flash fiction

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.’

Tuesday Teeny Tale

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‘Another one’s appeared, on the oak tree, pathetic and disrespectful, cultural appropriation or is it misappropriation?’

‘Just ignore them Oberon.’

‘I’m going to take my axe to it this time.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, they aren’t causing any harm to us, not compared with all the other stuff they do.’

‘What if one of our folk thought it was a real door!’

‘Daddy, why have you got an axe?’

‘Your father’s getting overwrought over the giants again. If you’re not careful Oberon they’re going to see you and then where will we be, doesn’t bear thinking.’

‘Mummy, you said the giants wouldn’t hurt us.’

‘They won’t as long as they don’t believe we exist. Anyway, it’s time you were getting ready for school, have you brushed your wings?’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Roses

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When I arrived, Uncle Brian was furtling around in the compost heaps.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Potpourri potential.’

He was a man of few words.

‘I can’t imagine you will find anything fragrant there.’

‘Potpourri for insects, a quick way to attract all sorts of creatures when you are rewilding your garden.’

‘The customers who come to Grandma’s rose nursery are unlikely to be into rewilding are they?’

‘Sell on the internet, besides, roses are going.’

‘Going?’

‘Yup, going same way as your gran.’

He turned his head and nodded towards the Victorian brick tool shed, behind which smoke spiralled into the air. Now he had drawn my attention I noticed the divine scent of wood smoke and wandered in that direction. My grandmother, his mother, had requested she be cremated and her ashes placed in her favourite rose bed, but the cremation was not taking place till next week. I tiptoed round into the yard to be confronted by a tangle of burning rose wood.

‘Has there been some kind of rose disease?’

I did not know much about Grandma’s beloved roses, but I knew she inspected every leaf and petal for signs of spottling.

‘No, told you, roses are going, getting a rotavator in, then let the grass grow, the seeds blow and the weeds return.’

It was the longest speech he had ever made.

‘Does Mum know what you are doing?’

‘Nope, doesn’t need to, this was left to me.’

It was true that Brian had been the one who lived and worked here and frankly we assumed Grandma left the nursery and house to him as the prospect of him working or living elsewhere was unlikely.

A few weeks later we took Grandma’s ashes with us to the Chelsea Flower Show where she had had many successes with her prize roses. We met up with her good friend Gerald, a Chelsea Pensioner who had a red rose named after him. He was wearing a ‘Captain Gerald’ rose bud in his button hole and took us to a quiet spot in a rose garden where the Pensioners liked to sit and where three of his rose bushes took pride of place. No one was around so we quickly interred the ashes in the bed and left Gerald to his memories.

A few more weeks passed and we hadn’t heard much from Uncle Brian, but that wasn’t unusual. Mum thought we should pay a duty visit soon. That evening we sat down to watch Gardeners’ World, commenting on roses that weren’t as wonderful as Grandma’s.

‘Actually, I never really liked roses in the garden,’ said Mum ‘all that trouble and most of the year they are prickly skeletons. But birthdays, Xmas, new babies what did I always get? Another rose; climbers, ramblers, patio pots, bushes, old classics, new varieties named after us….’

‘How come we have so few in the garden then?’

‘I don’t think roses liked me, they never thrived and often died. Brian had the right idea.’

As if he had heard her the presenter moved on to the next segment.

‘While many people treasure their roses, others feel the need for a change. We visit a former rose nursery in Surrey where all the roses have been dug up and the whole area rewilded. Brian Floribunda has just been recognised as holding the national collection of dandelions.’

There was Uncle Brian standing amongst waist high grass surrounded by tall dandelions waving in the breeze.

‘How long did it take you to establish this wonderful collection?’

‘Few weeks, they pop up everywhere given the chance, quick turn around, not long to breed new varieties.’

‘How many varieties are there?’

‘Fifty Seven so far, just working on creating a blue dandelion.’

‘That sounds incredible or impossible.’

‘Not as difficult as producing a true black… got to get on…’

Uncle Brian turned away and the presenter was unable to get any more conversation out of him. The camera panned round the Field of Gold.

‘Grandma must be turning in her rose bed’ I said.

‘Especially as she never managed to appear on Gardeners World’ said Mum.

Tuesday Tiny Tale -The Crystal Ball

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How had I been persuaded to be the fortune teller at the annual fair? My only qualification was that I liked browsing in charity shops so my best friend, who was on the fair committee, figured I would be able to find clothes and jewellery to fit the role.

For half an hour not a soul as much as peeped into my tent. I gazed into the crystal ball, but it could not tell me if I would have any customers, probably because it was just a glass sphere that caught the occasional ray of sunshine through the tent opening. Most of the time the sun was behind a cloud. Perhaps nobody had been enticed to come to the festival.

Then I heard giggling, my heart sank and I was transported back to our school days. Jane and I spent most of our time giggling at things no one else would find funny. Adults on the bus or in the shops would glare at us and we would dissolve into further uncontrollable laughter. Happy days, but now I did not want to be the subject of amusement.

‘Ask her if Troy will ask you out.’

‘You ask her who you’re going to marry.’

‘Ask her if you will pass your GCSEs.’

‘…and exactly what grades we’ll get.’

The first girl to enter, or rather be shoved in by the other two, was underdressed in the skimpiest of clothes and I found myself tutting, was I turning into my mother?

‘Sit down and cross my palm with silver if you want me to look into the crystal ball.’

‘What… do you have to pay, have you got a card reader?’

This was not going according to plan, fortune telling was obviously much easier in the good old days.

‘Well my dear, as you are my first visitor I will grant you a free reading. Close your eyes and concentrate. Now I see something to do with your future. You will soon learn something that will be of great importance to the future direction of your life. It may not be what you expect, but it will lead to a good outcome eventually. Now send your friend in as I feel she needs to hear something important.’

She rushed out of the tent and jabbered excitedly to her friends.

‘It works, I’m going to get good GCSE results.’

The next girl’s expression was hard to read under the layers of make up. She offered me a fivepence piece, quite savvy then. I accepted it, after all I was only doing this for fun. I put my hands round the globe and closed my eyes.

‘Ah, oh dear. I see disappointment in friendship, but do not be disheartened, forge ahead with what you want to do in life and I see that one day you will meet someone very special.’

‘When, when?’

‘I cannot tell you that for sure, but it will be when you least expect. Now I must talk to your other friend. Three is a lucky number and three friends you will always be.’

I was beginning to enjoy my role as a dispenser of wisdom. The third girl was different, the quiet one no doubt. She looked as if she was likely to get excellent results for her exams, but never be asked out by the likes of Troy.  I warmed to her, was that me when I was her age? She proffered a fifty pence piece and I pretended to gaze intently into the crystal ball.

To my astonishment I could see pictures. My stomach contracted, did I really have powers? A girl who looked ill, poor, on a dark street, sleeping on the street, how did this happen? Was it her home life, or getting in with the wrong crowd, the wrong man. I glanced away and saw a worried expression on her face. I smiled reassuringly and forced myself to peer again. Now I saw a rainbow, was it just the sun beam filtering through the glass … the picture changed to a smart confident woman on a stage, at a lectern. Before I could see who she was addressing, the picture faded and in front of me was the ordinary glass ball again.

I took her hands. ‘You have a bright future, with lots of choices, as long as you do not waste opportunities. Keep only those friends that are true, stay true to yourself. Don’t be influenced by the crowd, you don’t need to be like everyone else.’

‘Oh, that’s rather deep, you must be real, not just dressing up for fun.’

‘Indeed I am. I hope you have all learned something important today.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Colour Consultant

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Christine Brown perused the local Facebook page; Colour Consultant, what was that supposed to be? Improve your well being by learning which are your colours, your special colour. Free consultation offer, today only, drop in at the Emporium. Why not, Christine had a free day and she had never been inside the emporium.

A feast of colour met her eyes as she walked through the door; fabrics, exotic clothes, cushions, occasional furniture and stunning rugs. How very different from the taupe walls and grey carpets at home. Why did she always agree to Geoffrey’s choice and demure to his supposed superior decorating skills?

Lindy DeSilver had her cosy consulting corner upstairs near the Tropical Jungle café. It looked like a cross between a tent and a grotto. Christine approached hesitantly, not sure if another customer might be hidden in the depths. A jangle of earrings heralded the appearance of Lindy at the entrance.

‘Yellow, yes definitely yellow, come in, come in.’

Wall hangings, mirrors and odd dangling objects adorned the interior which was larger than Christine had expected.

‘Sit down dear.’

Christine looked around for a chair, there were none. Lindy was pointing to a pile of cushions, sitting down on them was a lower drop than Christine was expecting and she found herself semi prone.

‘That’s it, make yourself at home. I see your life is lacking in colour.’

Christine’s sensible beige clothes were a bit of a giveaway she guessed, but no doubt Lindy said that to everyone, hoping for business.

‘Yellow is your prime colour and your band is citrus. Do you align with the Mediterranean, South America?’

‘Umm, more Rottingdean, though we sometimes venture up to Yorkshire.’ 

‘Sorry to hear that, but never mind, you don’t need to visit colourful places to raise your spirits. Look around the emporium, who would have guessed it used to be a Screwfix warehouse?’

‘My poor husband was very upset when they closed this branch, but I certainly prefer the emporium.’

‘I sense your husband is on the grey band, prime Warm Pewter?’

‘Dulux, how did you guess, at least that is what he is doing the feature wall in the living room at this very moment, polished pebble for the other walls.’

‘My dear, you have to get out of there or at least decide whether to change your décor or your husband.’

Christine was beginning to wonder if the woman was insane, or a mind reader and at which point she earned money.

‘This is all very interesting and you have inspired me to look around the emporium and perhaps buy a couple of scatter cushions.’

‘More drastic action is required, but don’t worry, that is where my skills come in. I can help you choose a new wardrobe and my interior design skills will then come to the fore. My total home makeover comes at a very reasonable price.’

Perhaps it was the fact that Geoffrey had a week’s golf holiday in Rottingdean or Christine’s pay rise, but somehow she found her life taken over by Lindy. In moments of sanity she wondered if there was a helpline for vulnerable beige people, but as the results of Lindy’s energetic plans became obvious Christine no longer felt beige, brown or grey, she felt invigorated. Nothing escaped Lindy’s attention and soon the neighbours and even the postman were paying attention.

Chris, what wonderful hanging baskets.

Love your yellow front door Mrs Brown.

I adore that dress Christine, I wish I had the confidence to wear colours like that.

Goodness, what will your Geoffrey say when he gets home?

‘I suspect he might be speechless, do you want to come in for a golden smoothie?’

Mr Tickle, what fun, and this room is so bright, how brave of you to choose yellow and that wallpaper on the feature wall reminds me of our wonderful trip to Peru. You must give me the name of your interior designer.

‘She’s very persuasive, I was just going to buy a couple of cushions and one of those talking sunflowers in a pot, then the next thing I knew… come and see our lime green bedroom.’

Saturday Short Story 500 – Playing Jenga

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‘It’s on local radio now, as well as all the social media.’

Councillor Brian Blogs was beginning to wonder why he had been so keen to get elected, let alone becoming the leader of the council. His colleague Jaylene turned the radio up.

Locals are up in arms over the gigantic new art installation down on the sea front, apparently installed without any consultation. These were some of the comments.

I thought the council were broke.

Call it art, monstrosity.

Completely spoils my sea view.

Brian turned the radio off and proceeded with plan B. Go and see it for himself. Would the public believe the council had nothing to do with it? The two black monoliths were not there yesterday and this morning they were, set firmly in the ground …

‘Jaylene, call the police and um, do we have an engineering department? Could this thing be dangerous, topple over?’

Brian had to admit he was impressed. The monoliths stood close, an eerie silence emanating from them, amid the hub bub all around. Black with a strange glitter, interesting textures … his thoughts were interrupted when a microphone was shoved in his face.

‘Councillor Blogs, who came up with the idea for this very unusual structure?’

‘Absolutely no idea, this has nothing to do with the council, it has been illegally erected.  Our engineers will be examining how it can be removed safely and police will be investigating who put it there.’

‘Is it true that no one saw it arrive?’

‘CCTV footage shows nothing there one moment and the next moment it was there, as if it had appeared from outer space. I suggest our next move will be to get the UFO experts in.’

Brian was rather pleased with the result of his radio interview. All the UFO experts and other nutters had come out of the woodwork and taken interest away from the council. He was beginning to think they had the only logical explanations.

‘Time to put away your toys children, count the Jenga blocks to make sure none are missing.’

‘Daddy, two are missing, I bet it’s Yogo’s fault.’

‘Yogo, have you been throwing toys down the chute again? If those blocks have fallen out that will be another planet we can’t secretly visit.’

‘Daddy, you promised we could land, we’ve never been to a planet with water.’

‘If the inhabitants are clever they might already be tracking us, we can’t take the risk. Let’s see what data Mummy has found out.’

‘Mummy, Mummy are there any people on this one?’

‘Yes darling, just like us, except, except… they are very small, that explains how they fit so many on their little planet.’

‘How small, I promise to be careful.’

‘As small as your Lego figures. We would frighten them and that goes against the second convention.’

‘But I want my Jenga blocks back.’

‘Daddy, can we have some as pets.’

‘No, certainly not, that goes against the third convention. We do have an obligation not to leave litter so we will use electromagnetic extraction and hope no tiny humans are in the way.’

Tuesday Tale – Summer Getaway

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Florella was bored, very bored. Shopping was not the way to spend a sunny summer day. She was nine, too old to be stuck with her mother in the freezer aisle. Her mother was not even shopping, just gossiping with her friend. They could never go round the supermarket without meeting someone they knew, but suddenly an escape idea presented itself. Her mother would not even notice if she walked out of the shop.

Outside the sun was warm on her face and Florella’s arms began to thaw out after the cold of the freezer aisle. Her feet took on a direction of their own and propelled her down the road, down the lane and towards the park by the river. But as she approached, Florella thought she must have gone the wrong way. This was not the park. Caravans were parked beneath shady trees, there were patches of wonderful bright green grass where the sun reached. It was magical, where was she? The strange place, the adventure of really running away, made her brave enough to explore.

The grass was still wet after yesterday’s rain, but she did not care if she got her feet wet. Florella sauntered amongst the caravans. All the doors were closed except one. She wasn’t quite brave enough to look inside, but didn’t need to as a girl suddenly popped out.

‘Hello, what are you doing here girl, you don’t belong to the circus.’

‘Circus, what circus?’

‘You can’t have missed our big top!’

‘I was looking for the park and I found myself here.’

The girl put her finger to her lip and beckoned Florella to follow.  Sure enough, beyond the trees and caravans was an enormous tent. The girl led Florella to a small flap.

‘We’re not allowed in, they’re practising, one tiny peep.’

Florella looked at the jumble of people inside doing acrobatics, rolling over barrels and swinging on ropes. She was entranced, but felt a tight grip on her arm and found herself being dragged away. Her disappointment was brief as she found herself propelled into the girl’s caravan.

‘What’s your name girl and what were you up to sneaking round?’

‘Ella and I’ve run away.’

‘Oh so have me and my Dad, maybe you could join the circus, we’re leaving in three days, on the road again. Will you be my friend, I never have a chance to make friends as we have to keep moving, but it’s a good way to make sure no one finds us.’

‘What is your name and how old are you?’

 ‘I’m Magdalena, nine years old.’

Magdalena’s life sounded far more exciting than Florella’s, even the other girl’s name was exotic.

‘Same age as me. Actually my full name is Florella because I was adopted after they found me in a flower meadow,’

Florella did not usually tell lies, but then she didn’t usually run away to join a circus. The caravan was full of colourful costumes and all sorts of strange objects, hoops, skittles, trumpets…

‘Do you perform in the circus?’

‘Not yet, I have to learn, Dad’s going to teach me.’

Magdalena started showing Florella all the things that were called props and told her about clowns and girls standing three people high in a pyramid. Florella felt in a dream until voices shouting broke the spell.

‘Ella, Ella are you here, Florella are you here, your mother’s looking for you.’

Florella felt sick, who was looking for her, how had they found her? She stood up in panic, but Magdalena pushed her back down on a pile of costumes and pulled the door shut.

 ‘Shsh…they must not find us.’

No sooner had she spoken than the door was wrenched open and a man burst in. He had the angriest expression she had ever seen on a grown up’s face as he turned from Florella to Magdalena.

‘What the hell is going on Mags?’

‘Dad, it’s okay, she’s my friend.’

‘What have I told you about strangers, now she’s got the police onto us.’

Florella was really scared now, she hadn’t called the police and why was he so worried. The last she saw of her new friend was her being hauled out of the caravan by a pair of big tattooed arms. Trembling she peered out the door, but Magdalena and her father seemed to have vanished into thin air.

The voices were getting louder, men’s and women’s voices.

‘Florella Fenton are you okay, Ella call out if you’re here. No one’s cross with you. Over here Sarge, caravan.’

Ella tried to shut herself behind the caravan door, but a large hand grabbed it.

‘It’s okay, what’s your name?’  

Florella thought she probably should not lie to a policeman, nor did she want to get her new friend in trouble, she must think quickly.

‘Oh that’s a nice dog.’

‘He’s a clever dog, he found you quickly.’

‘I was not lost, I just came to have a look at the circus.’

‘That’s okay then, but you must tell me your name.’

‘Ella… Florella Fenton.’

‘Good girl, now did you meet anyone from the circus?’

‘No, NO..  I’m sorry I looked in someone’s caravan, will they be cross?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain. Your mother will be here in a moment.’

Florella dared to look up and saw a group of annoyed looking people in strange costumes, they obviously were cross. A woman with bright red lipstick and a strange hairstyle stepped forward.

‘We don’t want trouble, we never seen her before, what’s she saying?’

‘Ella, have you met any of these people?’

Florella felt she had a brief chance before her mother arrived and no doubt she would be cross and spoil everything.

‘No, I’m sorry I trespassed, but can I join your circus?’

‘Do you think you might be a bit young to leave home, it’s not an easy life and you would have to help put up the tent.’

 Ella got the impression the other circus people were laughing at her and so were the police officers now gathered. Red lipstick woman came closer and stood in front of the policeman.

‘Free tickets for the girl and her family and your officers and you leave us in peace; every year we come and never had trouble.’

Florella thought it might be a good idea to see a circus in action before joining it and as she saw her mother approaching and tried to interpret the expression on her mother’s face, she hoped the free tickets would placate her.