Dear all,
Another short story entry I can blog as the long list has been published. Check out the competition and long/short list here:
Another short story entry I can blog as the long list has been published. Check out the competition and long/short list here:
Bath International Short Story Award 2016
(The maximum word count was 2200)
Stay in the
Shade
The day was not
for spats. It was too hot, too dry and sibling patience frayed easily in
crowds. The plan: Shop. Gift. Home.
‘I
want to say the temperature is bothersome,
is that right? Is that a word? It’s not middle class twatishness is it?’ Sarah
asked.
‘Probably,’
Jeremy replied, indifferently. He tweaked the front of his cap and felt tiny
rivers of sweat escape.
‘It
all depends who hears me anyway,’ Sarah continued, trying to see past her
reflection; her shape was clearly outlined in a shop window that was glinting a
vicious white from the sun. She missed the subtlety of his tone completely, ‘I
think people can say that without coming across posh. If I had said - one feels bothered - no, no - it’s rather bothersome - then perhaps it
could sound a little Jeeves & Wooster,’
Jeremy
ignored her postscript and stared over the waves of bobbing heads filling the
view down the retail fuelled scrum that was Oxford Street. At their current
rate it would be hours before they made it through the shops on their list.
Sarah’s extreme play of emotional blackmail earlier in the week, well rehearsed
he was sure, was the only thing that could have forced him to town on a
Saturday; the youths, the price tags, the insane squirming and sidestepping all
too much for him. In a way he was glad of Sarah’s incessant chatter, it helped
him anchor to the moment. The need to reply every so often was a pain but
manageable.
‘Would
mum like this, do you think?’ Sarah pointed to a flowery ankle length dress in
the shop window, West Country meets California hippy.
‘You
mean, would mother like this?’ Jeremy
surprised himself cracking a joke with his sister, very unusual. Stress does
funny things. Their mother’s birthday was coming up, a number to be celebrated
but not mentioned, and they had promised each other to make an effort with a
party and gifts. Their local High Street was ruled out.
‘Oooo,
yes, I like that! I wonder if mother dear
would like this?’ Sarah drawled in return.
‘If
she saw us… ’ Jeremy said, looking the dress up and down. A bit young, he
thought.
‘She’d
be shocked we made it five minutes,’
‘Yep.
I’m surprised myself.’ Jeremy said, quickly adding a smile; he didn’t want to
ruin things.
‘Do
you think we could skip the shops and just say our gift was getting on for a
day without fighting? She’d take that, I think?’ Sarah moved closer to the
window, cupped her hands over both eyes and pressed them against the glass to
cut out the glare.
‘She
would… if she believed it, maybe we should ask the shop for the CCTV as
evidence?’ Jeremy felt the sharp corner of a boutique bag dig into his ribs and
jumped forward as a chorus of girls in loose t-shirts that showed the sides of
their bodies and coloured bras ambled by. Two were in deep conversation and the
other was shouting loudly into her phone. He masked his discomfort as they
glanced back.
‘I
wouldn’t mind taking a closer look at this, do you mind if-’
‘Holy.
Shit.’ Jeremy stood motionless; shock had rooted him to the spot.
‘Jesus!
You scared the hell out of me!’ Don’t make me jump like that. It was only a
bloody pinch,’ Sarah flashed an angry look his way but immediately saw he had
turned pale, the shadow from his cap’s peak exaggerating the white of his wide
open eyes, and his hands were shaking.
‘You’re
not going to fucking believe it,’
‘Don’t
swear like that, you know I hate it. Seriously, it’s not funny, what’s wrong?’
‘Look
inside the shop,’
‘Why?
What is it?’
‘Just
look… don’t go in!’ Jeremy grabbed his sister by the elbow, frightening her
more than the tremor in his voice had. She looked up at him with unease but a lifetime
of reading his body language and seeing behind his bravado told her he was not
joking around. Whatever it was, he wasn’t pretending.
‘Okay,’ Sarah said gently, almost
soothingly. She backtracked the few steps she had taken to enter the shop and stood
next to her brother. She could feel his chest and shoulders trembling and his
discomfort was starting to panic her, ‘what am I looking at?’
‘The
man in the brown blazer,’ Jeremy flicked his head forward, his eyes fixed like
a laser.
‘Who
is it?’
‘Look!’
‘I
am looking! Who is it? Please, you’re scaring me,’
‘I
think… it’s Uncle Alistair,’
‘Uncle…
’ Sarah narrowed her eyes and studied the man in the brown blazer. Inside the
shop the sun’s intensity was curtailed by two wide signs hanging a metre inside
the doorway casting an attractively cool looking shade, ‘No, can’t be,’
‘That’s
fucking him,’
‘Jesus,’
The train waiting
to depart at Platform 1 from London Charing Cross was starting to bustle with
suburban shoppers and museum roaming families returning from their day trips.
Sarah and Jeremy had boarded as soon as it had pulled in and enjoyed the first
few minutes of the empty carriage before it gradually filled as its departure
time neared. All of the small thin windows had been pulled open, except the ubiquitous
glued shut one, and the still-open doors allowed for a nice breeze. They had
kept quiet at first, each taking a moment to rest and cool down.
‘We’re
not mad, that was him?’ Sarah eventually asked. She had taken a newspaper from
another seat and was fanning herself.
‘Definitely
him,’
‘I
don’t understand, I just-’
‘If
he’s here then dad’s got to be here,’ Jeremy said. They both faced forward and stared
at the scratches in the grey plastic-moulded seat back. He had stated what they
had both been thinking since walking away from Oxford Street.
‘I
mean… we don’t know that. It could be… ’ Sarah stalled and looked out of the
window at the row of strangers lining up on the other platform waiting for
their train. They were a cliché of over-heated weekend commuters. She watched
as one man in particular wildly flapped his sweat-stained shirt to force up
air, exposing his hairy, sagging belly.
‘He
was out shopping like he didn’t have a care in the world,’ Jeremy’s words were
full of bitterness.
‘It
was him? I mean, it definitely was him?’
‘Yes.
You know it was,’
‘I
wonder where he lives?’
‘Christ’s
sake, I’m wondering a lot of things,’
‘Okay,
calm down! Please. There’s no point in getting wound up,’
‘Sorry…
I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just, like, he’s there, getting on with his life,’
‘What
are we going to do?’
‘I…
I’m not sure. I can’t think straight,’
The
train doors beeped and shut and the final few passengers to board made their
way along the aisles looking for spaces in the overhead racks to sling their
bags and coats. The gentle acceleration from the station relieved all those starting
to get itchy and a new flow of air hit welcoming faces. As they emerged from
the station’s canopy and bright sunlight covered the train and flooded the
carriage, Sarah looked out of Jeremy’s window and saw the Thames shine.
‘Are
we going to tell mum?’
R.G Rankine
