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Short stories for mums and grandma's to read for free
Click on title to read story
Castaway She had lost Greg and now she was all alone on an island
Angela Angela helps Julie recover, despite having her own dark secret
Beat That One The house was spotless, the dinner was in the oven,but what about dessert?
A Secret Kept After fifty-eight years Flora tells her terrible secret
The Tickler Alice is caught by the river warden, but can she escape
The Ring She dreamt of a ring, but will her dream come true?
The Dream As the dream in his head grew, so did the pain
Albert Was the Black Swan haunted, or was it only a bird?
The Face In the space where the black night showed there was a white smudge
Boom or Bust Morgaged to the hilt and then house prices fell
The Mirror Was set in a gold frame and she remembered...
Grotto She walked into the grotto never to return
Pet 'What's for tea, Pet?' he asked
Prada Red Peter's eyes gleamed as he reached out
Interested in history Click Here for Anglo Saxon Northumbria
To err is human, to forgive, divine.
Alexander Pope.
A Very Special Service.
‘Excuse me Milady but there is a Mrs Thomas asking to see you.’
‘Did she say what she wanted Jane?’
‘No Milady, just that she needed to see you in person.’
Mary Hollister sighed, another one. How did they find her? She didn’t need to do this any more, she was rich far beyond her present or future needs.
Still old habits die hard, besides she was proud of the service that she provided to those that came to her for assistance. Over the years many women had sought her out and without fail she had helped each and every one of them to gain what they desired. In an era when business was a male only domain, she considered herself to be a successful business woman, who provided a very special service.
She hadn’t always been a rich and successful lady, In fact she hadn’t been a lady at all, she had been Ann Hollis a lowly ladies maid and something that happened in that grand house gave her the idea for her future enterprise. You might wonder what it was that happened. Well let’s just say that the master became ill, eventually died and the widow was carted off to jail before she could enjoy her newfound wealth.
With the master dead and the mistress in jail Ann was out of work and was forced to take a job as a waitress in a tearoom. A situation that didn’t last long, the scandal did her a favour and after being recognised by a customer she was invited to apply for the position of a ladies maid.
On attending the interview she was ushered into the presence of Mrs Simpson the middle-aged wife of an older man, a retired Merchant. Mrs Simpson however, seemed to be more interested in the death of Mary’s former master than in the interview itself and Ann suspected that she, like her former mistress, was thinking of gaining her husband‘s fortune. Taking a chance that her suspicions were right, Ann suggested that she could be of help, for a fee of course, and that was it, she had her first client.
Instead of a job as a maid she had taken the first step towards a new future. A few days later she met Mrs Simpson in the park and a modest sum of cash was handed over. Ann left her job at the tea room, rented an apartment under an assumed name and three weeks later Mrs Simpson’s wish was granted and when the estate was settled, Mary received the balance of her fee.
But that was a long time ago and now a new client was at the door.
‘Bring the lady in, Jane.’
Jane left the room and returned a few moments later, ushered in a smartly dressed lady of middle years and announced, ‘Mrs Thomas, Milady.’
Mary dismissed Jane with a nod and when she had withdrawn, invited the lady to sit, ‘Your name is Mrs Thomas?’ she queried.
The lady blushed and said, ‘It will do.’
‘Good,’ said Mary, ‘I see we are of the same mind. I take it that you are married to a wealthy older man and you wish to gain access to that wealth?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case let us get down to business: First, you have never been to this house, nor have you ever met a Mrs Mary Hollister. Second, if you wish to hire my services, you will sign a contract before you leave and we will agree a modest fee to be paid in advance, the balance of the fee to be paid once the estate is settled. I will meet you in the park in a few days to collect the first instalment.’
‘Why the contract? I thought the last thing you would want was anything in writing.’
‘You thought wrong then Mrs…Thompson, the service that I provide is untraceable to yourself and the contract which you will sign in your true name, is my insurance policy in case you have a change of heart once that service is fulfilled.’
‘And if I don’t sign?’
‘Should you not wish to sign, my services will not be available to you and we will go our separate ways.’
The contract was signed and three days later after having checked that the name and signature of Mrs Jane Wilson on the contract was genuine, Mary met the woman as arranged and the money changed hands.
One week later, while out for a stroll they met seemingly quite by chance and Jane introduced Mary to her husband as an old school friend. They chatted for a while then retired to a nearby Corner House where, after ordering a pot of Earl Grey, Mary acting as mum and fussing over the elderly Mr Simpson’s cup, poured them all a nice cup of tea.
© Fred Watson. 2010
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I can resist everything except temptation.
Oscar Wilde.
Castaway
Gwen was the reluctant queen of all she surveyed, which wasn’t a lot, just a small island set in an azure sea that was part of a chain of even smaller islands. Luckily the island she was stranded on had source of fresh water. A clear spring that bubbled out from a crag, ran down to fill a rock basin and then spilled over into a small stream that ran down to the shore. She thanked God for that and the fact that there were berries on the bushes, birds in the trees and small animals in the undergrowth. Though whether she could bring herself kill such small creatures, even to survive, was another matter altogether.
The shore was a better bet, sprinkled as it was with that staple of all castaways the coconut palm, could she live on coconuts and water? she wondered, and dismissed the idea. Besides even if she could, the monotony of it would surely drive her mad if she were here for any length of time. She needed variety, the berries alone wouldn’t suffice and since she had more or less dismissed the killing of birds and small animals, she would have to hunt the reef and lagoon. Strangely she didn’t have the same aversion to killing and eating marine creatures and she had only hesitated because she had a fear of sharks beneath the water and stonefish amongst the coral, either one could cause a painful death.
***
They had been island hopping around the Solomon’s in Greg’s Cessna 175 Hawk, when the storm had come up out of nowhere and blasted them off course. For five hours Greg had fought the controls as the elements tried to tear the small plane apart and Gwen had sent Mayday signals in a continuous stream praying that someone, somewhere, would hear them.
Then five-hours in when the tempest was at its peak, the fuel gauge had registered empty and they were flying on fumes. Greg lost altitude, maybe, just maybe, they would find better weather and an island down there. It was a vain hope, if anything conditions were worse and they found themselves skimming the tops of mountainous waves.
The plane was fitted with a set of amphibious floats but they were torn off, as were the wings, as they ploughed into and under the storm ravaged sea. Down, down, they sank in a cockpit that was mostly intact and just when they thought they were about breath their last, the air in the cabin dragged them back to the mayhem of the surface. Luckily Greg had insisted that they wore lifejackets when they set out on the trip and it was as well, since shortly afterwards the cockpit began to take on water and they had to abandon themselves to the elements.
They managed to stay together at first but then a wave bigger than the rest crashed down on them and when Gwen finally came spluttering to the surface, Greg and the plane were gone. She screamed his name until she was hoarse and when she could scream no more she cried inside. All through the rest of the day and most of the night she was tossed every which way and then sometime in the middle hours, the storm began to abate and the stars winked into existence in a clearing sky.
Morning came in an instant as the golden globe of the sun seemed to rise from the very depths of the sea and all that remained of the storm was a heavy swell. Each time she reach a crest she scanned the sea around her. She had survived, why shouldn’t Greg have too? she searched without success, there was no sign him, but not more than a mile away she could make out an island ringed by a coral reef. So far she had drifted, allowing the current to take her, but now she struck out for the reef. As she drew near she could see the white water as the waves broke on the coral and to her left a gap where the sea flowed into the lagoon. Increasing her pace she headed for the break, hoping that Greg had made it too and would be waiting with open arms on the beach.
The swell picked her up, swept her right through the gap into the lagoon and there was no Greg, but the fuselage of the plane was lying on its side on the beach. It must have stayed afloat somehow, despite the best efforts of the storm and had been tossed over the reef to end up half buried in the sand. Gwen swam to the beach, staggered over to the plane and looked inside, other that their rucksacks, it was empty. As the disappointment hit home so too did the exhaustion of her ordeal, and slumping to the sand she was asleep before she realised that she was falling.
When she awoke, her first thought was that she should circumnavigate the island in case Greg had come ashore on another part of the beach but as it was so late in the day she realised that it would be dark before she got even part way around. Having resign herself to beginning the search the next day, she pulled out Greg’s rucksack, tipped the contents onto the sand and could have danced with joy. There wasn’t a lot, but it was all good, apart from a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, talk about travelling light, there were two bars of toffee, a first aid box, a flare, an empty Evian water bottle and to her joy, a small plastic case that contained a half full box of Swan Vesta matches.
That night, she sat in front of a comforting drift wood fire, chewing a piece of toffee and dreamed of finding Greg in the morning. Rising with the sun the next day Gwen popped what was left of the first bar of toffee into her pocket, filled the bottle with water and set off to circle the island. It didn’t take long. Within two hours she arrived back where she began without seeing any trace or sign to indicate that Greg had come ashore and she had no choice but to resign herself to the fact that she was marooned alone.
***
A month later, wild haired and tanned brown, she had adapted to the lonely life of a castaway. She had fashioned a spear from a branch, hardened the point in the fire and ate a diet of coconuts, cracked open with a rock, berries, fish and the various shelled creatures that inhabited the reef. She didn’t think she would starve, but neither did she think there was much chance of being rescued either. In thirty days of watching the sea and sky, not one ship or plane had come near and it was obvious that the island was way off the air and sea lanes. However, as they say, hope springs eternal, and she believed that one day she would be rescued, and that day came sooner than she thought.
In fact it was midmorning the very next day that she heard the drone of an aircraft engine, the sound came from the south and grew in volume as the morning wore on, until she could see a small dot in the sky. Slowly the plane drew near and she could see that it was circling the other islands in the chain. ‘Come on, I’m here.’ she shouted, despite knowing that the pilot couldn’t possibly hear. Then she remembered the flare and holding it aloft fired it into the sky, for moment she held her breath, as the plane continued to circle one of the islands and then let it out in a rush, as it turned and came towards her.
The plane a Cessna with floats, was white like the one she Greg had crashed in and a small shiver went through her as it flashed overhead. Banking into a turn, it returned, landed in the lagoon, motored right up to the beach, the door opened and Greg stepped out. For a moment Gwen was gob smacked, then she gave out howl of pure joy and raced over to fling herself into his arms. Greg had survived somehow and like a knight flying in a white charger had return to rescue her from a fate worse than death.
***
As they flew towards Fiji, on the first stage of their journey home Greg recounted his story. When they had been torn apart by the storm, he must have struck head on fuselage and been knocked unconscious, because when he awoke it was three day later and he was in the sickbay of a container ship that was on its way to New Zealand. He’d asked the captain to turn around, but he said it was too late, besides he had already radioed the position to the authorities, carried out a search of the location and there was nothing more he could do.
On reaching New Zealand Greg was determined to go back and look for Gwen himself but he had wait for a new passport to arrive before the authorities would let him leave the country. However, he finally got the go ahead and caught a direct flight to Fiji, where he hired a Cessna with extra fuel tanks, and began his search. The rest of the tale you already know.
Fred Watson. November 2009.
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All is for the best in the best of possible worlds.
Voltaire.
Beneath the Orange Blossom
It was Sarah’s hen weekend on Friday and the four of them were off to sunny Spain for a three-day break in a grand villa, complete with resident cook and waiter. Sarah, who had been pretty secretive about their actual destination, was to reveal all tonight. Janet, always the early one, was first to arrive and Sarah led her though to the kitchen, ‘The brochure’s on the table, take a look, while I pour us a glass of wine, you’ll love it, three whole days with nothing to do but swim, eat and be waited on.’
‘Sound marvellous, be nice to do nothing but relax for a change,’ said Janet.
She sat at the table, picked up the brochure, looked at the picture on the front and sucked in her breath. It had been all of eight years, but little had changed, Casa Mirador with it’s red tiled roof and bougainvillea covered walls, stood as it always had, at the end of a dusty track on the mountainside above the orange blossom filled valley.
‘Well what do you think?’ asked Sarah as she handed her a glass of red.
Janet opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the doorbell sounded and the kitchen soon filled with laughter and greetings as Vicky and Clare came in. More wine was poured and the brochure was discussed, commented upon, and despite the others knowing she had spent some time in that area of Spain, Janet didn’t let on that she had stayed at Casa Mirador itself. She told herself that it was to allow her friends to discover the delights of the house and it’s surrounds for themselves, but she knew she was fooling herself.
Eight hours after rolling out of bed in the middle of the night and making her way to the airport, Janet turned off the road onto the dusty track that led to the villa, Clare sat next to her with the map on her lap giving unneeded directions, while Sarah and Vicky dozed in the back seat of the Seat Ibiza hire car. Ahead the track widened in front of the house and the dust cloud that tailed the car settled as they came to a halt. As they piled out of the car a woman came out to greet them. Janet judged her to be a couple of years older than they were and was not so much beautiful as strong and striking in appearance, she welcomed them in broken English and said her name was Maria. Janet replied in Spanish and introduced the others. Maria explained that she would be doing the cooking, while her husband, who had gone into town for supplies, would fetch, carry and act as their waiter.
‘Whatever you need just ask Jose and we will do our best to help,’ she said with a smile.
Janet’s heart lifted as Maria said the name Jose and fell as she realised that Maria also had said – me marido – my husband. Still, she thought, there must be a million Jose’s in Spain, so there was no reason why this should be the young boy from the village that she had known. She found out that she was wrong, when, just before the evening meal was served, Maria introduced her husband. If anything he was even better looking than she remembered and in the intervening years he grown from a good looking youth into an extremely handsome man. His eyes met hers and slid away without the slightest hint of recognition and she felt a touch of sadness as he shook her hand and move on to the others.
She tried to put him out of her mind and settle down to enjoy the weekend. The second part was easy enough to do; the casa was every bit as wonderful as she remembered it to be. The first however was a problem; every time Jose brought drinks or served a meal her heart beat a little faster and she found it difficult not to reach out and ask why he was ignoring her. She knew he was married now and she accepted that he had a new life to lead. It was stupid really, but the more he ignored her, the more she felt the need to know that hadn’t forgotten her.
Several times she tried to catch him on his own, but each time he was either called away by Maria before she could speak, or one of her friend would appear and ask for a drink or a snack to be brought to the pool. Monday was their last day and in the morning Sarah decided to take a last walk through the orange grove to the place where they had made love beneath the orange blossom. There was no mistaking the spot, for like young lovers do, Jose had carved J & S inside a heart, near the bottom of the tree. It was only small because he didn’t want to do serious damage to the tree, but it was there and would remain forever, a small testament to their love.
She turned to leave and suddenly he was there and for a moment she saw into those deep dark eyes and she knew, ‘You do remember!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you had forgotten me.’
‘Of course I remember you, I will always remember you.’
Maria called for him from the house; he continued to look into her eyes, smiled as he had that night long ago and then left to go to his wife.
Fred Watson.
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