flash fiction

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Big Wheel

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 14 Comments

‘Have you found a job yet Joel? You’re not going to lounge around this house till university starts.’

‘Nothing wrong with winding down and actually I am going for a job interview this afternoon down at the sea front.’

‘Good… lifesaver, beach warden or are you going to serve at that new Sandbourne Seafront Diner?’

‘Nope, going on the big wheel.’

‘But you hate heights!’

‘I don’t have to go on it, just sit in the box taking the money.’

‘Was that the best job you could find?’

‘Yup.’

Joel was successful at the job interview, especially as no one else had applied and he was enjoying his first day. He soon discovered he had a good way with the customers, or passengers as they were supposed to call them. Kev was impressed with the steady flow of people lining up to be inserted safely by him into the Flying Pods. Joel had a reassuring manner.

You tell your Gran there’s nothing to be scared of, all the grannies go up and love the view out to sea.

No, your Dad was kidding when he said you have to climb up that high ladder to get on. You just have to wait for an empty  pod to come round to the platform.

Of course it is safe, did you ever hear of a big wheel toppling over?

I assure you it never gets stuck, it’s never come to a halt all the time I’ve been working here.

The morning went quickly, but then Joel noticed his orderly queue had come to a halt and a small crowd was gathering and looking up. At that moment Kev came rushing to Joel’s box.

‘Don’t sell any more tickets just now, bit of a hold up.’

‘All the pods full?’

‘Yes unfortunately, the wheel’s stuck.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Stuck as in won’t go round.’

Joel thought of the nervous aunties and scared little kids he had urged on board, knowing he would never go in a pod himself.

‘So what happens next?’

‘Axel sorts it out.’

‘Where is he then?’

‘Away on a safety course in Wales.’

‘Do you know what to do?’

‘No, I only do the buttons on the ground, I’m not allowed up the ladder as I get vertigo.’

Joel thought of his science A levels and the mechanical engineering course awaiting him at Cambridge University, somehow that did not seem as if it would help this situation.

‘So we call the fire brigade then.’

‘NO… boss would kill us, we don’t want to lose our licence.’

‘Where is the boss?’

‘Goodness knows, I think he was on a bender last night. Anyway, I think I remember what Axel does, he takes a heavy spanner to the top of the wheel, it’s always at the top that a pod gets jammed. Axel is very set on safety, so you must clip the safety harness on to each rung as you go up.’

‘I can’t go up!’

 ‘Well there’s no one else.’

‘I thought Joel would have been home by now… what did you say John… local news… hang on I’m coming… Oh goodness, Coastguard helicopter hovering over the wheel and all those fire engines and it looks like someone’s stuck on the outside. Good thing our Joel only works in the ticket box. He’ll be sorry to have missed all that excitement if he was already on his way home.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – When The Sun Goes Down

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 18 Comments

Sundown seemed to come early, but it turned out I was actually dead, which came as a bit of a surprise. It was a pretty sky, but not as dramatic as one might expect for one’s last sunset.

The sky faded away imperceptibly and I was left standing, standing where? A station concourse with many other figures standing around looking confused. Nobody spoke and we all avoided looking at each other, so we were left staring at the multitude of signs, like the London Underground only more confusing. Which direction to choose? I naturally edged towards those in English, or rather those that included English amongst other languages.

CHRISTIAN

So we/they were right all along? No hang on Muslim, Hindu, Atheists… they were in for a surprise… Jews, Agnostics, Jainism…

I decided Christian might be the logical choice, but as I stepped forward three more signs came up… Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant… surely earthly divisions didn’t continue in the higher realms? I decided it would have to be Protestant and when Church of England and nonconformist signs lit up, C of E seemed the sensible choice, though I should really have gone with agnostic.

A guide floated into view and called Christine Brown. I nodded, I couldn’t seem to find my voice.

‘Year of birth? We have several Christine Browns.’

That was hopeful, perhaps there had been a mistake and I was not dead yet, after all I was in good health.

‘1963‘

‘No, you’re not on the list.’

‘Phew, I knew there must have been a mistake, you mean I’m not dead?’

‘No you are dead, just not allocated here.’

‘But I was Christened, named after the Good Lord himself and I’m English, it’s our established faith, you have to let me in.’

‘That’s as maybe, but it’s not a faith you adhere to.’

‘But I went to Sunday School, I was in Pathfinders and I’m always at the church, well I meet my friends in the Refectory Tearooms.’

‘But you don’t actually enter the church.’

‘I was at the free lunchtime organ concert only last week.’

‘The last time you attended a service of worship was at your cousin’s wedding thirty years ago.’

‘And that was the last time she set foot in a church!’

I laughed at my own joke, but the higher being did not have a sense of humour.

‘Even then your mind was not on God, during the prayers you were more interested in what everyone was wearing.’

I suddenly felt chilled to my core, this wasn’t a dream, this was real, how did this being know so much about me? Perhaps I should have been more humble.

‘Please forgive me, I did not mean to be rude, it’s just a shock, being dead. Could you please tell me where I should go.’

‘I cannot tell you, that is for you to decide, you have had sixty one years to think about your soul. Everyone here sees only what they understand.’

‘But I don’t und…’

I was alone, he had faded away and as I spun round in confusion I saw more signs. GAIA, thank goodness, that was where I belonged.

‘Welcome,’ said a gentle voice ‘have you got your visa?’

‘I am pretty sure I belong here, I am environmentally friendly, I watch David Attenborough, I’ve rewilded my garden and built an insect hotel and a hedgehog door. I do feel closer to God in the garden.’

‘What about the bees and flies that die every day shut in your hot conservatory?’

‘I try to catch them, I can’t stop them coming in… and I never kill spiders or even ants… I’m not sure what more I could have done.’

I felt a wave of warmth.

‘Don’t worry my dear, you have just done the best thing ever for wild life on earth.’

‘Oh, thank goodness, what did I do?’

 ‘You died.’

‘Little me gone can’t make much difference…’

‘No, but we have just cleared sector 5321 of all humans so those creatures you profess to cherish will thrive.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 333 – Modern Family

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 14 Comments

‘What happened next Mummy?’

Rory never tired of asking the same questions to delay bed time.

‘The adoption society said to us

 Well Mr and Mrs Asimov, you will be pleased to hear you have been selected for the special programme. You should be welcoming a new family member very shortly. We have several potential sons who will thrive in your family. The next step is to visit Future Family Foundation on our open day next week.‘

‘Were you excited Mummy, was Daddy excited?’

‘We certainly were, but nervous as we did not know what the place would be like. But as soon as we walked in the door you came rolling up to us and said ‘Hello Mummy and Daddy’ and our hearts melted.’

‘But hearts can’t melt, if they did you wouldn’t work anymore.’

‘That’s just a saying Darling. We did not bother to meet the others, we just asked if we could have you.’

‘Did you take me home then?’

‘No, we had to have some sessions with your foster parents, getting to know you, do you remember that?’

’No, I just remember being in this house.’

‘Now it really is bed time, it’s getting late.’

‘Are you glad you got me.’

‘Of course, you made our family complete.’

‘Do you love me more than Chloe and Eliza?’

‘We love you all the same. Now, it’s time to say goodnight.’

‘Are you and Daddy going to die one day?’

‘Yes, but not for a long long time.’

‘Are Chloe and Eliza going to die one day?’

‘Yes, but not for an even longer time.’

‘Am I going to die one day?’

‘No Darling, you’re special.’

‘But who will look after me if you die?’

‘Chloe and Eliza and one day their husbands and their children, but you don’t need to think about that for years and years, now its time you were plugged in.’

‘Mummyyy… Chloe said she and Eliza are going to switch me off when you are dead.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Canvassing

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 18 Comments

I was pottering in the front garden on Sunday, or rather digging, tugging, planting, weeding, sweating… but it was nice to be out in the sunshine chatting, with all the neighbours also out. I should say the neighbours were going out, coming back, going out again while I went nowhere. But there was still time to chat on matters of importance; which bin is going out this evening, shall I paint your side of the fence? There was a bit of drama when next door sent a text to ask me to go round and check on her daughter who wasn’t answering her phone.

The day was further enlivened when strangers started appearing and some of them were strange. A weird chap had leaflets in his hands.

‘A vote for us is a vote for change. Jerry is a local man born and bred. He will make sure enough social housing is built, while at the same time protecting all our green spaces.’

 Among the bees and blooms I had forgotten we were having a general election, that we were all doomed whoever was in power.

A couple turned up.

‘We’re sure you are aware how much Terrence has done for this town in his sixteen years as your representative.’

‘But he hasn’t done anything to save the planet…’

‘Well nice to speak to you, can we count on your vote on the fourth of July?’

‘Good afternoon, are you fed up with the other parties not keeping their promises and lying?’

‘Have you got any positive policies on the environment…’

‘Yes, in this leaflet you can see us digging a pond at the primary school.’

Along the road there next appeared a strange sight, a flowing green and rainbow cloak, a tall person being led by a guide dog. I couldn’t tell whether he needed the dog because he was blind, or because he had a bucket on his head. It was a bit difficult to hear what he was saying, but the dog seemed to understand.

‘Are you from the Monster Raving Looney Party?’

‘No, that’s the other chap. I’m an independent, Count Bucket Head. Have you decided who to vote for?’

‘No, I just don’t know who to believe.’

‘Well you can count on me, I know what people want because I am a person. My manifesto is in the pamphlet, made entirely from recycled paper, recycled by me with no chemicals used.’

’Yes I can see you have steered clear of the whole glossy leaflet concept.’

I started reading with growing interest.

‘Voting rights for assistance dogs?’

‘Are they not more intelligent than the average voter?’

‘Yes…’

Our pot holed pavements to be made safe with cushionfall laid on all footpaths.

Homes left vacant for more than two weeks to be requisitioned by the local council.

All bonuses to be rescinded and put in a new contingency fund.

‘Whose bonuses?’

‘The bonuses of anyone who gets a bonus.’

I browsed further, there was a lot to read.

‘All sounds good to me, you can count on my vote.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Not Again

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 25 Comments

Isn’t it always the way, you don’t remember you were reincarnated until you die again. Each time I have been caught out. Assuring myself and others that there is NOTHING beyond, once you’re dead you’re dead. Telling everyone that ghosts do not exist, whatever Danny Robins seeks out in ‘Uncanny’. Exclaiming confidently that there is no such thing as reincarnation, thank goodness; what are the chances of landing a worse life than you had? If you look at the world you will guess that ninety nine per cent of humans are not having a good life.

Now it all came back to me, every life I’ve lived before. Once again I was in the debriefing room, waiting for the uncomfortable probing into how I had handled my latest life. All around me were strangers, busier than usual, all the people who had been killed alongside me. That was the only memory that was hazy.

No familiar faces this time. When I say faces I mean we were still wearing our earthly appearance, to be replaced soon with just our inner selves. Well, it had been a good life, shorter than I expected, but I had fitted a lot in. Most of the others were new souls, stands to reason when you think of the population explosion. I had to chuckle, that chap in total denial calling for the doctor, probably thinks he’s hallucinating in intensive care.

In terms of human history I’m quite new myself. My first life came to an abrupt end fighting for Henry V. But I haven’t always been English, turned up in all parts of the world. Pity I never remembered all the languages I have spoken.

‘Hey mate, the sooner you come to terms with what’s happened the easier it will be. You have been killed. Not actually dead, just waiting to be reincarnated.’

‘What rubbish, I’m just waiting for my wife to visit, they must have phoned her by now.’

‘Yes, they would have phoned to tell her about the plane crash, if she hadn’t already heard it on the news.’

 It was all coming back to me now, no wonder it was so busy here…

‘Mathew Frobisher, Frobisher?’

That’s me, they always use your most recent name.

‘So did you enjoy your latest life?’

‘Yes thanks, wonderful. It didn’t sound promising, but my physical body inherited brains and good looks. Makes you wonder how much DNA has to do with it. Do souls have an equivalent?’

‘You are a long way from learning about that, a very long way from understanding the higher realms.’

‘But I’m doing well, I’ve lived lots of good lives.’

‘I’m afraid it appears you learned nothing from your previous good lives. In this latest one you have contributed nothing to society, treated your loved ones abominably…’

‘You should have let me be a woman again. Last time you promised I would be reunited with my beloved husband.’

‘You were, that was the wonderful wife you so casually dumped.’

‘I can explain… ‘

No I couldn’t really, but I hadn’t been that bad had I?

‘What about all the happy passengers I flew round the world, reuniting them with their families, making their holiday dreams come true. I was an excellent airline pilot.’

‘You were to start with, but your dissolute life style caught up with you, hiding your drug habit resulted in you killing 387 passengers on your last flight. You must start again in the lower realms, you are going to be born in the Gaza Strip. We’re ready for you now, no point in you hanging around here.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Meaningless

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 22 Comments

Sean sat staring at the blank screen. This week’s challenge for the Poison Pen Writers was to write a story without meaning. Now he was regretting being the one to suggest it. There had been much philosophical discussion at last week’s meeting, could there ever be a story with no meaning at all?

He could write a story about himself; as far as he could tell, his life had no meaning, but that would be a very dull story.

Poison Pen Writers was a cutting edge group that met in a crumbling old hall the council were trying to demolish. They had been expelled from the library before Sean’s time when Jago had forgotten to take his medication. Sean  could well imagine that some members could be easily misunderstood, most of them were rather odd, but they were all very interesting and amusing. Sean was the only boring one and he took a vicarious pleasure from their chaotic and adventurous lives, past and present.

The screen was still empty as his mind wandered over the past year with the group. He forced himself to type.

John woke up to another day, at least he assumed it was another day as he was in his bed and sunlight streamed through the curtains.

As he dipped his toast into the soft fried egg, it reminded him of nothing at all.

On the bus to work he looked at the other passengers, they did not look at him.

As he walked into the large office building he heard a voice call ‘Hey John’ but it was a woman hailing someone else called John.

At his desk he logged on to the computer.

As he logged off the computer he wondered where the day had gone.

‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked a colleague.

‘Nothing’ he replied.

‘Nor me.’

On the way home he looked out of the bus window, but it was raining hard so he couldn’t see anything. He looked at his phone, it was Tuesday, so he would stop off at the fish and chip shop.

As he walked into Harry’s Plaice Harry greeted him. ‘Evening, usual?’

‘Yup.’

‘Good day at work?’

‘Same as usual.’

That night John got into bed, another day over.

Sean glanced through what he had written, then added the title Meaningless. Hopefully it was, he pressed Print.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – White Feather

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 18 Comments

Sam was looking forward to a peaceful Friday evening after a busy week at the lab. The house was quiet, Jill was bound to be in the garden as it was her day off and the weather fine.

The back door was open and Jill jumped up from a flower bed and rushed up to the patio to greet him.

‘What’s the excitement, have you found a rare butterfly?’

‘Mother’s been!’

Sam was taken aback. His mother-in-law had died three weeks ago, peacefully, in her 98th year. He thought Jill was coping well.

‘Jill, what do you mean?’

‘I found a white feather.’

‘You surely didn’t believe all that stuff your mother used to talk about?’

‘You didn’t believe, I kept an open mind. Mum said she would send a sign if she could.’

‘A feather left by some moth eaten pigeon…’

‘A perfect pure white feather floated down just as I was tidying round that shrub Mother gave us. At least let me show you.’

Jill moved across to the kitchen door, reached in for the lop sided jug her mother had made at U3A pottery class and pulled out a very large snowy white feather.

‘Okay, not a pigeon but a handsome swan. Did you see any flying overhead?’

‘No, we’re miles from any river.’

‘Well, all sorts of things get blown in the wind. If she wanted to send a message why not something useful or tangible.’

 ‘I imagine its not easy being dead, especially if you’re new at it. Besides, there must be rules, otherwise we would all be inundated with messages from the other side.’

‘Jill, we don’t get messages from the dead because they are no more. It’s the Twenty First Century, we’ve grown out of all that stuff.’

‘You scientists don’t know everything, I felt so peaceful out there in the garden, knowing Mother was happy.’

‘That’s your serotonin kicking in. A sunny day in the garden always makes you happy and you were also thinking about your mother. I’m a physicalist what you see is what there is, that’s it. Your mother is still with you, but in your memories.’

‘We can both see this feather, how do you explain that?’

‘Your guardian angel flew over, ha, ha, dropped in to help with the weeding.’

‘Why don’t you test its DNA in your lab?’

‘I will, might even contribute to our current bird studies. Right, I’m going up to check my emails before dinner.’

Sam looked out of his office window at the patchwork of little back gardens below. He told himself he was appreciating the colourful display Jill had created in their back garden, not looking for swans or angels. He noticed something new in next door’s garden, a large colourful playhouse. The new young couple had only just moved in and already Jill had discovered they were expecting their first baby, a bit early to be buying expensive Wendy houses… then he noticed movement on the overgrown lawn. Chickens, so that must be a modern state of the art hen house, hopefully fox proof. Shouldn’t be any trouble unless there was a cockerel to wake them up. At that moment there was a fluttering amongst the drab brown and speckled hens as a proud rooster strutted out. A dashing snow white rooster with a scarlet cockscomb. Sam dashed downstairs to tell Jill the mystery was solved.

Jill was excited to see the new livestock, but held the long straight flat feather aloft triumphantly.

‘This did not come from a rooster, magnificent as his curling tail feathers are.’

Sam arrived at the lab early on Monday morning; frivolous use of the facilities was frowned upon and he did not fancy telling the others he was checking for angel DNA. But the quicker he could identify the feather as belonging to a swan or an albino peacock the better.

The results made no sense, the feather was apparently freshly shed, clean and undamaged so the results could not be corrupted.  The DNA looked like none he had ever seen before, certainly not belonging to any bird. If anything it was closer to homo sapiens, yet different, not to mention the fact that there were forty six pairs of chromosomes. He had already started from scratch again and achieved exactly the same results. Far more study would be needed to venture any theory as to what sort of creature this feather came from. He could be holding unique scientific information, but how could he tell his colleagues, what should he tell Jill?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Closed Circuit

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 17 Comments
Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV
Today’s story follows on from ‘CCTV’.

He didn’t even know her name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Geoff wondered if his wife had seen an earlier bulletin before she went to work. Who said the camera never lies. As the presenter moved on to the topic of pot holes the picture faded from the screen, but not from his mind’s eye. The body language suggested they knew each other well. When was the picture taken? He always wore the same coat, but it must have been one of the few mornings when it wasn’t raining.

With his job, Geoff was not a familiar figure locally, but friends and a few dog walkers would recognise him. Perhaps their brains would not register it was him linked to a totally different woman.

The woman was new in Puddleminster, he was sure of that. Only newcomers strode enthusiastically down to the beach every morning whatever the weather. Geoff would be on his way back from what his daughter would call a power walk, stopping at the little beach shop to get his newspaper. They would merely smile or say good morning.

He needed that fresh air and exercise before setting off to commute to work in the county hospital. Now nobody would be walking that way for a while with Queen Victoria Memorial Park cordoned off. It had been a shock to hear body parts were found in the park, quiet little Puddleminster-on-Sea. He had certainly not seen any body parts when he went for his lap round the park yesterday morning. Maybe if he had a dog it would have come bounding out of the undergrowth with a hand in its mouth, probably how the grim discovery was made. He chuckled to himself, his career had given him a dark sense of humour, but the police weren’t giving any details.

Then reality resurfaced in his mind. Was there CCTV in the park as well as on the road next to it? Did they also have pictures of him walking early in the park, looking suspicious without a dog?  Here was a right dilemma. Should he call the police to explain, no he had missed the special phone number. He could drop in at the little Puddleminster police station, if it was actually open. What would one say. He had no idea who the woman was or where she lived. If she was new in the area it was unlikely anyone else would have recognised her.

There was no time to do anything, he had to leave for work. He could phone his wife from the car, better than keeping quiet and her maybe thinking he was hiding an affair with another woman.

But as he opened the front door he was confronted by two police officers on the front path.

He couldn’t believe this had happened, handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police car. What did they actually say to him? Geoff was so bewildered he sat quietly, to struggle would have suggested guilt. This could be sorted out at the police station, hopefully no one he knew would be strolling by.

It was amazing how much harder it was to get out of a vehicle when you were handcuffed. He just wanted to get inside the building, by the back door if there was one, but they led him straight up the front steps, just in time to see the woman from the photo dash inside. All would be well, she would explain.

Geoff did not get a chance to even exchange a glance with her, he was ushered through a side door and into the interview room, soon joined by a man and woman in plain clothes who introduced themselves as a constable and sergeant. They did not look as if they had ever dealt with a murder, their tactics owed more to television drama than proper procedure. Photos were laid on the table, Geoff striding through the park.

‘This is ridiculous and how did you know where I lived?’

The cocky young DC answered with a smirk.

‘Your wife called the hot line, anxious to explain she was not the woman in the photo, but keen to assure us you always walked that way and were totally innocent.’

The tight lipped woman sergeant leaned in closer.

‘The wives are always the last to have any inkling.’

‘Can you confirm your job and where you work?’

This was not going to look good. When people found out what his work was they would get excited and remark ’Like on that television series.’

‘I’m a pathologist at the hospital and no I don’t chop bodies up, I just find out what disease your great uncle died of.’

The two officers looked at each other and Geoff realised they didn’t appreciate his sense of humour.

‘We have not released any details of the crime scene.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 23 Comments

She didn’t even know his name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Lottie Lincoln, new in Puddleminster-on-Sea, hadn’t imagined the little town even had CCTV. The recently widowed writer had moved here for peace and quiet and anonymity.

Lottie walked past Queen Victoria Memorial Park every morning on her way to the beach. The locals were friendly and the man was one of several regulars who passed her and smiled or said good morning. She had no idea when the picture might have been taken, most mornings she had the same coat on. Though the picture had now faded from the television screen it was imprinted on her mind, two strangers exchanging a smile on a sunny morning looked like a couple exchanging intimate words.

No one was walking past Queen Victoria Memorial Park now, the whole area cordoned off by police tape, including the adjoining sea front. Lottie had been shocked to hear on the local news that a murder had been committed in the lovely park full of daffodils. Or at least body parts had been found, presumably the murder could have been committed anywhere. Police were not revealing how many or what sort of body parts. Surely they did not think she had been carrying a foot or hand in her back pack? The man never carried anything except a newspaper. Men were lucky with all their pockets and these days the chaps probably only carried a phone and door keys. If this man was married he might not even need his keys. Married… if his wife saw that picture she might assume the worst, an affair… an affair with a younger woman. Lottie guessed he was older than her and was rather insulted to have it assumed they were a couple.

None of this was like one of her novels; crime and forensics were avoided, though she did fancy writing a psychological drama. How would the lives of innocent people be affected by a terrible crime? But this was real life and what should she do now? Would the man go to the police station, did they mention a number to ring?

Time for her walk, she needed to get out in the fresh air to think, walking was her therapy for any stressful situation. Lottie set off to the little parade of shops and cafes that passed for a town centre; she could at least see if the weekly local paper had caught the news in time. Somehow her feet led her to the quaint old police station. She wasn’t even sure if it would be open to the public with all those cut backs, but now she was here she must try. The feisty heroines in her novels would not hesitate, though they usually only had romantic problems to deal with.

As she mounted the stone steps to the door she heard a car and turned to see a police vehicle draw up at the roadside. Two officers emerged and extracted a person from the back seat; it was the man from the picture and he was handcuffed. Any idea that prisoners were taken in the back door was quashed when he was led towards her. She could not retreat and in panic pushed open the door and rushed inside to get out of their way.

Inside, the front desk was unattended. Lottie edged into the corner and pretended to be totally absorbed in the posters about safety at cash machines and zipping up your shopping bags. When she risked turning to look they were already disappearing through a door. Lottie fled back outside, feeling as guilty as if she had committed a crime.

She was soon back in her little cottage, the door firmly closed behind her. Had someone dobbed that man in or had he confessed? He could be innocent,  dobbed in by an enemy, or perhaps his wife recalled him coming home in blood stained clothes…   No one knew her and even fans of her books were unlikely to recognise the windswept CCTV picture; the Lottie Lincoln author photo on the back of her novels was very different.

The lunchtime news merely showed lots of forensic suits trampling over the daffodils in the park. But the evening news headlined with the arrest of a man who was being kept in custody for further questioning.

‘Police believe a woman caught on CCTV at Puddleminster Police Station is the woman caught on camera with the arrested man. Chief Inspector MacDonald has urged her to come forward to help with their enquiries and stressed that there is no suggestion she was involved in any way with the crime.’

Did he mean that or was it a trick to catch her?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Gardeners’ World

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 20 Comments

And now we visit another viewer’s garden, someone who has created an interesting garden around his self built home on a brownfield site.

‘This is a small, unusually shaped piece of land surrounded by a main line railway, a motorway and a huge Amazon Warehouse. The house itself is certainly unique. Did the house inspire the garden or the garden dictate the house design?’

‘I created the garden first while we lived in the tiny caravan that is now my potting shed.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Two years.’

‘That is amazing, the luxuriant feel, the fact we are unaware of the outside world, shielded by mature trees and interesting boulders and you did all this by yourself?’

‘Yes, never done any gardening before, just went on instinct, buying plants and searching scrap yards to create unusual features.  It’s been so good for my mental health, creating a garden that would bring joy.’

Two Weeks Earlier

Marcia peered out from the grim unfinished interior of Harry’s unfinished self build house, wondering how she ever got involved with him. The continuous rain had made his so called garden a quagmire; the new plants had given up the struggle to survive amidst the rubble. At least she had insisted on keeping her cosy flat. Marcia had no intention of staying in the squalid caravan he called a park home. As a high speed train raced by she missed half of what Harry was telling her.

‘Camera crew in two weeks’ time, what are you on about?’

‘Don’t you remember Marcy, I told you I had applied to feature on Gardeners’ World?’

‘But you haven’t got a garden, what on earth possessed you…?’

‘I couldn’t get on Grand Designs so I thought I’d show him, Kevin Grand McCloud. Just needs a bit of tidying up, didn’t know all the plants were going to die, a bit of topsoil should do the trick.’

‘Just cancel it Harry and concentrate on finishing the bloody house. I’m going back to my flat right now.’

‘I’m not going to cancel, they do those Flower Show gardens in a couple of weeks. Rick’s mate does Chelsea, or at least he drives the huge trucks that deliver trees. Don’t you worry your pretty head Marcy, I’ve got a plan. A bit of disruption, but we haven’t got any neighbours to annoy.’

Luckily for Harry there were major works going on at the motorway junction and nobody took any notice of the succession of trucks, cranes and pantechnicons making there way to the patch of wasteland that motorists and train passengers thought was part of the creation of a new slip road.

Harry got some of the blokes from work over to help and Rick got some blokes from goodness knows where to help with deliveries. The endless rain at least meant new trees and plants did not need watering in.

Two Days Earlier

‘There we are Marcia, all we need now is an adorable dog to complete the cosy scene.’

‘We haven’t got a dog.’

‘That’s okay, Rick knows where to get one.’

Two Days Later

Police are investigating a series of reports of audacious burglaries from country estates, professional gardeners and quarries. It is not known if they are connected. The thieves took mature trees, plants, sculptures and a Great Dane. One theory is that professional gardeners preparing for the garden show season have been targeted.