Paw Prints at Large

Michèle left her native Ardèche
For Paris, all dewy and fresh.
But she soon lost her purity
To a man from the Sûreté
Who taught her the joys of the flesh.

I’m sick of the cold and the rain
And the wind and the mud in the lane.
As usual the summer
Has turned out a bummer
And I wish it was winter again.

So it’s ‘out’ after all, what a wheeze!
Off we sail on to uncharted seas,
Freed at last from the yoke
Of the Eurocrat folk
(Though we’ll probably still eat French cheese).

THOSE TWO IMPOSTORS

For nine months we have waged this weary war. We shall overcome. The monsters who haunt our nightmares will be defeated and we shall triumph. Our chieftain tells us so, and he has looked the enemy in the face and walked away. Not unscathed, no – he bears the scars of the encounter – but he has survived and emerged stronger.

The monsters, the faceless ones, would tear down civilisation as we know it. If they prevail, our precarious peace with the tribes that surround us on all sides, long fought-for, will be smashed. Chaos and strife will rule where once there was harmony. When we trudge into the dark unknown, bearing our hopeful offerings of shells and skins, the roads will be barred before us, the dwelling doors shut, the children hushed away. No wampum from beyond the great waters will reach our land and we shall starve.

Ever closer they come. Soon we will face the day of destiny. We pray to the White God that we will never have to see them, to look upon these two-headed fiends whose fangs drip gore, whose multiple arms reach out to crush the very life out of us. We will prevail. The chieftain says so. The oracles say so. We whisper it before we sleep, we cry it out as we awake. We will prevail.

But still they come. The day of reckoning is upon us. We will prevail. We will prevail.

They’ve landed!

Our hopes and dreams lie beaten into the dust. Our chieftain has hidden his face in grief and shame. His enemies exult. As our tattered yellow flag sinks in defeat, as their blue banner rises triumphant, as we bow our heads in surrender, they stride towards us out of the smoke and detritus of a bitter war.

How extraordinary: they look just like us. Perhaps things won’t be so bad after all.

The day of decision grows nearer
And the issues don’t get any clearer.
David C. urges ‘stay’
Whereas Boris says ’nay’
And Barack’s just a rude interferer.

So I’ve finally decided for ‘yes’ –
Or ‘no’: it comes down to a guess.
Are we making a stand
For Britain’s fair land
Or heading for one hell of a mess?

Though I say it myself, I have turned into a reasonably good cook. Cooking for one presents challenges, not least summoning up the energy to do it at all, when it’s easier to order take-away or warm up a ready meal. Lapin au vin is my signature dish, a fragrant rabbit stew; I used to cook it for Jenna sometimes on Sundays.

Tonight is my first dinner party, though, and I have to admit I am feeling nervous. Of course, it’s only Jake and Serena – a toe in the water you might say. I like my sister- in-law, but she talks for England! I’m hoping that’ll fill any awkward gaps in the conversation.

Now the bell is ringing and I usher them in, take their coats and fuss with drinks. Serena is in full flight. “I haven’t seen the flat since you redecorated. It’s been ages…”

She wanders into the dining room, stops abruptly. It hasn’t changed: the walls are still scarlet, the ceiling black with the lamp hanging off-centre. We had so much fun planning that. I’ve put the little mirrored table in the corner. It’s what Jenna said she wanted to do, before she… left.

Yes, I bought it. After her last, interrupted phone call I didn’t know what to do. Then the phone rang, it was the owner of some antique shop in Brighton. He’d found a mobile, he said, and rang ‘home’, hoping to contact the person who had lost it. I went down to Brighton, of course, but it wasn’t any use. Jenna had just vanished. The only clue I had to go on was a small hand print on the glass of a dusty mirror. I was sure it was hers.

The dinner party is going well. Jake and I are exchanging stories of childhood escapades. Serena is babbling on about celebrity gossip and the latest episode of Game of Thrones.

Every now and again I glance at the mirrored table. I have covered it with stuff: an art deco table lamp, a collection of black glassware, a ‘30s cigarette lighter that Jen fell in love with, even though neither of us smokes. I can’t wait for the dinner to end.

At last they are making home-go noises. I get their coats with what I hope isn’t too much alacrity, and wave them on their way with hugs and kisses.

I go back into the dining room. Carefully I move all the stuff off the mirrored table, slowly I place my palm on the shining surface. For an instant the mirror seems to cloud, the shadow of a hand seems to brush mine.

One day, I know, I will see Jenna’s beloved face again.

I’m exceedingly partial to dogs.
I also like warthogs and frogs.
I’m really quite fond
Of the newts in the pond,
And admit to a liking for mogs.

A classical scholar said ‘Why
Should I care where I go when I die?
It’s perfectly clear
That what matters is here.
The rest is all ‘π’ in the sky.’

When you are furnishing a 1930s flat in London, you don’t really expect to find something appropriate amid the rustic pine of a Sussex antique shop.

I wasn’t really looking; I was just wandering in the Lanes of Brighton enjoying the sunshine. I turned the corner and saw a tiny, crooked, dusty shop whose name above the door read Dombey and Son. A joke? Or had I strayed on to a film set? Intrigued, I went inside. Just as I had expected: a clutter of decaying dressers with wonky legs, ‘distressed’ pine tables, mis-matchd chairs with rotting rattan seats – and everywhere that unmistakable smell of damp cardboard and forlorn hope.

And then, under several generations of dust and cobwebs I saw a faint gleam. Shoving aside a box full of books with broken spines, I excavated the object: a small table with a square-section central pedestal, covered in mirror tiles. It could have come straight from ‘The Great Gatsby’, and it was exactly what I wanted for our black and scarlet dining room. The faded label said £35. A bargain! You’d never find anything like it at that price in London.

I got my mobile phone out to call my husband. Hunting for a signal, I found a spot where a small grimy window let in some semblance of light, beside a clouded full-length mirror. ‘I think I’ve found what we’ve been looking for,’ I said excitedly, and started to describe my find.

As people will do when talking on mobiles, I roamed distractedly round the small, cluttered space, until I came face to face with the clouded mirror. Only it wasn’t clouded: it gleamed as if some parlour maid had put her very best exertions into shining it.

I saw my reflection.

Oh yes, it was me: I know my own unruly hair, the nose I despair of (though my husband, bless him, calls it characterful). I rather liked the high-necked white blouse, the long grey skirt, even the button boots were becoming. Rather different from the jeans and T-shirt I had put on that morning, though. And someone had cleaned up the junk shop. Reflected in the mirror, I saw that most of the furniture had gone, the floorboards were shining, the rugs deep and luxurious. Candles flickered on a mahogany sideboard. I swear I could smell lavender furniture polish, and I could definitely hear the gentle tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Unwisely, perhaps, I reached out. The woman – me? – held out her hand and grasped mine. Shocked, I tried to pull back, but her grip was strong.
I can still see the junk shop, though the mirror is clouding up again. As I stand in the soft candle light I can just make out something on the floor of the shop: a dropped mobile phone.

Want to know what happens next?  Watch out for The Dinner Party, coming soon.

Just in case you thought I only write about cats… If you’d like to read my short story ‘Sunset’ check out http://www.wordhaus.com on June 15th – it’s the featured romance story.  Of course, if you are a subscriber it will arrive in your in-box automatically!