Tag Archives: award winning story

Reaching Out

Here is the first part of another of my award winning short stories, published in May 2020 by Stringybark, in the collection entitled ‘Close to Heaven.’ There was no theme required but the story had to be set in Australia, hence the Akubra and the Arnott’s Monte Carlo biscuits. I enjoyed writing this piece of fiction. I hope you enjoy reading it. Your comments are always very welcome

REACHING OUT

‘Isabel.’ He taps her lightly on the shoulder. ‘I think we should head back now.’

     Beyond the bay, the water of the Southern Ocean is grey, blending with storm clouds that cover the horizon.

     She stands with her arms folded across her stomach. Her frown, when she turns to face him, could mean disapproval, or confusion, or something else which he does not understand.

     ‘Do you mind?’ he asks. ‘I’m just concerned about that cough of yours.’ He pats his chest and pulls his Akubra further down on his head.

     What more can he say without sounding interfering, or worse, like he’s fussing over her? Back when he was in the game last time, forty years ago, men were supposed to be protective of women; to take charge; be the knight in shining armour. He’s been told that modern women hate that.

     ‘What are the rules?’ he’d asked his twenty-four year old son.

     The answer wasn’t encouraging.

     ‘Gees, Dad. What am I supposed to say? It was always you and Mum telling me what to do. Not that I took much notice. Now you’re asking me to tell you, my father, how to pull the chicks. What would Mum think? Not that she can hear of course, but  . . . Dad.’

     He fiddles with the buttons of his jacket and considers putting an arm around her. Is it too soon? Will he frighten her away? He only met her last weekend, in the final session of the retreat. Even then she seemed controlled, or shut off, but everyone was grieving and he didn’t give much away either.

     He decides to risk it. Perhaps she just needs a nudge in the right direction. It’s his idea of the right direction and it might not be hers, but life’s too short to muck around. Look what happened to Jess. Happily married, both retired, ready for the big trip to Europe, then that bloody idiot went through a red light.

     That’s in the past. Now, he’s on this beach with a nice woman. He’ll give it a go.

     ‘Isabel, let me show you something.’ Stepping closer, he puts his arm loosely around the back of her waist.

     She holds firmly to her crossed arms, hesitates, then allows him to lead her away from the water.

     What can he show her that she might find interesting? He’s worried that she’ll think him stupid.

     Seagulls swoop over the ocean and scamper along the beach, screeching their claims for dominance and territory.

     ‘I found a nest up here the other day,’ he says, recalling the tiny woven basket and the grey-feathered parents taking turns to guard their eggs.

     She tilts her head to look at him. He is reminded of a scene from an old romantic movie; the sort he went to in his teens when he was dating Jess.

     ‘Do you want to have a peep?’ Without waiting for a reply, he leads her up the path.

     When they reach the nest, he presses a finger to his lips. She nods her head and waits. He lifts out shattered eggshells and broken twigs and leaves. Isabel takes his hand and holds it between her warm, smooth-skinned palms. Her mouth turns up a little at the corners, but her eyes are unable to participate in the smile she gives him.

     He wants to ask her what happened to make her so sad; why she can’t smile with her eyes. It’s too soon for that.

     ‘Perhaps they just flew away,’ she says.

     Reluctantly, he removes his hand from hers. ‘Will you come and have a coffee with me?’

     Back at his house, Isabel appears far more relaxed than he feels.

     ‘You make good coffee.’ She breathes in the warm aroma. ‘Pretty china, too.’ She takes a sip and holds the mug with both hands. ‘I love your view.’

     Still clasping the mug, she walks to the window. ‘It makes you feel good, doesn’t it, that shimmer on the water?’

     The lump in his throat stifles his reply. That’s what Jess had said when she first saw the place. He goes to the pantry, fumbles with sauce bottles, waiting for the fluttering in his belly to cease.

     ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ He waves a packet at her. ‘They’re only Arnott’s Monte Carlos; my daughter must have left them here.’

     Isabel turns to face him. ‘I’m sure they’ll be lovely, but I’m not hungry. You have some, though.’            

He takes his coffee to the table, puts two biscuits on a plate and sits down, indicating for her to join him. ‘Come and tell me about yourself,’ he says.

To be continued:

COUNTRY LIFE

We arrived after dark, kids asleep on the back seat, dog alert, whining to be allowed out of the car. Country smells had him quivering with excitement, so Robert let him out first. I hoped he wouldn’t explore too far on our first night in a strange place.

“Can you put the lights on high beam, love?” My husband’s voice echoed in the vast space around us as he turned back to the meter box.

Obediently, I leant across and adjusted the headlights. Robert stood out against dark brown, weatherboard walls that could do with a coat of paint. The green, cabled jumper that I had knitted for him in our student days, still hung loosely on his trim frame and his corduroy trousers from the same period, looked suitably warm for the frosty night air.

Yes, I am following you anywhere, I thought. Let’s hope this new venture will give us enough money to go back home and pay the mortgage.

“The power’s not connected,” Robert said, walking towards me. “We’ll have to unload in the light from the car. There’s a kerosene lamp in one of the boxes inside.”

He opened the passenger door and reached into the glove box. “Here’s a torch. Go and see if you can find the lamp.”

Coming to this lonely farm house was bad enough. How did he think we could unload the children, make up beds and find everything in the dark? I got out of the car and walked across crunchy grass. The front door was unlocked. A pity he didn’t check the electricity this afternoon when they delivered our stuff, I thought, stepping inside.

Waving the torch around, I noted a brick fireplace, pale brown stains on the ceiling, walls painted yellowish green, jarrah floor boards, no curtains on the window. Plonked in the middle of the living room were the boxes that we had packed several days earlier.

“It has to be in one that he packed,” I muttered, pushing aside my efficiently labelled handiwork.

Robert came in, carrying two cases. “Jane’s awake,” he announced and continued walking through a doorway off the living room. “Have you found the lamp yet?”

My breath came out in a noisy rush as I ripped a box open. Towels, books, the dog’s lead and his water bowl got thrown on the floor.

“Do you remember where you put it?” I was almost in tears as I continued pulling things out of the box.

“It’s okay, love. I’ll find it.” He gave me a quick hug. “You bring the kids in. Jane’s bed’s in that room. Stuart will be in with us.” He pointed to the room where he had just put the cases.

It was one in the morning when we fell into bed. Almost immediately, it started; thump, thump in the ceiling. Eyes staring into the dark, heart thumping as loudly as the intruders, I was wide awake and ready to defend my babies.

To be continued: