A Flash in the Pan (8 page)

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“I want to be a story teller. Will you teach me?” Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as Lee started to turn away.

“I’ll give you whatever you want in return.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous offer to make. You don’t know what I’ll ask for.”

“I mean it. Teach me to tell stories and I will give you anything that you desire, but only when I can stand here and tell a story as well as you do. Until then I am your handmaid.”

So Lee agreed and Ella became his handmaid. For three months, he schooled her in his art. They met at his home and at the beach and sometimes in the big city park as he taught her how to observe life and nature and people and include them all in the stories she told. At the Circle meetings, she continued to sit at his feet and learn.

At last it was time for graduation.

“Tonight’s the night. I think you’re ready.” Lee was clearly proud of their achievements.

The Circle was in session. Lee stood up and told his tale, receiving the usual rapturous response. He raised his hands and the group fell silent.

“Friends, tonight I am pleased to introduce a newcomer, about to tell her first story, please welcome my … er ... apprentice, Ella.”

There was stillness in the room as Ella took up her position. She told the most wonderful story. Lee was stunned that he had not heard this tale before. In all the hours they had spent together, she had clearly saved the best until now. He watched and listened, captivated as she moved him first to laughter and then to tears with the truth and tenderness of her performance. When
at last the story ended
,
he was drained. He looked at the radiant face of his former student, smiling as the audience shouted and screamed for more.

Lee leapt to his feet, but no-one noticed. He stood on his chair and raised his hands. Eventually, the applause stopped and Lee returned his attention to Ella.

“It’s time to settle your account. Remind me, my dear, what was the fee for your lessons?”

“I believe I offered anything your heart desires, and you have indeed earned your fee, so name your desire.”

The room fell silent as everyone watched the master storyteller cross the floor.

“My heart’s desire is that you should never tell another story as long as we both live.”

27. The Food of Love

The first time we met, I didn’t like him at all. He was so full of himself, so arrogant. Everyone gathered around him. He could always command an audience.

He posed, pontificating in the centre of the room, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, (mainly women) expounding his theories on current musical trends. Most of it sailed straight over my head. I like music, but I don’t know anything about it. I just know what I like and Russell has never shared my taste. If we split up, and I think we’re about to, there will be no arguments about the division of the CD collection. That was how we got talking
–
music. He’d finished his ‘speech’ and I was about to put on some more music.

I felt his presence before he spoke to me. “You’re not going to subject us all to John Denver, surely?” He took the disc from my hand. “Honey, this is party not a funeral. ‘
Annie’s Song
’
–
Jeez, give us a break.”

“I like it.” I turned away.

“Really? Why? What makes this schmaltzy music special for you?”

I didn’t attempt to answer, so he repeated the question.

“Lyrics,” I mumbled.

“They’re … cheesy.” He paused long enough for me to know he
had
intended to use a stronger word.

“Well I like them.” I turned away again and was surprised to find his hand on my shoulder. “What? Do you want to continue to lecture me on my musical taste or can I go and get a drink?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, Doll. I can lecture you while you drink.”

“Wouldn’t you be better off talking to someone who wants to listen?” I moved off through the crowd. He followed.

“Ooh, draw your claws in, Kitten.” I was getting madder by the second.

The red mist descended. “My name isn’t Kitten, or Doll, or Honey. You are seriously annoying me now with your arrogant sexist crap, so can you go away and leave me in peace?”

Chastened, he left, but I found no peace. I was more than a little pissed-off. I emptied a champagne glass and took up another. It’s no fun being stranded at an event you didn’t even want to attend. I took my drink into the garden and stood watching the moonlight play on the fish pond as I lit a cigarette.

I phoned Andy.” When are you gonna be here? I don’t know anyone, and there’s a creep bothering me.”

“Er, I’m kinda caught up, love. I’m not gonna make it after all. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother. This is the last time, Andy. I’ve had enough.”

I ended the call.

“Strong words shouldn’t be used unless you mean them.” The ‘creep’ was beside me, topping up my glass with more champagne. I raised no objection. I wanted to drink.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone?” I said as I raised the glass to my lips.

“You did, but you didn’t mean it.” He took the cigarette from my hand and put it to his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve given up, but I get the urge every once in a while.”

I tried to protest; I didn’t succeed. The rest, as they say, is history. Andy was history, John Denver was history and, within half an hour, the party was history and I was in Russell’s flat with the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted, and a background of some positively evil ‘Dubstep’ tracks. Don’t ask
–
I couldn’t begin to describe it. I hated it, but in some ways it was hypnotic. Well, that was my excuse.

Anyway, that was then and times have changed. I still can’t explain how music brought us together, but I know what’s going to drive us apart now, three years down the line. He wants to have children. So do I, but not his children. There, I’ve said it and it doesn’t sound so bad.

Last Saturday, he was recording. The room was crammed with his equipment. I was sitting in the corner, keeping a low profile. Russell was in a world of his own as he mixed his set for the evening’s gig. After a while, I realised he’d stopped and turned everything off. I looked up. He had this strange expression on his face.

“What’s up?”

“It’s time, babe. I’ve decided.” Now he looked excited. “We should have a baby.” That was it
–
no preamble, no proposal and, worse still no words of love or commitment.

“You’ve decided?” I put my book down. “Do I even get a say in this?”

The beginning of the end. We had a long ‘discussion’. (That’s his word; I’d have said ‘row’.) Maybe I was wrong, who knows? I wanted him to convince me
–
but certain words were missing from his arguments in favour of parenthood
:
words I needed to hear. I didn’t get to hear his ‘set’. He went to the gig alone.

Tuesday afternoon and we
still
haven’t spoken. I’m waiting for him to tell me to leave. I can’t have a child with a man who
has
never said he loves me and he won’t want me to stay around while his biological clock keeps ticking away.

Sitting at the kitchen table, as evening falls, I hear him in the living room. He’s shuffling through the CDs. Now I’m to be punished with death by drum and bass. I pick up the suitcase and open the sliding door. He looks at me and points the remote at the hi-fi. As I cross the room, he bars my way.

“Don’t leave, Doll. I can’t live without you.” He moves to kiss me but I have to pause. I'm listening to John Denver singing '
Annie’s Song
', in a drum and bass remix. I drop my smile and as we kiss, I’m thinking how surprising it is that some things sound awful in theory. So why do they work?

28. Per Ardua ad Astra

The darkness enfolds me and I take comfort in its embrace. It’s warmer than I expected and I relax a little as my eyes begin to focus in the gloom. I’m in a strange room. Moonlight steals through the net curtains, casting a puddle of silver light on the polished wooden floor.

Blacker against the darkness, I can make out the shapes of a wardrobe, a dressing table and a single bed. It is the outline of the bed’s occupant that draws my eyes as she sleeps, as yet unaware of my presence. I move a little closer and the floorboards creak beneath my feet. In the bed, the sleeper stirs. She rolls over, sighs and sleeps again. I allow myself to exhale. I don’t want to wake her yet. I need to collect my thoughts, to regain contact with reality, but I am so very tired and my leg is hurting.

Near the window, a rocking chair catches the moonlight. I accept its invitation and sit down. I remove my helmet and goggles at last and run my hands through my hair. It feels greasy and I wonder when I’ll be able to wash it. I smile, remembering how they used to call us the

‘
Brylcreem
’
boys in the old days.

The war had kept us apart a lot. Well, that’s the nature of war isn’t it?
She was the loveliest sight I had ever seen, not pretty in a conventional sense, but radiating laughter and inner beauty. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. It took her a little longer to fall for me but she did, I’m happy to say.

Home on leave for the weekend, I met her outside the armaments factory where she worked, doing her bit for the war effort. She stroked the pilot’s wings that I’d so recently gained and had hastily stitched above my left breast pocket.

“Don’t you look the part? I’m so proud of you.” We kissed and I was lost in the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin. Then we walked to her mother’s home, picking our way through the debris of the previous week’s air raids.

Sunday evening came too quickly and there were tears as we waited at the station for the train that would take me back to the squadron. She removed her silk scarf and tucked it into the pocket of my tunic.

“To remember me,” she whispered as she reached up to kiss me.

“As if I could forget,” I returned her kiss
,
and in the distance we heard the rumble of the approaching train. On impulse, I tugged at the wings on my chest and they came off easily. I pressed them into her hand.

“Keep these safe for me. You can sew them on properly when I come home.”

I boarded the train and we waved as it pulled out, neither of us knowing that this was to be our last goodbye.

She’s stirring again, I’ll have to make a decision soon. I can’t just sit here all night.

The moonlight has shifted while I was reminiscing and now it falls on her face, still as young and fresh as ever. I’m standing over her now, willing her to wake up and see me.

So many years have passed, how can she still look so young? It’s as if she’s been frozen in time, plucked from my memory and placed before me. Perhaps she isn’t real; perhaps none of this is real. I don’t even know how I came to be here tonight. I can only remember longing to see her once more.

She opens her eyes and looks at me. The recognition is instant and she registers no surprise.
“Tom, you’re here at last.”

“You knew I was coming?” My voice is shaking. The arthritis in my knee is throbbing again. She doesn’t reply but sits up and pats the bed, inviting me to sit beside her.

“Does your leg hurt very badly? It will stop soon
.
”
S
he speaks with authority. I believe her. She kisses my cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you. We’ll be together always now.”

I can’t pretend to understand what’s happening and she senses my confusion. I can’t speak; I don’t know what to say. I just know that I’ve always loved her. She places her right hand on my cheek and I remember the letter.

Dear Tom,

It breaks my heart to tell you this, but Laura was killed in the air raid last Thursday …

I couldn’t continue. It was weeks before I could read the rest of it. Laura’s mother was distraught and I was devastated. The years that have passed since then did little to ease the heartache. I never loved again. I never married; I just grew old and tired dreaming of my lost love all the time and now, she is here and nothing has changed.

I am still speechless. She looks at me tenderly.

“It’s time, Tom. Your body is dying and your spirit is returning to me. There’s nothing to fear.”

“How did you know?” My pain and confusion are easing fast, replaced by joy.

“I knew you’d come. I had your promise.” She held out her left hand, opening it slowly to reveal the keepsake I had given her
–
my wings. “They’ve been with me always.”

As I finally take her in my arms, I can hear the steady beep of the monitor change to a solid high-pitched squeal. The hospital fades away and my love and I are reunited for eternity.