flash fiction

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Doppelganger

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I was idly scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I was surprised to see a picture of myself. I never post pictures of myself on holiday, well I never go on holiday, nor do I socialise enough to appear in other people’s photos. I peered closer. It was definitely me, in that fleece I got from Mountain Warehouse, but I had never been to the Royal Albert Hall. There I was standing outside the famous round building in summer sunshine. Had I been photoshopped in?

I dashed upstairs and put my desk top computer on, I needed to look at this properly, but knowing Facebook that post could disappear any second. Even as I climbed the stairs my phone pinged with a WhatsAp message.

Hi Claire, have a good time, which Prom are you going to?

I wasn’t the only person to have seen my picture, the picture that could not be me. I would love to have got down to London and gone to The Proms, but my budget did not stretch to a city break.

I don’t take much interest in Facebook, occasionally I put a link to my blog or my website when I have a new book published. My followers are a select bunch, but it’s surprising how many readers love my series about Bunny Bunting, a private detective who solves crimes in the cut throat world of pedigree rabbit shows.

There I was again looking up at the Prince Albert Memorial, carrying my jade fleece. I had on my blue polo shirt from Edinburgh Woollen Mill.  Did I have a long lost twin? Now I was sitting and looking properly I read what the post said.

Have you seen Claire? Her family are desperately worried. She went on a day trip to London with work friends, but became separated. Claire is believed to be vulnerable and does not know her way around London.

Thanks a lot, not only has someone stolen my identity, now they are calling me vulnerable?

Claire Smith is forty three years old, five foot four inches and well built.

That is me exactly, though what is well built supposed to mean? At least she has not got the same surname.

We know it’s a long shot, but if you are a Londoner, especially a music lover, perhaps you may have seen Claire at Thursday evening’s prom. She is believed to have struggled with depression lately after the end of a relationship.

That is certainly not me, unless Claire Smith has just lost her pet rabbit. Give me a Flemish Giant any day over a man… there were comments already…

Is this Claire from Carlisle, I follow her on Facebook.

Oh no, that is me, I live in Carlisle, so wonder where this other Claire comes from? Please answer and tell us Claire Smith comes from Saint Ives…shall I add a comment…

No, I am Claire Lapin from Carlisle.

Hang on, that post has disappeared.

A hospital room, now what has happened? That looks just like the picture my brother took of me after I had my tonsils out.

Claire Darling we all love you and beg you to get in touch, you are due for dialysis tomorrow at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, but if you cannot get back here in time, please call at any hospital Casualty Department.

Oh dear it gets worse and worse…

My phone rang, my brother.

‘Sis, turn on the evening news, it’s you, are you in London, lost?

‘No Sam, of course I am not, nor am I on Facebook, someone has stolen my identity.’

He laughed ‘You have got a Doppleganger!’

‘A what?’

‘Your exact double, doesn’t even have to be a relative, just someone who looks exactly like you, everyone is supposed to have a Doppleganger somewhere in the world. But I know how you can find out if she is a relative, they are calling for kidney donors, searching for a good match before its’s too late, someone to give her hope…’

‘How can you call for dead people?’

‘No, live donors, you have two kidneys. I’ve taken the number, I’ll text it over to you.’

‘But Sam, I don’t like hospitals…’

I called the number, it was one way to find out who this Claire was. The kidney business caught people’s interest and a chap spotted her at sunset on Waterloo Bridge, staring into the Thames. He called out to her, rather prematurely ‘Hey, they found you a kidney.’

Claire Smith had a kidney transplant thanks to me. No it wasn’t my kidney. We are not related at all, but I somehow found myself in the swapping chain. My kidney went to an anonymous patient whose relative was a good match for Claire. I wasn’t in the news as I had not actually given her my kidney and I certainly did not post pictures of myself in hospital on Facebook.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Sunday Lunch

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The delightful scent of roast chicken wafted out from the kitchen. Grace liked visiting her cousins, Aunty was a great cook. Playing in the garden with the others, Grace kept an eye on the back door that led into the kitchen. No one was allowed in the kitchen when Aunty was cooking, she had been in there for ages, surely lunch would be ready soon…

‘Grace, come on, your turn.’

She grabbed the ball just in time, despite being weak with hunger.

At last the back door opened.

‘Everybody to the table, not through the kitchen, come in through the patio door, go and wash your hands then get yourselves sat at the table.’

Grace was first in, there was a scrabble to get to the table, handwashing forgotten about. She tried to squeeze in, but couldn’t find a space.

‘Millie, back out in the garden and take Grace with you, you’ve had your lunch.’

Somehow she and Millie found themselves on the wrong side of the patio doors. Grace was too polite to say anything as it wasn’t her home, but Millie did not hold back from voicing her opinion of her family.

‘Call that lunch, call that a meal, same old pile of biscuits I always get, not even a chocolate digestive or some Jaffa cakes.’

‘Oh I love Jaffa cakes,’ said Grace ‘I sometimes have them as a treat, well only one…’

‘Precisely, they eat a whole packet. Hey look, they left the back door open, come on.’

Grace didn’t think they were allowed in the kitchen, even when Aunty had finished cooking, but if Millie said it was okay…’

‘Come on Grace, we’re going to get the leftovers anyway, so why wait, I’m starving.’

Grace was bigger than Millie so she was proud she could help her cousin by reaching the counter top. In seconds they were sharing what was left of the chicken. Tender slivers of meat, crunchy legs, crispy skin and the most divine roast potatoes.

‘Hey Grace, see if you can reach the last two potatoes.’

It was a stretch and a bit of a jump and as she touched the potatoes Grace knocked the heavy carving tray that was already teetering on the edge. There was a deafening crash and Grace jumped in fright. She turned to Millie to ask if they should go back in the garden, but Millie had disappeared. Before she could slip out of the door she heard an awful scream and turned to see Aunty. The strange noise was coming out of Aunty’s mouth and her friendly face had been replaced by a red angry one. Grace thought it might be wise to get in the garden as quickly as possible, but the door had blown shut. Other grownups appeared in the kitchen and Aunty was now saying words.

‘Look what your dog’s been up to!’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Odd Shoes

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I always wanted to be famous, an actress probably, but then I had a better idea, I would become a newsreader. Just as famous, in people’s homes every night, regular work, short hours and best of all, I would be able to sit behind a big desk. Nobody would see my legs and hips, not my best feature and I certainly would not have to do any nude scenes. And I would not have to learn any lines, just read from the autocue.

I practised in front of the mirror… and in tonight’s news… serious face, serious tragedy face, reassuring expression, Royalty voice, lighten up with cheerful final item…

‘As many as three thousand people are feared dead in… the King and Queen met a 117 year old veteran today when they visited…   the Coastguard and lifeboats are still searching for three people missing after their… A Jack Russell terrier named Lucky had a lucky escape when he fell over five hundred feet off Beachy Head and landed in an RNLI lifeboat searching for three missing people…’

It transpired that there is more to being a newsreader than I thought, but I made it… local news, national lunchtime news, main evening news! Someone to do my hair and makeup, different smart jacket or blouse every evening and I was soon a well known name. Under the desk I could wear my bunny slippers and what my husband called my pyjama trousers, but what I called lounge wear. Then one day the producer called a meeting.

The evening news was going to be revamped, the desk would be no more. We would walk around pausing now and then to look commanding. How would I walk, read the autocue and look intelligent all at the same time… and what on earth would I wear?

Luckily my brother is a drag queen, not a profession I or my parents ever thought would be useful, but he came round to offer advice. Picking out a couple of pairs, my only pairs, of smart trousers and a dress and two skirts, he put his hands on his hips and said ‘Now all you need is a decent pair of high heels.’

‘I don’t wear heels, I don’t possess any high heels.’

‘No problem, you can borrow a pair of mine.’

‘Won’t they be too big?’

‘Just stuff some tissues in the toes, it’s only for half an hour.’

Monday evening launch and I’m at the studio back door waiting for my brother who had promised to bring the shoes on his way to his show. He had assured me he would choose his most conservative pair with the shortest heels. With minutes to spare I rushed to my dressing room and opened the shoe box. Black, good, four inch heels oh dear. I stared at them, I was unused to wearing such shoes, but even I could tell something was not right, what was odd about them? Something was right, both shoes were right! He had so many pairs of shoes, presumably lots of similar pairs and rushing around getting his dresses ready he did not notice his mistake.

I had no choice but to wear them, I was expecting them to be uncomfortable anyway, so what difference would it make. Out in the corridor I steadied myself against the wall. My producer said ‘You look lovely, whoops, politically incorrect, you look very professional. Oh by the way, we have got breaking news, no idea what or where, keep your eyes on the autocue and listen on your earpiece for updates.’

I tottered over to the prearranged starting point, my feet in agony already and my earpiece buzzing with the producer’s mumblings and urgent hissings. I peered at the autocue, but I was not used to this angle.

‘…and we start tonight with breaking news from … how on earth is that pronounced…

‘Start walking across’ hissed my producer.

I couldn’t even think which foot to put forward first and they hadn’t told me I had to walk up steps…

My leg became the breaking news…

Tuesday Teeny Tale – Big Ideas

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Aero had waited eons since he put in his application, or so it seemed. Had it been thrown straight in the bin, were the Upper Council laughing at his ideas? He had been naively pleased with himself for thinking of an original project for his thesis. If his idea worked, few would be interested in an experiment in an outer sector hardly anyone had heard of, but the upside of that was that failure, even accidental destruction, would not bother many. Still, he must be positive, if his idea worked perfectly he could apply for bigger projects in one of the inner sectors. Aero did not want to be stuck forever like his parents, caretakers for this remote part. For generations his family had cherished their responsibility for the growing community, the only surviving community in this sector. Experiments had been carried out, there had been the demise of an early community, followed by the extinction of another, but new life always followed.

Aero was nervous in front of the great board.

‘I have read your application, but I want to hear you summarise it in plain language.’

‘Our humble little sector is due to be demolished because of numerous failures in its past history, but while I know my voice cannot stop its destruction, I think we should take advantage of the opportunity to conduct an experiment which could then be applied to more important sectors.

My plan would be to shuffle the planets around and expand the solar system at the same time. The attempts by the colony to escape from the solar system have become more frequent and if they ever succeeded it would cause chaos in other galaxies.’

‘Which is precisely why we have scheduled the solar system for urgent demolition. However, some members of the board find your ideas rather amusing, so we will retire for a few eons to consider our decision.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Operating Theatre

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It’s the sort of article you read in the tabloids or the rabbit hole you fall into when you are tempted to scroll down on the internet. There was a boy at junior school who always had ghoulish ‘true stories’ to tell. I was never sure whether to believe him, but we wanted to and it was a bit dull in class after he moved away.

When I became a sardonic teenager I realised how ridiculous his tales had been, though I would have given him credit for his imagination if we ever met again.

As I turned into a sensible adult a strange thing happened; television documentaries, tiny cameras in operating theatres and Wikipedia provided real true stories. It turned out that there were girls with two heads and boys with four legs. The stuffed two headed lamb we saw in a glass case at the ‘House of Horrors’ on holiday had nothing on real two headed people who talked on television and went to school. Yes, real life could be truly bizarre and nature played jokes.

When I started getting mystery pains, or rather when I could no longer ignore mystery pains and the strange lump I could feel, I went to the doctor. An appointment came through for my scan, can’t remember which machine it was, but it made lots of noise and I did not like being in it. Of course the operator is not allowed to tell you anything and just mumbled something about a report going to my GP. I was just glad to get dressed and get out of there down to the hospital Costa Coffee. I was beginning to relax with my strong coffee and a lemon tart poised towards my mouth when my mobile rang.

‘This is Doctor Jekyll, are you still in the hospital grounds? Good. Have you eaten anything in the past couple of hours?’

Puzzled I put my lemon tart down.

‘Good, now there’s nothing to worry about, but I would like to examine you and possibly do an exploratory operation. As soon as possible. Now. No you don’t need to know where to go, I’m sending someone down to fetch you.’

I didn’t even get a chance to finish my coffee before someone in a uniform appeared and guided me into the depths of the hospital. It was not long before I was undressed and lying on a couch, being prodded and monitors applied. One good thing, I knew I was in good health, heart and everything working properly and fit for surgery. I was just about to ask when the operation was going to take place when the next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery room with all sorts of tubes attached to me.

Doctor Jekyll was at my side promptly.

‘The good news is, it was not a malignant tumour. The bad news, it was a very complicated operation and the surgery was invasive.’

‘I don’t understand, what did you find?’

‘A baby.’

This would be a shock for most people. It was certainly a shock for me as I am a man.

‘How on earth…are you trying to tell me I’m a hermaphrodite?’

‘We don’t use that term these days, but you are not. Now you have heard of conjoined twins? Yes of course, but have you heard of parasitic twins? So you have seen old drawings and photos of people with partially formed bodies appended to themselves on Beetleypete’s blog… who or what is that? No I’m not a blogger, never heard of WordPress. Now I need you to pay attention. Your parasitic twin just happened to be completely inside you, very unusual and it… he seems to have been having a development spurt, otherwise you would not have noticed.’

‘This is a bit hard to take in, but at least I’m rid of it. How soon can I go home, I’m feeling okay.’

‘That’s all the pain killers, you have had a very serious operation and you will be monitored in intensive care. But we also have an ethical problem. We managed to save the baby.’

‘WHAT! Um what are you going to do with it?’

‘Him… well at the moment he is still attached to you by his, for want of a better word, his umbilical cord. Now do you want to see him before we discuss how to proceed? ‘

I thought of that boy at school, he would have wanted me to look, ready to relate the story to anyone who would listen. Somehow my schoolboy morbid curiosity took over and as instructed by the doctor I turned my head to the other side of the bed and there in an incubator was my baby brother. Or more accurately, if you put a pair of glasses on him he would be an exact miniature replica of me.

Tuesday Tiny Tale -Writing Exercise

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The Ham Hub writers had decided to have something new to focus on, an exercise for fun, creating a fictional community. Each writer to bring along two or three characters and let them interact with each other. The setting to be remote and rural, between the wars so they would have no mobile phones or ready means of communicating with the outside world.

Charlotte enjoyed the task, a break from writing her novel about Lottie. She tried not to make it anything like Hambourne, though she couldn’t resist adding water. When it was suggested she go first she thought that would be easy, her plot could not clash with anyone else’s if they had not been revealed.

Ellie decided to take the towpath back to the farm, relishing the peace and freedom before returning to all her chores at home. Ellie was happy to volunteer to take newly laid eggs and milk to old Widow Brown in her tumbledown cottage. Mother said they had to be nice to her as she had lost both her sons in the war. It had been a busy morning as she had also taken a hearty breakfast to Tommy One Arm in the barn. Her father took pity on any tramps who had been soldiers in the war, especially those maimed or disfigured and unlikely to find work. Father called them all Tommy; there had been One-Eyed Tommy, he was a bit scary till you got used to him. Tommy One Leg had been a joker and popular locally as he could fix anything. Tommy One Arm was very quiet except when he was having a funny turn, which Father said was shell shock. He wore a hat and scarf all the time, only Mother and Father had seen his face properly as Tommy was very good at reading the difficult dusty old books that had been great grandfather’s. He read to their parents after the children were all in bed. Ellie hoped this Tommy would stay. Father never made them move on, but they often got restless and there would come a morning when the barn was empty. Ellie felt sorry for this Tommy, he wouldn’t be able to get married if he had to keep his face covered all the time and he didn’t seem to have any relatives to go and live with.

It was such a lovely morning Ellie skipped along the tow path…

‘Hang on, is that by the river or a canal?’

I don’t know, that’s why I just put tow path.

…thinking how good it was to be fourteen and never have to go to school again. She had not thought beyond leaving, though of course her parents had. Going to work as a maid at a big house far away

‘Hang on, in mine, it’s The Big House nearby so the characters can be tenant farmers.’

‘and have somewhere to work’ added someone else.

Okay, no problem, at the Big House nearby or to be a shop girl in town…

‘What town, thought they were isolated.’

That’s why she doesn’t want to work in town, too far away.

…were suggested, but she did not want to leave home and why should she when her big brother stayed on the farm. She had quickly found out that working at home was a lot harder than school. Helping her mother with the endless cooking and looking after the little ones, feeding the pigs and hens and milking the cows. But Father had promised her she could take the pony and trap to market. She loved Lucky the best in the family. He was called Lucky because he had been a colt when the war came and was not taken away to go to France. Ellie and Lucky had grown up together.

As Ellie wandered along picking spring flowers and watching out for the Kingfisher she was startled to hear a man’s voice.

‘I thought we were setting it in winter?’

‘No, it was autumn.’

‘It was definitely spring as it is spring now, we’ll be in the right mood’ Charlotte decided to be a bit assertive for a change.

‘Morning Miss.’

She looked up to see a young man standing on the bow of a colourful narrow boat. A new boat at the old mooring that hadn’t been used for years. Ellie knew all the river folk and he was definitely a stranger, so she was not sure if she should talk to him.

‘Thought you didn’t know if it was a river or canal?’

Well spotted, easy to change and we have to hear everyone’s story before we set details.

His smile crinkled up to his dark eyes and he had gleaming white teeth. If her father saw that mop of curly black hair he would have him sent off to the barbers or got her mother to get her clippers out, like she did with her brothers. He was taller than her big brother.

‘Oh I like him, watch out Ellie, my girl will be after him.’

‘This is a pretty sight on a spring morning.’

Ellie looked around to see what the pretty sight was.

‘Oh yes, this is the prettiest part of the river.’

‘That’s why I decided to moor up here yesterday evening and what a surprise to meet a pretty local girl so soon.’

Ellie looked around to see if a pretty girl had appeared

‘May I ask your name? I’m Jack, Jack of all trades.’

‘Hey, I’ve got a Jack.’

‘So have I, head gardener at the big house.’

‘And I’ve got a Tommy, who seduces the scullery maid.’

‘How long since the First World War War then, still got old soldiers wandering? ‘

‘Great War, they didn’t know there was going to be a second one.’

‘1928 I thought we said last week.‘

‘No, it’s going to be in the middle of the Great Depression’

‘When was that then?’

Do you go to a writing group? Do you enjoy doing exercises?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – A Lucky Escape

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Delia had read all the articles and listened to all the broadcasts and podcasts on sleep and health. She had been encouraged to get a Fitbit by her niece who was keen that she should find out her resting heart rate.  The Fitbit alas, did not help her sleep more, only confirm that she did not sleep much. However, she persevered with following all the recommendations for winding down in the evening.

That night Delia had turned off the news and switched her television to the radio station broadcasting her regular late night music programmes, Night Waves and Round Midnight… Then she headed upstairs and was in bed and tuned to Radio 4 in time to be lulled by Sailing By heralding the late night Shipping Forecast.  Delia pictured seaside places she had stayed and remote coasts she was never likely to see…

North Foreland to Selsey Bill – Strong wind warning

Ardnamurchan Point to Cape Wrath…

Tonight the mellifluous Scottish baritone of her favourite continuity announcer finished the forecast and bade her goodnight with his usual soothing words.

‘And that is the close of Radio Four’s broadcasting tonight. This is Alexander MacSmooth wishing you a safe and peaceful night.

Delia sleepily turned her radio off before the National Anthem could jar her serenity. She snuggled under the duvet, safe from the strong winds and waves pounding the coast…

Delia woke suddenly. It was dark, the radio clock showed 3.15 am, not unusual for her to be awake in the witching hour, but who on earth was frantically ringing her doorbell and what were those blue lights flashing on the ceiling? And who was yelling through a loudspeaker?

‘Emergency, this is the police, you must evacuate immediately. Leave your home now, do not stop to collect belongings.’

It was bizarre, but the only way to find out what was going on was to get wrapped into her velour dressing gown and head for the front door. When she looked outside she was stunned. The nearby streetlight revealed a huge hole where the road had been. Her first thought was ‘Bin Day’ how would she get her recycling bin out of that hole, how would the rubbish truck get down the road when there was no road. Before she could have another thought the street lamp plunged into the crater and the scene was plunged into darkness.  A yellow arm grabbed her, at the end of another yellow arm was a powerful torch revealing a crack widening beneath their feet.

In a church hall a mile away Delia and her neighbours gathered round ‘next-door-but-one’ who had managed to grab his iPad on the way out. The live news showed next door’s car slipping into the sink hole and Delia’s front wall crumbling. She didn’t even recognise half her neighbours without their clothes on. They all reintroduced themselves and compared stories as it dawned on them that they would not be going home any time soon, if ever. The only possession Delia had with her was the Fitbit. She wondered what her resting heart rate was.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Imperfect Crime

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‘I don’t care where or how, as long as he is never ever found. You will do it as soon as possible and never contact me. When he does not return home I will assume it is done and after a few days I will report him missing and the second instalment will appear in your bank account. If a year passes with me receiving only sympathy from the police, you will receive the final substantial payment.’

They nodded in agreement and my aides entered the room to blindfold the three men again and escort them out to a waiting vehicle. It was a one hundred mile drive back to the outskirts of the city. I had every faith that the hefty first payment they were given a week ago would ensure they carried out their task.

I had never trusted Phillip’s partner, but for this plan I did. We had the same aim with neither of us getting blood on our hands. His contacts in the underworld had provided contract killers who could not be traced back to Phil or us. It was costing me very little as I had been syphoning money from Phil’s various bank accounts for years. His patronising assumption that I could just about manage the little personal and housekeeping accounts he had set up for me worked to my advantage. Phil also assumed I was only capable of using the old computer in my sewing room for dipping into social media.

It was on an ordinary shopping trip that an unexpected problem arose. I was just putting my shopping for one in the boot when a rough looking girl ran over to me crying that her bag had been stolen. She begged to borrow my phone to call the police. I wasn’t going to fall for that one and have my phone stolen, but she looked genuinely upset and reassured me I could keep my phone safely in my own hands and call the police, then put it on speaker so she could speak to them.

I weakened and let the false cosy image I projected 99% of the time take over. Ordinary anxious menopausal housewife meekly dialled 999.

‘Emergency, which service do you require. Fire, police or ambulance?’

‘Police, hurry’ cried the girl.

‘Police, how can I help you?’

To my astonishment the bag was not mentioned. The girl stammered in panic…

‘In the office in the old Jackson shoe factory you’ll find Phil Hardy’s body in a broken cupboard.’

‘Can I have your name please’ the calm voice spoke from my phone.

The girl looked directly at me, pointed at me, then whispered ‘Your phone, your name – goodbye…’

She was gone in a flash.

‘Caller’s name please’ the remote voice repeated.

The police are never around when you want them. I terminated the call, but already I could hear sirens. I didn’t know local big businessmen warranted such an urgent response, I had been pleased they hadn’t seemed interested in his disappearance. Now he was dead, or perhaps still a live body all three emergency services were turning up. Fair enough, the building was on the verge of collapse and I would not want anyone risking their lives for Phillip.

I was slipping into the driver’s seat to go home, play the shocked widow if they brought terrible news, but in seconds a uniformed chap was banging on the window.

‘So glad you’re here officer, I was just tricked into handing over my phone. This girl made a hoax call about my poor missing husband.’

‘Hopefully it is a hoax Madam, we will soon know, but prepare yourself, they are checking the building right this moment.’

I don’t think they were sure whether to arrest me or offer support with the Police Liasson officer. After a cup of tea at the police station it was decided to let me go home as a person of interest, with police protection in case whoever murdered my husband also wanted to kill me and presumably so I could not leave. They didn’t use the word murder or tell me any details, but it was soon all over local social media. My every day phone was kept at the police station, nothing incriminating on that one. I slipped into my ensuite bathroom with my iPad and read on the local Facebook page comments that would probably be rapidly deleted in the interests of good taste.

 Decomposing body still recognisable as missing businessman Phil Hardy.

Urban explorers find more than they bargained for.

Teenage couple left traumatised as body topples out of cupboard.

His flesh was falling off his face.

His eyeballs rolled out.

Whatever possessed the killers to stick him in a cupboard in a building near our local shops and our house? Well, I certainly wouldn’t be using their services again, nor would they get the final payment next year. Maybe I should not have told them our address, but how could they have tracked Phillip down without knowing where he lived?

Tuesday Tiny Tale -The Sponge

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The other kids called him The Sponge because of the effortless way he soaked up information. His parents had thought he might meet his match at the large senior school, no longer top dog as he was at  primary school, but he was soon a legend. Far from being an awkward genius his quick wit and sense of humour attracted friends and the fact he did their homework for them ensured a loyal following.

Mr and Mrs Nardo had followed family tradition of naming first born sons Leo. By the time he was four they had realised he was far cleverer than them and his younger siblings just took it for granted that Leo knew everything. They were not quite as clever as Leo, but their parents continued producing babies, considering it was their duty to contribute to the gene pool.

At school the teachers played down his abilities. As he appeared to have no syndromes, nor be on any spectrum they were not eligible for extra funding to get university professors in to keep Leo challenged. Instead, an afterschool club was started, for children with ‘extra interests’, it was not to be suggested that the little group were clever or cleverer than all the other pupils.

Leo was soon running the group and showing off his party tricks such as writing normally with his left hand and writing back to front on the other side of the paper with his right hand at the same time. He said it was easy, but nobody else in the group could do it. Parents were persuaded to contribute so the group could buy Lego and chemistry sets and all sorts of items that inventors would need. A teacher was present merely for health and safety reasons.

Dinner time at home was always lively and Mr and Mrs Nardo tried to make sure all the children got a chance to talk about their day, but somehow by the time they were eating pudding Leo had an intellectual conversation underway.

‘I was thinking it would be impossible to work out who the cleverest person in the world is, because nobody else would be clever or knowledgeable enough to understand how much that person knew or understood.’

‘Or she’ butted in his sister’ why can’t the cleverest person be a woman?’

‘They could be’ said Leo ‘but I was thinking it would be me, but how would I know?’

His parents sighed.

‘I don’t think it matters,’ said his father ‘all you have to do is use your talents for good, not for power or money.’

‘Yes I’ve already considered that. I will need a good deal of money for all my inventions, but I could get investors for that. I thought I could save the whole planet.’

‘Rather ambitious, but an excellent idea’ said his mother. ‘Will that be after university?’

‘No, soon, I’ve already written a book about how to do it. I just need to publish it. You can read it if you like.’

After dinner his parents sat at the state of the art computer they had given Leo for Christmas and started reading the word document of 300, 000 words. There were only about thirty words they understood.

‘The first few chapters are about metaphysics’ said Leo airily ‘I want readers to keep an open mind about the universe.’

His father hoped they would not be expected to proof read it and suggested as a joke he self published on Amazon first. Leo thought that a good idea and persuaded his father to open an account, then leave him to get on with it.

By Sunday evening he had borrowed his mother’s Kindle and showed the family his new book. By Wednesday a box arrived from Amazon with his weighty tome in paperback. He took a few copies to school.

The head of the science department was surprised and impressed with the cover design and happy and not a little amused to accept a signed copy as a gift, promising to start reading it in his lunch break.

In the afternoon science lesson Leo asked him what he thought of it so far. He responded by asking Leo what his parents thought of it.

‘Well to be honest, I don’t think they understood a word.’

The teacher was relieved as he grappled with the right words of encouragement.

‘Ah, I am managing to understand it so far, well the introduction at least…’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Elf and Safety

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Debby paused with the kettle in her hand. She had seen a flash of red in her smart grey and white kitchen. There it was again, she must hurry up and make that appointment at Specsavers. She took her glasses off, polished the lenses then put them on again, only to see a flash of green and red. Blinking she looked around the kitchen and that was when she saw it, sitting on the mug shelf, one of those ghastly elves that parents moved around the house in December to spy on their children. Now she had her own Elf on the Shelf, but how on earth did it get there, she had taken a bone china mug down seconds ago to make her tea and it wasn’t there then. They had baskets full of them at the garden centre, but she hadn’t bought one. Her grandsons hadn’t been here for a week and it was hardly likely the girls next door had sneaked in when they came to retrieve their netball from the back garden. Well he might as well stay up there till Fergus and Hamish came round tomorrow, she would tell them the elf was watching over to make sure they behaved. Not much hope of that working, but worth a try. She wasn’t allowed to call them naughty boys, according to her daughter they just did naughty things occasionally, especially when she dumped them round at Debby’s. Rather ironic that Debby had been delighted to have a daughter, easier than bringing up boys she assumed and not thinking that a daughter might produce boys she would have to get involved with.

As she sat and relaxed with a cup of tea in the lounge she could not believe what she saw when she looked up from her newspaper. The elf was on top of the curtain rail. Perhaps she needed a brain scan as well as an eye test. Or was she an unknowing participant in a reality television show, her reactions being filmed, but who could have sneaked in here ahead of her. She could not reach the elf to see if it was battery operated. The best thing to do was go in the other room and catch up with her emails and other stuff on the computer, maybe look up elves or practical jokes.

The only practical joke was played by the elf as he suddenly leapt onto the screen from behind. This time Debby could see him all too clearly, not a stuffed toy, or battery operated. His eyes blinked, his lips parted and his cheeks blushed pink as he chuckled in a tiny voice.

‘Hello, what’s your name?’

Now she was really going mad, talking to him, did he say Alf or Elf? Before she could say anything else to him he leapt down and used the desk lamp cable like a zip wire. She soon lost sight of him. This was worse than having a mouse in the house, far creepier with no idea where he might pop up next and who did one report infestations, elfinfestations to?

 Debby started looking up myths and history of elves, but could not believe she was seriously considering that elves were as real as any other creature on the planet, but where did any myth originate from, a kernel of truth surely. She imagined herself being on an intelligent Radio 4 programme, the first person to discover a live elf. Debby did not see him again that evening and carried on with her normal routine; perhaps she had imagined it all.

When she woke up in the morning and saw Alf Elf sitting on the pillow she stifled a scream. Too close for comfort. Debby shook herself and recalled she had once imagined being a naturalist; she should observe not frighten the poor little chap away, though he did not look scared at all. How did one get hold of a scientist, that one on her favourite radio programme perhaps. But she had a sinking feeling as reality struck. How on earth would she explain to her daughter, she would think she had early onset dementia.

Everything was ready for the grandsons’ visit, breakables put away, the least annoying toys out and she had read the instructions for the junior Christmas decoration creating kit. All that was left was to explain about the elf, would her grandsons be excited, impressed…

‘Bye Mummy’

‘Love you.’

Why did modern parents have to say that every time they went out the door, she was only leaving them for two hours thought Debby.

‘Hamish, Fergus, I have a really big surprise for you today, well not big, very small actually…’

They weren’t listening and had already disappeared to search for the Lego. It wasn’t long before she heard the familiar arguments.

‘I had that piece first.’

’Granny, he pulled my head off.’

Where was the elf, she was suddenly worried for the poor little chap’s safety. She crept along the hall, into the dining room, no sign of Alf, then into her little sun lounge, the only room where Lego was allowed. And there he was, playing Lego with the boys, who were so fascinated they had stopped arguing.

‘Granny, you’ve got a real elf, I’ve never seen a live one’ said Hamish.

‘I told you elves were real’ said Fergus.

‘Be very gentle with him, he’s so small.’

‘Can I take him for Show and Tell?’

‘Oh no, I think school would be far too scary for him, in fact I think we better keep him secret.’