Silly Sally; hardly original.
She tucked the towel under one arm and rose to her feet, then stroked a palm against an upright post as if it was a whiskered cat which might twist away from unwelcome fingers. Aged planks bowed beneath her sandals, threatening betrayal. She eased her weight cautiously, testing each step where once she had danced, slimmer arms swaying, smoother hips rotating to music from a shoe-box-sized cassette player; songs taped off the radio, spliced with static and cut-off slices of DJs' cheer.
Desmond would not dance. But Philip would. Philip was a great dancer; tall and lean, with floppy hair floating behind bird-thin shoulders; he played guitar and wanted to be Jimmy Page; wore threadbare jeans and rib-tight t-shirts, and was well aware of Sally's eyes and Tammy's eyes and the eyes of all the girls. Desmond tried too hard to be Phil's friend.
"Des is an ass," said Tammy, eager to use her new word. She had lain in Phil's boat, arching her back like a willing captive fish, arms folded over her face to ward-off furious sunshine. That same boat was now a shattered skeleton, its prow held above water like a turtle's snout. And Tammy had died at thirty-two, weeping to leave small daughters with their grandmother.
The boathouse door slumped like a drunkard's broken jaw; like Des's jaw. In the pub after her funeral, Des had snorted that Tammy had it coming, that cervical cancer was her just reward; then Phil's fist slammed into Des's corpulent sneer. Phil was bald now; enslaved to an abattoir job he hated but needed to support his widely-scattered brood. And Des was fat and twice divorced, and worked in a petrol station.
Sally left her glass on a ledge, offering it as a Buddhist might offer a sacrificial marigold at the feet of a sculpted ideal. The boathouse shielded her from midnight breezes tugging at grey tentacles of mist. An acrid taint of mouldering trash snaked though gaps in the floor. In one corner, a mound of rags moved - rats or feral cats, perhaps; feeding, fornicating and fighting here just as she once had; clawing at Tammy's hair while Phil laughed, amused to pit one against the other, having had both. She didn't want him after that, and she never forgave Tammy.
And she had never forgiven Des. He had cheered and whooped, and ensured he had an eyeful of writhing limbs and sundered friendship, gorging on the girls' blood and tears, calling them the brutal names that hypocrites always use - all in the hope of winning Phil's approval.
Torn dresses, new bruises and crimson stains alert all but the worst parents. Des was banished back to his own world. And as autumn's touch burned the woods red-gold, and the shore gave shelter to migratory birds, it was announced that a private girls' school awaited Sally, who screamed protests then discovered that she actually liked the remote place.
Sally rubbed her arms for warmth as she stepped from the boathouse. Her skirt was wet and dirty from sitting on rotting water-slopped planks, but she had to go back one last time as a reminder of choices made and roads not taken.
A chorus of barking erupted as her dogs watched her return to the Land Rover. On the passenger seat were hotel blueprints which her clients had approved. Soon, people would dance here again, beneath midnight skies reflected along the ocean's edge, and those who had once scorned her would aspire to serve their drinks.
*******
I Remember
Adele Cosgrove-Bray
Lapping up water
like fat kids raised on cream,
expecting cream for all their lives;
clad in wetsuits, squealing
at sailboards and unexpected waves;
Watching their joy, I recall
an awkward child in ugly clothes,
hair sawn off to save the bother;
barked at, hit, mocked
as stupid, dreamy, useless;
powerless with the lack of years;
sorrow hidden to hide from scorn
because a child's feelings didn't matter.
My gaze turns from the water,
hoping the cream-eaters relish their dish.
That inner child's midnight tears
dried long ago but I remember,
I remember.
*******
Margin of the Great Deep
Adele Cosgrove-Bray
Introducing a little side-story from Fabian, the fourth novel in the author's artisan-sorcerer series.
Bethany Rose sat on sun-warmed rock, feeling the fine grit of ancient sandstone scrape the curve of her calves. All around was the sea - green-brown and muddy blue spiked with silver - licking at the cliffs and filling the air with the soft smacks of water slopping against weed-wrapped rocks and shell-threaded sand.
Bethany leaned forwards to untie her boots and peel off thick socks so breezes could play with her toes. Dark-gold sand tickled her skin as she gazed at the horizon where a seemingly-small ferry surged towards New Brighton. A skylark's song soared behind her. Its nest was probably hidden in the longer grass on the other side of the little island. Where she sat, beside the ruined lifeboat station, it was all rock.
She resisted the temptation to check her watch. There was no point. The tide still partially isolated Hilbre from the mainland, and she had at least an hour to wait before she could head for home across freshly exposed sand. That was ok. She had enough food and water, and the sketch book had plenty of blank pages left.
A seal was watching her. Its dark head bobbed in the water like a misshapen beach-ball. Its glittering black eyes held praeternatural intelligence. Its whiskered muzzle lifted as it tested her scent on the breeze before slowly sinking. Bubbles burst to the surface, which swirled and heaved as if agitated by unseen forces. Then a human head emerged, with perfectly normal features and broad, tanned shoulders and sturdy male arms, and he grinned and said, "Hi, Gran."
She looked no older than he did, but selkies age faster than humans and she had learned to bring her own aging process almost to a standstill through the use of secret rites. "I thought you weren't coming."
"I got delayed."
She nodded but had more sense than ask for details. "I'm not your grandmother."
He shrugged as he walked out of the sea. "Lewis was my grandfather; you were one of his wives."
"He and I never had children."
"We're all one happy family."
"Apart from when you're fighting to the death."
He laughed and sat beside her, comfortable with his nakedness.
"So," said Bethany Rose, "what do you want?"
"Couldn't I just want to spend some time with my Gran?"
She shot him a sharp look. "Don't play games. You selkies barely tolerated me when Lewis was alive, and following his death I was instantly pushed aside."
"You could have been killed for knowing too much."
"You could have been less bigoted. Lewis and I ran a good business together. We…"
"But you're not one of us. You never will be."
Bethany frowned. "Racism is still ugly, no matter what form it takes."
He smiled and brushed back his saltwater-dripping hair. "You're human. We're not. It's that simple."
Bethany hugged her knees. "Look upwards - we all live under one sky. Look down - we all live on the same planet. Open veins and blood runs red. Get over it."
He said, "You know I lead this herd now?"
"Why should I care? I'm not one of you. Remember?"
He laughed again.
She gazed at wispy clouds, not wanting to notice how his eyes and jaw-line reminded her of Lewis. Lewis was long-dead and life had moved on, bringing changes and times good and bad, as it does for everyone. "All those years, and hardly a word from any of you until now."
He said, "And now I'm the dominant male of my herd, so things will be different. That's what I want to talk to you about. My name is Durio, by the way."
Bethany accepted the name without believing it.
"Don't you wish you had a closer relationship with your family - your selkie family? You have grandchildren and great-grandchildren you'
ve never even met."
Bethany watched him steadily. She knew better than to respond in a way which could be interpreted as acceptance of a wish when talking with any of the fae races. "Why would you or they want such a thing?"
Durio said, "Your great-granddaughter would like to meet you. Lewis's great-granddaughter. My daughter; one of my daughters. She's an artist, like you. Paints watercolours. She's very talented. Currently rents a place in the worst part of the city."
Bethany's eyes hardened. "And so you want her to live with me."
"She'd fit right in."
"There's rather more to our arts and crafts community than meets the eye."
Durio said, "I do know of the occult order which you're a member of; that you're supposed to be a skilled sorcerer."
Bethany sniffed. "All you know is rumour and speculation."
"Really. Is that so." His words and manner so closely echoed Lewis's that she wondered if it had been deliberate. Durio leaned back against the rock, enjoying the cooling air on his damp skin. "But you've worked with selkies before, in Lewis's day. We could form a new alliance."
"Why?" Bethany frowned as old grievances and long-quiet grief wormed into her mood.
"You didn't have children with Lewis, and you've had none with Morgan Gruffudd. Having learned that you've grandchildren and great-grandchildren descended from Lewis, surely you feel curiosity, some family bond? My daughter needs a safe home. You can give her this."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I shall exercise my right as the dominant male of my herd and kill each and every descendent of Lewis's. I'll lay their corpses at your feet."
She stared at his blank face. A tingle of adrenaline itched beneath her skin. "You'd kill your own family? I doubt that."
Durio clapped his hands. A group of seals swam into view then dived beneath the silky water, emerging in human-form; a dozen men and women, each leading a subdued doe-eyed child onto the ramp. The selkies stared at Bethany, waiting for her reaction. She turned to Durio and said, "What's this supposed to prove?"
A corner of his mouth twitched. He pointed towards one of the adult selkies, who nodded a response and placed his hands on the throat of the nearest child and calmly snapped the boy's neck.
Bethany's stomach lurched. She tore her gaze from the little corpse and turned her fury on Durio. "A defenceless child! Lewis would never have done this!"
Durio smiled. "What would you know? You only shared a small part of his life."
"Did you ever even meet Lewis? You could only have been an infant when he died."
Durio pointed to a second adult selkie. Another child slumped to the floor.
"Don't do this! Are you insane?" She leapt to her feet but knew she could not protect any of these children. She could not protect herself against so many selkies.
Durio pointed to a third adult.
Bethany screamed, "No!"
"You can stop this any time," he said, as another lifeless child slumped.
"You stop it! You didn't have to start it!"
Durio shrugged, indifferent to the cries of the terrified, weeping children. One tried to leap for the water but was grabbed by a woman. The girl sank teeth into the woman's hand, and earned a sharp blow to the side of the head.
Bethany stood her ground. "If you kill or hurt one more child, then you can forget any alliance between my people and yours for all time."
"All I want for now is a secure home for my daughter."
"And what do you want afterwards? Why would I allow you access to my home?"
"I'll kill them all, otherwise. Not just these children, but every person you care for."
Bethany frowned. "Blackmail. Clumsy, too."
"Effective, though." Durio paused, then added, "If you'll only agree to meet, I think you'll like your great-granddaughter. How about lunch next Wednesday, at your favourite tapas bar?"
She stared at his face, at the psychotic gleam in his eyes. He thought he'd won. "Ok. But I'll have your oath that all other children will remain unharmed by you or any agent of yours."
He gave his word. She doubted if this was worth the sand on her boots but it was her only leverage, for now.
At a signal from him, the selkies silently returned to the sea, taking the corpses and sobbing children with them. They sank from sight as if they had never even been there. Durio looked satisfied. He rose to his feet and strolled to the cliff edge where sombre waves lapped jagged rocks. He looked up as a gull cawed overhead.
"We'll speak again soon," he said, before diving into the water.
Bethany felt numb. She gathered her things then walked away from the ruined lifeboat station. Her knees buckled. She pitched forwards on the stubby grass to be sick. It would be a cold day in Hades before Bethany agreed to any alliance with Durio. He hadn't forced compliance from a sorcerer. He'd just started a war.
*******
Friends Forever
Peter Caton
It was raining. Loads of rain everywhere, making puddles. Puddles to jump in, puddles to see your face in, and puddles you could push your friends in! But it wasn't much fun for Susie, Paula, Carlos, Victoria and Daniel. They'd planned to have a picnic down on the beach.
Victoria had brought the food. Susie had brought the drinks. Carlos had brought a ball. Daniel had brought lots of jokes. And Paula ... well ... Paula had just brought herself. She was like that.
But look at all this rain!
"So what about the rain?" asked Carlos.
"Oh, I think I'll go home and watch Spiderwick," said Victoria.
"I'm coming with you," added Paula.
"I'd rather go shopping with my Mum," said Susie.
And they all went: "Erggghhh!"
"I'm going home to play on my computer," said Daniel.
But Carlos said: "Come on, you lot. Let's go down to the beach. We can make our own fun. Come on." He smiled and showed his lovely white teeth.
So they sort of agreed. But the rain kept coming.
The five friends all lived near the beach, so it wasn't far to walk. And they were soon there. Spread out in front of them was a lovely big soft sandy golden beach. But a bit soggy! And it was still raining.
On the beach, there was an old beach-hut. Nobody used it any more. The door had fallen off and the windows were dirty. It looked a bit sad. But to these five, it was their base.
"Last one to the base is a jellyfish!" They all ran, laughing, to the hut. Getting very wet! But guess who got there first: it was Susie. There were shrieks of laughter as they tumbled over each other into the hut. It was quite big inside. And they kept it nice and clean. Once a week, Susie and Paula would come and sweep the floor and (sort of) clean the windows. It was Paula's Mum who once said: 'I wish she'd keep her room that tidy.'
But it was still raining.
Susie and Paula went and sat in a corner. They started whispering and giggling. Carlos and Daniel began watching raindrops zigzagging down the windows. Victoria sat in the doorway, staring up at a dark cloud. It went very quiet. The only sound was rain. Dancing on the roof. Bouncing off the doorstep outside.
Victoria sighed, "Hhhhhh."
Daniel went and sat next to her. "What's up, Vicci?"
"Dan," she said, "have you got a Mum and Dad?"
"Yes," he replied. "Why did you ask that?"
"Because I miss my mine."
"Why? Where've they gone?" he asked again.
And then she began to tell her sad story. "I live with my Nan and Granddad. They told me my Mum and Dad were killed in an accident when I was a baby. Then my Nan and Granddad looked after me. But it's not the same. My Granddad can't climb trees with me, and my Nan can't swim with me. When I see other boys and girls with their parents, I think, 'Why can't I have mine back?' But I do love my Nan and Granddad. They're OK. So tell me, what's it like in your family, Dan?"
"It's good," he replied. "I've
got a big sister and a Mum and Dad. We have a great time. We go on holidays together. My sister sometimes brings her boyfriend. He's cool. It's nice having a big sister. I can talk to her about anything, and she helps me a lot. Sometimes, she does my homework for me. My Mum and Dad, they're the best! My Dad's rich so I get lots of pocket-money. And my Mum's got thousands of friends. I've got my own room with a TV and a computer. I'm OK."
Victoria felt a bit jealous. "Everything sounds too good to be true," she murmured. "Is there nothing wrong with your family?"
"No."
"Nothing?"
"No."
"I don't believe you."
"No."
"Oh come on, Daniel."
"Well - there is something...."
Victoria's eyes lit up!
"What is it? What is it?"
"It's my Dad. He's deaf."
"He's what? Deaf?"
"Yes. He has to wear a hearing aid."
"Oh," said Victoria, sounding a bit shocked.
By this time, Carlos, Susie, and Paula had joined them sitting in the doorway.
"Are you talking about Mums and Dads?" asked Paula.
"Yes," replied Daniel. "Vicci was telling me about her Mum and Dad."
"Why, what's wrong with them? Do they argue and fight?" Paula let out a silly laugh.
"They're dead," said Victoria.
Paula stopped laughing. All you could hear was the rain again, splashing against the windows and bouncing off the roof.
"Sorry, Vicci," she said. "I didn't know."
"That's OK," she replied with a smile.
And then Carlos cheered them up. "Hey, Susie: what's it like in your house?"
"My house?" she exclaimed. "In my house there's a party every day."
"A party?" echoed everyone. "What d'you mean?"
"Well, guess how many brothers and sisters I've got?"
"Two."
"No."
"Three."
"No."
"Five."
"No."
"We give up. Tell us."
"Seven sisters and one brother. And I make nine."
"Seven sisters and one brother?"
"You've got it."
"So what's that like."
"Well, she started, "there're good things and bad things in a house with nine children, a Mum and Dad, two dogs, a rabbit and a lizard. First, the bad things. I get no peace and quiet. And I've always got to share a bed. And there's always a queue for the toilet. And when we have our dinner, there's no room at the table. And sometimes I don't get a Christmas present. Because we've no money left."