modern European literature has everything in a story build towards the end, where the climax is. However, I have been reading about ancient Greek literature, where the climax, the most important part, is in the middle. It acts like a sort of hinge, with the elements on either side balancing each other. I found this a very interesting idea, so would like to try and write my next book, Clara Oakes, in this style. Not in a way that the reader especially notices, it will read like a normal novel, but just for my own amusement, to see if I can. So “One of those days…” was a practise for me. It was more difficult than I thought, though quite fun to write, bit of a challenge.
If you missed it, the link is:https://anneethompson.com/2016/12/27/one-of-those-days/

We saw a lot of the extended family over the holiday, which was nice. I’m very fortunate, as our family all gets on very well, the cousins enjoy being with each other and we share the same sense of humour. One tradition is a games evening at my sister-in-law’s. Each family takes a game, and we eat bacon sandwiches, and sit around on chairs and the floor, chatting and playing games.

One game was a memory game, which involved lots of changing seats and remembering names that changed every turn. I was completely confused the entire time.

Another game was a word game. We worked in pairs, and were given a word or picture. We then, independently, wrote a prescribed number of other words, which related to what we were given. This list was compared with our partner, and we got points for all those which were the same. So for example, one word was ‘Airport’. I wrote: Heathrow, Gatwick, Newark, JFK, Manchester, Luton, Stansted. My husband wrote all the same, except he wrote ‘City’ instead of Manchester, so we got 6 points.

My brother was with my mother. Trying to guess what my mother thinks is quite a challenge, so he had a very difficult job. For ‘Airport’, Mum wrote: planes, Ruth leaves, Ruth arrives, noise. He didn’t manage to match any of those (can’t think why!) My personal favourite was the word ‘Compass’. Mum wrote: come, pass, useful, Ben Tucker. Again, none of my brother’s words matched, though Mum was able to explain exactly how her choices were completely logical. It was very funny.

Of course, the couple who scored the highest were my sons. I sometimes think they’re the same person shared between two different bodies. Ever since son 2 was born, they have basically been a unit. Even now, when the second son returns home, his brother greets him in the hall and they start talking and they talk, or play computer games, or watch telly, until one of them leaves. They are in ‘boy world’ and the rest of us are outside. Which is nice. Unless they have alien guns. Then they’re just annoying.

Have a lovely 2017.
Take care,
Anne x

 

One of those days…..

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The alarm screamed in her ear and she reached out a tired hand to bang the top. Silence. One eye opened. 7:30am. Eye shut. Two minutes of pure warm comfort, then heave back the covers, legs swung out, slippers on, day started.

Jayne didn’t like mornings. Nor did she like people who spoke during them. She wasn’t quite sure how she had managed to be married to someone who woke up cheerful and noisy. Sometimes, she wondered if she wanted to remain married, and how long the prison sentence would be for murder with intent. Steve was already getting dressed, having leaped from the bed with enthusiasm.

“Morning, my sleepy-headed vision of desire. How was your night?”

Jayne did not see the need to discuss the night. Nights were all the same. At least, they were now the children were old enough to realise she was scarier than any monster that might have crawled under their beds. Nights were for sleeping. And they were too short. They did not need discussing first thing every morning. She grunted.

“That good huh?” said Steve, undeterred. “So, what do you have planned for today?”

He always asked this. Much as Jayne hated waking up, she hated planning even more. Every morning, without fail, he asked what she planned to do. She didn’t want to think about what she planned to do. She wanted to drink tea and wake up slowly and then, when her body had adjusted to being awake, then she might let her mind think about what had to be done. She might look in the diary. She might, a little, plan. But not now. Never now. So why did he ask? She scowled at him and locked the bathroom door. On the other side, she could hear him whistling. The radio was turned on, and there were sounds of a child arriving. Happy conversation drifted through the door, until she blocked them out with the shower.

8am. Jayne emerged from the bathroom in time to kiss Steve goodbye. He was warm and smelt of toothpaste and deodorant. She smiled at him. She loved him more when he was leaving. She checked both children were dressing, and went downstairs to let Max into the garden and to pull boxes of cereal onto the table.

8.10am. Christopher arrived in the kitchen.
“You can’t wear red socks to school,” she told him.
“Can I have cocoa pops?” he said.
“Did you hear me?” said Jayne, pouring cereal. “You can’t wear red socks to school.”
Abigail arrived and slid next to Christopher. She reached for the cocoa pops and poured the last dregs into her bowl.
“Did you know the cat’s been sick?” she said.
Jayne didn’t know. Nor did she especially want to know. Now that she did know, she needed to do something about it. She left the table and found a cloth and spray and went to clean up the mess, just as the phone rang. She stood for two seconds, hoping it would stop ringing. It didn’t, so she put the cloth and spray on the floor and went to answer the telephone. It was Steve.
“Hello, Love of my life.”
“I’m late. What’s the matter?”
“Could you do me a huge favour? Sorry to be a pain.”
“If you tell me quickly. The cat’s been sick and we’re going to be late for school.”
“Right, sorry about that. Well, I left the passport application on the hall table, and it needs to be posted today or they might not be back in time for the holiday, what with the Christmas break and everything. Could you post them after you’ve done the school run? I’d like them to catch the first post if possible.”
Jayne glanced at the clock. 8.25 already. She wasn’t sure they would catch the first post anyway, but she agreed to try, and rang off. Christopher had spilt milk all over his jumper. Abigail had disappeared.
“Abigail, five minutes, then in the car,” she shouted towards the doorway. No answer, of course, though that did not mean Abigail hadn’t heard. Twelve year old girls took their power where they could get it.

She grabbed a cloth and began to wipe Christopher’s jumper. He wriggled, knocked her arm, which caught the box of Shreddies and sent them cascading across the floor towards where the abandoned cat sick cleaning equipment was waiting.
“Chris! I do not have time for this,” said Jayne, tension rising.
Christopher wriggled free and made for the stairs while she rummaged under the sink for the dustpan and brush. She was on her hands and knees when Abigail came back into the kitchen.
“I thought you said five minutes?” said Abigail, “And the cat sick is still there.”
“Yes, thanks for that,” said Jayne. “Perhaps you could start to get your brother into the car?”

8.35am. The cat sick had been cleaned up, the Shreddies swept into the bin, the children were belted in the car. Jayne grabbed her handbag, checked for her house keys and – stopped. Her house keys were missing. She glanced at the clock, 8.36. A slow tide of despair started to wash over her. They were never going to make it on time to school. Which meant she would for sure miss the post with the passports. And her whole day would be messed up.

She began to try to remember where her keys could be. They were always in her bag, she never moved them. Her brow creased as she tried to remember. Yesterday, what had she done yesterday? They had come home from school, she had opened the front door, put her keys back in her bag. In the evening, she had popped next door with a wrongly delivered letter for Mrs Cartwright. Had she taken her keys? Perhaps she had. She had worn her blue jacket.

Racing up the stairs, two at a time, she rushed to her room, flung open the wardrobe, rummaged through the clothes. Some fell from their hangers in protest but she left them where they lay, grabbed the blue jacket. One pocket was empty, the second one was heavy. Her keys. She pulled them out, nearly tripped on the clothes that now littered the floor, charged out the room, down the stairs, scooped up her bag and the passport letter, slammed the door shut behind her. It was very cold, and her breath came in smokey puffs as she hurried to the car. Both children were huddled in the back, their cheeks pink in the cold.

She caught a glimpse of red socks in the back as she got into the car. Too late now. Jayne put the key in the ignition, started the engine, then thumped the steering wheel. A van was reversing into the drive, the bright slogan of Parcelforce cheerfully emblazoned on the side. It was reversing very slowly. This happened sometimes, when Steve needed some papers delivered from work. Usually he warned her, but sometimes he forgot. Jayne sighed. They would need signing for. There was no way she could drive past the van in the driveway, and a conversation explaining she was late would probably take longer than just signing.
The driver was sorting through the paperwork as Jayne approached. He looked up and smiled through his window.

“Hello, do you have a delivery for me?” she asked, knowing the answer was obvious.
“Yes. I’m just finding the paperwork….”
“I’m in bit of a hurry, if I could just sign quickly?”
“Sure, no problem.” He oozed his belly passed the steering wheel and slid from his cab at the speed of a sloth. He walked to the back of the cab as if someone had pressed the slow motion button on a film recording. Jayne found she was tapping. Soon she would start to twitch.
“Ooops, need the keys,” he said with a smile.
Jayne didn’t slap him.
The driver sauntered back to the cab, reached inside, removed his keys from the ignition, returned to the back.
Jayne unclenched her teeth.
There was then a thorough sort through the contents of the back of the van. Parcels were moved, over-sized letters carefully placed back in crates, boxes pushed from one side to the other. At last he straightened, white package in hand.
“Here’s the one,” he said with a grin. He picked up his scanner and zapped the barcode. He tapped in some details, then asked Jayne her name. She signed an unrecognisable squiggle on the handheld device, and moved back towards her car.
Throwing the package on the seat next to her, Jayne started the engine once more.
“What was it?” asked Abigail.
“I don’t know, something for your father,” said Jayne. “Is this man going to move now? What’s he doing? Oh, I don’t believe it, he’s sorting out his delivery for the next place. Come on man, hurry up.”

She decided using the horn was too rude, and watched in agony as he closed the rear doors. Checked them. Adjusted his trousers over his belly. Walked, slowly, back to his cab. Used both hands to heave his bulk into the driver’s seat. Closed the door, but not properly. Opened the door, and closed it with a slam. Fiddled with the keys. Started the engine. At last, with a sigh of despair, the van began to inch down the driveway with Jayne close on its tail. She felt close to screaming.

They turned out of the driveway and drove at speed towards the junction. The road was white with frost, so she adjusted her speed, just in case. She didn’t want to skid.

Christopher was telling her about their class assembly. He was a frog and needed to wear a green jumper. Did he own a green jumper? Could they buy one? He began to sing the songs, slightly out of tune and with substituted words when he couldn’t remember the correct ones. Abigail sighed loudly and looked out the window. Jayne avoided the old lady crossing at the junction and drove as fast as she dared towards the roundabout. They were so late. Not that this meant the traffic had eased at all, they were now meeting all the cars leaving the schools.

At 9.20, both children were safely in school and Jayne was driving towards town. The car park nearest the post office filled up quickly in the mornings, but if she was quick, she might be lucky. She wasn’t, of course, it was that sort of day. As she drove along the High Street a lorry reversed from a turning, blocking the road. Its lights flashed and an automatic voice droned a warning while Jayne watched in frustration. There was no room to pass and she sat there, in an ever-growing queue of traffic, while the lorry manoeuvred onto the main street, turned, and chugged up the road.

She arrived at the car park just behind a white Ford Fiesta. Jayne could see curly grey hair behind the wheel, and knew this was going to be slow. She followed the car around the car park. It braked heavily at every corner, before indicating first one way, then the other, when it spotted a vacant space. The driver reversed slightly, turned towards the space, stopped, reversed again, made another approach. Jayne considered offering to help. Eventually it was safely in the space and she could continue to circle the now full car park. By the time she had driven to park in a side road, Jayne knew there was no way she was going to make the first post. She walked to the post office and stood in line, waiting to buy a stamp.

While she was waiting, Jayne pulled out her phone and scrolled through her diary. Tuesday, 9.30am, Me = dentist. She stared. How could she have forgotten? She checked the date on the calendar on the post office wall. Yep, today, half an hour ago. No way she would make that now. She found their number and phoned to apologise. Which meant she was still talking on the phone when she reached the front of the queue. Which meant she was juggling phone and bag and letter and purse as she bought the stamp. Which meant she didn’t notice the £20 that floated from her purse and into a corner of her bag.

As Jayne left the post office, she caught sight of Nicola. She hadn’t seen her for ages. She wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, but Nicola was already raising her arm and hurrying over.
“Hello Jayne, how are you? Haven’t seen you in ages!”

They stood for a moment and smiled, gave brief snippets of news, asked how the other was feeling. They didn’t really exchange any meaningful information, but they were friendly and cheerful and agreed to meet ‘another day’ for coffee. It was unlikely they ever would, which both women were aware of, but that’s what people said to each other. That was what was expected.

As soon as Jayne felt she could look at her watch without being rude, she exclaimed at the time and said she had “better be getting on.” The two women smiled, said their goodbyes and separated. As she hurried towards the supermarket, pulling out her shopping list, Jayne failed to notice the twenty pound note, which drifted from her bag and blew into a corner, underneath the bench next to the bus-stop.

The rest of Jayne’s day was taken up with shopping, cleaning, walking the dog. She collected the children from school and fed them solid fish fingers and baked beans, then bathed Christopher and helped Abigail with her homework.

By the time Steve came home, she was tired. He pushed his dinner around his plate and drank beer and told her about his day. Then they sat, side by side on the sofa. Steve put his arm around her, and she could feel the warmth of him through her sweater. She leant in close, glad her day was over, happy to have someone to tell. She told him her day had been awful, everything had gone wrong. Now she came to tell him about it, actually, only a few things in the morning had not gone to plan. But it had put the whole day off kilter. She felt as if the whole day had been a disaster. And she was tired. She didn’t mention the lost £20. He didn’t need to know about that, and she didn’t need the lecture.

After watching a boring documentary about animals, with Steve saying, “Wow, look at that Jayne,” every few minutes so she didn’t feel she could suggest they could turn to a different channel, Jayne decided she had had enough of the day.

She leant over and kissed his cheek, rough now with new stubble, and said she was having a bath and an early night.
As she poured pink liquid into the running water, watching bubbles foam beneath the tap, Jayne thought some more about her day. It hadn’t been too bad, she decided, peeling off her clothes and balancing them on the stool next to the heater. She slid under the water, her muscles relaxing as the hot water lapped over her. No, after the morning, it hadn’t been too bad. Mainly just boring, with too many jobs.

She rubbed herself with the towel. The morning had been tough though, all those things going wrong, one after the other. It was weird how some days were like that. She pulled on her pyjamas and went to bed. She could, she decided, understand how some people believed in their horoscopes, could understand why it seemed that life was fated, predestined by the position of the planets or something.

Jayne didn’t believe that. She believed in God, and that life was controlled by him, but she could, after a morning like today, definitely see other people’s point of view.

She leant back on the pillows and reached for her Bible. She read her Bible every night, a pre-going-to-sleep ritual left over from her childhood. She wasn’t sure what it achieved really, but it was what she did. She prayed too, and she wasn’t entirely sure, if she was honest, what that achieved either. But she liked to do it. She liked thinking that she was part of something bigger than herself, that perhaps in some way, God might decide to use her, that her life counted for more than just cat sick cleaning and school runs.
She thought about her day as she prayed, about all the things that had gone wrong during the morning.

“I’m not sure what all that was about God,” she said, “perhaps tomorrow could be a bit better please.”
Then she prayed. She told God all about the things she was worried about, asked him to keep her family safe and well, asked him to show her how she should be living, asked for a bit more leisure time with Steve. Then she finished, as she always did, “But not my will, but yours. Amen.” Because that was what she had been taught to pray. And because, if she thought about it (which she never did) she really did want God to be in charge. She really did believe he knew best. Even if this morning had been one disaster after the other…

Jayne turned off the light and snuggled into the pillows. She knew she had about half an hour before Steve came crashing into the room, rattling the change in his pocket, stomping across the carpet and asking if she was awake. Men were noisy. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.

Nicola was going to sleep too. She had enjoyed seeing Jayne, it had cheered her up. Nicola was struggling a bit at the moment, her life seemed a bit bleak and pointless. She thought back over their brief conversation, about how nice it had been, being with someone her own age for a moment. She had first met Jayne at church, but Nicola hadn’t attended the Sunday service for months now. The weeks just seemed too busy. Perhaps she should give it another try, she thought. Perhaps it was time to get sorted out, and hearing about God might help with that. It would give her something other than the family to think about anyway. For the first time in weeks, she was smiling when she went to sleep.

A woman called Lisa was not asleep however. She was on a bus, heading home. Lisa lived alone. One day, she would be a care worker and help to ease the last moments for many old people. But she didn’t know that yet. At the moment, she worked in a pub. She had left work late, only to find her purse had been stolen. She had no way to get home, there was no one to phone and ask for a lift, no way to pay for a taxi. She had started to walk home, back to her bedsit on the other side of town.

Another thing that Lisa didn’t know was that approaching her from the other side of town was Tony. Tony was an addict, in dire need of a fix and had no way to pay for it. His eyes were bouncing erratically from shop to road to tree. He was looking for a person who might have some money, someone who might provide a means to stop his discomfort. In his pocket was a knife, and he was feeling desperate enough to use it. As Lisa walked towards the post office from one direction, Tony was approaching from the other. As yet, they were a distance apart, they couldn’t even see each other. But in ten minutes, they would meet. It was unlikely that Lisa would survive the encounter.

However, they didn’t meet. As Lisa passed the post office, she noticed something flapping under the bench next to the post office. It was a twenty pound note. She picked it up and looked around. No one was around, and there were no nearby houses. She decided it was now hers. As she stood there, deciding, the bus swung round the corner. The yellow lights shone through the night, and Lisa thought about how tired she was and how much she wanted to be home. She stuck out her hand, climbed aboard, and used the £20 to pay for her fare. By the time Tony arrived at the post office, Lisa was safely gone.

Someone else who was not asleep was Mike. Mike couldn’t sleep because his face hurt. He had slipped that morning on the ice, and fallen, smack, right on his face. It was a hard fall, and had bruised his nose and blackened one eye and knocked out his front teeth. His tongue was feeling those teeth now, sore in his swollen gums, but replaced. They had been replaced by the local dentist. Mike had been driven there by his Mum, and luckily, there had been a cancellation and Mike had been ushered straight in to see the dentist. The dentist had put his teeth back, told him that they might survive the knock, that Mike was very lucky. He didn’t feel lucky. He felt bruised and sore. But he did hope he could keep his teeth.

One person who was neither asleep nor awake was Judith. Judith had died at 11am that morning. It was very unexpected, she had hardly felt ill, just a trace of indigestion after breakfast, a bit off-colour. In fact, she had even gone out that morning, driving herself into town. She had left home later than she’d planned, which meant she had not managed to reach the town car park before all the mothers arrived after the school drop off. As she had turned her white Fiesta into the car park, she had been sure, in fact, that there would be no spaces left.

But she had been very fortunate, and had taken what might have been the last vacant spot that morning. This meant she only had a very short walk to the shops, and had bought her milk and returned to the car in less than ten minutes. She then drove home again, arriving in her driveway at soon after 10am.

At which point, just as she swivelled around to position her car outside her front door, she had a massive heart attack. The car shot back, crashing into her front door. A neighbour heard the noise and rushed over. They saw what had happened and phoned for an ambulance, which arrived in good time but too late for Judith. It was time for Judith to die.

However, had she not found that parking space, she would have been forced to park in the road and then walk to the shop. This would have tired her. Not enough to start the heart attack while she was shopping, but enough for it to happen while she was driving. With the delay due to street parking and walking, Judith would have been passing the infant school at 10am. Which is exactly the time that Miss Mott was leaving the school, to walk her class to the church to practise for the carol concert. Had Judith been passing at that time, the time when her poor heart caused massive pain and her arm to lock in agony, she would have mounted the path where the children were walking.

Tommy and Clara and Samantha were currently asleep in their beds at home. Had Judith not found that last parking space, they would be lying in the morgue, while six of their friends would be lying injured in the hospital. But they weren’t. They were safe.

Of course, Jayne, as she lay sleeping in her own bed, did not know this. Nor did she know that had her morning gone completely to plan, her own children would also be in hospital.

At 8.55 that morning, Miles Brown had driven down his steep driveway rather too quickly. As he arrived at the junction with the main road, his heavy 4×4 skidded on the ice, causing him to lurch into the road without looking. But no one was there, because Jayne was delayed by the fat delivery man. So no one was hurt, and when Jayne did pass that spot, exactly 7 minutes later, Miles Brown was well on his way to work. So she delivered her children to school and then waited behind the reversing lorry, which delayed the car immediately behind her, which meant that Judith found a vacant parking space.

However, no one knew anything about anyone else. Everyone lived their own lives.

#

The following morning, when Jayne woke to the alarm and hurried to the bathroom to avoid her cheerful husband, she sorely hoped her day would be better than yesterday. She also remembered her prayer. She didn’t know why she prayed every night really, though she liked to try to include God, just a little bit, in her daily life. And you never knew, did you? Perhaps one day she would be part of his plan, part of something bigger than herself. Even if, she thought, as she stepped into the shower, even if, it had never happened yet.

The End.

xxxx

anneethompson.com

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Graduation Saga

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Do events in your family always go to plan? Ours don’t…..

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Hello, are you ready for Christmas? I’m not, but the end is in sight, and I am remembering to stop worrying whether or not things are wrapped and posted, and actually enjoy the moments spent with family and friends. Plus I really love everyone else’s Christmas decorations, even if mine are a bit tatty this year!

One special time with family was at son’s graduation. Yes, he did graduate a year ago, but this was his masters graduation. It did not go entirely to plan…

So, first challenge was how to get to the ceremony. Son had, in his wisdom, decided to attend Leeds University. We live a long, long, way from Leeds, about 5 hours in the car if the roads are clear. Husband and son discussed various options, but finally decided to go there and back on the day. This meant an early start, as we needed to allow for possible delays on the motorway. They told me we would be leaving the house at 5am. Yes, that’s right, 5am. Super.

I set the alarm for a 4 number. Animals gave me very strange looks when their breakfast arrived in the middle of the night. I showered, dressed, glanced in mirror….and decided my fringe was getting a bit long. Now, I have no idea why giving my fringe a quick trim when my eyes were still blurry seemed like a good idea. But it did. So I did.

5am arrived, we were all in the car, off we went.

At 9am we stopped for breakfast. We were nearly in Leeds, ready for a ceremony that started at 2pm, but I didn’t say anything. Felt slightly more awake after the coffee and used the washroom at the service station (always a delight.) As I was washing my hands, I glanced in the mirror. My hair was very short at the front, and not very straight. Looked almost as if I had cut it myself when half asleep, very early in the morning, with some nail scissors.

As we got back in to the car, I mentioned my hair to husband. I was hoping for some reassurance.
Me: I’m not sure cutting my fringe at 4am was such a good idea.
Husband: Oh, THAT’S what happened! I was wondering why you had gone for the Ugly Betty look.
Me: Silence. (Actually, I wasn’t silent. I laughed. My husband is an appalling person, but when he says outrageous things it always makes me laugh. Perhaps that’s why I married him.) Did not feel very reassured.

We arrived in Leeds (in very good time) and went to son’s house (which was very nice) and met his housemates (who are very nice) and then got changed ready for the ceremony. It was at this point that son realised his wallet, which contained all his ID, was missing. He needed his ID so he could register at the ceremony and collect his gown. He and husband had a thorough search of the car. No wallet.

We set off for the university. It was now pouring with rain, and we had no idea if they would let son take part in the ceremony as he had no proof of identity. All the graduands lined up, waiting to show their ID and receive the forms necessary to collect the gown and be told where to sit. Husband hovered nearby (he likes to help).

When son reached the front of the queue, he explained that actually, he had no ID, as he had lost his wallet. Husband helpfully added that he had his wallet and could prove who he was, and they would notice the surname was the same, hence proving he was son’s father. Plus he had baby photos. He then removed baby photos from wallet and showed them to person registering the graduands. She looked slightly surprised. Son looked slightly embarrassed. Registrar and son then had a conversation, she asked him for his date of birth, his student number, things like that. She then gave him the necessary forms so he could take part in the ceremony. But I’m sure the baby photos helped.

The rest of the day was without incident. I was very proud of son. It was nice to see all the family groups huddled in corners around the university, all honouring the person who had achieved the degree. I like to mark occasions, I guess it’s part of how we show people have value.

Before returning home, I suggested it might be worth checking the car again for the wallet. Ah. The wallet was, of course, lying where it had fallen. Another time I will help the males look myself. But I won’t cut my own hair early in the morning again…..

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Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, why not buy a copy of my book? Who would you like to make smile this Christmas?

hidden-faces-final-cover-6-july-2016

xxxxxx

Letter – microwaves and frogs

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Hello, how was your week? Mine was a mixture of difficult and nice.

On Tuesday I had a check-up at the dentist. Mum had an appointment at the same time, so we went together, which was mostly nice (though I am a bit grumpy pre-dentist visits, so was possibly not as chatty as she was hoping.) Everything was fine, so I felt much happier coming out. I need to buy different toothpaste though. Apparently, Colgate causes teeth to become overly sensitive. He told me this last time, so I switched to Oral B toothpaste (which had rather strange shiny granules in – was a bit like cleaning my teeth with glittery sand). Apparently, he told me that both Colgate and OralB cause sensitivity, but I had forgotten half of what he said. I now need to find another toothpaste. Can life get more exciting?

On Friday, we held another Film Night at our church. You remember me writing about the last one? – The one which showed drug snorting, nudity and had lots of swearing? Well, this one was very well attended (word had obviously spread!) It was more suitable for church viewing though, so not sure if they’ll come back.

The next film is about Eddie the Eagle. I remember Dad raving about him at the time. I thought the film sounded rather boring, was planning to take a book. Then I discovered Hugh Jackman is a main character. Have put date in diary.

Chicks continue to survive, despite the fact it is not Spring. They fly around the cage like tiny multi-coloured sparrows. Cute.

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I am not really someone who enjoys housework. This week we bought a new microwave. I was cleaning the old one (don’t ask) and I noticed that the shiny paint that covers the plate where the beams zap out from (technical terms) had worn away. It looked rather like it had burnt away. Plus the door had a big crack in it. Hence the beams, once zapped, could escape. I told husband about this and suggested we needed a new one. The microwave is in the utility room (I don’t trust microwaves in the kitchen – all that zapping cannot be healthy.) He asked what shape the cat is (who also lives in the utility room.) The cat has always been a funny shape, so the evidence was inconclusive, but I ordered a new microwave anyway.

My dislike of cleaning rather came to the fore this week when I dropped a grape. We were watching Homeland – yes, we have reached the age where we watch boxsets together – and I was eating grapes. One fell out of my mouth, as they do, and fell on the floor. It had disappeared, so I knelt down to try and find it. Still couldn’t see it, so husband paused DVD and came down to help look. He swept his hand under the sofa and out rolled the grape (excellent) and a dead frog (not so good.) A frog. Completely dehydrated. How does one get a frog under the sofa? I do not like to think of myself as having the sort of lounge where one finds dead frogs under the sofa. But clearly I do.

Husband has decided to work from home today. I am trying to be positive about this. The trouble is, when I am ‘being creative’ I sort of disappear inside myself, go to a different part of my mind and wander around while writing what I’m imagining. This is not especially enhanced by someone arriving for a chat about when the cat vaccines are due. I have suggested a system – when I am ‘disturb-able’, I will leave the door open, when I am ‘in the zone’ and would prefer to only be disturbed for emergencies, I will keep the door shut. Husband responded well to this suggestion. He then asked what system he should use for “I want a cup of coffee now”. Ah.

Thank you for reading.

Have you bought Hidden Faces yet? A Christmas gift for a friend perhaps?

Hidden Faces, is available from bookshops and Amazon.

Hidden Faces final cover 6 July 2016