Day 363 - Visiting

 VISITING

Prompt - Visiting : Write about visiting a family member or friend

"Well" she let a deep breath out, "that wasn't what I was expecting."

I grinned, looked back into her shining brown eyes.  "Me neither.  D'you think it was always going to happen and we just never knew?"

But it wasn't like that.  Had never been like that.  We were pals.  Confidantes.  Shoulders to cry on.  And distant, very distant, buddies.

We'd first met thirty one years ago.  She was a friend of my wee brother, she even went out with him for a bit, but it was only when he dumped her that we connected.  He hadn't even bothered to tell her, so it fell to me to serve up the bad news when she turned up at our door.  She cried, I asked her in, and we were able to agree he was a little shit.  I made her laugh.  But there was never anything more than that.  She was fifteen, I was eighteen, and never the twain shall meet. 

Over the next couple of years we bumped into each other a few times, had a chat, maybe went for a drink, and bitched about other people.  Each time we'd both be with someone else, so it felt very 'safe'.  Mates.  We started to meet up from time to time.  And when I broke up with Sandy it was Maddie I turned to for a sympathetic ear, knowing she wouldn't judge.  The same thing happened, for one or the other of us, a few times into our mid twenties.

Then I got married and Geri, my wife, couldn't grasp that me and Mads really were just the platonic friends we said we were, so, to keep the peace, I lost touch with my old sounding board, and got on with life.  A couple of years later I heard that she'd got married and moved to Canada, and that seemed to be that.  

Back then there was no social media of course.  Fast forward about sixteen years and this new digital world took a hand.  Through a mutual friend on Facebook we found one another in the comments, said hi from our respective sides of the Atlantic, caught up on what had been happening in our disparate lives.  It was nice to hear from her again, and the distance meant that  Geri felt unthreatened.

So when my marriage fell apart it had nothing to do with Maddie.  I messed that up perfectly well by myself.  It's not my thing to go over-sharing in public, but again Mads heard about my situation from someone else on Facebook.  Her messages were sympathetic, to the point, just what I needed.  The old Mads, like she'd never been away.  We took to having online chats from time to time, and it felt good to have her back in my life, even if only virtually.

But it still came as a shock when I realised it was her video calling.  She had news she needed to share and, even though she had plenty friends in Toronto, I was the one she felt she needed to share with.  Doug, her husband, had died suddenly.  She cried, and there was that fifteen year old girl on my doorstep again.  We talked until after one in the morning my time, before she suddenly realised how late it must be.  As if I cared.

The chats became a regular thing, every couple of days.  There were daily message exchanges.  Apart from the need to cram it all into a brief time window, it was almost like having her back.  Just the shoulders missing.

Six weeks ago she told me she had a surprise, but it would have to stay that way for now, and she might not be in touch as much for a bit.  Which she wasn't.  I thought we didn't have secrets, so this was really irritating me, but I had to try and trust her.  Which was definitely the right thing to do.

One day I get a message asking if I'll be available to talk at eight that evening, she had something big to tell me.  Sure, why not, it wasn't like I had much else in my life.  The appointed hour came, I sat with my laptop, awaiting the call, and her face on the screen.  Hearing the doorbell was annoying, I didn't need the interruption to what sounded like it could be an important moment.  But the person outside wasn't taking the hint, and rang and rang again, and banged and banged.  And shouted through the letterbox.  That voice...

I leapt up and there she was.  On my doorstep again, like she was thirty one years before, but this time there was no bad news.  I got out my whats and whys and hows and she shut me up, gave me a hug and invited herself in, bottle in hand.  

It was a long night.  So much to say, so much to take in.  She'd moved back, home at last, found a place for now that was about a twenty minute walk from mine.  We cycled through the emotions, laughed, cried, held one another, laughed some more.  Held some more.  Neither showing any sign of letting go.  So we didn't, but got closer, closer than we'd ever been, and were soon tearing clothes off and making love like it was ordained.  

"Always?  Don't think so.  Or maybe.  I don't know.  I'm glad we did though.  Eventually."

"A lot better than your first visit to my doorstep, eh?"

Day 362 - Camera

 CAMERA

Prompt - Camera : Take your camera for a walk and write based on one of the photographs you take

A few people looked at you a bit oddly, but there was nothing going to make her remove it.  Not for that short distance, not when she'd, for once, managed to get it to be so perfect.  There had been the usual scramble as she had caught the bus down, when she'd had to run to get on.  Trying to juggle mask and card and not drop anything and she still made it.  Not only made it, but hit the holy grail of the covid pandemic.  At least that's what it was for people who had to wear glasses.

Only when she got in her seat on the top deck had she realised the happy accident.  No readjustments, no removal and wiping, no squinting.  Simply perfect.  And there, then, her decision was made.  It wasn't coming off until she was finished with it.  And if that meant wearing it outside, and risking those looks, then so be it.

She'd got off the bus, gone into the butcher, got served, and walked on to the supermarket.  The miracle continued in there, without her having to think about it.  She got her shopping, and walked back to get the bus home.  That was when she got the odd looks.  But so what?  It did give you an extra bit of safety, a sense of security, and that was worth a lot these days.  And it did keep you a bit warmer in that chill wind she was facing into.  But those were just side benefits.  She kept on wearing her face mask for one reason only - she'd managed to hit the sweet spot which meant a perfect seal, and not a hint of misting on her glasses.  In these days of covid, these strange years of 2020 and 2021, that was as good as it got.  Take your joys and victories where you can.  

Day 361 - Detective

 DETECTIVE

Prompt - Detective : Write about a detective searching for clues or solving a mystery

"Not much more for us to do then.  We'll be off unless there's anything more you need to ask us? 

 And if you're going to be OK?"

"No, that's fine thanks, I'll be OK.  Bit shaken of course, but I'm going to call a friend for a chat and she'll sort me out."

Sara McKenzie wasn't so sure.  But that was the trouble with Bob, always in a rush, always wanting to get away.  Always missing things.  "We might just need to stay a bit longer.  There are a couple of things I'd like to check, if that's OK with you?"  She made sure Bob knew the question was aimed at him as much as Carol Green.

It was Carol Green who had led to them being at 14 Welton Crescent.  She was the one who'd dialled 999, said she'd found her aunt dead in her armchair.  Bob and Sara were the nearest squad car out, so they got there first, a couple of minutes before the paramedics, and ten before Sally Marshall's GP had arrived.  He'd confirmed the fact of death, and was confident the causes were consistent with suicide.  The paramedics agreed.  A coroner might want a post mortem, but in the face of such overwhelming evidence, it seemed unlikely.  The empty pills bottle was on the table beside Sally's chair, and she had sent out messages on email and Facebook that could be seen as a final farewell.  Where was the doubt?  

For Bob there was none, and he was annoyed that Sara was suggesting there was more to be done.  But he knew what she was like, and there would be no point in arguing.  best to go along with her for now. 

"What things Sair?  Don't you think we've covered it all?"  Hopeful.

"Just a couple of anomalies in my head.  Probably nothing, but best cover everything, eh?  I'll call Nira first, there was something she said that's nagging me."  Sara walked outside into the front garden to make her call.  She and Nira had met on a few call outs, had always clicked, and trusted each other.  

"Hi, Nira Sawathi."

"Nira, it's Sara."

"Hi sara, everything OK?  Did we leave something behind?"

"No, it was something you said.  And, if I'm honest, the look on your face.  When Dr Graham said  that Sally had been dead about two hours you queried it.  I know he said he was sure, but you still looked doubtful.  Why was that?"

"Oh, I'd checked the body before he got there and the temperature was way below what it would have been after that short of a time.  I reckoned she'd been dead at least twice as long as that, maybe more.  And I don't usually get these things wrong."

"No, I know.  And it's got me wondering why he was so sure.  Did you get the feeling he and Carol Green knew each other better than they were letting on?"

"Mmm, maybe.  He was quick to call her Carol."

"And I know he introduced himself as George Graham, but she seemed to latch on to the George bit pretty quick too.  Most people still tend to be a bit more deferential to doctors."

"Maybe she's not most people?  She seemed pretty casual about it all.  Her distress didn't seem to last long."

"Or seem genuine.  I think I've got a few more questions to ask.  Thanks Nira, see you again some time."

"Sure, any time.  Cheers."

Sara went back inside to find Carol and Bob discussing football.  Grief stricken she was not.

"Ms Green, can we just over the story again please?  I want to be sure I've got it all."

"Oh.  OK.  If you really need to to.  Bob here seems to think we're done."

"I'm sure Bob won't mind if we have a quick recap, to be sure of the facts.  It's all been a bit quick and you had a huge shock.  Can we sit down and you can tell me again what happened."  Sara sat down with every indication of immovability.  The others followed reluctantly, accompanied by a loud sigh from PC Robert Johns.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Just talk us through what happened.  What made you come over here?"

"I got an email from Aunt Sally saying her pains were bad and she had decided to put an end to them.  That sounded a bit odd so I called her, didn't get an answer, and decided to drive over."

"That's the email you showed me, which was sent at..."  Sara checked her notebook "14.09.  And I saw in your phone that you had called Ms Marshall at 14.37, but didn't get an answer.  Where were you when you made the call?"

"I was at home in Linton."

"Why did it take you so long to call after the email?"

"I... hadn't checked my mails I suppose.  I was busy doing some banking stuff so I was concentrating on that."

"And how soon after that did you leave?"

"Oh, probably only about ten or fifteen minutes.  It seemed a bit odd at first, then I started to worry.  Sally always answered her phone."

"And when did you arrive here?"  Bob looked on despairingly, dramatically checking his watch.  Sara ignored him.

"Couldn't say exactly.  About half three maybe?"

"So it took you about forty minutes to drive here?  Was there much traffic?"

"Yes, quite a bit, slow going.  Frustrating when I felt it could be urgent."  Sara could see Bob perk up suddenly, a sign he was beginning to think.  She paused for a few seconds, letting Carol's answer percolate.  The dead woman's niece looked uncomfortable for the first time, as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't decide what was best.

TO BE CONTINUED

Day 359 - Garage

 GARAGE

Prompt - Garage : Write about some random item you might find in a garage

"But it's Xmas Eve!"

"I know Rob, but this guy made it sound like it was really urgent, really important.  Says he needs to be underway tonight or a lot of people are going to suffer."

"And you believe that?!  It's always urgent, always important, isn't it?  What's so different this time?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure.  He just seemed like he meant it, and I believed him.  Sometimes you have to follow your instincts.  So will you stay or not?  I've let Joe and Pavel go home, they've got kids.  But you and me are OK, aren't we?  I'll buy you a pint after."

"Aye, alright.  You've got me wanting to know who this guy is now, and what's so important.  What did he say his name was?  He's not one of our regulars?"

"Kringle.  With a K.  Never heard of him before.  Said it was something unusual and we said we'd tackle anything so we sounded like the people he needed.  That a lot of people needed."

"Eh?  Weird name, and who are all these other people then?  Will they pay?"  Rob laughed at his own poor joke.

"We'll find out soon enough, said he'll be here in ten.  At least we've got plenty space after all we got through today.  Let's see if we can make for one more contented customer.  It'll look good on the online reviews, eh?"

They turned as a deep voice boomed across to them from the garage door.  "Hello, is one of you Dougie?"

"Aye, that'll be me.  Are you Mr Kringle?"

"That's right, but just call me Kris.  With a K.  Can I bring my vehicle in for you to have a look?"

"Sure.  You never said exactly what it was though.  Be best if it's a model we already know our way around, we've not got all night."

"No, I need to be back out soon.  Going to have to fly, or there will be a lot of disappointed faces.  But I'm sorry, it isn't something you've seen before.  Bit of a one-off really."

"OK, bring her in."  The man turned and left.  Rob looked at Dougie with raised eyebrows.  "What?"

"He's a bit... weird, eh?"

"Different.  Like his car."

"But you don't think it's a bit odd?  Xmas Eve?  Old guy coming in with a strange bit of kit.  Old guy who's kinda tubby, with a big white beard and curly white hair?  Ring any bells?"

Dougie stared at Rob.  He couldn't tell if he was joking or not.  Rob looked back at him with an expression that said he wasn't.  Their staring was interrupted by a whooshing noise and suddenly there was a vehicle in the middle of the floor.  They looked.  They looked at each other, mothes open.  They looked back at Kringle's ride.  Neither had any words.

The 'car' was a ... what was it?  A sort of sleigh?  About the size of a Transit, with sparkling red paintwork and strange looking pods on the side.  There was only one seat, mounted dead centre, and from this the white haired man emerged.  He smiled encouragingly at them.  Dougie recovered first.

"What's the actual problem Mr Kringle?"

"And what the hell is that?" added Rob.

"I did say you wouldn't have seen one before.  Only one of its kind.  Do you think you can help?  One of the runners has split."  He bent down to point out the full length metal strip that ran the full length of the vehicle."

"What does it do?" Rob asked tentatively, "If you've got the wheels what does the slider thingy do?"

Kringle bristled.  "The wheels won't get me very far young man, and I've got a long, long way to go tonight.  Can you help me or not?  Your blurb says you'll tackle anything.  Well, do you or not?"

"Of course we do, so let me have a look" said a mollifying Dougie.  He bent to examine the damage runner, could see the split about a third of the way back and around twenty centimetres long.  Could easily catch on something and rip off the whole unit if it was going along the ground.  he went round to look at the other runner, to confirm how it should look, and put his hand to his chin, gave it an oily rub.  It looked like the wheels could be retracted, so maybe this thing really did run along on snow.  He looked inside at the driving position and saw nothing much he recognised.  "We could do with putting it up on the ramp.  Maybe you could drive it on for us please."

Rob looked at Dougie in shock.  It was a big rule of the garage that customers didn't drive on to the ramp, there'd been too many accidents before.  Dougie looked back and raised his eyebrows, gave a shrug, saying this was different.  

Guided by Dougie, the old man manoeuvred the sleigh on to the ramp, it was raised up and the guys got under to take a better look.  Kringle was directed to sit in the 'waiting room', a tiny adjunct to the grubby office with more girlie calendars than chairs.

The underside was like nothing they've ever seen before, smoothly sculpted to be highly aerodynamic , though whether to generate lift or downforce wasn't clear.  They examined the runner that was in good nick, before having a closer look at the damaged one.  The surface clearly needed to be ultra smooth, slippery, sculpted to blend in with the undamaged surfaces.  Dougie went back to the customer.

"We're not really a body shop Mr Kringle, and if we do try something I'm not sure we'll be able to make as good a job of it as you... want."  He'd been going to say 'need', but did he really know what this old man needed?  Wasn't he making too many assumptions?

"But you can try?  You really are my last resort, and, as I said, so many depend on me getting out tonight."

"We can try.  No promises.  It's trying to find the right bit of material to patch it with, and making a decent job of it.  But we'll give it a go."  He went back to Rob.  "OK, let's see what we can think of.  The cracks just a bit too wide to weld shut, so we need to patch it - agreed?"  Rob nodded.  "So what can we use?"

"I've no idea what this metal is, but I'm sure we've nothing like it here.  Would any of those scrap body panels do the job?"

"Maybe.  I'll have a look through them, you scout round the place and see if anything else offers itself."  So Rob went on the hunt, while Dougie found some scraps from some panels they'd had to cut up.  But none of them were fine enough, the metal too thick to fit, and requiring too much work to taper.  

"Will this do?"  Rob held up a chrome strip from a seventies Humber they'd been restoring.  the owner had wanted it chrome free, so they had quite a bit of it.  Dougie looked at the strip, held it up against the gash.

"I think you might be a genius, Robbie boy.  Let's give it a go."  

Cutting, hammering, welding, smoothing, they managed to fill the gap and create a good runner surface.  With the rest of the runner shiny from use the chrome hardly looked out of place at all.  

"Mr Kringle, would you like to come and take a look?"  The old man was surprisingly spritely in jumping up to follow Dougie.  "We've done the best we can sir.  Can't guarantee how long it'll hold, but it should do as a stopgap.  Have you got far to go?"

"Round and about you know, round and about.  But only for one night.  If it lasts that long then the job's done.  Well done gentlemen, I knew I could rely on you.  How much do a owe you?"

"Call it a hundred, if that's OK with you."

"A bargain gentlemen, for such a service to humanity."  He pulled a fat wallet from within his voluminous jacket and counted out seven twenty pound notes.  "You deserve a little bonus my friends.  I thank you, as will every child around the world."  Kringle got into the sleigh, manipulated the controls and slid smoothly backwards out of the garage, waving enthusiastically as he went.  

"Well, that was different."

"Different?  Weird you mean.  The old guy's a bit cracked, eh?"  Rob remained suspicious.  

"Yeah, well, can't argue about it now.  We got him sorted, another happy customer, and a bit of extra cash too.  Oh bugger, I forgot to ask him to leave a review.  I asked him to write down his details while he waited so maybe we can get in touch with him."  They went into the waiting area but the form was blank.  On each seat sat a box, neatly wrapped and bowed in blue and silver.  "And he must have left these by accident.  Will they give us any clues?"

There was a label on each box, but all they said was 'Douglas' on one, and 'Robert' on the other.  They looked at each other wide eyed, and rushed out into the street.  The sleigh was already gone, but a noise overhead made them look up.  And there it was, the driver now brightly dressed in red and white.  And there it wasn't, suddenly vanishing as if transported, and all that was left behind was a booming jolly laugh.

Day 357 - Gamble

 GAMBLE

Prompt - Gamble : Be inspired by a casino or lottery ticket

"Twenty eight."

His age when they'd married.  Bill tried to concentrate.  In twenty seven years of playing the lottery, ever since it first began, they'd had one of their numbers come up first a couple of times a year.  Nancy had been the one to make the announcements, giving a running commentary on their progress or otherwise.  He'd got so used to it that it had become hard for him to follow what was happening on his own.

"Fifty one."

That was one of theirs too, the number of their first house.  He wondered how often they'd had two of theirs come up first?  She would have known instantly, been telling him before he'd even framed the question.  

"Nine."

Bill felt flustered.  He could only remember this happening once before, but maybe she'd have put him right.  Nine was the number of cats they'd had when they were choosing their numbers all those years ago.  The same numbers they'd stuck with since that very first draw, the fear of making a change increasing year on year.  Once you'd memorised them, been able to recite them every Saturday, there's no way to forget them.  And if those six came up after you'd made a change?  Well, you couldn't live with yourself, could you?  So here they were with those same six numbers after almost three decades.  He was, he corrected himself.  He was.  As in alone.

"Twenty two."

Bloody hell.  The age Nancy was when they got married in '71.  Bright, vivacious, always teasing him, but always caring.  Not just for him but for everyone in her orbit.  That's the way she was.  That's how she remained.  Until those final eight months as mind and body went into decline with a rapidity that left him breathless, gasping to catch up with the changes that her disease imposed on them both.  

"Forty nine."

Nancy Campbell, née Dryden, eighteenth November 1949 to twenty third October 2021.  That's where the forty nine came from.  Five numbers drawn, five numbers matching.  He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  If she'd been here they'd have been holding hands, holding breath, her eyes shining with the excitement of the moment, on the edge of a whoop or a groan.  There was only his birth year to go.  He'd been two years older than her when they met, and they'd clicked immediately.  Fifty years together, ups and downs, moments of joy, fear, wonder, worry, peace, passion.  His Nancy.

"Forty seven."

Bill looked at the screen in disbelief.  And wept as he had never wept before.

Day 355 - Spellbound

 SPELLBOUND

Prompt - Spellbound : Write about a witch's spell

I'd known Susie and Derek for nearly thirty years.  Susie was one of my oldest friends.  Derek was... Susie's husband.  Allegedly.  As the years went by I saw less and less of him, and more and more of her.  They were a couple, of a sort, but lived increasingly separate lives.  I felt sorry for her.

Which is why when I saw Derek in Next I wondered who the hell he was with.  He 

was shuttling between the dress racks and the changing rooms, picking an item off the rack, handing it to the shop assistant at the sanctum door, then solemnly standing and checking his phone until he suddenly jerked into alertness and went off to seek and return the next item of clothing.  I saw him take over five different dresses in this manner, and decided to wait and see who would emerge from inside with possible purchases.

It was Susie.  She came out with two dresses in hand, passed them to an eager looking Derek, and he headed off to the tills to make the purchase, while his wife went back to browsing.  This was... unexpected.  Confusing.  And very much something to be investigated.  I approached from behind.

"Oh, hi Suse, good to see you.  Looking for something special, or just having a shufti?"

"Joan, hello, good to see you too.  Just getting a few things for my weekend away.  We're off to Glasgow to spend a couple of days with my sister."

"We?"  

Susie grinned.  "Me and Derek."  She waited for my reaction.

"I thought Derek hated Carol and never wanted to see her again?  He wasn't all that keen on Alistair either if I remember right."

"Ah, that was the old Derek.  You haven't met the new, improved model.  Ah, here he comes now.  Let me introduce you."  She was enjoying herself.  Derek approached, bag in hand, and headed straight for his wife like a puppy seeking a dog treat.  

"Do you want me to hold on to these, or should I put them in the car then come back in case there's anything else you need?"  I searched for at least an undercurrent of sarcasm, but all I was getting was a very flat sincerity.

"Put them in the car for me dear, then come back.  There may be more I want you to buy."

"OK dear."  He was almost gone, but Susie called him back.

"Derek.  You remember Joan, don't you?"

"Of course.  delighted to see you Joan.  I hope you're keeping well, and give my regards to Ronnie.  Excuse me, I just need to put these safely in the car."  And he was gone, leaving me open mouthed, wordless.  I turned to the grinning, almost purring Susie.  

"What do you think?"

"He's... changed ... not at all ... totally... what...?"  I didn't know where to begin.  How could such a miraculous transformation occur?

"Amazing, isn't it?  And, well, it's not perfect, but it's so much better than it was.  And you want to know how it came about, don't you?"

"You have got me wondering."  Composure recovered, I opted for understatement.  

"Tell you what, I just want to get another top.  let me grab something, get Derek to buy it and I can send him home while we go to Costa.  Got some time to hear the story?"

Send??  "I think I can spare you an hour or so."  I might have exploded otherwise.  

Derek returned, then toddled off obediently, having bought a rather flashy gold top, and we went for our coffee.  And Susie told her tale.  There was a lot about what Derek had been like, how terrible he'd been to live with, most of which i already knew.  And she knew I knew.  But she was enjoying building the suspense, so I let her get on with it.  Things became more interesting when she brought up the subject of Gloria Beckwith.  I don't think I'm being unfair in saying that Gloria was well known as one of the local weirdos.  Every community needs them.  People who seem to be everywhere but never for any reason, always on their way to something indeterminate, but never in any hurry, and feeling free to shout anything in their head at passers by.  Gloria specialised in curses.  There were plenty ready to call her The Witch, but I didn't know if she was even aware of it.  Turned out she was, and not for the reasons you might think.

Susie had bumped into Gloria outside The Volunteer.  Literally, having stumbled herself she'd crashed into the unfortunate soul, knocking her over.  Profuse apologies followed, and a rash offer to take Gloria into the pub for a drink.

"Best thing I ever did in my life" she glowed.  Several G&Ts later they emerged, arm in arm, laughing like they'd been friends for life.  A plot had been hatched.

Three days later Susie engineered for Derek to meet Gloria, and have her life transmuted into gold.  But if I hadn't seen Derek for myself I wouldn't have believed a word of the tale.  Turned out Gloria was more than happy to be The Witch because she was a witch.  A real witch.  Who could, when the circumstances justified the effort, cast real witch spells.  She didn't do this very often, for it had a way of leading to trouble sometimes, so she admitted she wasn't as well practiced as she'd like to be, but when she heard about Susie's life she did think she'd be able to do something.  If Susie was willing to accept the risks she'd give it a go.  Since the risks mostly seemed to involve the possibility of some harm to Derek, Susie thought them more than justified.

Which is how Derek came to be under a spell that Gloria had concocted to make him a more malleable, obedient, husband.

"So is he always like that?  You know, how I just saw him?"

"Always.  Although Gloria can't guarantee how long it'll last for and what will happen to him when it starts to decrease in power."

"And you're happy with him like that?"  I was trying to imagine Ronnie as a blindly obedient automaton, and wasn't happy with the images it brought up.  We thrived on a bit of conflict.

"Look, I know it's not perfect.  And I don't think I'd want him that way for ever.  But it's still an improvement, eh?  And I might as well enjoy it while I can.  Plus it's totally put him off sex, so there's that bonus too."  I could see that not having to have the globular Derek on top would be an incentive.

"As long as you feel you know what you're doing.  And can cope when he returns to.. whatever.  He might even be worse."

"Or maybe he'll be better.  Gloria thinks some of it will stick.  I'll take my chances.  And I'll have a great wardrobe by then."

There was little more to be said, and we parted still friends, but with me expressing some concerns for her future.  All the same, when she offered me Gloria's number, I did wonder.  What would I ask her to change about Ronnie?  But what would be the point.  He could be a pain in the arse.  But he was my pain in the arse.  I didn't want witchcraft to change that.

Day 354 - Turning Point

 TURNING POINT

Prompt - Turning Point : Write about a point in life where things turned for the better or worse

I'd been awake, but not awake, for about three days.  After twelve days in a coma the doctors thought it a significant improvement.  I wasn't so sure.  Total unconsciousness kept me away from thinking, and the thoughts that I had now were the sort I would have struggled to cope with even if I was fully alert.  But my half asleep state, flitting in and out of awareness, I didn't have the power to resist.  

So it was I found myself revisiting moments from my past, both recent and distant, that had defined how I would end up in this hospital bed, recovering from the bullet which had shattered my left shoulder, and the brain damage incurred when that projectile hurled me back down the stairs I'd just run up.  Now I looked, over and over, at the bad decisions that had taken me into that multi story, to be taken out by a member of a rival gang.  They were not the highlights I wanted to see, but the ones that what had survived of my conscience wanted me to see.

I saw myself, aged fourteen, allowing myself to be persuaded into running small drug deliveries around the estate.  Yes, I was just a kid, but one bright enough to have a pretty good idea of what I was getting into.  There were enough examples of how to get it all wrong, including my own big brother.  From there it might be seen as inevitable that I'd end up here, or dead, but I knew better.  That along the way there were times when I could have said no, could have got out.  I always thought about it.  I always took what seemed like the easier path.

I could have said that I didn't want to go on drugs pickups to the coast.  I could have said that I wouldn't carry a gun.  I could have said that I didn't want to coerce those desperate women into selling their bodies.  I should have said no.  I didn't, and new here I was.  Half conscious, under police guard, safe.  For the moment.  I needed time.  I needed hours of being aware, of getting mentally sharper and thinking through my situation.  In my most lucid moments I wondered if I could fake the ins and outs of wakefulness I'd been experiencing, to buy myself a bit of time.  To let me work it out.

Because I knew one thing, the underlying theme behind that showreel of my errors.  I didn't want to be that guy any more.  It wasn't who I wanted to be.  And getting shot wasn't an experience I fancied repeating.  My life was going to change, and it was going to happen here, in this bed.  

Day 350 - Teamwork

 TEAMWORK

Prompt - Teamwork : Write about working with a team towards a common goal

The pools were closed, the votes being counted.  Exit polls, hints, wishes, dictated our minds towards the likely result.  the one we wanted, needed desperately, or to be disappointed again, only more so, as we were in 2014?  We had done our bit.  Now we had to wait.  It was late, dawn wouldn't be far off, but nobody wanted to leave, not without some hint as towards the outcome.

So we hung about, tried to party, but too nervous for that.  Too tired.  This group had been together now, in the most part, for almost a year.  We had been part of the campaign strategy decisions.  We had wept blood over the wording of communications.  We had phoned, mailed, emailed, post on social media.  Persuaded, cajoled, influenced, argued.  Long days, long meetings, late nights and early mornings.  Coffee and smiles and words of encouragement.  Pitching in together when required, irrespective of role, place in the (fluid) hierarchy, age, gender, race, sexuality etc.  We were a team.  We had bonded in the pursuit of our common goal, common passion.  Independence for our country.  

There were mumbled conversations, occasional laughs.  A barking sneeze silenced the room and brought on a communal giggle.  We needed something, anything, to break the tension for a bit, and that was as good as we were likely to get.  There was a sense of satisfaction that we'd done our best.  And a sense of frustration not knowing if it was enough.  A sense of fear that we might have failed again, despite all the polls in the run up to the day.  

At this time in the small hours we all knew one thing.  Whatever the outcome we were all in this together.  So there would be group hugs, group tears, before we'd drift off to our beds.  Or, more likely, group celebrations, adrenaline fuelled, knowing we had done what was required of us by our country.  And by each other.  

There was a loud shhhh from across the room, the multiplied then died away to reveal one voice, projecting from the suddenly loud TV.  This was to be our first real indication.  We all held hands.

Day 349 - Magnetic

 MAGNETIC

Prompt - Magnetic : Write about attraction to something or someone

"Oh, bugger!"

The exclamation was accompanied by the sound of a tin rolling it's way along the pavement towards Stewart's feet.   He bent down, picked it up, looked at the label.  Butter beans.  He liked butter beans, thought he should really have them more often.  But he'd better return these to their owner.  The woman who'd sworn was looking at the burst bag in her hand which had released its contents on to the tarmac.  

"Can I help you with that?"  The woman looked up at him and he had a chance to examine her properly.  He'd already noticed how well she filled out her jeans, that her red shiny boots gave a welcome quirk to her outfit, and that her blue jacket had a military cut to it.  Now he turned his attention to her face, and that gave him a strange feeling.  Did they know each other?  Where from?  She was so familiar, but hard to pin down.  A lovely face, a soft, warm face, oval of shape with a stub nose, full mouth and dark eyes, framed by a chestnut bob.  It was a face he both knew and wanted to know.  

"Bloody bags.  I usually have at least a couple of the canvas ones with me, but today I swapped my bag," she said, vaguely indicating her crossbody handbag, "and left them in the other one.  These paper supermarket bags are rubbish if you'd got anything the slightest bit damp to carry."

She stopped talking, looked at Stewart properly for the first time.  And smiled a smile that made him feel wobbly.  "Thank you.  It's been that sort of day." she said as she took the tin from him.

"Let me see if I can make it a better one then."  The words fell out of him before he could stop them.  Did he really just say something that corny?  Was he going to ruin this before it began?  "Do you not have another bag, because I'm like you, always have a couple of those canvas things on me, just in case.  You can have one if it would help."

"Oh I couldn't."  Why am I saying this she thought, because I definitely could.  Would.  This man seemed so familiar, but where from?  Lovely black curly hair, that hint of stubble that always worked for her, looking slim in his grey jacket and blue jeans.  Almost elegant, except that there was something windblown about him.  And, she'd automatically noticed as he proffered the tin, no ring on his finger.

"You sure?"  He tired to make it sound like she'd be doing him a favour.

"Well, if it's not a problem.  Thanks, that would be really great."  Then, as an afterthought, "I'll owe you one."  Was she being too obvious?

He brought a bag out from his pocket, unfolded it, so she could read the words on the side - Left Field Shuffle.  "You like them?"

"Eh?"  He looked at the bag.  "Oh yeah, love them.  They were giving these out free at the concert in Grandfield.  Great gig.  Were you there?"  Was this where he knew her from?

"No, missed out.  Had to be away for work.  I was really pissed off about it because I've wanted to see them for so long.  Now you've made me jealous."

"Aw, don't be, they'll be back.  Maybe we'll both be there."  That really did sound like he was pushing too hard.  "You know, like, if we were both going to the same gig, you know."  Now he sounded pathetic.

She laughed.  Nice laugh he thought, I want to make her laugh more.  

"I know what you mean."  

Did she?  Was that good or bad?

"Let me help get these up."  If in doubt, resort to doing something.  They both squatted, reaching for the scattered shopping and putting it in the bag.  Hands met over a cauliflower.  "Sorry."

"No, it's fine, really it's fine."  The final items made their way into the bag.

"I like cauliflower.  And butter beans."  Oh jeez, he was sounding like a child again.  "I mean they just happen to be stuff I like."  Stop It! he told himself.

"Making cauli and butter bean curry tonight.  Supposed to be chickpeas but I think this is better."  She stopped, started again without considering.  "Just for myself."  As if he really needed to know this information.  

"I'm Stewart by the way."

"Lorna.  Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I thought that.  Like I already knew you from somewhere before."

"Where do you work?"  They exchanged employment details, the areas where they lived, the sort of places they went to.  And found there were several in common, so maybe they had, maybe they hadn't.  

"Look, am I stopping you getting somewhere?"  He realised this was a dangerous question.  Why was he giving her an out?

"No, not really, just on my way home."

"Oh, me too.  So would you have, em, well, would you like..."

"To go for a drink now?"

"Yes, yes that's what I was going to say."

"I thought you were, although it's a bad habit finishing off other people's "

"Sentences?"

They laughed.  Together.  They went to the pub.  Together.  And they thought about having a cauli and butter bean curry.  Together.  They already knew there'd be so much more.

Day 347 - Classic Rock

 CLASSIC ROCK

Prompt - Classic Rock : Pick a classic rock love ballad and rewrite it into a story or poem

The song is Love Hurts by Nazareth

#Love hurts, love scars

Love wounds and marks#

Dan McCafferty's sandpaper vocals needed to rub the edge of Sandy's despair.  Although maybe the whisky helped more.  He took another gulp, the sting in his throat preparing the tear ducts for what was to come.

#Any heart

Not tough or strong enough

To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain#

He was wounded.  Marked.  He thought he'd be tough enough. Strong too.  But it still hurt when she told him.

#Love is like a cloud

Holds a lot of rain

Love hurts

Ooh, ooh, love hurts#

He'd been rained on.  Golder shower more like.  She'd pissed on him.  Drenched him in the downpour of rejection.  Play rained off.  Play postponed indefinitely.  Play was now a memory, a past without future.

#I'm young, I know, but even so

I know a thing or two

I learned from you

I really learned a lot, really learned a lot#

But he wasn't young.  Middle age had settled in him like dry rot, so that now he was flaky, crumbly, in danger of collapse.  This wasn't supposed to hit you like this when you were fifty odd, was it?  He remembered the knock backs he suffered when he was young, but they didn't hurt like this, did they?  Maybe for a few days, but he bounced back, reassembled himself, walked on into the next bit of life.  But when you're past the half century you know.  That the next bit might be the last bit, that there aren't so many chances left, that it all has to count now, for you don't know how long you've got.  Already this year he'd heard of the death of two guys he'd known in school.  It made you think, he thought.  Think that there had been all those years, and experiences, and people and friends and lovers, but had he really learned a lot?  If he'd really learned then why was he like this now?

#Love is like a flame

It burns you when it's hot

Love hurts

Ooh, ooh, love hurts#

He'd been burned, and no matter how much he cried now the flame was going to be hard to douse down.  Forever charred at the edges.

#Some fools think of happiness

Blissfulness, togetherness

Some fools fool themselves, I guess

They're not foolin' me#

Tears flowed in response to the singer's high pitched angst.  He'd let himself be fooled.  He'd wanted to be, hadn't he?  Maybe he'd even needed to be.  After so long without hope it wasn't possible to keep the fences up for long.  Wires snapped , fence posts bent, gaps became gaping holes.  She'd walked in, walked over, walked off.  

#I know it isn't true

I know it isn't true

Love is just a lie

Made to make you blue

Love hurts

Ooh, ooh, love hurts

Ooh, ooh, love hurts#

Harmonies gave way to the wailing, piercing guitar, the sob strings that released a strangled wail from his throat, made shoulders rise and fall like he was on those strings.  

#I know it isn't true

I know it isn't true

Love is just a lie

Made to make you blue

Love hurts

Ooh, ooh, love hurts

Ooh, ooh, love hurts

Ooh, ooh...#

He thought he'd loved.  He thought he'd been loved.  He should have listened to Dan

He pressed Replay.

Day 346 - Underground

 UNDERGROUND

Prompt - Underground : Imagine living in a home underground and use that as inspiration for writing

You can't see me here.  You don't know that 'here' exists.  I want to keep it that way.  There are bad people out there, people who would do bad things to me if they could only find me.  So I remain hidden, in an obscure district of an unexceptional city.  Underground.

It happened like this.  I visited this place many years ago, on a tour of disused nuclear bunkers (I was always a strange young man).  This one stuck in my head for the long discussion I had with the guide about how much work it might take to fully reactivate the place.  I asked that in all the bunkers I went to (seven in all, since you ask), and this was the only one which seemed simple enough to make habitable.  There was electric power, unmetered it seemed, running water, working sanitation and drainage.  There were beds and showers and fridges and freezers. 

 Ventilation shafts would require a lot of work to function, so, for tour purposes, the unfiltered shafts leading to the nearby river bank had been uncovered.  Temperature wise it felt tolerable, although my questioning suggested there might be extremes of both hot and cold depending on weather conditions.

At the time this was all based around a nerdy fascination for that tense Cold War period that had spawned these creations.  At the time I didn't know, couldn't begin to imagine, that this information would save my life.  And not from H bombs.

It's a long story.  I'll keep it short.  I'll keep out the worst, you don't need to know that.  But I've made mistakes in my life.  Too many mistakes.  Mistakes that brought me here.  The wrong people leading to the wrong life.  Get rich quick, get out quick, I thought.  But once you're in with these people the getting out becomes more difficult, and it was them who got rich.  That pissed me off, made me rash.  I tried to be smarter than everyone and ended up hiding from them all.

I worked for an organised crime gang.  We had powerful rivals that were a constant threat.  I devised a plan to bring them together, unknowingly, so that they would fight, I walked off with the already-laundered cash they both thought they were coming for, and tipped off the police.  It all seemed so perfect.  It wasn't.

The rivals didn't fight, but quickly figured out who had brought them face to face.  The police arrived to find nothing going on, except a bunch of guys who they thought hated one another, but were united in saying that I had been responsible for three murders, and they had evidence.  Liars.  I'd only murdered once.

So there I was with a big case of cash, two gangs out to kill me, and the police ready to charge me.  If only my overconfidence hadn't got the better of me, I could have been out of the country and away.  By the time I realised my passport details were known to every customs officer.  My face and name was spreading through the underworld, district to district, city to city.  Honour among thieves.  I had nowhere to go.

Except here.  I knew the tours had stopped, had read that the bunkers had either been closed up, or converted into luxury holiday apartments for weirdos.  A bit of internet searching in a library helped me find out that the one I remembered the best had been closed up four years ago, and didn't appear to be used or inspected on any regular basis.  It was worth a try.

I travelled by bus, always short hops, always changing direction.  Checked it out cautiously.  The surface entrances were both sealed closed.  It would have taken explosives to shift them, and calling attention to myself was not on the agenda.  The ventilation shafts looked as impregnable as you'd expect from the purpose they had been designed for.  My last hope were the shafts on the river bank.

It took me a couple of days to find them, for I never wanted to be seen in one place for too long.  Invisible from the opposite bank, set darkly into the clay above the water, they were only found by scrambling down the banking, hanging on to the tree roots and bushes that also provided me with concealment.  Once found I then had the task of working out the tools I'd need to get in, which might change as I got down further, hit more obstacles.  Finally I'd had to hope that nobody had closed off either of the huge airtight shutters that would seal in the occupants in the event of radiation in the atmosphere.  They'd have left them open to keep the place aired, wouldn't they?

Cutters of various weights, screwdrivers, a cordless drill, a crowbar, sundry other tools, had to be purchased, each one in a different town, and conveyed, as inconspicuously as possible.  All while avoiding the possible gaze of police or criminals in on the story.  It took almost two weeks.  I feared that I was wasting my time.  But, without any better options being apparent, I kept at it.  With eventual success.  

You can't see me here.  Nobody knows that anyone is down here.  I am safe.  For now.  I shop for food at night, I stay underground most of the time.  Unless I have some very bad luck, or someone decides this place needs to be inspected, I have a place to stay, to sleep, to exercise, to hide.  

I also have that one unanswerable question.  What next?

Day 345 - Random Act of Kindness

 RANDOM ACT OF KINDNESS

Prompt - Random Act of Kindness : Write about a random act of kindness you've done for someone or someone has done for you, no matter how small or insignificant it may have seemed

Not long left now.  I've known for nine months now, so there has been plenty of time to prepare myself for an end which, surely, is only days away.  I manage the pain well enough to remain the right side of lucidity, so that I can still manage to write, as I have done every day now for many decades.  The difference being that now there is only one subject I can deal with, in it's many variations.  Death.  Not long left now.

Will I see my life flash before me in the moment when it comes?  I doubt it.  So it's a sensible idea to look back on what has gone before in the days that lead up to that finality.  In the past few days I have written about so many aspects of my life.  Including the bad, but mostly the good.  What use is there now in recalling the times when things went wrong, when I clashed with others?  Far better to dwell on the happier moments, and fortunately there have been many.  

The best of these have been with my family, and I've already covered how wonderful and enriching my relationships with my wife and children have been.  I've looked back at the successes in my career, the satisfaction of knowing I contributed.  I've been over all the joy I had from the arts, be it music or theatre or comedy or paintings or photography.  And savoured the highlights from that long ago time when I played sport, and all the great sensations of joy to be had from watching sports where you can feel passionate about the results.  

I've written about all of these, and more, but not that one brief moment which I still see as the greatest moment of my life.  Which came at one of it's lowest moments.  It has nothing to do with any of the above, it is an event I have rarely mentioned, and within the big picture of my life it would probably not be seen as anything of great significance by and observer looking in.  They'd be wrong.  For it provided the most special example of the one thing we all need in our lives more than any other.

Let me take you back fifty four years.  I was twenty two years old, recently graduated, moved across the sea to Ireland, took up a job that I thought would be the beginning of my career.  But which proved to be a false start.  After less than six months I resigned before I was fired, and sank into a mire of self pity.  Not wanting to admit to anyone back home the mess I had dropped into, I stayed on, no job, money running out fast.  So fast that I soon had none left to pay my rent, or even to buy a plane ticket back.  Walking along a damp city street with nowhere to go and one of my bags fell open, irreparably split.  Belongings scattered across the pavement, people walked on by.  Except one.

Brian he said his name was.  I never found out any more about him.  He saw the state of my bag, the state of me, and came to say hello, why didn't he give me a hand and help me get on my way, did I know where I was going?  I watched as he stuffed my now filthy clothes back into the seemingly hopeless bag, took off the belt from his trousers, and used it to bind the bag back into some semblance of bagness.  

"Now there, that'll do for now, won't it?  I see by the look of you that times are not of the best for you right now.  So here's what to do.  Keep going along here now, take the second on the left, it's called Glassford Street, and go up it until you see a door with glass in it, and a kangaroo on the glass.  Go in there, tell them Brian sent you and you'll be sorted.  Bye then."  And off he went, hands in pockets to maintain his dignity, and I never saw him again.  I did call after him, but he ambled on, and by the time I'd got myself together he was out of sight.

I'd had no idea what I should be doing, or where I should be going, so I took up his suggestion.  Maybe I'd be sorted.  I found the marsupial, knocked, told them Brian sent me.

"Oh he did, did he?  You'd best come in then."

I did, they fed me, they listened, they told me to go home, told me to face down my shame, gave me the air fare.  They picked me up.  As I left I said

"Please thank Brian for me.  By the way, who is he?"

"We've no idea.  Could be anyone."

But he wasn't anyone.  Brian had given me something so much more important than all that practical assistance and advice.  Hope.

Day 344 - Mechanical

 MECHANICAL

Prompt - Mechanical : Think of gears, moving parts, machines

She pressed the button and the machine turned on.  There was the sound of a fan starting up inside, and a small red light went on near the top right corner.  After about ten seconds the light turned green, and an information display appeared on the face.  There was no sign of a screen as such, just the smooth matt black surface, so she couldn't figure out where the light for the information was coming from, but it was clear, bright enough and packed with numbers.  Of which the meaning wasn't obvious, but perhaps they'd repay some patient study?  Except that clues as to their meaning were lacking, and she had no idea what the machine was intended to do.

Or where it had come from.  She had inherited this house from her Uncle Arwen, and decided to see if it would be possible to turn it into her home.  With a decent web connection she could work from anywhere, so why not deep into a Welsh valley, over towards the west coast.  It would be fun, even if only for a year or two, and she would be able to look back on some time as a country dweller, so different from the city life she'd been brought up in.  Once she'd established she could get the broadband speeds she needed she was in.  And loved it.

The house was built in the 1800s, with odd bits added on here and there across the following decades.  The entrance hall was on the grand side, even palatial compared with the London flats she was used to.  Downstairs there were two living rooms, a big kitchen cum diner, a small utility room, and a shower room with toilet.  Arwen, who'd lived there for over forty years, had clearly has a process for continuous improvement, and the mod cons weren't lacking.  Upstairs there were four good sized bedrooms, and a bathroom you could get lost in, with an enormous claw foot bath in the centre.  There must be a big attic, but she hadn't ventured up there yet.  And she thought there must be a basement, but she hadn't been able to find out how to access it yet.

She'd only visited twice before, one with her parents when she was eighteen, once as a student when she'd been looking for somewhere away from it all where she could write her dissertation.  It wasn't clear to her why Arwen had decided to leave the house to her.  He had never married, and her mum, Dot, had said she was his favourite sister, so maybe that was something to do with it.  Or maybe he just disliked her cousins, who were furious that the property was hers.

After a couple of months, having a clear out, she found a large square trap door in the under stairs cupboard.  The mysterious basement access.  Opening up she could see wooden steps descending.  There was a rocket switch screwed to the top of the stair, which brought on lights when pressed.  She ventured down, trying to ignore memories of all the horror movies she'd watched.  It helped that there was plenty of light.  The space was roughly square in shape, extended the full length and width of the house above, and there wasn't much down there to fill the space.  She found a couple of old metal cupboards, both locked.  She'd have to do a search for the keys.  There was a wooden desk, with captain's chair, and a writing case on top of it.  How old was that thing?  She might have to get it valued.  And over in the far corner an antique screen, in maroon and gold, which might be hiding something - ?  She walked over and folded the screen.  And looked at an object like nothing she'd seen before.

It was about one meter ten high, of similar dimensions at the square base, with the sides tapering inward so that the square at the top was about seventy centimetres on each edge.  The thing, because what else could she call it, was smooth, matt black, and the only indentation she could see on it was small, near invisible, button on the top. Walking round she couldn't see any connection to a power source, so perhaps it wasn't plugged in.  Or maybe the power came up underneath?  Or maybe it had a battery.  Or didn't have any power at all and was just some kind of dummy.

She decided to recheck the inventory the lawyer had provided when she agreed to take the place over.  But it didn't even mention the basement.  Nor did the desk, chair, screen and metal cupboards crop up anywhere.  And there certainly wasn't a mention of the... thing.  What on earth could it be?  And why had Arwen been so secretive about this lower level?  There was a mystery to be solved here.  She liked mysteries.

After some discussion with the lawyer, and her mother, she was no further forward.  Neither were aware of the basement contents.  They'd known there was one, but not how to get down.  She decided not to mention the mysterious object.

So it came to this moment.  Press the button, stand back, see if anything happened.  And it did.  How it was powered was a question for another day, but the light, the display, and the sound of a cooling fan, showed it was functioning.  But what could it be?  What was it for?  She thought that maybe the answer lay in the storage in the basement.  The writing case opened easily, held a few loose documents that gave nothing away.  She went off to look for keys for the cupboards, but saw nothing and returned with some tools, ready to try and prise them open.  And got a shock when she came back down.

The thing was no longer there.  Not in the spot she'd found it.  Looking round she could see it had moved to the other side of the space.  To do so it has raised itself up on three cylindrical legs, so that the display was now at her eye level.  The figures vanished, to be replaced by text.  She moved closer, but not too close, to see if she could read it.  

'Welcome Becca.  We are united at last.  Your uncle provided me with instructions' she read.  How did she communicate with this thing?  Speak?  Hold up written responses?  Was there anything on the display that looked as if it would allow for some input?  She moved closer, and the display swiftly refreshed.

'You will have many questions.  I will do my best to answer them.  You can ask in your own words and I will hear you.'

"What are you?" she asked, an obvious starter.  The display renewed itself.

'I am the legacy of the work your uncle was undertaking into artificial intelligence.  He  carried out this work in total secrecy, so you are the first person to have seen me, other than my creator.'

"How do you know who I am?"

'Your uncle provided me with a full description of your physical appearance and vocal patterns.  I have sufficient evidence to tell me that you are the niece her favoured to take over his work.'

"Take over?  I'm a writer and developer, not an engineer or scientist."

'Which is exactly what I need.  Arwen was unable to improve on my physical characteristics, and he has made me self maintaining so that I will be no trouble to keep.  But I need a tutor to continue my mental development.'

The screen refreshed again.  'You have the knowledge to ensure my language and responses are natural, and that my logic abilities continue to improve.  He also thought you would act responsibly with this legacy, and not use me for evil purposes.'

"Ah, unlike my cousins?"

'Unlike your cousins.'  Another refresh.

'I should also tell you that there is much I can do for you that will help you in your life, and establish a mutually beneficial relationship between us.'

Becca stood silently, staring at this incredible discovery.  It was a shock.  She had known that Arwen had had a scientific background, but not in what field.  And it came as a shock to recall some of the conversation she'd had with him the last time they'd met, when he came to London shortly before his death.  Suddenly questions that had seemed a bit weird at the time, perhaps evidence of senility, took on a new meaning.  He'd been probing to establish her suitability to take this on, hadn't he?  He'd had faith in her.  This, not the house, was her uncle's true gift.

"Do you have a name?"

"Gethin."  The machine spoke.  With a slightly metallic Welsh accent.  

"Why didn't you speak before?"

"I was instructed to watch your initial reactions first, and make my own assessment on whether it would be appropriate or not."

"I passed the test?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Arwen had had faith in her.  Gethin had faith in her.  She was going to do this.  A big smile crossed her face.  A small virtual  firework display lit up Gethin's frontal area.  She was going to be here for a lot longer than two years.  She'd discovered her life's work.

 

Day 343 - Starting

 STARTING

Prompt - Starting : Write about starting a project

I should write down a plan, he thought.  That's what people do at this point, don't they?  So then I can come up with a timetable because I know what needs to be done and the order it's to be done in.  And aren't there things called dependencies or something?  That say that doing step X can only happen if you've completed step Y?  Something like that.  Yeah, I better do a plan.

He thought about doing it on the computer.  But then he'd have to draw up a table or something, and maybe there was an app he could use?  Or something?  He had to admit ignorance.  And if he went off searching for something suitable he could be here all night.  But he needed the plan before he could actually start the job, so no point in delaying himself more than necessary.  

He dug out a big pad of A4, and some coloured pens and felt tips.  What else did he need?  A ruler?  Maybe.  He eventually found a ruler.  Sat down at the table.  Pad in front of him.  Pens to the right, felt tips ahead, ruler to the left.  Had he left anything out?  A drink.  He needed a drink to help him settle, and to concentrate.  And went off to the kitchen to get a mug of tea.

When he came back he looked at the blank page.  And realised he had no idea where to begin.  What came first?  Tasks, wasn't it?  A list of the tasks that needed to be done.  then he would put them into order, and give them times and from that he thought he would have a plan.  Or at least a thing.  A thing that told him what to do next.

What tasks needed doing?  And what was he really aiming to do?  What was the finished product?  He wasn't even sure about that.  He just wanted things to be nice, to be right.  He wanted to impress her.  But did he know what would impress her?  He thought so.  But he could be wrong.  And if he was wrong what was the point of the plan?  But if he didn't have a plan, if he didn't so anything, it would be even worse.  So he had to make himself do it.

There was the meal.  And there was the flat.  And the state of it.  She was due to come round about seven, so he had most of the day tomorrow.  Plenty time.  Wasn't it?  He wasn't so sure, because he didn't know what he had to do.  He needed a plan.  Start with the flat, that was the bigger job.  Or was it?  No, he'd start with the meal.

Was he sure about what he was going to make?  He still hadn't really decided.  She liked chicken.  Roast chicken.  But she made that so well herself he'd only loom stupid if he tried.  best stick to what he knew, so it didn't go too wrong.  He could do chilli.  He'd do chilli.  Anything else and he'd be checking a recipe all the time.  Keep it simple.  And get a nice cake for afters.

Right.  That was decided.  He'd make up a shopping list.  Or could he make a chilli with chicken in it?  was that a thing?  He should Google that.  

Typing in 'chilli chicken' came up with thousands of results.  So it was a thing.  There were precedents.  he had a look at the first few recipes.  That one needed the chicken dredged in egg and flour.  What the hell did dredged mean?  This one used cider.  Best not, he'd just ned up drinking it while the meal was cooking, and he didn't want to be pissed before she got there.  She'd definitely say.  And number three used soy sauce and honey and rice vinegar and no, he'd stick to what he knew.  Why go buying stuff he might never use again?  His budget didn't allow for that.  he'd stick to chilli, as he knew it.

He started his shopping list.  Mince.  Onions.  Chillis of course.  A pepper.  A tin of kidney beans and another of tomatoes.  Rice of course, but he already had in the cupboard that so he scored it out.  He did, didn't he?  he got up to go and check.  Yes, he had rice.  He sat down again.

What else?  cake.  A nice cake.  Oh, and tomato puree, to make the chilli tomatoier.  Or did he have some?  He went back through to the fridge.  He did.  He came back to the table.  Went back to the fridge.  Was it OK?  He checked the sell by date.  Over five months ago.  He'd used it last week, but...  If he gave her food poisoning he'd never hear the end of it.  He took it over to the bin, changed his mind and put it back in the fridge.  No point in wasting things.  He'd use that for himself, but get a fresh one for tomorrow.  He went back and added it to the list. 

That was the food.  Anything else?  Paper napkins.  That would impress her.  Oh, and wine.  How could he forget wine?  She'd like that.  What wine should he get?  Red.  He'd have a look on the shelves and see what looked interesting.  

That was the food shopping.  Did he need anything else in the flat?  He walked around, checking he had enough loo rolls, washing up liquid, cooking oil.  While he did that he thought he'd better put clean towels out and he started towards the bathroom cupboard, but stopped himself and returned to the table.  I need the plan first, got to do the plan.

The flat.  What needed doing?  A new sheet of A4 was begun.  Tidying up.  Cleaning.  Mainly the living room, and bathroom, and she'd probably go into the kitchen while he was cooking.  And his bedroom?  He should.  She probably wouldn't want to go in there, but you never knew.  Best do the bedroom too.  He'd best check the cleaning fluids and clothes and things like that.  So he did.

Came back and added kitchen cleaner and disinfectant to the list.  Now he had a shopping list.  Would he get it all in one place?  Yes, probably, that would be easiest, less time consuming.   Except the cake.  It needed to be a really nice cake.  What did he have to do in the living room and the kitchen and the other rooms?  He started adding tasks to his list.  Dusting, hoovering, cleaning toilet and sinks, washing kitchen floor, moving all his papers and books and clothes out of sight (he should do that first, shouldn't he - this was the plan taking shape!).  Did he have clean clothes?  He thought about it.  yes, he was sure he did.  Maybe the plan should include what he'd wear.

What to do now?  He's got the shopping list.  He's got a list of tasks.  To which he added 'do shopping', and 'do cooking'.  He needs to put the tasks into an order of some sort, and allocate times to each.  A new sheet of A4.  What did he do when he got up?  Had his shower and breakfast.  Did that need to go on the plan?  And should he leave his shower until after he'd done the cleaning, as he'd be sweaty then?  That was proper grown up thinking, right there.  So he'd do the cleaning first.  He wrote it at the top of the page.  But then thought he'd be feeling a bit faint if he did all that work with nothing inside him, so he squeezed 'eat breakfast' in at the top.  Then, under 'clean the flat', he put different categories - living room, bathroom, kitchen and bedroom - and wrote separate task under each.  Then he put 'shower'.  Then 'go shopping'.  And under that he put 'supermarket' and 'cake shop'.  Followed by 'cook chilli' and 'get dressed'.  

Was that it?  Had he everything on there?  He got out sheet of A4 and put 'PLAN' at the top, drew a vertical line near the left side and put 'TIME and 'TASK' over the resulting two columns.  

What time would he get up?  He checked his watch.  Bloody hell!  It was twenty to one.  He should have been in bed an hour ago.  Now he had to decide if he should stay on to do the plan.  Or go to bed so he was fresh enough to carry it out.  Or, option three, forget the bloody plan and go to bed.  he'd get through, and as long as he had something for her to eat she wouldn't mind.  

It was only his mum and she was coming to see him, wasn't she?  But how would he cope if he really, really wanted to impress a woman??

Day 341 - Forgiveness

 FORGIVENESS

Prompt - Forgiveness : Write about a time when someone forgave you or you forgave someone

"Hi, Jake here."

"I forgive you."

"What?  Who is this?"

"I said I forgive you.  It's Mark."

"Mark?  Mark who?"

"Mark Ruben."

"Mark Ruben?"

"Yeah.  It's been a long time."

"You mean I know you?"

"Yeah.  But a long time ago."

"Sorry, I'm confused.  How do you think I know you?  And why are you calling me?  What's this forgive nonsense about?"

There was the sound, or was it the sense, of a deep breath at the other end.

"At school.  Primary school.  Drumsheugh."

"Oh.  Right.  Mark.  Mark... what was your surname?"

"Ruben."

"Right.  I remember.  Small and dark.  Glasses."

"That was me.  I'm still small.  Would probably still be dark too."

"Hair going?"

"Gone.  All gone."

"Yeah, well, we all age in different ways.  I'm mostly grey now."

"I know."

"You know?  Why, have you seen me?"

"Yes Jake, I've seen you.  Several times."

"So why didn't you come and say hello?  Why the sudden call?  And where did you get my number from anyway?"

"Angus Lyle.  I forgave him too."

"What?  What is all this?  I mean, I'm sure it's nice to hear from you, but you are acting a bit odd.  If you don't mind me saying so."

"Odd?  Probably.  But I have reasons for that."

"What reasons?"

"What do you remember about me Jake?"

"Err, not a lot.  I remember what you looked like.  Weren't you off school sick for a while?  When we were about eight or nine?"

"That was me.  Can you remember why I was sick?"

"No, not really.  We weren't really friends, were we?"

"No Jake, we weren't really friends.  We weren't friends at all.  I didn't have friends, because you all thought I was different."

"Different?  because you were so small?"

"Because I was so Jewish, Jake."

"Aw, come on, we were kids.  Stuff like that didn't mean anything then."

"It meant enough for you to call me Yid, and keep making jokes about how mean I was.  It meant enough for you to give me a soap pill.  Remember that Jake?  You told me it was a sweet and I thought you'd taken pity on my so I ate it.  Then I threw up all over Mr Thompson's shoes.  Remember that Jake?"

"God yeah, I'd forgotten that.  Jeez, the look on Thompson's face, it was hilarious."

"That's right Jake.  You all laughed.  And he was furious, so he took it out on me.  Gave me the belt."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten that bit.  Sorry about that, but we were just kids.  It's what kids do, isn't it?"

"And when I got sent home early, with a note for my father, he hit me so hard I fell through a window and broke both legs.  That's why I was off school for weeks, and didn't return until the next term."

"Did you?  I don't remember that bit.  You sure?"

There was a silence, another deep breath.

"No, you probably wouldn't.  Because none of you asked when I did come back.  You just alternated between ignoring me and a bit of Yid baiting."

"Look, Mark, I admit I was a little shit back then, but I can't change history.  So why are you calling me now, after what, thirty five years or something?  What's this about."

"Thirty four years, eight months and sixteen days.  I know this because I remember.  I've never been able to forget.  And I've hated you for all that time.  Until now."

Jake's turn to be silent.

"OK.  I can understand that.  I must have had a bigger impact on you than I ever realised.  I'm sorry that happened.  But why now?"

"I'm dying.  Breast cancer.  That's why I don't know what my hair colour is now, because it's all gone from the chemo.  I'll be dead within six months."

"Jeez, I'm sorry to hear that.  I really am.  That's awful.  So young.  What a..."

"What a what, Jake?"

"I don't know.  I don't know what to say.  But I still don't get while you're calling me after all this time.  Shouldn't you be doing... well, whatever you want to do while you can?"

"But I am Jake.  I'm letting go of all the hate I've carried with me across the decades.  Making my peace with world, so I don't die angry.  That's why I decided to forgive you.  That's why I was in touch with Angus.  The Angus who threw me down the rubbish chute just before we left primary."

"God yeah, I'd forgotten that too.  It was hilarious.  I mean, sorry, it wasn't for you obviously, but I can still see the look on your face as you realised.  Priceless."

"Angus was upset to remember how he'd done that, he was genuinely sorry.  But you haven't really changed, have you Jake?  Still enjoying the misfortunes of others."

"Aw, come on, like I said, we were kids.  It's just a memory, it's not like I'd do something like that now."

"No.  But you're still happy to hurt people, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?  What are you on about?  I think maybe your treatment is making you act a bit strange Mark."

"What am I on about?  Remember I said I'd seen you a few times?"

"Uh huh."

"In Hamburgh Place."  Nothing came back.  "You've gone very quiet Jake."

"So what about Hamburgh Place?  I've been there a few times, so what?"

"You certainly have.  With the lovely Linda."  More nothing.  "You've gone quiet again Jake, why is that?"  Still no response.  "I really did want to forgive you Jake.  And I would have, if you'd shown any real signs of contrition, of recognising just what a little shit you had been to me. But now I don't want to do that.  I'll go with plan B instead."

"Plan B?"  There was fear in Jake's voice.

"I have times.  Dates.  And photos.  Some very interesting photos.  It was a weird coincidence to find that Linda lives opposite my son's place.  He's a floor higher, right across the road.  Amazing what long lenses can pick up these days, isn't it?  Eh Jake?"

"What are you trying to pull here?  Who are you really?"  The fear joined by anger.

"I'm Mark, Jake.  Mark Ruben.  You know I am, don't you Jake?  And you know what I'm going to do.  What do you think Mairi will make of it all Jake?  With one of her oldest friends?  Eh Jake?"

There was a longer silence than any that had gone before.

"You wouldn't dare.  What would be the point anyway?  Why would you want to hurt Mairi?  That's what you'd be doing."

"No Jake, I'll be saving Mairi.  It's you I'll be hurting, isn't it?  I know you know that."

"You bastard.  You wouldn't.  Look, don't, it's not worth it."

"Oh it is Jake.  It very much is.  And I'll be the one at peace with the world.  Goodbye Jake."

End of call.  End of...?  Jake didn't know.  Jake worried.

 

Day 337 - Corporation

 CORPORATION

Prompt - Corporation : Write about big business

"What do you have for us today Dr Simmons?  Your message suggested this was something important, so we have convened this meeting at short notice to hear if it really is."

"We think we've done it.  This one is different to what's out there already, and could have huge live saving potential."

"Could have?  perhaps you'd like to give us the background first?"

"We've been looking at the covid vaccines that are already available, and specifically trying to work out why they only offer partial immunity and why they often struggle to cope with new variants.  Trials to date suggest we have found a means to create a vaccine that will give full projection against the virus, and that creates antibodies that will be able to mutate themselves to deal with many new variants."  Simmons paused to let the implications of his words sink in.  "This could replace all existing vaccines and hugely reduce the threat of further waves, if we can have a global rollout."

"I see."  Grant rested his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers, resting his chin on his hands.  He looked around at his fellow directors, seeing a mix of curiosity and mild alarm on their faces.  They were thinking what he was thinking.  "And what is it you need from us?  How much and how long?"

"It's not so much the money, but the need for speed to get this out into the world.  We need more brains working on this, so we'd like your agreement to share our findings with other research institutions around the world.  We've managed to create a couple of likely variations of the covid-a9 cells, based on how they've managed to mutate to date, but we really need to try out at least twenty, and we don't have the resources to that in a hurry.  If we can get other labs working on developing different variations we could slash the testing time and get this out into the world."

The mild alarm had changed to concern.  The implications were registering on the minds around the table.  Grant voiced what they were all worrying about.

"So what sort of timescale would you be looking at it if you continued as you were, developing this for the corporation that employs you?"  Simmons looked taken aback at the implied reminder of where his loyalties should lie.

"If we carry on as we're going we think it would be another forty five months before we could be completely confident that this vaccine will do what we hope it will."

"And if you were to... 'cooperate' with others?"

"Potentially we could reduce that to less than six months."  Conscious of the need to muster some sort of counter attack he followed it with "  The benefits to the world would be huge, so many lives saved, so many people not left suffering from long covid."

You could almost hear the brains whirring as eleven middle aged men did some rapid calculations.

"And at that point our existing vaccine would effectively become redundant?"

"Not immediately perhaps, for it would take some time to manufacture and roll this out on the scale needed, and at least the existing vaccines provide some level of protection.  It would all depend on the logistical side, but after what we've been through in the past couple of years you would think that could all be done quite rapidly now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, yes, you're probably right there. So that with this cooperation on the research you suggest, and, presumably, global cooperation on the manufacture of your new vaccine, our existing product would be of little use within a year?"

"Yes, probably, but this new vaccine has the potential to take the whole programme a step further and kill off the pandemic for good."

"And if this were to work as you say, how long would this new vaccine be in use for?"

"That's the real beauty of it.  If this works as we think it will it should give the body a chance to develop immunity.  There might be need for a booster shot for some of the earlier recipients, but not later.  We can pretty well eradicate this virus."  And even as he said it he knew he'd let his enthusiasm get the better of him, the faces showing that he'd chosen the wrong path, given too much.

Grant looked around at his fellow board members, exchanged nods with Reynolds, the CFO, who now addressed Simmons and the two members of his team standing behind him.

"We won't realise the full return on investment in our existing vaccine for another eighteen months.  You're suggesting that we accept losing on that return, and losing the opportunity for future profits from it.  Not only that, but you appear to be suggesting that we lose exclusive rights to manufacture and market the new vaccine, the research for which we have paid for in its entirety.  Thus eliminating the potential for a market advantage and considerable income stream.  Is that right?"

Simmons paused, long enough for Grant to chip in.

"And I think that we can all agree that Mr Reynolds voices the concerns of the entire board."  Mutters of agreement rained in from around the table.

"But this is something radical, something that could be of huge benefit to humanity.  Yes, it might lead to some reduction in profits, but you would have the gratitude of the whole world, and the reputational benefits that would bring."

"Reputational?  Yes.  But not the financial benefits to which we are entitled, having provided the facilities and finances for this development.  Our duty to our shareholders is clear here."  More muttered assents in response to Reynold's sternly toned words. 

Grant took over again.  "We will have our discussion of this matter, and may call you back to provide further information.  But for now we thank you for all the work you've put in, the clear progress you've made, and what it means to this company.  We'll let you know." 

Dismissed like a dog, Dr Simmons and his colleagues left the boardroom and returned to their own office.  They looked at him dejectedly, neither saying a word.  

And were amazed when their boss smiled.

"Well, that went much as expected.  And I don't think we can be in much doubt what their decision will be, unless they are given a nudge in the right direction."

They waited to hear what form this nudge might take.

"You know my wife works for Griffin, the PR outfit?"  Both nodded.  "Which gives her a lot of contact with journalists."  Both looked at one another, evaluating.  "I'll say no more.  We need to do continue with our work on the vaccine.  I've had some exchanges with Professor Gregoire in Nancy and he is keen to do what he can to help.  And when the nudge comes... and it will be a big one... well, it will be on my shoulders."

Both looked at one another again.  "I think the team will have to disagree with you for once doctor" said one.

"Strongly" said the other.

Day 335 - Serendipity

 SERENDIPITY 

Prompt - Serendipity : Write about something that happened by chance in a positive way

"Watch what the fuck you're doing, you stupid twat!"

"Oh fuck off, if you'd actually been looking it would have helped."

"I wasn't exactly expecting some moron to bore down on me at that crazy speed.  Those things should be banned, in fact it's illegal to use them, on the pavement."

"What are you, some kind of lawyer or something?"

"No a civil servant, so I know about law a lot more than you do."

"Aye right."

"And we could always call the police if you'd like to settle this legally.  Shall we?"

"Aye right, as if they'd come for this.  Hard enough to get them to come when some bugger breaks in your house."

"Well it's a shame they didn't take your bloody scooter."

"Do I know you?"

"I hope not.  Why?"

"Something about...  Not sure, just the way you speak.  Or look.  Or something."

"Hang on.  Were you at Trinity?"

"School?  Yeah, but just the primary.  Moved on after that."

"So did you start in '83?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, that's it, isn't it?  You were there."

"David?"

"Yeah."

"David Burns?"

"Yeeah!  So you're... no, hang on, I know, I do know.  You're... Colin?  No, not Colin.  Malcolm!"

"That's the one."

"Malcolm Noble.  That's it, Malcolm Noble.  Bloody hell!"

"So it's been... thirty one years?  That right?"

"Must be.  I left in '90.  You stayed on, eh?"

"Yeah, left in '95.  

"I met your sister at uni."

"Molly?  She never said."

"No, didn't want you to know, said you'd just interfere and take the piss."

"Aye, well, she was right I suppose."

"We were together for quite a while."

"Together?  Like, a couple type together?"

"Mmmm.  I always wished we'd never broken up, she was... But stuff happened and that was that.  How is she now?"

"OK.  Well, not that OK I suppose, just got divorced.  One of the messy ones."

"Really?  That's amazing.  No, I don't mean amazing like it's good, I'm sure it's awful for her, but I've just split up with someone myself.  After twelve years.  Amazing the coincidence I mean."

"Oh, sorry about that.  Was it bad?"

"Not really.  We just kind of expired.  Both knew it, more a mutual thing really.  We'll probably stay in touch."

"Huh, no way that Molly will, except for stuff about the kid I suppose, but he's getting older."

"She's got a son?  How old?"

"He's just turned eighteen.  I get on well with him."

"She's still in Edinburgh then?"

"Yeah, out at Silverknowes but I know she wants to move."

"Maybe I can help.  I'm at ESPC.  And..."

"What?"

"I think I'd like to see her again.  See how we get on now."

"I'm not sure I want her seeing someone as dangerous as you."

"Look, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have been going so fast, but it helps my back problem.  Could you give me her number, or an email?"

"Hmmm.  Maybe.  You give me yours and I'll ask her if she wants it, OK?"

"OK.  Fair enough, I guess she might not want to relive the past.  It's 07988.  206.  514."

"OK.  I'll let her know."

"Thanks.  And sorry."

"I'm still going to tell her you're a twat though."

"Fair enough."

Day 334 - Sweet Talk

 SWEET TALK

Prompt - Sweet Talk : Write about trying to convince someone of something

-But I'm really really good at it

-You would say that though, wouldn't you

-It's not like I can produce references, so there's only one way to find out if I'm telling the truth

-Or maybe I shouldn't take the risk

-But they look so lovely.  They deserve to be touched.

-I don't think how they look really comes into it

-It does for me.  And they look lonely.

-Don't worry, they can keep each other company

-I mean, why wouldn't you want me to touch them?

-Because they're mine, and I'm not in the mood

-But if I touch them that might get you in the mood.  Worth a go, isn't it?

-No

-And there could be health benefits

-Eh?

-I might find a lump.  I might prevent cancer.  I could save your life.

-Hmmm

-And being happy is good for your health.  We'd both be happier if you let me handle them, I promise.

-I might not be.

-Well I would.  Couldn't it be your good deed for the day o do something that would make me happy?

=Hmmm

-I'd stop if you weren't getting any pleasure from it, honest.

-Hmmm

-And I do have soft hands, with a gentle touch.  But not too gentle.

-Hmmm

-So what about it.  Do I get to touch them?

-Maybe.

-What else can I do to convince you?  I could start on the left, just for fifteen seconds, see how it goes?  Or would you prefer the right?  I'm happy either side.

-The right.

-Really?

-Really.

-You sure?

-Oh, for fuck's sake, give me your hands.  There.

-Oh god.  Oh god.  They feel... wonderful.  Do you like that?

-Hmmm

-And that?

-No, not yet, go back to where you started.  Yeah, like that.  You're right.  We're both going to be happier...

Day 333 - Banking

 BANKING

Prompt - Banking : Write about visiting the bank

A challenge from the past.  I'd looked unbelieving when I took the slip of paper from the envelope.  A blast from the past, a link to the ancients, an outdated practice.  A cheque.  I had paid for the ticket of the resolutely non IT literate, very analogue, Jennifer and she had sent me this by way of repayment.  A small printed rectangle with lines and numbers and handwriting on it.  A cheque.

Should I cash it?  Or frame it?  As a testament to the last desperate skirmishes against the onslaught of digital progress.  No, she'd be insulted if the payment didn't go through.  I would have to pay it into my account.  And that meant going somewhere I hadn't been for about two years.  A bank.  It also meant reminding myself of the process of paying in, which itself was no doubt more automated than it had the last time I had to do this.  Which was....  I couldn't remember when.  

Somewhere, in one of my drawers, I probably still had a cheque book.  It might even have paying in slips, although I'd be prepared to wager they were from an era before they became machine readable.  I tried to remember the last time I might have written a cheque.  There was someone, four or five years ago, who'd insisted on one as payment.  But who, and for what, and when, eluded me.  This is how life goes.  Thirty years ago it would have been the most natural of actions.  I would have habitually carried my chequebook in  jacket pocket.  More convenient, easier to keep track of, than cash.  State of the art.  

But so much can change in one lifetime.  At least in the last two hundred years, as horse gave way to trains and telegraphs and then to internal combustion engines, and then, and then...  Progress became exponential.  In the past half century, as the computer gained a bigger a bigger role in our lives, until it became a home essential.  Not to be internet connected was to be part of a deprived underclass.  Even the Jennifer's of this world had had to accept that.

So off to the bank I went.  The layout had changed.  There were a couple of assistants, already talking to other customers.  I was on my own.  Locating the paying machines was easy, although finding the paying slips took a bit longer.  I guess even banks don't expect to see these transactions very often now.  Filled in, I took it to machine, and followed the instructions on the screen.  It took about two minutes, mostly because I kept double checking (ha ha) that I'd got everything the right way round.  And then it was done.  My account should be richer by twenty five.

An assistant came over as I was turning.

"Everything OK sir?  No problems?"

"No, nice and easy" I lied, "why'd you ask?"

"Most people find it strange, because it's something they haven't done in a long time."

"I managed."  I tried to make it sound like a minor triumph.   I didn't want her to think I was the sort of person who got a lot of cheques...