Wednesday 24 January 2018

A Viennese Waltz

James McEwan Leggate

 sparkling water

Mary stopped wiping at the kitchen sink and instead she gazed out of the window at the dull dark clouds. Rain was certainly on the way, and everything seemed so miserable as if her world had a screw loose. Oh dear, she wasn’t sure how to fix it.

The fridge motor switched on and interrupted her day dreaming, its humming sound took on a rhythmic beating of da daa . . . dum dum. She imagined herself in a Viennese Waltz cavorting with a tall Austrian Hussar, and so she turned and twirled across the floor. 

The vacuum cleaner in the corner perked up. “May I have the pleasure?” it said.

“Delighted,” said Mary and curtsied. She took the vacuum by the handle, and they swept around the kitchen dancing to the music. 

The sound of the fridge rumbled on as rain washed against the window playing like soft violins, the slow-cooker gurgled in delight and the kettle whistled as a fluttering flute. The washing machine shuddered out a bass of beating drums and the Dolce Gusto joined in with a whoosh, whoosh, sending aromatic plumes of percolating coffee into the air. 

Mary skipped and spun, swinging on the arm of her handsome Mr Vacuum as they whirled around her tiny ballroom. From the clock, a cuckoo sprang out and trumpeted its hunting horn, and the timer on the oven played along with an allegro bleeping in consonance with the kitchen orchestra.

The house front door slammed. 

The music stopped. 

Mary dropped the hoover into the cupboard under the stairs, it groaned its disapproval. She rushed into the hall.

“I am shattered,” her husband said, “I’m completely worn out.” He gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and slouched into the living room where he slumped onto the sofa. 

‘Did I hear our white goods singing?”

“No,” said Mary shaking her head, “besides that’s racist.”

“What!” he said.

“They are not white goods.” Mary undid his jacket. 

“I’m too run down to argue.” He kicked off his shoes and laid back.

“We refer to them as appliances these days,” she said and reached into his trousers’ pocket for the long flexi-cord which she plugged into a battery recharging pack and switched it on.

“Ah . . . that’s better,” he said and closed his eyes.

Mary returned to the kitchen and made a call on her mobile.

A loud voice answered. “Mr Wong’s Magical Electrical Emporium, what can I do for you?”

“Mr Wong, it’s Mary.”

All the appliances in the kitchen gave a short gasp, the Dolce Gusto hissed, the vacuum cleaner peeked out from the cupboard.

“Yes Mary, you need a replacement.”

“Sort of Mr Wong, do you have any hussars?”

All the appliances burst out a short expressive sigh, they were safe, she wasn’t disposing of them.

“You need a new man . . . why not repair the one you have?”

“Mr Wong, my husband is clapped out, worn out and completely flat.”

“We can fit a new battery.”

“It’s no use, he has lost all his energy. I need one with spark, style and stamina.”

“Okay, Mrs Mary I will bring a new one tomorrow, anything else.”

“Yes, there is a small screw in my head that rattles and seems to be very loose.” 

“Oh dear,” said Mr Wong, “sounds very bad, sounds like an emergency.”

“It is an emergency!” she said, “Oh, it really is, Mr Wong.”

“I will come immediately,” Mr Wong laughed. “I will bring new parts . . .  again.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr Wong.” Mary switch off her mobile and placed in on the table. Her smile increased towards a grin. There was always something special about the way Mr Wong fiddled with her parts. His gentle hands made her feel so invigorated, such that her whole world no longer seemed so miserable.



Monday 22 January 2018

Will he or won’t he be on time?




Debbie Boitoult


espresso 


‘Hello it’s me.    Is anyone out there listening to me?
 Of course you’re not. You never do unless I do something to attract your attention.   Perhaps I’ll stick a foot out to kick you, that might make you take notice of me.  
Oh no not again, they are at it again, it is all they talk about these days.    Hey Chaps, what about me?    I’m the key player around here.    Without me nothing is going to happen.
I’ll tell you what; it’s certainly getting a bit cramped in here.   I need to shuffle round to get comfortable.  Whoops she felt that one, sorry Mummy.    That’s better, now where was I?
I don’t think they realise that I can hear what they are saying.   If they had read the books properly they would have known, but oh no, all they do is talk about needing to get me out of here early.   What do they think I am,  a bar of chocolate in one of those machines, put the money in, push a button and out I pop.
Serves them right if I mess up their plans.   I can do it you know, I’m the one in charge of when it happens, not her.   If I don’t want to come out I won’t.   They have even had the cheek to discuss how to get me out if I don’t appear in time.    There is no chance I’m going to let that happen.
I think need to have a little nap, I’ll be back soon to tell you what this is all about.’
************
‘Hello are you still there?    Oh good, do you want to know what this is all about?    It’s about money, yes that’s right money.   Not about me.
Grandmamma, Lady Elizabeth Saunders is the one who is to blame for all of this trouble.   Yes her, the posh one with the loud voice.   Apparently she made a grand announcement on New Year’s Day 2016.  They were all there, her three daughters and their partners.   She announced that whichever one of her children produced a boy before midnight on the 31st December 2017 would inherit the Saunders family pile.   If not she was leaving it to a Cats Home.   Cats indeed, that’s rubbish, she’s nearly as allergic to cats as she is to her family. 
Obviously I’ve never seen her, but I’ve heard her.  Oh boy have I heard her!   When she comes into the room everything goes quiet. Everyone is waiting for her to speak, even I’m quiet just waiting to hear what she’s got to say this time.  This morning when she visited she said that she hoped that all the money she was paying for this private hospital was going to be worth it.   She keeps reminding my Mummy that she has to give birth before midnight or everything goes to the Cat’s Home.   What a cheek, who does she think she is?
 When I am born I will be the first boy in the Saunders family for four generations. Ok I know that I have to pop out in time if I am to save the family fortune.  Don’t get me wrong I want a life of luxury as much as the next baby, but I don’t like being told what to do so early on in my life, after all I’m not even born yet.   If she is like this now, what is she going to be like all though my life?
I’m very happy in here. It’s warm and it’s safe. I’m not ready to be poked and prodded and have stupid noises made to my face.  I’m not a pigeon, I won’t respond to coo, coo, coo.   I know I am gorgeous; I don’t need to be woken up every time I want to sleep with someone telling me how gorgeous I am.  I bet you are wondering how I know about all these things.  
 You think us babies don’t talk to each other, well you are wrong.  All those posh antenatal classes we went to weren’t just for you. You don’t really think that we just sat around in here while you did that yoga and floated around in that hydro thingy.  Of course we didn’t, we babies had a chance to talk to each other. You would be amazed at what we discussed.   I told them about Grandmamma Lady Elizabeth and her diabolical announcement.  They were horrified, all apart from that silly baby that your best friend is having.  She thought it was a fun idea and that she wished that it was her instead of me.  It took me ages to explain that the whole thing was about there had not been a boy born into the Saunders family for 4 generations and that I was a boy. I then explained to her yet again that I had to be born by midnight on the 31st December 2014 if my Mummy and Daddy were going to inherit all the Saunders estate and money from Grandmamma.  If I was born later than midnight, she would leave it all the Cats Home.  The silly little girl thought that was a fun idea as well.  I tell you how stupid, I hope I don’t have any sisters if they are like her.
Anyway as I was saying, we all agreed that it wasn’t right to make me pop out at a certain time. I should be allowed to do it when I want. They also didn’t think it was right that Daddy should be trying to persuade Mummy to hurry thing up.  I mean to say, he even gave her some orange juice and castor oil to drink the other day to make things happen quicker.  I didn’t think she should drink it, but she did.  I really had to hold on tight that time.  Things were getting a bit serious.
Like I was saying the other babies didn’t think that I should give in, even if it did mean not having a big house to live in, nice gardens to be pushed round in a comfortable pram.   Lots of toys to play with and a pony when I got a little bigger.  We all agreed that I wouldn’t do it, but at times it has been a struggle for me to stay where I am.
It’s like when her waters broke, oh boy that was no fun.  Panic stations all round.  Phone calls to the hospital.  Rushing outside to the car and then that manic race to the hospital.  I had to remind them , excuse me don’t forget that I’m in here and I’m holding on as tight as I can, there is no way that I am having the indignity of being born in the back seat of this car.
All that panic for nothing, I am still in here.   Wow that was a close thing, I nearly had to give in, but I managed to stay where I was.   I’ll make them wait for a bit longer.
Hang on, is that my Mummy speaking?  I do wish she would speak up, doesn’t she realise that I’ve only got tiny ears.  What’s she saying? Oh do stop crying, I can’t understand what you are saying. Wait a moment, did I hear that right.  She doesn’t care about the inheritance any more, she just wants me to be born safe and well. That I mean more to her than all the money in the world and she knows that I will come when I am ready, not when they want me to. It doesn’t matter that it is five to midnight and I still haven’t been born as long as I am healthy when I do arrive.
What a time to tell me this. This changes everything.  I’ve got to get a move on, push Mummy, push.   Where is that orange juice and castor oil when you really need it?    
Will you please stop telling her to breathe slowly, we haven’t got time for that. Just push Mummy I’m doing my bit, I’m almost there.
Oh my goodness, is this the outside world, it’s cold out here.  Hey will you stop rubbing and patting my back, I’m not a pet dog you know. I’ve had enough of this, perhaps if I start crying you might leave me alone.  Oh hello Mummy so that what you look like, well I think it’s you.   You’re a bit fuzzy, ah that better I can see you now.  I suppose you must be Daddy. Why are you crying? I’m the one who should be doing that.
Oh my goodness I know that voice, it’s the scary one Grandmamma Lady Elizabeth.   I don’t think I like the look of her.  No don’t come any closer and don’t you dare kiss me, I’m not ready for all that yet.   
Roberta Saunders and Jeremy Matterson
are delighted to announce the safe arrival of their son
Justin Peter MATTERSON
Born 31.12.2017
23.58hrs       7lbs 2oz.
Hello it’s me again.  As you know I’m out.  Mind you it was a bit close on time, I nearly left it too late.  Mummy is very happy I’m here, Daddy is very happy I’m here but I think that he is even happier now we’ve inherited the family fortune.    
Me, well I’m not very happy, look what they have called me.   Just because both of them said that I had arrived just in time, I’m stuck with a first name of Justin.’


15



‘Hello it’s me.    Is anyone out there listening to me?
 Of course you’re not. You never do unless I do something to attract your attention.   Perhaps I’ll stick a foot out to kick you, that might make you take notice of me.  
Oh no not again, they are at it again, it is all they talk about these days.    Hey Chaps, what about me?    I’m the key player around here.    Without me nothing is going to happen.
I’ll tell you what; it’s certainly getting a bit cramped in here.   I need to shuffle round to get comfortable.  Whoops she felt that one, sorry Mummy.    That’s better, now where was I?
I don’t think they realise that I can hear what they are saying.   If they had read the books properly they would have known, but oh no, all they do is talk about needing to get me out of here early.   What do they think I am,  a bar of chocolate in one of those machines, put the money in, push a button and out I pop.
Serves them right if I mess up their plans.   I can do it you know, I’m the one in charge of when it happens, not her.   If I don’t want to come out I won’t.   They have even had the cheek to discuss how to get me out if I don’t appear in time.    There is no chance I’m going to let that happen.
I think need to have a little nap, I’ll be back soon to tell you what this is all about.’
************
‘Hello are you still there?    Oh good, do you want to know what this is all about?    It’s about money, yes that’s right money.   Not about me.
Grandmamma, Lady Elizabeth Saunders is the one who is to blame for all of this trouble.   Yes her, the posh one with the loud voice.   Apparently she made a grand announcement on New Year’s Day 2016.  They were all there, her three daughters and their partners.   She announced that whichever one of her children produced a boy before midnight on the 31st December 2017 would inherit the Saunders family pile.   If not she was leaving it to a Cats Home.   Cats indeed, that’s rubbish, she’s nearly as allergic to cats as she is to her family. 
Obviously I’ve never seen her, but I’ve heard her.  Oh boy have I heard her!   When she comes into the room everything goes quiet. Everyone is waiting for her to speak, even I’m quiet just waiting to hear what she’s got to say this time.  This morning when she visited she said that she hoped that all the money she was paying for this private hospital was going to be worth it.   She keeps reminding my Mummy that she has to give birth before midnight or everything goes to the Cat’s Home.   What a cheek, who does she think she is?
 When I am born I will be the first boy in the Saunders family for four generations. Ok I know that I have to pop out in time if I am to save the family fortune.  Don’t get me wrong I want a life of luxury as much as the next baby, but I don’t like being told what to do so early on in my life, after all I’m not even born yet.   If she is like this now, what is she going to be like all though my life?
I’m very happy in here. It’s warm and it’s safe. I’m not ready to be poked and prodded and have stupid noises made to my face.  I’m not a pigeon, I won’t respond to coo, coo, coo.   I know I am gorgeous; I don’t need to be woken up every time I want to sleep with someone telling me how gorgeous I am.  I bet you are wondering how I know about all these things.  
 You think us babies don’t talk to each other, well you are wrong.  All those posh antenatal classes we went to weren’t just for you. You don’t really think that we just sat around in here while you did that yoga and floated around in that hydro thingy.  Of course we didn’t, we babies had a chance to talk to each other. You would be amazed at what we discussed.   I told them about Grandmamma Lady Elizabeth and her diabolical announcement.  They were horrified, all apart from that silly baby that your best friend is having.  She thought it was a fun idea and that she wished that it was her instead of me.  It took me ages to explain that the whole thing was about there had not been a boy born into the Saunders family for 4 generations and that I was a boy. I then explained to her yet again that I had to be born by midnight on the 31st December 2014 if my Mummy and Daddy were going to inherit all the Saunders estate and money from Grandmamma.  If I was born later than midnight, she would leave it all the Cats Home.  The silly little girl thought that was a fun idea as well.  I tell you how stupid, I hope I don’t have any sisters if they are like her.
Anyway as I was saying, we all agreed that it wasn’t right to make me pop out at a certain time. I should be allowed to do it when I want. They also didn’t think it was right that Daddy should be trying to persuade Mummy to hurry thing up.  I mean to say, he even gave her some orange juice and castor oil to drink the other day to make things happen quicker.  I didn’t think she should drink it, but she did.  I really had to hold on tight that time.  Things were getting a bit serious.
Like I was saying the other babies didn’t think that I should give in, even if it did mean not having a big house to live in, nice gardens to be pushed round in a comfortable pram.   Lots of toys to play with and a pony when I got a little bigger.  We all agreed that I wouldn’t do it, but at times it has been a struggle for me to stay where I am.
It’s like when her waters broke, oh boy that was no fun.  Panic stations all round.  Phone calls to the hospital.  Rushing outside to the car and then that manic race to the hospital.  I had to remind them , excuse me don’t forget that I’m in here and I’m holding on as tight as I can, there is no way that I am having the indignity of being born in the back seat of this car.
All that panic for nothing, I am still in here.   Wow that was a close thing, I nearly had to give in, but I managed to stay where I was.   I’ll make them wait for a bit longer.
Hang on, is that my Mummy speaking?  I do wish she would speak up, doesn’t she realise that I’ve only got tiny ears.  What’s she saying? Oh do stop crying, I can’t understand what you are saying. Wait a moment, did I hear that right.  She doesn’t care about the inheritance any more, she just wants me to be born safe and well. That I mean more to her than all the money in the world and she knows that I will come when I am ready, not when they want me to. It doesn’t matter that it is five to midnight and I still haven’t been born as long as I am healthy when I do arrive.
What a time to tell me this. This changes everything.  I’ve got to get a move on, push Mummy, push.   Where is that orange juice and castor oil when you really need it?    
Will you please stop telling her to breathe slowly, we haven’t got time for that. Just push Mummy I’m doing my bit, I’m almost there.
Oh my goodness, is this the outside world, it’s cold out here.  Hey will you stop rubbing and patting my back, I’m not a pet dog you know. I’ve had enough of this, perhaps if I start crying you might leave me alone.  Oh hello Mummy so that what you look like, well I think it’s you.   You’re a bit fuzzy, ah that better I can see you now.  I suppose you must be Daddy. Why are you crying? I’m the one who should be doing that.
Oh my goodness I know that voice, it’s the scary one Grandmamma Lady Elizabeth.   I don’t think I like the look of her.  No don’t come any closer and don’t you dare kiss me, I’m not ready for all that yet.   
Roberta Saunders and Jeremy Matterson
are delighted to announce the safe arrival of their son
Justin Peter MATTERSON
Born 31.12.2017
23.58hrs       7lbs 2oz.
Hello it’s me again.  As you know I’m out.  Mind you it was a bit close on time, I nearly left it too late.  Mummy is very happy I’m here, Daddy is very happy I’m here but I think that he is even happier now we’ve inherited the family fortune.    
Me, well I’m not very happy, look what they have called me.   Just because both of them said that I had arrived just in time, I’m stuck with a first name of Justin.’


15

Thursday 11 January 2018

Out of the ...

Roger Noons

 

a large mug of tea with three sugars.

 
When the letter arrived instructing him to carry out his national Service, Jack Burton was pleased. It enabled him to distance himself from his father. William Burton, an Undertaker, with neither a sense of humour nor the ability to leave a bottle of Johnnie Walker in a cupboard, was a bully. He was always easily recognised at the crematorium; his clothes smelled of moth balls and his breath of peppermints.
    It was during the second week of his basic training that the sergeant stood behind Jack and screamed into his right ear. ‘Am I urtin you lad?’
    ‘No Sergeant.’
    ‘Well I ought to be, I’m standin on your air. Get it cut!’
    ‘Yes Sergeant.’
    As the non-com moved away, he left behind a whiff of peppermint which left Jack shivering.
 
 

Monday 8 January 2018

She's Here

Roger Noons

 

a glass of bourbon

 
‘When was it painted?’ Bradley Ashburn of the Washington Post asked the Director.
    ‘If you ask any ten of those French and Italian art historians, you’ll get twenty different answers, but in the catalogue, to play safe, we’ve said at the beginning of the Sixteenth Century.
    ‘Gee, that’s really old.’
    Both men were silent as they stared at the image. 
    ‘Who was the model?’
    ‘A lady living in Florence, Lisa del Giaconda.  Her maiden name was Gherardini, so take your pick.’
    ‘I’d assumed it would be bigger?’
    ‘Yeah, I was surprised, but as they say, beautiful things come in small sizes. We’re lucky to have it.’
    ‘I wonder what it’s worth?’ the reporter mused, scribbling in his notebook.
    ‘It’s been assessed for insurance at a hundred million dollars.’
    ‘Wow, how much is the premium?’
    ‘This is not for publication, but we’ve not covered it.’ Brad’s chin was still on his chest when the Director added. ‘We’re spending the money on security.’
    ‘But, what if it’s stolen?’
    ‘Then either it would be offered back at a price, in which case the Insurers would pay, or it will disappear into a private vault, in which case they wouldn’t. After all where would we get a replacement? Our aim is to keep it safe.’
    Brad started to move forward but was restrained.
    ‘If you pass that beam all hell will break loose. Lights will flash, bells ring, all doors will automatically close and four armed security guards will rush in. When the Gallery is open to the public the guards will be in the room at all times. At night, just outside the doors.’
    Shaking his head the reporter said, ‘I guess you’ll be glad when the Exhibition is over?’
    ‘You’re not wrong there, my friend.’
 
 
Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa was exhibited in the US for the first time in 1963. The opening of the show at the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC was on 8 January.
 
 
Roger, a retired Environmental Health Manager, lives in the West Midlands. He began writing fiction in 2005 and first submitted to Café Lit in 2011. She’s Here is his 106th piece to be published on Café Lit.

Saturday 6 January 2018

Gemini Rising

Gemini Rising
 Paula R C Readman

Leaping Legend (Badger Beers)

 I felt no warmth as I lay huddled under my trench coat against the bitter cold wind, wanting nothing more than to return home. The weather seemed on change as the strength of the wind grew enough to sweep the clouds away.
I turned my aching head towards the heavens.  The night sky revealed its magnificence to me in a multitude of stars that I could almost reach out and touch.
Though I had my sleeping comrades-in-arms close by, I felt alone. I scanned the array of galaxies, focusing on the constellations, hunting for the twins, Pollux and Caster. On finding them together for all eternity, a tear slipped down my cheek as thoughts of my older brother, by two minutes, Osbert filled my mind. On seeing Gemini rising, I longed to be back at his side in the landscape of our birth where we drew our first breath together.
As the night wore on, I grew as restless as the wind with its constant complaining. It shook and rattled everything in its path as it raced across the land. I closed my eyes find it hard not to inhale the stench of death. I wondered what the wind had to complain about when it had such freedom to go wherever it pleased.
When the time came for my leaving, it was as unexpected as my arrival. Exhausted by the battle in a foreign land that was not mine, I was glad to be going home, and travelled by whatever means was available to me as I made my way across Europe. 
I was relieved to be back on English soil, though I knew my journey was only just beginning. I took the first available train heading out of London, and found myself in the compartment with a white-haired old gentleman, dressed in tweeds, who sat nodding asleep. Careful not to disturb him, I took the window seat.
Weary, not just from the journey I had made, but worn out from the fear of facing my father after his reaction to my leaving. As strange as it may seem to others after the terrors I had faced when I heard the sounds of dying men’s screams in the name of freedom, I should fear facing my father far more.
I closed my eyes briefly, rested my head against the cold glass. The rattling of the train as it gathered speed made me recall the angry words my father and I had exchanged.
“Then go, my son, fight your battle in the Balkans if you must, but remember; for whom the gods love dies young.”
With that, he turned and walked away. I couldn’t understand why he was against my going. We were young men who were about to stand and fight for freedom.
In the end, he would not listen to me, or I to my brother’s plead. To prove them all wrong, I followed my friends into hell.
As the train raced towards my destination, I watched the city fade from view until tiredness washed over me. On closing my eyes, I found myself back among the horrors, as the sounds of my friends’ laughter became the screams of reality as one by one they lost their lives.
Suddenly, drawn away from my nightmare, I woke to find someone tapping on my shoulder. The gentleman seated opposite was using his walking stick to get my attention. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, and apologised for my dreams disturbing his peace.
His soft sympathetic brown eyes held mine as he shook his head, “Fear not lad, it’s I who disturbs you, but only to let you know we’ve reached your destination.”
I straightened up and said, “Sorry, but . . . how did you know?”
He smiled kindly. “There’s no mystery, young sir. I overheard you at the ticket office.”
I shook my head, a little puzzled.  I tried to recall buying a ticket, but found only a blur of half-evoked thoughts and feelings in my exhausted mind. I dismissed it concerned only with my father’s reaction on seeing my return.  
 
My journey home was quicker than I had expected. Instead of arriving early the next morning, it was late afternoon when I alighted at our rural station. I found it quite deserted apart from the old stationmaster, whom I was sure had retired many years ago.
He seemed to study me for a moment, a stranger standing so forlorn on his platform. Then his face brightened, “Goodness me, is it really you, young Charles Ratcliffe. My, haven’t you grown.”
“War changes you, sir. A boy doesn’t remain for long on a battlefield.”
His watery eyes narrowed in bewilderment, “A battlefield?”
“Yes, the Balkan wars, sir.”
With a slow nod, his eyes met mine, “Your father will be right pleased to have you home. It will spare him the not knowing what had become of you.”
I smiled politely, “It may’ve spared him, but many others have been robbed of good men who have died for what they believed in.”
He lowered his cap and said, “Too true, young sir.” After a nervous hesitation, he asked, “I’m sorry there isn’t anyone here to meet you, were you expected today?”
I glanced at the station clock and was puzzled to see it had stopped at two o’clock.  
“Are you all right, young Charles?”
I turned and smiled an apology, “Just a little weary, I guess. My return was unexpected, giving me no time to let them know. ”
He smiled kindly, “May I wish you, God’s speed as you make your final journey homeward.”  
 
I left the station on foot. After an hour, I paused to take in the view. Everything was exactly as I remembered it. Far below, a cluster of sandstone buildings gathered beside an old stone bridge. The fertile land deep within a valley had for generations been home to my ancestors who had lived and worked the lands all around.
“Your final journey homewards,” I muttered, echoing the station master’s words. Suddenly the sunlight caught the water’s surface making it sparkle so brightly it dazzled me, blinding me briefly as the sound of rooks and crows filled the air.
 Being the youngest of three sons neither the Jacobean hall, nor its land would be mine to inherit. Generations ago, things might have been different; my brothers may have fallen foul of childhood illnesses, a death on some distance battlefield or even an irate husband as befallen some of my predecessors.
I wondered for a moment whether my family had received my last letter, telling them that I was well after receiving their shocking news about the death of my oldest brother, Robert.
It had shocked me to the core. I couldn’t have believed it was possible for him to die in such a peaceful and beautiful place? To add to my misery I’d been unable to return home to attend his funeral, yet days later I find myself travelling home.
As the cawing of the circling rooks and crows bring me out of my reverie, I know if I am to reach home before the sunset, I must make haste.
For too long I’d been away from the rich English soil and now all I wanted was to feel it under my fingernails instead of blood and burning flesh.
When my father inherited the Radcliffe estate from his indebted father after he had gambled the family fortune away, he made sure his sons knew every aspect of what it took to run such a large estate. I enjoyed my time working alongside the gardeners, gamekeepers, and farm managers. To me, coming home is so much more than just asking for my father’s forgiveness. It was about returning to the place I wanted to be and to raise a family of my own.  
On arriving at the front door, I was shocked to find a wreath of laurel pinned to it.  The house seemed to be in darkness, though it was still too early for my family to take to their beds. I feared the worst as I reached for the door handle, but to my surprise, it swung open, and it was with a heavy heart, I entered.
The air within was heavily laden with the sweet, sickly smell of lilies. I stood for a moment puzzled by the silence.  The huge grandfather clock of my childhood stood silent, yet it was something my father took pride in for its ability at keeping good time.
The only sound in the house I could hear was the black ribbons on the wreath as they fluttered in time with the wind in the trees outside. I heard no sound of my family or the servants.
Where was everyone? 
Within the entrance hall, the only light available for me to see by came through the open door as I took in my surroundings. I explored further, and soon found the reason for the darkness someone had closed shutters.
Beyond an ornate screen, I found on the refectory table an open empty coffin with two large silver candlesticks alight surrounded by flowers.
 My puzzlement quickly left when I realised they must have received my last letter, and had delayed Robert’s funeral until I had returned home.
On finding no one about, I went to my old familiar childhood bedroom, with its high ceiling, four-poster, and settled down to sleep; hoping that by the morning there would be a simple explanation to everything.  
I was startled awake, by what, I knew not. I crossed to the window and lifted the heavy frame.  Outside dark clouds raced across the horizon, adding to the sense of unease that crept over me. Threads of a vivid dream clung to me like wasps at a picnic.
In my dream, I saw my family waiting for my arrival, but instead of their smiling faces to welcome their prodigal son back home, they were dressed in their mourning clothes and in receipt of a flimsy coffin from an unfamiliar stationmaster and his guardsman. With frayed nerves, I picked up my lamp and went to search for my brother, Osbert.
I entered his bedroom, a mirror image of my own room. A lofty four-poster dominated the spacious room. Its faded tapestry canopy and curtains were now dusty with age.
Within my lamplight, the particles of dust danced as I moved across the room. My brother lay on his back; his china-blue eyes tightly shut in an unnatural deep sleep, his face, a replica of mine, with its strong nose, full mouth, and pale skin. Although, I felt chilled, sweat dampened my brother’s dark brown hair, plastering it to his fine forehead.
As I reached out to rouse him, his eyes sprung open. Something in the room shifted and I felt my brother’s eyes focused on me briefly, halting me in my action. As Osbert’s eyelids drooped, I felt time detached itself from me as a feeling of dislocation swept over me. I backed away from the bed, my heart lurched sickeningly, caught somewhere between fear and panic.
I descended the stairs in a rush.  The lamp I held cast ghostly shadows across the sombre painted faces of my ancestors who stared blankly back at me as if to remind me just how fleeting time is for the living.  In the hall, the sickly sweet perfume filled air seemed to choke the life out of me.
Drawn once again to the screen, I ran my fingertips over the family crest and felt an increase in my discomfort as I pushed open the gate to find someone had closed the coffin.
Shock filled my mind. Why hadn’t the noise of their carriages returning so late woken me? Surely, the sound of them closing a heavy oak coffin in such an enclosed space would’ve been enough to wake the dead.
With a heavy heart, I rested my hand upon the smooth wood. All I wanted to do was to resolve the unhappiness I had caused between father, my two brothers, and myself. At least showing my last respects to Robert now may compensate some of my foolishness, in my father's eyes.
 “Fear not Charles, you’re not alone.”
On hearing the sound of Osbert’s voice, I turned, surprised that I hadn’t heard him sooner
“Osbert,” I said, as he walked towards me, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.” I stepped back and watched as he stood as I had done with his hands resting on the coffin as though to draw comfort from it.
Then he whispered, “I’m so sorry that our last words together were spoken in anguish.”
“Oh, brother it’s not you who should apologise, but I,” I said smiling brightly; glad that we could speak openly, but I was puzzled that he didn’t meet my gaze.
“I must be strong," he continued as though I wasn’t there, “for Father needs me after losing another."
“Another?” I said, puzzled.
 “Father blames himself for not being there, when the stake killed Robert outright after the wind had whipped the tarpaulin off the hayrick, and now to lose you,” he sobbed.
 “No, I’m here, look,” I stepped towards him, wanting to shake him. Then I noticed a framed photograph draped in black velvet. Along side it, the family bible lay open. I knew the marked verse off by heart.
It was our favourite; understanding the love, the brothers Saul and Jonathan felt that not even death could divide them.
 I pulled the cover off the photograph, knowing it was true. Remembering how the stars faded from the sky that night my head had ached so much.  
“Please accept our forgiveness, Charles. Death will not part us for long,” Osbert sobbed, crossing to the stairs.
“Wait!” I called after him.
 “Do not be afraid,” a voice said. “Though your brother can’t hear you, he senses you’re here.”
I turned to find the white-haired gentleman from the train standing at my side, “Who are you?”
“Fear not, I’m one of the guides sent to help restless spirits find their way home. Your time has come to leave now.”
 “So it wasn’t a dream, when I saw my family gathered at the station?”
“No, it wasn’t. Accept your brother’s forgiveness; it will at last set you free, Charles.”
I nodded, feeling the peace I had longed for filling my heart. As my spirit lifted, I knew I would soon be joining Robert and my other ancestors who’d gone before.