Cold County Down

We've woken to a very white, muted morning in County Down today and the temperature hasn't risen above freezing yet.

Snow Ball: Short Story

Snow Ball

Lying on the bed, my back resisting the cold, thin mattress I stare at the ceiling. The paint is flaking and the vibrancy of the white is reduced to a dull cream, as dirt and neglect have collected on it.

I can't help but wonder what sort of view I could be focusing on if only I'd followed my own instincts. I should've ignored the demands and expectations of others. Maybe we'd have passed each other by, our lives never intertwining. I doubt it.

My father was the first to insist I attend that event. As an equity and managing partner of the law firm, he'd insisted their newest qualified solicitor, his pride and joy, eldest child should be there to represent the future of the firm and the family name. I was harder to convince.

'Daddy, I agreed to go Susie's gig months ago. What's she going to think of me if I back out now?' I said, pacing the length of his mahogany desk, waving my arms in protest.

'I'd be more concerned about what your employers and your father thought, if I was you,' he replied, leaning back in the chair, the hard, new leather squeaking as he did so.

'I doubt the partners would notice one meagre employee not attending their Snow Ball but Susie's going to be pretty pissed and disappointed if her best friend doesn't show up for her first concert.'

'She's a big girl and it's about time she learnt to cope without you. I pulled a lot of strings to get you that position and you will be at the ball.'

'But...'

'Unless you want to assist me with this Brief for Counsel, this conversation is over.'

He might have bullied me into a job pouring over legalese Monday to Friday but he wasn't getting my weekends too.

'I'm meeting Susie and I better go give her the bad news.'

His head buried in his work, he didn't even manage a grunt or a wave when I turned to leave.

I glanced around the circular table at the other new solicitors, all enjoying their food and wine. They'd qualified six months before me, after training together in the firm. They'd been groomed for their positions within departments. Me, I was the outsider. The one whose father had used his position to get her a role. The girl opposite me smiled, when she caught my look, but turned away to chat to the man next to her. Two men flanked me but, after saying hello and acknowledging my existence, they became engrossed in their food or those on the other side of them.

I heard my phone ring in the silver clutch that lay on the polished, wooden floor. I tried grabbing for it but the stupid thing rang off before I could answer it. Checking the missed calls I found Susie's number. Talking to her was preferable to the cold-shoulder.

The chair scraped as I pushed it back and stood. I was going to make my excuses but no-one looked up so why bother.

I squeezed out through the tables, mostly filled with animated people, the talk flowing in ratio to the wine. I saw a sign indicating the toilets and followed it, finding a quiet hallway.

'Hi Suse, how's it going?

'God Ash, I'm sick as hell.'

'Really sick or nervous sick?'

'About to throw up all over the stage sick.'

'It's just nerves,' I said. Throwing my clutch on the floor and slumping against the wall. 'You'll be fine when you get up there and start singing.'

'I don't think I can do it. What if I can't even get my voice out, never mind sing in tune.'

'Listen to me. You're amazing and all those people turned up because they loved your You Tube channel. If you could put yourself out on the internet, you can do this.'

'That was different. It was just me and a camera. I couldn't see all those faces.'

'Then just forget about them and pretend you're looking at a camera.'

I heard a puff of breath.

'I wish you were here,' she said, her voice quieter, timid. Not my Susie.

'Believe me, so do I.'

'Is it that bad?'

'Dad's watching me like a hawk to make sure I behave and the whole table is ignoring me,' I said, wincing. 'They all hate me.'

'They just don't know you.

'And they don't want to.'

'Did you wear that silver dress?'

'Yep,' I said, smoothing the shimmering fabric over my stomach before pulling on the short hem. 'But it's not working its magic tonight.'

'Give it time.'

I nodded. 'Sure. You okay now?'

'As good as I will be. I better get going, I'm due on stage in a few minutes.'

'Good luck and ring me when you've finished.'

I was still leaning against the wall, scrolling through my social media feeds, when the double doors swished open. A guy I hadn't met before walked into the hallway. Like every other man at the ball he was dressed in a tux but his accented a toned body. The stark, white shirt in contrast to his tousled black hair.

'Hiding?' he asked.

'No, just answering a call,' I said, straightening up and waving my phone.

'You're Michael's daughter, aren't you?' He leant against the wall, next to me.

'How did you guess?'

'Probably from the fact every woman at my table has been talking about you.'

'Let me guess. Bitching about the little girl whose daddy had to get her a job.'

'Wishing they could wear that dress,' he said, his eyes focusing on the garment.

'It seemed like a good choice earlier.' I crossed one stiletto covered foot over the other. As if that would help hide my embarrassment.

'I'm Patrick,' he said, holding out his hand. 'I'm one of the Commercial Litigation team leads.'

'Oh right. Lucky you. One of dad's right-hand men.'

'He's a good boss, taught me a lot.'

I raised an eyebrow, all too aware of how much attention my dad gave his job. I picked up my bag and dropped the phone back into it. 'Guess I better get back to my table.'

'They're clearing them away, making room for dancing.'

'Great,' I said, rolling the r and emphasising the t.

'The bar's open. Can I buy you a drink?'

I wasn't getting any other offers and even if he did come across as a slick charmer, at least he was speaking to me.

At the end of the night, I was deciding how to answer his last question, as I drained the last of my glass. He took his hand of my leg and sat backwards, gesturing over my shoulder. 'Someone's looking for you.'

I swivelled round to find my father striding towards me, unlike Patrick, his shirt was still done-up to the last button, his bow-tie pristine.

'Patrick,' he said when he reached us. 'I noticed you've been looking out for Ashleigh this evening.'

'She's been gracious enough to put up with me monopolising her.'

'Yes, well, the hotel have to close the bar in here now. I'm going to join a few of the other partners for a drink in the residents bar. Would you like to join us?'

'I'm pretty tired, Dad. If you don't mind I'm going to head up to my room.'

'You'll join us, won't you?' He directed the question at Patrick and it was obvious he expected him to say yes.

'Look, I'll leave you both to it,' I said. 'Night Dad.' I kissed him on the cheek. 'And thank you, Patrick.' He stood and I leant my upper body against his in a brief hug. Thanks to the low-backed dress I could feel the warmth and pressure of his hand rest against my skin.

I didn't look back. I knew the view he was getting as I walked away.

I found reasons to visit commercial litigation. Seeing my father for one, showing him I was making an effort to get-to-know the new solicitor who had joined his department; the woman from the table, turned out her name was Caroline. She'd smiled and I took that as an invitation to talk to her. The first time I'd made an excuse to speak to dad, I stopped at her desk on the way by, asked her if she'd enjoyed the ball, suggested we meet for coffee. Hovering round her booth gave me the chance to look for Patrick. I spotted the dark head behind a wall of glass, bent over a desk, his hand embedded in his hair. I glanced over at him again as I left the department, this time his head was raised and he smiled over at me. Maybe I should go in, say hello. Answer that last question he'd asked me. My hand rested on the exit as I considered my choices but in the brief moment that I hesitated a blonde woman, perhaps a few years older than me, entered his office. She dropped papers on his desk and as she did so, placed a hand on his shoulder. His attention distracted.

He never sought me out in the office but each time I visited his department, I glanced his way. He was always busy, always surrounded by others, that woman never far from his side. I found out she was the assistant solicitor in his team. Her name was Karen and she was married. I didn't warm to her.

As a friendship grew with Caroline, the other new solicitors began to accept me. I worked hard, proved my worth but I hated every minute of it and, even though some had thawed towards me, my own department was like a freezer. Forced together, the contents cold and resistant to me.

I was supposed to meet Caroline after work that Friday night but my team lead found an urgent job, only I could undertake. I was alone in the department when Patrick came in and reminded me about that unanswered question.

We were always cautious at work. We didn't want the gossip, the eyes watching us and I didn't need anymore reason for people to hate me or think I was using anything other than my brain to garner favour. I introduced Susie to him, just the once.

After a month I started leaving small items at his flat; a toothbrush, a change of underwear, a hairbrush, some make-up, then a pair of jeans and a clean top. A few more things each weekend. I had to. The more time I spent there, the more things I needed. One Friday I brought a suit to work, I left it in the car so no-one would see it and since dad let me move into the London flat, it's not like anyone was keeping a track of me.

'What's that?' Patrick asked when I threw the suit bag over the back of his sofa.

'It's a suit for Monday morning, so we can have the whole weekend together.'

He pulled me into his arms, unbuttoning my shirt as he kissed and nipped my lips, my neck. He pushed the jacket and shirt from my arms, unhooking my bra and throwing the clothes to the floor.

'Let's talk about that later,' he said, lowering me onto the sofa.

Turned out he'd agreed to play rugby on Sunday morning, so I packed the spare suit back into my car and took it home with me.

I suppose I should've become suspicious when he became busier on Friday nights. I blame dad. I'd been so used to him working the same long hours in that department, I thought it was part of the course. I didn't mind waiting until Saturday night to meet-up. Gave me more time to catch-up with Susie and I could join Caroline and the others again for the Friday night after work drinks. If I hadn't done that I'd probably never have found out.

'Come on, Caroline, you must've noticed something,' Paul was saying when I returned to the table.

'Noticed something about what?' I asked.

'Paul's been chasing after one of the paralegals in his department. Turns out she's friends with a secretary in my department and she reckons Patrick and Karen are an item.'

'But she's married,' I said, trying to control my voice.

'Oh yeah and no-one married ever had an affair,' Paul said, lifting his pint and knocking it back. 'Gotta love ya and leave ya ladies. Hot date waiting for me.'

I made my excuses after that. Rang dad and found out he was still at work but on his own and finishing up. I tried Patrick's phone but it went to voicemail. There was only one thing left to do.

The coffee shop opposite his building was still open. I bought a creamy, frothy latte and found a comfy armchair by the window. I like to soak up the smell of the freshly filled cup but I couldn't concentrate on it that night, the milk moustache was wiped away without the hint of a smile. The light was on in his bedroom.

I rang his phone again but he still didn't answer. An hour and three cups of coffee later she walked out the front door. Smoothing that blonde hair down and buttoning up her coat.

I couldn't answer the phone when it rang. I listened to his message.

'Sorry I missed your calls. Had to turn the phone off to concentrate on the job. On my way home now. Come over after your drinks.'

It started so easily. Checking his phone to see if they were texting each other but I guess she was too protective of her secret for that. Seems he liked to keep his call and text history clear as well, deleting everything. I realised he didn't even have my number saved under my name. I kept my visits to his department as regular as before but I watched her. She was good. An odd glance, maybe standing a little too close to each other but never anything obvious. For a while I even began to believe it was over. He wanted me again on Friday nights but then the text came. He had to cancel our plans, some urgent work he couldn't avoid. Told me to go out with my friends and he'd meet me later.

I waited in the car park. Watched her leave first, an hour after most staff had fled for the weekend. He rang me from the office phone to ask where I was and after I'd replied, saying I was home, he followed her out.

I parked round the corner from the coffee shop and found that armchair with the view. The lights in the windows of his flat betrayed him.

She left after an hour again. Fifteen minutes later he rang me.

I tried to wait thirty minutes but after twenty my patience wore out.

I'm sick of the travelling now. Glad to have reached this island. I'm adjusting to the heat, the humidity, even the bugs but the loneliness is killing me. I can't sleep. I think about how everything snowballed that night. Keep seeing the knife, his blood dripping from it as I pulled it out of his leg. I failed my biology A-level, you know. If I'd passed it maybe he'd still be alive; I'd have known about that femoral artery. The blood ran quicker than I could clean the knife and put it in my bag. I was glad I'd only left a few things in his flat. It didn't take me long to pack them up. I wanted to kiss him before I left, say I was sorry, I didn't mean it. His eyes were so black and the lids were half-closed, like he was going to sleep. I couldn't do it.

I guess Patrick never told Karen about me. After dad helped me get on the plane, he stayed in touch. Said the police found out about the office gossip and questioned her. They suspected a woman was the killer and she'd been the prime suspect. They took her fingerprints and DNA and matched them to what they found in his flat; the indignity of being revealed by a used condom, fished from a bin. The firm took care of her. It was all too circumstantial. They still haven't arrested anyone and my name hasn't been mentioned.

It's getting cooler now and my little lizard friend is coming in off the porch to say hello. He visits me every day; even if I leave the bottom half of the shutters closed, he climbs over the top of them. He finds his way into my life, whether I want him to or not.

I get up off the bed and stretch, the white linen dress falling back into place, the hem skimming my knees. It's creased and I decide to change it.

Opting for a clean dress, I slip on a pair of sandals and fill a glass with cold water, from a bottle in the fridge. Sipping it I lean against the porch railings. The sweet, heady smell of the pink flowers that trail along it is overpowering.

I pick-up the binoculars from the rusting, iron table and train them on the house down the hill. An old banyan tree obscures most of it. Yesterday there was a lot of commotion around that previously empty colonial building and today I thought I glimpsed a man on the balcony. I wonder if he's alone like me. I'll take a stroll down there in a minute. Everyone needs a friendly neighbour. Right?

Vanity Case Books: New Review Site

On joining one online writing community I discovered an active chick-lit circle and five talented writers; Natalie, Caroline, Janny, Gemma and Jo. Between them they've written a cross-section of the women's fiction genre and I've seen each of them provide constructive and honest, but fair, reviews.

Today they launch a new website, Vanity Case Books, in which they will review women's fiction books, with a particular emphasis on self-published authors. They'll also have a fan of the month who will be pictured with their favourite book.

So, if you're looking for something new to read, check out their comments at:
Vanity Case Books

You can also follow them on twitter - as a group and individually:
@vanitycasebooks 
@vcbcaroline 
@vcbgemma 
@vcbnat
@vcbjo 
@vcbjanny

One For The Parents

Ever feel like you're in one of those tv shows about the things kids say?

Having a six year old and an eight year old I get to hear some right crackers, as we'd say in Northern Ireland. 

Last week my son asked me how old he had to be before he could go to a nightclub. When I explained that you had to be eighteen he asked me if I'd ever been to a club. He seemed pretty shocked to hear at a time they felt like my second home and that his parents met in one. As the conversation went on we got talking about music and despite the fact that he still hears me listening to it (among other things) he seemed even more surprised to discover that I was a fan of dance music. He soon managed to put me in my place and remind me I'm from a different generation when he informed me that was all very good but in the old days we didn't know how to dance and that moves are far more complicated now. It crossed my mind to tell him I've waved my arms on a Ministry of Sound dance floor and question his taste (he's had One Direction on his iPod and daughter thinks Harry Styles could be her boyfriend) but what could I do but use that all-knowing parental smile.? I'm sure I had similar feelings towards my own parents music tastes and dance styles. 

On another note, I'm finding time to write this on a Saturday evening and there was a time pre-kids when Saturday evening was only good for one thing  - getting ready to head out for the night. Maybe the dear son was onto something after all...

Charlie & Pearl

A link for a new blog from Tammy Robinson, indie author of the fabulous Charlie and Pearl. A story I was lucky enough to enjoy on its way to a gold medal on the Authonomy writing site.

Charlie and Pearl

Covering Letter Tips

I wish I could say I loved writing covering letters and considered myself a genius at them but the truth is, I hate them. It's the attempt to instil an entire novel, that you've given all you energy, thoughts and time to, into one paragraph and then find the relevant, interesting facts about your life to squeeze into another.

Then there's the issue of the paranoia and dread you feel, knowing someone will be judging your personality and marketability on one A4 sheet. I'd rather write an entire novel than a covering letter and synopsis.

So, I was very pleased to come across these top tips, from Vicki Le Feuvre, on the Darley Anderson blog. Well worth a read to anyone considering submitting a manuscript. The only problem  - Number 10 hasn't been posted yet.

Darley Anderson: Top 10 Tips

Prose For Thought

A fellow BritMums blogger has started a new challenge I thought I'd share.

Whilst I like reading it I don't have a clue how to write poetry and, despite the fact that I like writing short stories, maybe I'm too long-winded to distil my thoughts into the structure of a poem. My time on writing sites and reading blogs has shown me there are lots of poets out there so if you fancy having a go at penning some why not share it with Victoria.

This is what she has asked for:


Every Thursday I would like to publish a poem or piece of prose on my blog in the form of a link and I would love other creatives amongst us to join in!

It can be written in anyway you like. All I ask is that you follow the linky conditions:

1. Write a poem or piece of prose on your blog

2. Include a link to the Prose for Thought page that week so that everyone can share their creativity.

3. Come over to Verily, Victoria Vocalises every Thursday and link your post to that week’s Prose for Thought post.

4. To help other poets, and help publicise our creativity, I would love it if you would grab my badge code below and display it on your sidebar or in the post you write. This, of course, is not obligatory but would be very much appreciated!

5. Tweet about your latest poem on Twitter using #prose4T

You can find out more on Victoria's blog: Prose For Thought