Summer Shorts

by The Indie Collaboration

  ***

  It was a very cold Thursday afternoon. He was glad to get inside the house. He looked out at the trees and bushes stirred by the blustery wind. Henry shivered, and went to prepare some food. He had decided to go and see his wife as soon as he had eaten; he could not live on his own any more, and he would have to swallow his pride. He wanted things to be normal again. He wanted something else too, and, at his age, had no desire to become blind.

  Having eaten, and quickly tidied the house, he went upstairs to put on the jacket which had always been his wife’s favorite. As he held the jacket in his hands he glanced out of the window. He gasped. There they were. The man and the woman. The black leather-jacket and the blonde hair. He had grown so used to his no longer being there on Thursdays that he had not looked for them the last couple of weeks. They were in the living-room and they were arguing. Once again he had his back to Henry, but she was shouting and waving her arms at him. The man just stood there. A shiver passed down Henry’s spine. What were they arguing about? She began to strike him, frenzied, uncontrolled slaps on the face, shoulders and arms. What would he do? Then she stopped, and began to laugh, a stout figure in jumper and skirt rocking back on her heels slightly, her bosom pushed forward as if mocking the man. She began to say something, her face sneering horribly, and the man’s shoulders heaved, remaining still for an unbearable moment. Then, to Henry’s gasp of astonishment, his hands sprang forward and roughly gripped her neck, choking her words, squeezing tightly and more tightly in a mad frenzy. She struggled and struggled, her eyes swamped by fear and surprise, her skirt swirling about her thighs, but she was no match for him. As Henry stared open-mouthed and paralyzed, she crumpled to the floor as the man released his hands. The man just stood there, impassively, his aggression spent. He slowly took off his black leather-jacket, and laid it on the settee.

  Henry could hardly breathe. Instinctively he knelt down and crouched below the window, peering over to watch. It was like watching a murder at the cinema – a horrific scene on the screen – and he could not believe it. He was scared.

  Then the man, the woman lying at his feet, lifted his head as if suddenly remembering something. To Henry’s horror he swiveled his head round to look at the downstairs window of Henry’s house. The man must have remembered the time he had been seen. Henry crouched lower as the man scanned his living-room, his dark, brooding eyes searching out every inch of space. Then the man turned away, glanced at the senseless body below him, seemed to shudder, ran his hand through his hair, and rushed out of the room. Henry looked at the gray sports-car in the driveway. He lowered his head completely below the window, his heart pounding fast and loudly and his mouth bone-dry. He felt like screaming. He heard the car-door being opened, abruptly slammed, the car splutter noisily into life, and then roar away down the road, and then, soon, there was silence.

  Henry’s hands were sweating, and he dried them on his jacket which he had placed over his knees. He nervously raised himself, his body tense and aching, and looked out of the window. All was well. He went downstairs, running his hand through his hair. He drank a glass of water, and began to pace about the room. What must he do? Go over there? Ring the police? Perhaps she wasn’t dead? He should make sure first. Perhaps he could help her. He wanted to look at her. Close to. He wanted to. He realized he was walking awkwardly again. He gave a quick fiddle down below.

  The phone rang, and he almost collapsed. Collecting himself, he automatically went over and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello,” he almost whispered.

  “Is that the supermarket?”

  Henry froze.

  There was silence.

  It was the same gruff voice as before. The connection abruptly clicked off. Henry stood there for a moment, feeling his head would burst.

  He must get out of the house. He had given himself away. The man knew he was there and that he could have seen the murder. He had rung up to check whether there was anyone there.

  The man had only been gone a minute or so. He could be back any moment.

  Henry began to panic, running this way and that. Fearing he would hear the spine-chilling roar of the sports-car any minute, he dashed out of the front door and, not knowing what he would do, hurried across to the dead woman’s house, still holding his jacket in his hand. He shuddered as the wind cut right through him.

  The front door was open and he entered. He instinctively made his way to the living-room – as it was a replica of his own house – despite the strangeness of the furniture and colors.

  There she was, sprawled on the carpet, her face pressed down, her arms outstretched, and her legs bent, almost doubled up. He laid his jacket on the settee, and approached her. Breathing heavily, he stared at her lifeless body. Her skirt was thrown half-way up her thighs and he devoured the curves of her shins, calves, knees and thighs. She looked dead enough, lying there in her plain green jumper and gray skirt, her body huddled up. He remained there looking at her, transfixed, fascinated by the stillness of the body, realizing it was the closest he had ever been to her. He remembered the man’s hands around her neck, squeezing her flesh, and her struggling arms and strangled cries of terror, her body fighting and pushing helplessly against the man’s immoveable strength. He could sense the warm feel of her body in its last seconds of life. He turned to look at the coffee-table near the settee: a telephone-directory, a couple of books, and a ball of wool and two knitting-needles upon it. A nice suburban home and a dead woman sprawled on the floor. Killed by her lover. He started to move towards her. He realized he was breathing heavily.

  His mind cleared, and terror seized him. If the man came back he would find him here. What the hell was he doing? He had left his mobile in his home. He must get out and go to somebodyelse’s house to call for the police. He must get away from both houses. He looked out of the window and saw his own house, and turned to look at the woman. He spun round on his heels on the sound of a distant car. The man was on his way back!

  He rushed out of the room, grabbing a jacket from the settee. As he came out of the front door he heard, like a cry of death, the roar of the sports-car as it turned the corner, and he stopped still, hardly able to think. Moaning and mumbling to himself, he retreated back into the house, and, as in a dream, found himself in the living-room again, crouching below the window-sill, looking at the gray sports-car as it drew up in his own driveway. Another moan escaped from his lips, but he was powerless. He could only watch.

  The man jumped out of the car, and approached Henry’s house, the figure in a white shirt and long black trousers looking thinner and taller. Henry gave a nervous twitch and his eyes fell upon his own body and the black leather-jacket he was wearing. A shudder of repulsion and fear passed over him. His hands pawed ineffectually and senselessly at the jacket. An earthy, rough smell and sensation encompassed him. He must have picked it up by mistake, and put it on as he was going outside, but he could not remember.

  He had left his front door open! The man entered cautiously. Was he planning to kill him too? He saw the figure of the man wandering about his own living-room. He stared across, fascinated. The man came over to the window and looked across. Henry crouched lower, not able to think. The man dropped to the floor, and began peering through the window. Henry saw two menacing, dark eyes reaching into his soul.

  A spasm of terror convulsed his body. He turned round, petrified. A tremor of movement had caught the corner of his eye. He looked at the body of the blonde woman. To his horror her thighs stirred fractionally and her hands trembled. A moan came from her lips, and her head rose slightly. He felt he was watching something out of a horror movie, and his body was wracked by a powerless frenzy of fear. The limbs began to move even more, and the whole body of the woman became alive.

  Then Henry began to laugh! This was no corpse springing to life! She was not dead! Everything was all right! The man had not killed anybody. Everything could be forgotten. H
e was safe. It was like a bad dream suddenly ending. It was not true. It had not happened. And nobody was going to kill him.

  He turned round to look out of the window, and stood up. He began waving to the man opposite whose eyes fastened upon him. As he waved, he laughed and laughed. The man opposite slowly began to rise from his crouching position, and Henry waved even more, sensing and hearing that the blonde woman behind him was herself rising.

  The man opposite stood completely upright and stared over like a man possessed, and, to Henry’s unconcerned bewilderment, raised his arms and began pointing frantically with both hands. Henry stared at him, nonplussed, as the man feverishly shook his head from side to side, pushing at the window with the palms of his hands. A look of horror enveloped the man’s face, and, as Henry stared across, a scream of hatred erupted in his head and two knitting-needles thrust into his back brought stabs of burning pain into his chest. Then there was a gurgle of blackness, and nothing more.

  © Alan Hardy 2014

  Talia Saran: Summer on Indigo Prime By D.C. Rogers

  Prequel To The Star Child

  Talia wedged herself behind a large rock. The heat of this planet that was nicknamed the summer planet was playing hell with her metabolism. Being half Velusian half Human both of her genus wasn’t suited to this climate. To top it all off she was being fired upon by Thraxian kill bots. Towering six feet tall they were imposing as well as deadly. Laser shots burst on the rock sending sparks and molten rock flying.

  The Thraxians were an advanced race of people who built robots to fight their wars for them. As a race they were now extinct. Not due some natural disaster or just plain dying out. They were dead by their own hands, well an extension of them. The kill bots as they’ve been aptly named slowly grew in intelligence over time. Then one day just as the monster turned against Victor, they turned on their own creators.

  Talia was now stuck on this damn furnace of a planet feeling like she was in a bath of sweat, to add insult to injury her boots were also uncomfortably filled with sand. Knowing it wouldn’t do much good against the robots shielding she drew her laser pistol anyway and quickly peeked out. She then sent a volley of shots towards the kill bots in the hopes of slowing them down.

  A few of the shots hit home it was no victory they harmlessly dissipated against their powerful personal shields.

  “Vixen I really could use a pickup, any time soon would be good” She shouted at her wrist mounted holoslate.

  “I am traversing the quadrant as fast as I can, may I ask how you got yourself in this predicament?” The AI scolded. Vixen was the name of both Talia’s spacecraft and the advanced AI installed in it. Aside from auto piloting she also helped plot courses and maintained the ships essential systems.

  “By being too trustworthy, yes I know that’s nothing new” Despite her fear and the imminent danger Vixen still made Talia feel like a naughty child with the scolding.

  “That’s what you get for leaving me behind, you should never have trusted those bigoted Bedlam triplets” If Talia didn’t know any better she would have said Vixen was a little hurt. She was right though. The bedlam triplets were three pureblood Velusian brothers. They were Tommy, Ludo and the biggest of the three Jacques and he also doubled as their leader. They were bad news but they had needed Talia’s help to disable some security systems on their latest venture. Seeing credit signs at the promised loot she had stupidly said yes.

  The brothers rudely referred to Talia as a mongrel due to her mixed breed status Talia had gotten mixed up with them on possibly the worst black market planet in the whole neutral sector, Taurus IV. Talia was well known around these circles due to her fiery temper.

  Of course the brothers didn’t care they had the bravado coupled with the intellectual prowess of a sea slug. They were street smart though and good at what they did but so was Talia, they hated each other from the get go but the money kept them going.

  They explained that Indigo Prime was a medium sized desert planet that was found fifty years ago quite near a white dwarf sun in the Canis Major sector. Its erratic axis meant only a small portion of the planet received major sunlight for a minimal amount of its yearly cycle. This part of the planet also had the planets only ocean. Garnelks ever the business minded of all the races decided to make Indigo Prime a ‘summer get away’ as they called it.

  They built a large resort near the beach and opened it as a holiday resort. It was a massive success with many stars staying in the costly sectors. Which meant it had cash supplies stashed away numbering millions in credits in all the casinos and safe storages.

  Ten years ago a small excavation team uncovered a crashed Thraxian vessel. Cracking it open the old power cells made by a technically advanced race powered the ships defense systems. The team were annihilated by the fifty awoken kill bots before they could get word out. Suffice to say the rich and famous fled Indigo Prime losing only a few of their number. The poorer people were left to die thankfully with no way off the planet. The kill bots happy the threat was dealt with powered down after their slaughter of every living thing.

  A few small attempts to retake the planet were met with superior force so it was left for dead. The triplets had heard about the casinos having millions in credits in their safe and reckoned if they could sneak a small ship in with an expert defense cracker get in the safes and take it all.

  Talia despite hating the brothers had seen cash signs in her eyes so offered the triplets her services. Of course they accepted they knew Talia was good at what she did. They were going to either kill her or leave her there though once the job was done. Talia wasn’t stupid though she had counter plans for nearly every situation, other than this.

  They had got onto the planet hassle free not waking a single bot. Gotten to the old sand laden casinos without setting off a single alert or alarm. Then while Talia had got to work cracking a safe on of the stupid triplets couldn’t help but get greedy. The gambling machines he surmised would be full of credits Tommy along with Ludo thinking to surprise Jacques with a mini haul of their own went about cracking them open.

  Seven numbers through the ten digit alpha lock Talia was shocked into setting the alarm off when a smaller alarm of a not quite dead tampered machine blurted into her ear. From shaded areas all over the resort Kill bots activated at the sounds of life. Tommy and Ludo with the couple of thousand credits they had pilfered from the machines ran, closely followed by Jacques. Talia hot on their heels the four made for the triplet’s vessel.

  Two kill bots had already made it there before the group did and were closely studying the vessel for signs of life. The brother’s saw this as their opportunity to lose the slack, Jacques quickly man handled Talia throwing her from their hiding place. The bots though efficient killers were very single minded about it, hence their name.

  Betrayed, out in the open and in peril all Talia could do was run. Finding a safe hiding spot in the resort she radioed in Vixen, the kill bots had found her before she could ask for anything other than help. Thankfully the AI could lock onto her location with the holoslate.

  She had been running and hiding now for four hours. She had, had to leave the resort as almost the full fifty bots were now scanning that area for her. Then these two had found her. It wouldn’t be long before the rest started to come their way with all the commotion. A few meters away a large sandstone cliff loomed, Talia had to get high for a better signal lock for Vixen. Despite advanced AI they still weren’t great at landing on their own.

  It was now or never. Talia had only one option her pistol could be over charged to explode like a large plasma bomb. It would leave her with only her useless knife but it might, just might take out one of her pursuers. Flipping it’s side she set it to overload waited a few seconds then ran for her life, as she did she threw the overloading pistol in the general direction of the kill bots.

  Plasma energy was one of the very few destructive forces with enough oomph to take out shields anything else would take forever to
wear them down. The robot with no concern for its safety only its singular purpose to kill stood right on the pistol. The impact coupled with the fact the explosion was now compacted into a tiny space made quite the plasma ball.

  It ate through kill bots shielding in milliseconds melting and fusing its frame together before shorting all its circuits. The resulting heated blast wave partially depleted the shields of the kill bot next to it as well as damaging its weapon and momentarily scrambling its circuits.

  Unfortunately the remaining forty eight kill bots who were following the gunshots now knew exactly what direction to go. The one now scrambled gave Talia enough time to run for the relative safety of the cliff. Bounding from ledge to ledge Talia started to climb higher on any foot or hand hold she could reach. She didn’t care if she skinned her knuckles or scrapped her knees she had to get off this god forsaken planet. She had always hated summer time on any planet a permanent one just made her ever more determined to get to Vixen.

  Talia was almost near the top of the cliff when a metal on stone grinding noise below her took her attention. She feared its laser retribution until she spied its arm cannon sparking. She also noticed as small stone chips bounced off it its shields they shone red, this should mean they were low. Talia looked away continuing the last few feet to the opening above her.

  She scrambled away from the edge on her backside keeping watch for the kill bot to rear its head. Despite a damaged gun it still had the strength to crush her bones with its bare hands. As its metal hands came over the ledge closely followed by its deathly visage Talia quickly looked around for anything to use as a weapon. She spied a large rock a few feet away. Getting to her feet she ran to it scooping it up.

  She wasn’t going to let this robot death dealer get the chance to retaliate, running over to the uncaring automaton she lifted the rock high. It looked up at her then the rock as it clambered over the lip. Talia brought it arcing down with all her might, considerably more than a pure blood human could muster. A thundering crack filled the air, as with her might along with the weight of the stone destroyed the shielding on its head.

  Lifting the rock she saw the optics of its right eye heavily damaged from the blow. She lifted again and smashed once more. The robot jerked suddenly then stopped moving the dim icy blue light leaving its eyes.

  Talia released the rock sending it clattering to the ground. She sighed sinking to the ground herself, as the adrenaline left her body she suddenly felt fatigue take it over. Legs splayed in front of her she didn’t know what to do as the light reignited in the kill bots eyes. She tried to scramble backwards as it reached for her now accessible leg.

  This was it she thought, the end of Talia Saran’s story. The cold metal of the robots grip grabbed her ankle tightly. She felt the pressure as it began to close its grip, it obviously sought to cripple her so she couldn’t get away.

  A rush of wind at Talia’s back shocked her also. The robot looked up also momentarily forgetting its ankle crushing.

  “Talia please duck backwards” Vixen’s monotonous voice rang from the holoslate. Talia slapped backwards seconds before the ships twin ion cannons sent out two bursts of energy. If the kill bot hadn’t already been damaged it may well of taken these and crushed Talia’s ankle in the process.

  She felt a release but a weight still. Looking down she saw its arm still attached to her ankle but no longer a part of its body.

  “Don’t just lay there run, there’s about forty more in the valley below” Vixen scolded.

  “Right away ma’am” Talia replied flipped to her front then pushing herself up she ran for the Vixen. The AI had positioned itself near the cliff edge hovering with its cargo ramp down. Talia leapt inside barrel rolling along the floor as she landed.

  “Vixen close that door, set a course for Taurus IV right now” Despite her sarcastic nature the AI knew when not speak back. She just did as she was told.

  Talia sat there the forearm and hand of the kill bot still holding her ankle. It was covered in emitter arrays. An idea struck her for a use for them but not now while she was so angry. She just went to the cockpit and waited for the journey to end.

  The triplets were regaling a Garnelk of their story when the rushing of a spacecraft’s engines made the four look up. The Garnelk whose name was Henry fled the scene as fast as he could, the ship landed. Cargo bay ramp extending the triplets looked on as Talia strode from inside.

  “Talia Saran, my sweet heart!” Jacques roared, throwing his arms wide in a mock greeting. The other two brothers looked on wide eyed, fear a little evident in their eyes. Talia walked right up to the large Velusian, then wordlessly and quicker than lightening her knee struck full force into his groin.

  “I wouldn’t if I was you” She warned the other two before they even reacted. She turned then strode off leaving the heaving alien whimpering on the floor.

  Once she was back on board the Vixen and safely in space she relaxed. Then taking off her holoslate she retrieved the kill bot arm and sat at the table in the mess hall.

  “Where to now Talia” Vixen asked.

  “I think I need some quiet time and a stiff drink, head for Ganymede, Gruel’s bar is calling me please Vixen” Sighing she relaxed back into her seat.

  “As you command Talia” The AI said with the slightest hint of sarcasm. Then in the blink of an eye the ship shifted into warp and vanished.

  © D.C. Rogers 2014

  Write What You Know By Madhu Kalyan Mattaparthi

  Once upon a time, a young woman was so in love with books that she decided to become a writer so she, too, could create loveable stories. She read everything she could about writing. Then, one day, she found herself in a book store where she bumped into an old man among the shelves. Turning to apologize, she discovered it was a venerable, much-loved author.

  As soon as she found her voice to speak, she said, "Oh, sir! I know you are very busy, and so I would just like to ask you one small question: what is the best piece of advice you have for a beginning writer?"

  The old man smiled and said, "Certainly, young lady. In fact, I will write it down for you." He took out a small slip of paper and a pen and jotted something down. Then he handed the paper to her.

  She thanked him profusely and moved out of his way so he could go about his business. Then she looked at the little paper in her hand and frowned.

  "Write what you know."

  Well she was very disappointed. In fact, it made her quite angry. What if she didn't want to write about the things she knew? What a stupid piece of advice. She had expected better from the very successful old author.

  No, she decided, I will write about something I can't know about. I'll write about space, she thought. And she crumpled up the paper and tossed it away.

  It became an obsession. She found when she sat down to describe the stars that she didn't really know how to describe them. So she purchased a telescope. Some stars appeared differently than others, and so she went to the library to find out why. She began to follow NASA's projects, read articles and interviews about astronauts. Looked at spaceship specifications. Watched televised rocket launches.

  Soon she could write all about space and space exploration. But space was a wild frontier; there was so much of it that hadn't been explored. She thought, aha! This is something no one can know anything about. She took her research about possible other planets and began to imagine what they were like, what plant and animal species might be like on them, whether there could be intelligent life and how that might play out in a world isolated from her own.

  She created characters and spent hours thinking about them, thinking about what their languages and cultures might be like, thinking about what their emotions might be. She turned to philosophy to see if she could make them more or less human like, developed moral and value systems for them. She put much care into making them as real to herself as possible—keeping them consistent, making them believable.

  And she wrote. She wrote and she wrote. H
er work was good at first, but the more she wrote about these things she'd been learning and developing, the better and stronger her work became. She was invited to conferences of all kinds, from academic summits to entertainment conventions. Sometimes she was asked to speak on panels. She used these opportunities to talk to other people in the fields, to see what they were doing and what they thought.

  One day, she was sitting in a coffeehouse when a shadow fell over her table. When she looked up, she saw it was the venerable old author she'd run into all those years ago in the book store. He was even older now, the lines on his face much deeper than before, and he was smiling at her. "May I sit down?"

  "Yes, of course," she said, a tinge of her old awe coming back to her.

  "I was wondering how my old advice has served you in your work," he said.

  "Oh," she said. For a moment, she wasn't sure she should answer. But it is usually best to be honest. "I didn't find it very helpful at all, actually."

  He seemed surprised. “No? But it is the best advice any writer could give or receive."

  "I don't think it is. You told me that I should only write about the things I experienced in my life. But you know, I wanted to write about other things."

  He raised his eyebrows and reached into his coat. From an inner pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He straightened it out on the table and then turned it toward her so she could see the writing on it. "I would love for you to show me where I said that," he said, "so I can correct myself."

  But the rumpled message only said. "Write what you know."

  She frowned. "But I wanted to write about things I didn't know about."

  "Did you do it?"

  "Yes. I wrote about space. I've never been to space."

  He began asking her questions. What's the difference between a gaseous giant and a white dwarf? What kind of planet is Earth? How does the distance between a planet and a star affect the conditions on the planet?

  She answered all of them.

  "It seems you know a lot about space," he said.

  She frowned. "Well, there are some things that people can't know about. Like aliens."

  "Oh?"

  She nodded. "I had to make things up."

  "I've read several of your books," he said. "I particularly like your Falengal Race."

  She smiled and felt very pleased.

  "They had an interesting culture dynamic," he said.

  "They were based on an African society," she said. "Just wait until you read my next book. There is another faction that comes into play, another tribe, and it is based on a South American one. The society is a paternal rather than maternal one, which is a break with earth-based traditions." She began to describe this new people in detail.

  The venerable old writer sat listening and nodding, his hands folded on the tabletop. After a while, he said, "It seems you know a lot about these invented people of yours."

  She went quiet.

  "It seems you've been following my advice all along, you just didn't realize," he said.

  He continued. "As a writer, you know now there are many different ways to say something, just as there are many different ways to know something." He took up his little paper and ripped it into strips so that there was a word on each strip, then he rearranged them on the table. Now the advice said, "Know what you write."

  "To be honest," he said, "it's all the same. But I think you can recognize the point now."

  She didn't answer.

  "I am glad you have become a very good writer in your own right," he said as he rose. He smiled at her and tipped his hat and went on his way.

  Over the years, she met many different other kinds of writers. Sometimes they came to her for advice.

  Some wanted to know why their characters were so flat. She could tell them, "It is because you have not gotten to know these characters at all; they are strangers just moving your plot along. Characters are people, not tools. Find out more about them. Ask those questions, explore their pasts, give them strengths and flaws, and pay attention to how they do even mundane things."

  Some wanted to know why their characters seemed to move in an endless, indefinable plane. And she would tell them, "You know very little about the world you are trying to write about. If you want to write about 12th-century England, you must learn about 12th-century England before you can expect to recreate it. What were the sights, the smells? What were common occupations, what did people do in their free time? What did the landscape look like, what crops did people plant, what foods were there to eat? And people didn't talk like you and I do now; you'll have to look at texts that survive from the period."

  Some wanted to know why their readers wouldn't believe the things they were trying to write. "If you knew more about what you were trying to do," she'd tell them, "you could be consistent about it and offer details that would let your readers follow you and believe you. Yes, you can shoot a man out of cannon, but I don't know a thing about how. So you're going to have to find out about circuses, read some biographies of famous daredevils, and watch some documentaries. Then your readers will have an easier time suspending their disbelief."

  One day she was in a book store and a young man bumped into her. As he turned to apologize, he realized who she was.

  "Oh, I just love all your books!" he said. "I want to be a writer just like you someday."

  She smiled. And when he asked her for the best piece of advice she could give to someone who wanted to become a writer, she said, "I'll even write it down for you."

  She handed him a slip of paper. "Write what you know," it said.

  He frowned. "Well, what if I want to write about something I don't know? What if I want to write about vampires and vampire hunters and witchcraft?"

  "There are all sorts of ways to learn about those things. And you can write about anything in the universe that you want to write about; it's just better if you know what you're doing before you sit down to write," she said. "And if you don't know it, learn it. Then you'll know it, and it will show in your writings."

  © Madhu Kalyan Mattaparthi 2014

  Dreaming By Sonya C. Dodd

  The photograph in the magazine leapt out of the page, mesmerizing Kate. The color of that sky, as well as the crystal waters of the sea looked simply idyllic.

  Three hundred and fifty pounds for a nine day holiday to Tenerife, flying from a local airport too seemed a pretty good deal.

  Could she do it though? But why not? After all, Grant, her estranged husband had certainly not paused before moving on in his life. He appeared incapable of any remorse as he worked his way through a string of girlfriends.

  It didn’t always have to be her who looked after the kids whilst he was off somewhere, having the time of his life. He was like a dog which had been let off the leash. Anyone would think she had set out to make his life a misery from the way he was behaving nowadays.

  A smile grew on her lips as Kate pictured Grant’s face when she informed him of her plans to head off to the sun for a holiday. Just that image itself made her even more determined to finally do something for herself and forget all responsibilities for a while.

  With a light heart Kate carefully cut out the picture from the magazine and pinned it to the notice board on the kitchen wall. She knew she was likely to get cold feet about the whole idea several times so she would need the image to help maintain her resolve.

  Grant’s face was even better than she could have imagined. He coughed and spluttered whilst the cogs in his brain tried to form some kind of coherent sentence. It was probably a combination of the realization he would have to look after their twin ten year old sons, as well as the fact his ex-wife was about to do something totally out of character which was rendering him immobile and speechless.

  Even if she never got there, Kate knew it would be worth it just to maintain this moment in her memory.

  But she needn’t have worried. Once Grant had managed to regain some level of composure and had agreed to have t
he boys whilst she was away, the phone call to the travel agent’s ran smoothly. With her bank account a little emptier and her heart racing, Kate realized she felt fantastic and suddenly life was slightly brighter.

  Of course, there were still six weeks to get through before her holiday and that loomed before her like an Indiana Jones-type assault course. But barring death or serious injury, Kate could think of no reason not to begin planning her wardrobe and letting her growing sense of excited anticipation develop.

  Some days flew by whilst others dragged their heels but eventually her suitcase stood by the front door and Kate checked her passport and ticket were in her handbag for the umpteenth time.

  She refused to allow herself to think about her tearful farewell to the boys. They had never been apart for more than a weekend and it was the only thing which currently threatened to blot her holiday.

  Grant was a good dad, despite all the other things he was pretty rubbish at; Kate knew he would look after them.

  A car horn told her the taxi was outside and after a final look round her home, Kate took a deep breath, picked up her case and pulled the front door firmly closed behind her as she set off on her adventure.

  She’d never expected to be alone at forty five. Assuming she and Grant had married for life, and happy their children were secure in a happy family environment, Kate had been prepared to grow old with the man she thought she had loved.

  It was odd to look back and realize she had not noticed how easily their love had died. Too wrapped up in day to day living and oblivious to a world crumbling around her, Kate had thought she was devastated when Grant first announced he was in love with another woman and was leaving her.

  Of course she had been shocked. But there had been no tears and her only concern had been that the boys would have parents living in separate homes. Once she had realized where her fears lay, and it was simply a dread of growing old alone which scared her, Kate had learned to move forward in her own life and had relished turning her home into a man-free zone with feminine touches everywhere interrupted only by Nerf gun bullets and Minecraft posters.

  Now having checked in at the airport desk and having found her way to the departures lounge without mishap, Kate realized there was a strange feeling inside her. Could this really be a happy sense of independence and excitement she was aware of? she wondered.

  It was difficult to keep a wide smile from her lips, after all she didn’t wish to look like a loon as she waited for her first taste of real liberation.

  Burying her head in a book, Kate only glanced up occasionally as she waited for her flight to appear on the screen.

  After an event-free flight and a bumpy bus ride, they arrived at the hotel.

  Stepping out of the dusty vehicle, the afternoon heat hit Kate like an invisible wall. But still, she smiled to herself, nine days of warmth and laziness had arrived and she silently congratulated herself for being so brave.

  Although traveling alone, her room was a double and Kate allowed herself to slowly unpack and enjoy arranging her things in her own space before stepping out onto her balcony to admire the view.

  From here she was able to look out across the ocean. Even in the early evening the sunlight danced on the ripples of the water. The stresses and strains of everyday life were evaporating as Kate felt herself physically relaxing. The slow pace of life and the beautiful, warm surroundings were already having the desired effect and she smiled at the thought of a whole week of this paradise lying ahead of her.

  The restaurant was busy when Kate went downstairs for dinner and she was aware of the paleness of her skin setting her apart as a newcomer.

  Shown to a table for two in the corner, Kate perused the menu before glancing around at the other occupants.

  It was possible to pick out conversations going on in at least three different languages and she couldn’t help but admire some of the suntans on display.

  Her own skin burnt easily and Kate knew she wouldn’t be flying home after just nine days with much evidence of a holiday in the sun. However she smiled to herself knowing it wasn’t just a suntan which had attracted her to taking such a bold step in coming on this vacation.

  “Would you mind if I sat here?”

  The sound of a man’s voice in such close proximity startled Kate. His approach had been silent, although with all the conversations along with the piped music playing through a sound system, it would have been unlikely Kate would have known he was there anyway.

  She looked up at the speaker aware her cheeks were probably bright red with embarrassment at the way she had almost leapt from her chair when he had spoken.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump,” he added, smiling and still holding the back of the chair.

  He was clearly English, Kate noted, with no trace of any accent. He looked to be in his early forties and was clean-shaven, lightly tanned and well-dressed in a checked shirt and linen trousers.

  For a fleeting moment Kate wondered why he had chosen her table. Yes the restaurant was pretty busy, but there were one or two empty tables.

  The stranger seemed to read her mind. “Those tables are pre-booked,” he explained.

  Kate nodded her head quickly when he looked at her enquiringly. He appeared harmless and at least they were in a public place.

  She glanced at him again as he settled into his chair and picked up a menu.

  His hair was dark, she noted, and a small amount of dark hair was visible at the base of his neck where the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

  The hairs on his arm were not thick and his hands looked well-manicured.

  Glancing back at his face, Kate saw to her embarrassment that he had been watching her as she had taken in his appearance.

  Barely concealing his smile, her dinner guest held out his hand across the table.

  “My name’s Tom,” he said.

  Kate accepted his hand, noting the warmth and smoothness of his touch. She smiled as she let his hand drop and took a quick sip from her glass of white wine to steady her nerves.

  It had been so long since she had been in male company, other than Grant’s or the boys; she felt self-conscious as though all eyes in the room were watching her and conversations were now focused on the pale woman in the corner with the handsome guy.

  “I’m sure I can find another table if you’d rather,” Tom said.

  Again Kate was surprised as he seemed to read her thoughts.

  “Oh no,” she muttered hurriedly. “You’re fine. Sorry, it’s my fault, I only arrived this afternoon and haven’t quite got my bearings yet,” Kate explained.

  “Ah,” Tom sighed. “Well let me tell you a little about the place and then maybe I can show you around tomorrow, if you have nothing else planned, that is.”

  Kate smiled and relaxed back into her chair. In Tom’s presence she could feel herself beginning to relax already and she listened as he filled her in on the hotel and surrounding area.

  His voice was smooth and confident. The waiter bringing their food to the table caused Kate to jump for the second time that evening as she was so wrapped up in listening to Tom’s light but informative banter.

  At the end of the meal Kate was surprised to note how much time had passed. She felt guilty for taking up so much of Tom’s time as she took in the empty glasses and coffee cups on their table.

  He laughed and hurried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, it’s been a pleasure. I don’t know how long it has been since I enjoyed a meal here so much.”

  Although she found it difficult to believe what he said was true, Kate hoped there was a small element of truth buried there.

  Tom walked Kate to the foot of the staircase. “What time shall we meet tomorrow?”

  Shyly Kate suggested eleven to which he agreed.

  As she placed a foot on the bottom step, Tom leant forward and gently kissed her lips.

  If she had been expecting it, Kate knew she would have been terrified of the prospect; however as he
took her by surprise she blushed as he drew back, realizing she had happily kissed him back.

  Once more Tom was smiling at her and Kate wondered whether he really could read her mind. She bid him ‘good night’ quickly and hurried up the stairs still feeling embarrassed by her apparent boldness.

  In the sanctuary of her room, Kate couldn’t help but let her mind wander back to their kiss. It was foolish, she knew, he was probably just being polite and she had shown her own naivety in reading more into it. She wondered what he had thought when she had kissed him back. It couldn’t have all been bad because he had certainly been smiling when he had looked at her afterwards.

  Smiling to herself in the darkness, Kate silently congratulated herself on her bravery and snuggled down beneath the duvet.

  The following morning Kate woke to find the duvet in a heap on the floor next to her bed. Laughing, she realized she’d forgotten what it was like to pass a night in such heat.

  Refreshed by a shower and wearing a bikini beneath her shorts and vest top, Kate wandered down to the restaurant for breakfast wondering whether the whiteness of her skin was enough to repel the sun’s rays.

  Whilst feeling more as though she fitted in wearing her holiday clothes now, Kate was fully aware of her lack of a sun tan and her growing anticipation of seeing Tom again.

  It had crossed her mind that he might not show up and Kate had given herself a good talking to about not letting her holiday become just about meeting a man.

  She had so much to gain from the freedom of being away and the chance to totally relax, Kate knew it would be foolish to lose sight of that.

  However, just as she drained her coffee cup, Kate spotted Tom out in reception. She took a moment to observe him before he would see her.

  He was wearing khaki shorts and a white polo shirt which made him seem much more tanned than he had the night before.

  Looking down at her own paleness, Kate sighed. Tom was a handsome man so probably wouldn’t even think of her as potential girlfriend material, she thought. He probably provided a kind of welcoming service to plenty of people who arrived and she was nothing special, she concluded.

  “Hi Tom,” Kate said, hoping her voice sounded as casual as she had intended.

  His face seemed to light up as he turned to look at her and he leant quickly forward and gave her a peck on the lips.

  “Shall we?” he suggested, indicating the open doorway.

  Kate nodded and slung her beach bag over her shoulders.

  The heat hit her like a barrier as she stepped out of the air-conditioned lobby. Squinting her eyes, in spite of her sun glasses, Kate looked at the jeep Tom was standing by as he held the passenger door open for her.

  She had expected them to be traveling on foot so this was a pleasant surprise. Clambering into the seat and securing her seat belt, Kate waited whilst Tom got into the vehicle and started the engine.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Unable to conceal her excitement, Kate nodded realizing to her embarrassment that her smile probably looked as though it had split her face in two.

  Tom appeared to know everywhere worth visiting as they clocked up the miles. He would point out anything he thought might be of interest and stopped the jeep at the best photograph spots, insisting he take the pictures with Kate in the shot too.

  As the sun reached its highest point in the day, Tom suggested they go to a place he knew for lunch and a swim.

  “It’s quiet and private,” he explained as Kate nodded her agreement.

  The morning had been quite wonderful. Tom’s company was relaxing and he made her laugh with his anecdotes. Kate couldn’t recall a time when she had felt more at ease and care-free.

  The iron gates drew back as if by magic as their vehicle pulled into the driveway.

  The house was beautiful. Painted white but covered in a climbing plant which was full of purple blooms, Kate thought it looked like a postcard with the shimmering ocean lying in the background.

  As Tom brought the jeep to a standstill in front of the front door, Kate looked at him quizzically.

  “Welcome to my humble home,” he declared, opening her door and taking an extravagant bow.

  For a moment Kate remained in her seat, her mind whirring. Well he’d never actually stated that he wasn’t staying at her hotel, although Kate concluded she couldn’t be blamed for having made that assumption. If he lived here it certainly explained why he knew the island so well.

  Nervously Kate glanced up at Tom’s face. He was smiling at her and held out his hand for her.

  Taking a deep breath and wondering what Grant would have to say, Kate forced her ex-husband quickly from her mind as she accepted Tom’s hand and stepped out of the car.

  Surprised her legs hadn’t given way on contact with the ground, Kate tried to keep her breathing calm and regular, not wishing Tom to see her fear.

  I’m a mature, modern woman who has chosen to be here with this man, Kate told herself as she followed Tom to the door and waited for him to open it.

  He pushed the door open and stepped aside for Kate to enter the house.

  Without pausing Kate moved inside and found herself in a large, open hallway with a wooden, imposing staircase leading upstairs. Various doors adorned the walls of the hall and Kate followed Tom along a passage before entering a luxurious-looking lounge where everything seemed to be white.

  Tom crossed the room and pushed open a pair of patio doors.

  Kate stepped forward, following him as a swimming pool came into view with several sun loungers arranged along one side. Beyond the swimming pool a manicured garden led in terraces towards an edge which looked as though it fell away into the sea.

  The view was breath-taking but Kate was barely aware of it as her mind was fully aware of being here, alone with this man who was extremely good-looking.

  Kate watched as Tom peeled off his shirt. As he reached for the fly on his shorts he saw her look alter.

  “You fancy a swim before we eat?”

  His shorts dropped to the ground, revealing a pair of navy swimming trunks. Kate felt her embarrassment as Tom dived into the azure water.

  Realizing how foolish she would appear if she continued to stand there clutching her bag, Kate dropped it onto one of the sun loungers and removed her own shorts and vest.

  Feeling self-conscious in her small, green bikini, Kate sat on the side of the pool before lowering herself into the water.

  Tom had been swimming strongly along lengths of the pool but now changed direction and appeared just in front of her.

  Kate reminded herself to keep breathing as he slicked back his hair from his face.

  “What do you think?” he asked, waving a hand in the air but keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

  She smiled. “It’s beautiful,” Kate managed to reply.

  And then quickly, as though some sudden impulse had taken hold of him, Tom’s lips were on hers.

  Instinctively Kate put her hands on his shoulders to support herself in the water as she became caught up in his kiss.

  All thoughts of where they were or their solitude left Kate as Tom kissed her and his hands began to wander over her body.

  Kate knew she was being foolish but she had become putty in his hands. Some invisible spark had ignited inside her body which seemed to be roaring for more.

  Their swimwear was removed effortlessly as Kate gave herself up to Tom. Barely managing to hope he wouldn’t think she was desperate for a man, Kate let him take the lead as he confidently made love to her.

  Afterwards, as he glanced at her before disappearing beneath the surface of the water and swum away from her, Kate remained still, feeling her heart racing and reliving what had just taken place in her mind.

  Was this real life? she wondered. Could she be caught up in some magical dream?

  Whatever Tom had done to her, Kate only knew she wanted more. Her whole body was abuzz with life and she knew she felt reborn. He had ignited feelings inside her which G
rant had never taken the trouble to discover and she wasn’t yet sated.

  Watching as Tom climbed out of the pool, Kate admired his confidence and the way the water, clinging to his torso, glistened in the sunlight.

  He began drying his body and Kate swam across the pool. Climbing up the steps to the patio, Kate paused as she heard the sound of a car horn and then the slam of a door from the front of the house.

  Her blood ran cold. Tom thrust a towel into her hands as she came and stood next to him. But Tom was moving quickly. He’d already pulled on his shorts and had his shirt halfway over his head before the sound of clipped footsteps approached them from the house.

  A woman stood in the doorway. Her eyes took in the scene before her without any evidence of emotion showing in her cold, dark eyes. She was dressed immaculately in a business suit. High, black heels completed the vision of efficiency.

  Kate shook slightly, holding the towel feebly round her body. The sun was hot on her shoulders but she remained motionless, waiting for someone to speak.

  The woman put on a pair of dark sunglasses. She cast her eyes down the length of Kate’s body and then seemed to dismiss her.

  “Why the hell do you always have to bring them here?”

  Her voice sounded cold and disinterested.

  “Get rid of her, I have friends arriving shortly.”

  With that the woman turned and disappeared inside, only the tell-tale sound of her heels on the tiled floor betraying her presence.

  Kate was immobile. Her mind was racing and she knew her cheeks were flaming but inside she felt empty and foolish.

  Suddenly she became aware of Tom’s presence again as he hurriedly tidied up his things.

  Not able to trust herself to speak, Kate let the towel drop and pulled on her clothes quickly. She wanted to get as far away from here as she could.

  Neither spoke. There was no need. It was evident from what the woman had said that she wasn’t the first victim Tom had brought back to his home. She was a trophy, a pathetic English woman who had made a fool of herself thinking she was something special.

  Kate grabbed her bag and followed Tom back through the house. At the front door he paused with his hand on the handle.

  “I’m sorry,” he began quietly. “I had no idea she would be home. I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

  Feeling the tears pricking the back of her eyes, Kate blinked and pulled her bag higher onto her shoulder.

  “I don’t care how you wanted it to be,” she hissed. “You used me and tried to make an idiot out of me. Well, screw you Tom; I am walking out of here with my head held high.”

  Feeling a strange sensation of fulfillment rising inside her, Kate couldn’t prevent a small smile appearing on her face as she stuck out her chin resolutely and waited for him to open the door.

  For a moment Tom seemed to hesitate. Then, as if realizing there was nothing left to be said, he pulled the door open and stepped aside.

  Kate strode down the driveway, with no idea which way she needed to go but she didn’t care.

  She might have started off imagining she had just been made a fool of but in her mind she knew she had achieved exactly the same as Tom. The ties between her and Grant had been loosened further today, she had taken a bold step. Things might not have turned out the way she would have planned it but she had taken a pair of scissors to the link between her and her old life. And it felt liberating.

  © Sonya C. Dodd 2014

  Newport Memorial Regatta By Kristina Blasen

  Doryman’s Hotel—Newport Beach, California—15 years after the first memorial regatta…