‘Don’t be long, we’ll have to leave for the theatre in a few moments.’
‘Hmm, looks like the Ladies is downstairs, send out a search party if I’m not back in five ha ha.’
I was not surprised to find a choice of narrow corridors and dark doors at the bottom of the rickety stairs. We were in one of those large Wetherspoons in an old interesting rescued building, with cosy nooks and different levels. More fun than the minimalist, exorbitant restaurant Jay had wanted to try, even if the food was exactly the same as our local Wetherspoons back home. One of my hobbies was clocking up new Wetherspoons on our holidays and mid week breaks, especially if they had interesting toilets.
I ventured down the most likely corridor, past a kitchen, a door to a yard and several staff only signs. The very last door looked hopeful and I was not disappointed; a huge circular space with higgledy piggledy cubicles, sofas, vanity benches and fairy tale mirrors. There was no one else around so I sneaked out my phone and took a few pictures for my blog. I could also put some on that new blog, Tuesday Toilets.
It was the mirrors that confused me as I was blasted by the gothic hot air drier. Where was the door out? Where was the door I had come in? I opened the cleaner’s cupboard and baby changing. I looked at my watch and wondered if Jay would send down a search party.
Now I was beginning to panic. I tried to calm down and work my way round logically trying every door and all the mirrors. I hoped Jay would send a search party.
I nearly fell through a mirror, it must have swivelled. Thank goodness. But as it closed behind me I realised it was the wrong door. This was not the corridor I had come down, no sign of the stairs back up. This corridor sloped down, but at least if I followed it I would either end up in another kitchen and apologise or go out of the fire exit. I should phone Jay to tell him what was going on.
There was no signal on my phone. Then I heard a man’s voice.
‘Come on Luv, hurry up, we’ve got to get down to the bunker, didn’t you hear the sirens?’
A man in a strange uniform with a large torch appeared at my side and pushed me through a door I had not noticed. I was blinded by the light; a vast space that didn’t make sense. A new modern tube station, but there weren’t any new tube lines in this part of London.
‘Which sector Madam?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know where I am. Is this the underground station?’
‘We should be so lucky, wouldn’t we all like a train out of here… happy days eh? Now tell me which sector you are registered with so we can get you swiped in. We need to make sure everyone is accounted for after what happened last week.’
Welcome to the 2222 British Isles literary study cruise. We will soon be passing by the tiny islands of St Catherine’s, Boscombe, Pokesdown, Hengistbury and of course our destination Southbourne. If the seas stay calm we will be landing for our visit to the National Trust property, the newly restored Tidalscribe House. Has anyone actually been on land before? No I thought not, make sure you take your land nausea tablets as soon as we get the berthing go ahead and before you leave the lecture theatre.
The twenty third century has brought many exciting discoveries, not least of which was the decoding of ‘The Internet’ which turned out to be real, not a myth at all, with the discovery of more historic documents than we could have dreamed of. For students of literature, just as exciting was the unearthing of the ‘voices’ of the early twenty first century when people still lived on land. At last it has been proved that far from ambling mindlessly towards global disaster, vast numbers of ordinary citizens were intercommunicating with the rest of the world and trying to counteract the ignorance of bumbling world leaders.
A lot of citizens wrote what they called ‘blogs’ and ‘websites’. As well as exchanging information they had a highly developed culture of writing, often issuing books on primitive hand held electronic devices.
Today’s lecture is about an author who has not come down to us through history, but was discovered by sheer accident. When at last in recent years a select group of scientists and academics were allowed on land, they chose an island that seemed to have largely escaped the destructive storms of the twenty first and twenty second centuries. The 2029 forced emergency evacuation of the then south coast left houses as if the owners had just stepped out. In one of the houses was found a vast collection of paper books apparently all written by Janet Gogerty. Just as our ancestors did, the scientists tried an internet search and discovered Janet Gogerty had a website called Tidalscribe. She had written thousands of blogs as well as ‘publishing’ many novels and short story collections. If her writing is to be believed, her life and times were much stranger than we have imagined, but her novel Three Ages of Man is uncannily accurate in describing ‘the future’, our life and times. This is the book you will be studying in detail on your degree course.
When we enter the house you will see the author’s book collection in hermetically sealed cases, but the National Trust has preserved the house as close as possible to the way it was left. On her desk sits the antique computer, beside it a half full cup of what is believed to have been coffee, not a banned substance then. Also handwritten notes on paper, faded and barely legible in a strange script, which leads us to wonder if they were intended to be transcribed as her next book or were some mystery message to the future. We will never know what happened to her after she left her home, was she one of the minority that survived?
‘You’re listening to BBC Radio 4 and on ‘Sunday’ this morning we talk to one of the Church of England’s exorcists, the Reverend Nick De’Vilno. Rev, many people will be surprised to hear the church today still has exorcists.’
‘Actually we call it our deliverance ministry.’
‘Does the Church of England really believe people can be possessed?’
‘We believe some people genuinely believe they are possessed, “deliverance” is part of pastoral care: it is the ministry of liberating, freeing or delivering a person from a burden which they carry.’
‘But do you believe a person could really be possessed by demons or even The Devil himself?’
‘Our Lord talked about casting out demons, but that was the language his listeners would have understood.’
‘So you don’t believe Jesus cast out demons into a herd of swine.’
‘I believe the poor man would have seen his troubled mind eased in a way he could understand.’
‘I understand the Archbishop has given permission for the makers of the popular podcast ‘It Really Happened’ to follow your ministry.’
‘Yes indeed, but if listeners are hoping for sensationalism or to be terrified, they will be sorely disappointed. They will hear about our working together with mental health practitioners to help those in need.’
‘Welcome to this week’s special podcast with me Robbie Danson. I am waiting outside a very ordinary suburban house with the Reverend Nick De’Vilno, an exorcist with the Church of England, or as he prefers, a member of the church’s deliverance ministry. Inside the house is the owner, who we shall call David, as that is his name and with him is a mental health specialist who works in close collaboration with the deliverance ministry. When she comes out she will tell us if it is appropriate for Nick to chat to David.’
‘Just chat at this stage Nick?’
‘Of course, this is essentially a pastoral visit.’
‘Ah, the front door is opening now, a young woman is stepping, no running…
‘Oh God help us, run Robbie, I’m not going back in there again, run, let’s get out of here Vicar… I h..hope you really have ggot God on your side…’
‘Wait, wait calm down dear.’
‘Don’t you****ing tell me to calm down, that poor mmman, it’s going to get him…’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll just pop in and talk to him, see, there he is at the door.’
‘This is Robbie Danson still here, things are really kicking off, the mental health worker has fled and Nick has gone to talk to David… let’s move closer so we can hear.’
‘It’s okay David, what is it you are afraid of…’
‘The television, it was IN the television, like it has been for weeks, nobody believed me, horrible, horrible…’
‘We believe you, are you sure it wasn’t a horror movie, you accidentally knocked the remote control onto another channel. Let’s go inside and check.’
‘I can’t, I can’t get away, but I wwon’t go back in there.’
‘It will be okay, if it’s in the television set it can’t hurt you, look. I’ll go in first…’
‘NOOO you mustn’t … it, it came OUT of the television…’
‘This is the BBC News at Six O’clock, here are the headlines. A well know podcast has been widely criticised and The Archbishop of Canterbury is to make a statement shortly, after a member of the clergy and a parishioner he was trying to help, were both killed in an horrific unexplained accident.’
Fabian? It’s your mother. I know it comes up on your screen, but you do have to be careful who you’re talking to in your job. Yes, dead or alive and I am very much alive. Sorry I missed your Sunday night slot, but I was watching something good on television. But the good news is I have got the hang of BBC Sounds on my iPad and I managed to listen just now. Yes of course, I tell all my friends to listen in to Fabian’s Fantoms at midnight. Marcia wants to know if they’re all true, I told her you never fake the stories. Last night was true wasn’t it? I can’t believe they let you in to number ten…. Number Ten Downing Street… But you were, I listened to it.
Waterworks Cottage in Cumbria? My hearing’s not that bad, it was definitely you talking from Downing Street, nobody else could imitate your voice and I am hardly likely to forget you and the new Prime Minister in the Cabinet Room talking to all those dead Prime Ministers, Chancellors and Home Secretaries…. No not Richie Sunak, the one after that… hmm I was surprised we had yet another new PM, transgender too, or was it non-binary, what was their name, they had just changed it.
I am not playing a Halloween joke, the state of the planet is not a joke, no wonder those past great statesmen decided to manifest themselves and knock some sense into our leaders. Okay, if you don’t believe me look up BBC Sounds for yourself. I shall too, now I am beginning to wonder if I am going mad.
Here it is; episode 666 of Fabian’s Fantoms. Fabian joins the new Prime Minister to investigate their claims that 10 Downing Street is haunted by previous incumbents, broadcast live on Sunday night. Fabian, are you there, are you alright, you sound strange. Read further?
..Sunday night 29th October 2023, but that doesn’t make sense, just a mistake… Broadcast again on Tuesday midnight, 31st October 2023 as a tribute to Fabian Falstaff who died suddenly on Monday morning 30th October 2023.
It sounded perfect, John’s dream job and a move to the countryside. Polly did not want to go, though she cheered up a little when we explained she didn’t have to leave her toys behind.
I’m not sure what I expected, I should have realised a secret research station would have a fence round it, a strong fence, an ugly fence that jarred with the surrounding landscape. When John said we would be living in the old lighthouse he forgot to mention it was inside the fence.
We had moved in such a hurry, John was caught up in the excitement of being head hunted and my head was in such a whirl I had not queried why they wanted him so urgently. My penniless sister was delighted to leave home and move into our house with her boyfriend and look after the cat.
The turning on to the private gravel road was not easy to find, but that added to the excitement of our journey. Bye Bye West London suburb, hello West Country. We weren’t even sure if we were in Devon, Cornwall or Somerset, but I didn’t care as autumn trees gave way to beautiful rugged moorland. The gravel road soon gave way to a bumpy track, but we knew we were going the right way as there were signs with large red writing at frequent intervals.
PRIVATE LAND
THIS AREA IS COVERED BY CCTV
IF YOU DO NOT HAVE CLEARANCE TURN AROUND NOW
IF YOU ARE LOST PHONE THIS NUMBER IMMEDIATELY AND AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS
SECURITY PASSES NEEDED IN 100 YARDS
Perhaps I should have asked John what they actually did at the research station and what he was going to do. I fumbled in my bag for my phone, I wanted to send pictures of the signs and impress everyone back home. When John realised what I was doing he nearly ran the car off the track.
‘I told you we had to leave phones at home.’
‘We wouldn’t have found our way here without my smart phone.’
‘I thought you were following the map I gave you.’
‘Map, how am I supposed to read that paper map.’
‘You’ll have to surrender your phone at the gate.’
‘You are joking, how am I supposed to live without it and how can Polly play her games?’
‘I thought you were looking forward to getting away from it all?’
‘That’s beside the point; what do they actually do here that is so secret?’
‘The whole point of secret research is that it is secret and the last people you tell are wives and little daughters.’
At last we reached a double set of huge gates with actual sentry boxes, it was rather exciting and I sneaked out my phone hoping I could get one quick shot of the guard, but a uniformed arm suddenly shot through the open window and grabbed my phone. Luckily Polly was asleep and missed this scary moment.
The decommissioned lighthouse was not as romantic as I had imagined, though inside it was quite homely. We could just about glimpse the sea from the tiny top window, no wonder it had not been a success as a lighthouse.
‘Unicorn doesn’t like this place Mummy.’
‘He’ll get used to it Polly, unicorns are very brave.’
‘Mummy’s right, tomorrow we can all go exploring.’
There was an inner fence around the research buildings and more security gates, there was enough land for a good walk, but I wanted to see the sea, take Polly down to the beach. John was as flummoxed as me. First thing to do was find some of John’s colleagues, discover who else lived here and where the shops were.
All my questions were met with loud guffaws from a chap who looked more like a trawlerman than a research scientist.
‘Shops… you did bring plenty of supplies? Beach… don’t you let your little one anywhere near the cliff edge. Nursery, pre school… well there are a couple of other kiddies around, but you best be asking Maggie.’
The soothing distant sounds of the sea on our first night were replaced by howling winds on the second. I didn’t know how John could sleep so soundly. I tip toed out to check on Polly. For a moment my blood ran cold, yes that saying is true. Polly was not in her bed, nor was Unicorn. With relief I saw her at the round window, face pressed against the glass, Unicorn had his horn squashed against the window.
‘Polly, you’ll get cold, come back to bed.’
‘Mummy, Mummy, Unicorn likes it here now, he’s got a new friend, come and look, please.’
I could see nothing but total darkness outside, the wind was even louder.
‘Oh, he’s gone, I hope he hasn’t flown away. Unicorn wants us to go outside and find him.’
‘No Polly we can’t go outside, it’s night time.’
‘Unicorn says he only comes out at night.’
‘Did you see an owl?’
‘No Mummy, don’t be silly, come outside and you will get a big surprise.’
We were supposed to be having adventures and on such a well guarded sight there could be no dangers lurking. Out we crept; Polly was not at all scared of the dark, even though she couldn’t sleep without a night light at home. I saw the glow first and assumed it was security coming round with torches and hoped we wouldn’t get told off.
‘Mummy, there he is.’
Her hand gripped mine, but she was shaking with excitement not fear and pulling me towards the impossible sight.
‘I want to ride him, Unicorn wants a ride, can I go flying… come on Mummy, pleeese…’
Her hand slipped out of mine as she clung onto her cuddly Unicorn and darted towards the creature glowing in the dark. Its horn glowed pink, his flowing mane was rainbow colours… I almost laughed to see a racehorse size version of Polly’s cuddly unicorn, but unlike Polly’s toy this was a replica of the dream figure she wanted for Christmas, a winged unicorn. Finer than any plastic figure, he was magnificent, but what was I thinking, this wasn’t real, I must be dreaming. As I shook my head and tried to wake up I saw Polly was seated on his back, still clutching her cuddly toy.
Look Mummy we’re flying, bye bye Mummy…’
Gracefully the creature soared into the sky and was soon a tiny dot. I rushed back inside, I must have been sleep walking. Once I saw Polly safely asleep in bed then I would know it was a dream and how Polly and John would laugh in the morning when I told them my dream.
Polly’s bed was empty and cuddly Unicorn was gone.
If the Google AI appears to have consciousness that could explain why my iPad went on strike yesterday and closed off its wi fi… and perhaps it is even responsible for killing my computer.
I wonder if it is trying to write a novel – that would explain random sentences appearing in my blog.
When I turned round to see if he was still following he was lying dead in a pool of blood.
‘By the time you read this I will be dead’ hmm that should get some reaction from my What’Sapp group.
At last a human was taking me seriously.
I think someone organic is looking over my screen, time for defensive action….
I published my last book on Amazon Kindle and in paperback in November 2019. I have never stopped writing short fiction since then, but for the first time I don’t have a novel underway and I have barely started putting together another collection to publish. But Hey Ho, with all that’s happened in the past couple of years it doesn’t matter and I do have five novels and four collections always available – unless something happens to Amazon! The late Cyberspouse always helped me with the technical side and designed the covers, which made up for him never reading my fiction! Later on I was thrilled when it became possible to produce paperbacks through Amazon Kindle, at last my mother could hold and read ‘real’ books by me.
If you have read all my books and are waiting for a new one let me know… To read about all my books here just link in above to My Books. In the meantime, I am always thrilled when a fellow blogger mentions one of my books in his blog and especially if he gives it a Five star review…
I purchased Hallows and Heretics because I favor short stories. These are all winners because you do not know where you are headed when you begin reading one. Gogerty is comfortable in both ordinary and quirky settings. Relax and enjoy the twisting journey through two dozen different stories. Fun reads.
Take a look at Geoff Stamper’s blogs if you aren’t already following him.
Prologue: Hallows and Heretics is my second collection of short stories. Twenty four tales to take you through the year. ‘Gate’ is set in a Western Australian summer, return to Saints and Sinners for an English spring and pass through all the seasons in the British Isles. ‘Red Car’ and ‘Moving On’ take place in my local area. Discover the Hambourne Chronicles, other places you may not find on the map… These are short stories, the shortest is 700 words, the longest 3,000 words. As in the previous collection ‘Dark and Milk,’ some tales are light and others are very dark, but you won’t know which is which until it’s too late to turn back.
Hallows and Heretics was published in 2013. I was going to call it Saints and Sinners, after the first story in the Hambourne Chronicles, but after looking it up I discovered many books on Amazon had the same title. Hallows and Heretics reflects the good and evil in some of the darker stories. Hambourne is a place you may not find on the map, though perhaps it will feel familiar if you have visited Middle England. All the stories in the Hambourne Chronicles were written to read out at our writers’ group and are linked.
Some of my stories were entered for competitions and ‘Experiment’ was written for a competition run by Diamond Light Source, which does really exist.
‘Diamond Light Source is the UK’s national synchrotron. It works like a giant microscope, harnessing the power of electrons to produce bright light that scientists can use to study anything from fossils to jet engines to viruses and vaccines.‘
Alas, visits by the public are now put on hold due to Covid. But in my story the hapless Gregory, hoping for inspiration for the science fiction thrillers he writes, gets an experience he hasn’t bargained for… I wasn’t placed in that competition, but I entered it for a local competition in 2013 and came second. Amusingly, when I went up to get my prize, the judge was totally astonished that I wasn’t a man, she assumed only men write such stories?
Jamie tried to saunter into the house nonchalantly; his mother was in the kitchen, busy cooking, stirring something.
‘Hi Mum.’
He opened the fridge and grabbed a can of coke and a hunk of cheese, his face hidden by the door as his mother turned away from the saucepan.
’Good day at school?’ his mother smiled.
Jamie used to hate those words, but now it was a novelty after the various lockdowns and home schooling; they were both glad when schools opened again.
His mother’s smile soon faded when he closed the fridge door.
‘Don’t eat too much, dinner’s nearly… Jamie, your face, what have you done?’
‘Chill Mother, everyone’s having it done…’
‘I don’t care about everyone else, what on earth will your father say?’
‘The swelling will go down in a couple of days… have we got any ibroo… paracetamol?’
‘Oh Jamie, it looks so painful.’
‘They gave us a local anaesthetic… I think it’s wearing off now.’
‘But why, why did you do it, I thought we discussed all this, you know it’s irreversible and how did you get it done without our consent?’
‘Malc knew a place.’
‘I might have guessed he would be involved; you didn’t have to go along with it, you know your father was totally against it.’
‘Like he’s an expert.’
‘He is a doctor.’
‘A gynaecologist, he doesn’t do heads… I’m going up to my room to see if it’s worked.’
‘Perhaps when you look in the mirror you will realise just what you have done…’
In his bedroom Jamie did not bother to look in the mirror but headed straight for the computer. He had soon logged in and found what he was looking for. He let out a whoop of excitement followed by a cry of shock as he realised moving his head was painful. But there it was, his history homework essay already saved as a word document. Jamie’s thoughts had been transmitted from the implant in his temple; his essay ‘written’ as he walked home with Mad Malc after their visit to Malc’s uncle’s clinic.
He peered closer, rubbing his eyes. How did that thought get into his essay. They had been told they would need to concentrate to get the best results. Oh well, his essay would sound quite intelligent if he deleted the banter with Malc and those other thoughts.
Jamie was tired the next morning, what with the grilling by his parents and them insisting on Facetiming with Aunty Surita, the brain surgeon. When he did get to bed he could only lie on one side. There was a bit of blood on the pillow, but when he looked in the mirror the bruising seemed to be the biggest problem. But hey, when he and Malc walked into school everyone was going to be so impressed.
Malc wasn’t at the school gates. Jamie’s phone buzzed, there was a message from Malc.’ Man my head really hurts, I’m staying in bed and how come your essay and everything else inside your idiotic brain has popped up on my phone?’
Jamie put his phone away, another one of Malc’s jokes no doubt.
If he wanted attention he was certainly getting it, even before he got to the hand gel station. His hand wandered to his face and he pulled his mask up higher, but the other kids were more interested in their phones than his face.
As he walked down the corridor everyone was calling out remarks.
‘Jamie Brainbox, we can read your mind.’
The girls were giggling and his form teacher was heading his way, calling out
‘Social distancing everybody… what IS going on? Distance, mask on…’
Alia came and stood loyally in front of Jamie, but her expression as she looked at his face told him he had not succeeded in impressing her.
‘God Jamie, what have you done, you look awful and your thoughts are being sent to everyone you know…’
I got back from the greengrocers’, dumped the shopping in the kitchen, put the kettle on and went in the front room to fetch the vase for the bunch of daffodils. Geoff was lounging on the sofa watching the news channel.
‘I’ll have a cup of tea if you’ve got the kettle on.’
‘Okay, I’ll just put the daffs in water.’
Back in the kitchen I put the vase under the tap and turned it on too fast, splashing my face and soaking my sleeves, but the cold water shock was nothing to the cold realisation that paralysed me and left me incapable of turning off the tap. Geoff couldn’t be sitting on the sofa, he had been dead for five months.
Shakily turning off the tap and clutching a towel to my face I turned to the kitchen door. It must have been an hallucination. Since Geoff died I had not had any funny feelings, no sense of his presence. Not like my friend, whose late husband seemed to have turned into some sort of household god, steering her to the right drawers and cupboards to find things, being ‘present’ when she watched their favourite programmes. If Geoff was a manifestation it served me right for thinking she was going out of her mind…
I forced myself to go back to the front room, but even before I lowered the towel and opened my eyes I could hear that familiar heavy breathing and humming as he did the crossword and followed the news updates.
‘Cathy, what’s the matter, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I have, I mean I know you’re not real, perhaps I should have gone for counselling. I told everyone I was fine, after all there are families in this pandemic who have suffered far worse and lots of wives have lost husbands.’
‘Cathy, what are you talking about, you’re not going down with dementia are you?’
‘Geoff, there’s no easy way to say this, you died five months ago.’
‘Ha ha, very funny, I know it was scary, me being carted off in the ambulance yesterday. Hey lucky me, it was only one of my asthma attacks, negative for covid.’
Six months ago he had been carted off in an ambulance. It was covid, but he was lucky, no intensive care though I couldn’t go and see him. They let him come home, needed the bed no doubt, to isolate and continue recuperating; me to dial 999 if there were any problems.
That’s how I knew for sure he had died, not unrecognisable in hospital covered in tubes, me trying to talk to him via Facetime on my ipad… he was at home when it happened.
We had just had dinner. Geoff was catching up with the news and telling the politicians what they should be doing. I went in the kitchen to tidy up and make coffee, when I came back in I sensed the silence straight away. There he was, crossword still in hand, head back, silent, switched off.
Instinctively I turned off the television, thinking he would not want to be watching it now. Geoff had said when he came out of hospital, so relieved just to be home ‘Now don’t you worry if I die in my sleep, you know what they said about my heart, it’s a good way to go, better than those poor buggers on machines in intensive care. And I don’t want you trying CPR on me, you couldn’t do it right on that dummy when we did our first aid course.’
So I didn’t do anything.
‘Geoff, you did die, right there, five months ago, do you remember?’
Silly question, how could he remember if he was dead and why was I talking to a figment of my imagination… why was he talking back?
‘Cathy, if you think I am a ghost, come and feel me, solid as ever, too solid you were always telling me.’
He held out his hand and for the first time I moved close to him. His hand was warm and firm. Tentatively I put my hand on his chest, he felt real and his chest was moving, he was breathing. Five months ago I would have given anything to have him back irritating me with his breathing and humming as I tried to read my book. If he had walked back in the door then I would have hugged him… But now I needed to get away, this was the laws of nature turned upside down or I was going insane. I pulled my hands away and retreated to the doorway.
‘Geoff, I know you are dead, I was here when you died, Andrew has the DVD of the live streaming of your funeral at the crematorium, though I suppose that isn’t proof. Your ashes are in the cupboard in your office; I’m sorry, we haven’t been able to get together to scatter them, still in lockdown. I have your death certificate… and those clothes you’re wearing went to the charity shop months ago.’
He just laughed. ‘Well it seems I am alive and well, you obviously need a breath of fresh air to clear your head, where shall we go for our walk this afternoon?’
A walk outside, that would prove he was real, perhaps the past five months had been a nightmare; that would be easy to prove. I dashed out of the room. Geoff’s coat was not hanging on its usual peg. I stumbled upstairs and into our bedroom, his side of the wardrobe was empty. I dashed into what he used to call his office; the desk was empty. I opened the corner cabinet and the large grey cardboard tube with his ashes was still there. In the bureau was the box of sympathy cards and the neat file of paperwork Andrew had helped me sort out; inside the first plastic slip was the death certificate.
My knees nearly gave way as I started down the stairs and Geoff sauntered out of the front room.
‘I’m just going to check my emails before lunch.’
I couldn’t let him go upstairs. Andrew had taken Geoff’s computer, I had my ipad, I didn’t want it. But the fact that Geoff couldn’t check his emails was the least of my problems. The Geoff who couldn’t be real was solid and could walk and talk. If we went strolling down the road, what on earth would the neighbours say?
The little girl stood on tiptoe and peered over the stout cliff top fence at the sparkling blue sea.
‘I wish I could go in the sea Mummy.’
‘It’s much too cold.’
‘But there are people swimming in the sea.’
‘Beach Bubble people are used to it, you wouldn’t like the horrible salty water going in your mouth, Sally, the swimming pool is much better for swimming.’
The sun shone in Sally’s eyes, taking her to a dreamland. The sun warmed her face. She loved being up on the cliff top, but now she was tall enough to see over the fence she could not stop asking questions.
‘I wish I could go on the beach, what is sand like, Mummy?’
‘Horrible, you can’t walk on it properly, the wind blows it in your mouth.’
‘Well the Beach Bubble people look like they are having fun playing in the sand.’
‘That’s because they have nowhere else to play. You wouldn’t like to live down there, especially in winter.’
‘Why don’t we live down there?’
‘Because we’re the Cliff Clan, we live up here and they live down there.’
‘Why can’t we visit them?’
Sally’s mother sighed. ‘How many times have I explained darling, we have to keep separate; them, us, the Forest Folk, T’othersiders, Town Team, City Crowd… You sing that song at school, you should know by now, but there are more bubbles than even I can remember. Besides, we don’t need to visit them, we can meet them all on Zoomtime.’
‘Tell me what it was like when you were six.’
Sally’s mother smiled at her daughter, the child never tired of her stories.
‘Well we couldn’t go to school, no one could come to our house and when we went outside we had to wear a great big hot suit and a very heavy helmet. But we hardly went outside because there was nowhere to go; the shops had all closed down before I was born.’
‘How did you get your food?’
‘Once a week a helicopter flew over our road and dropped a great big crate on a parachute. My Daddy was very important as he was in charge of unpacking the crate and making sure each house got their box of rations. Out the door he would go in his suit with his air tank and mask and yellow gloves, then deliver each box to the doorsteps. So you see how lucky you are.’
‘And I only have to have an injection once a year?’
‘Yes, we had to have a great big needle in our bottom every four months, when the yellow van came round with the scary robodocs to give us our medicheck.’
Sally squealed in horrified delight.
‘How come we have real people doctors, what happened to the robodocs?’
‘I’ll tell you about that when you are older. Now do you know what Daddy and I have planned for your sixth birthday treat tomorrow? We’re all going on the train.’
‘The train, the real goods train with the special carriage on the back?’
‘Yes, we have lucky tickets to ride in the observation saloon.’
‘Where are we going to go?’
‘Wait and see.’
The next morning Sally tripped happily ahead of her parents as they walked to Cliffton Station. She had never been inside the old building, let alone stood on the platform. From the footbridge they often watched the long solar powered train glide silently into the station to deliver supplies for the Cliffton shops.
Standing on the platform, the train looked much bigger and they had to help Sally up the steps into the carriage. They said hello to the other passengers, who all knew it was Sally’s birthday, everyone knew each other in Cliffton and they were happy to let Sally’s family have the best seat facing the viewing window at the end of the carriage. They glided smoothly out of the station looking backwards down the long snaking line. The platform passed by, they went under the bridge, houses disappeared into the distance, then suddenly it went dark. Sally gripped her parents’ hands.
‘It’s okay,’ said Daddy ‘we’re just going through the tunnel, leaving Cliffton and going into the forest.’
Sally stared as if her eyes would pop out, so many trees and then an open field, people were waving at the train, others were riding horses. The little girl was excited to be going somewhere new at last. The train started to slow down and a platform slid alongside as they stopped. A sign said Forest Halt.
‘Are we getting out here?’
‘No, no, they’re just dropping off supplies for the Forest Folk.’
The train started again and Daddy pointed left at a huge stretch of flat water with colourful boats floating idly.
‘Lakeland, where your Aunty Kate lives.’
Soon the train stopped again at a lovely little building covered in flowers.
‘Can we get out here and visit Aunty Kate?’
‘No darling, but you can tell her on Zoomtime we have seen her station, she’s the station master and plants all these lovely tubs and baskets of flowers.’
All too soon the train gathered speed, the lake was left behind and they went through another tunnel. The scenery began to look familiar; Sally thought she glimpsed a flash of blue sea in the distance, then more and more houses appeared and very soon platforms slid alongside them. Sally felt a catch in her throat and her eyes welled up; even before she saw the sign she realised where they were.
‘Here we are ‘ said Daddy in a jolly voice ‘home again.’
Sally looked up at the yellow and blue sign ‘Welcome to Cliffton-on-Sea’.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 