First Day
She had arrived
at her destination, at long last. Looking around ate her surroundings, she drew
in a deep breath. The sea air smelt clean and fresh with a cocktail of fish,
salt and ozone, which filled her nostrils and her whole sense of well-being, had
improved tenfold in less than an hour.
Sitting down on
the highest sand dune she could find and looked out to the horizon. The sea
lapped lazily at the shore and she decided to make a mental note of everything.
Burrowing her long lean fingers in the golden sand as she leant back, felt like
warm silk caressing her hands.
Throwing her
head back as far as she could and closed her eyes, listening to the immense
body of water in front of her singing its own rhythmic tune. The heats of the
sun beat down on her face, yet intermittently a cool breeze swept delicately
over her body and caused the long and lean dune grass gracefully, creating a
gentle rustling. This al added to the whole ambience of her perfect and safe
place.
A child
giggling in the distance broke into her private thoughts as she opened her eyes
to look down on the beach below her. A father was clutching a little girl, no
older than four or five. They were playing horses and he neighed loudly as he
trotted around the wet sand. All the while his daughter squealed with delight
as he held her tightly on his back. Smiling to herself she too remembered many
a happy and fun holiday here as a child, at this beautiful, picturesque and
more importantly secluded Welsh town. She and her brother had spent the hot
summer days playing hide and seek in the dunes, burying each other in the sand
or swimming in the ice cold sea. Children didn’t worry about trivial things.
Everything was new, exciting and an adventure.
Oh yes, she was
on an adventure herself right now, but it was far from fun or exciting. This
was to be the first day of the rest of her life and what a first day it had
been.
Reliving the
events in her mind. The day had begun at 5.30am,
although she had already been lying in wide awake for two hours listening to
the snoring stranger lying next to her. Fearful of him awakening and reading
her thoughts, knowing precisely what she was to do that day. Another fear
struck her as she watched the dawn breaking through a crack in the curtains of
their bedroom window. ‘What if he awakes to discover he is too sick to go to
work and decides to stay at home all day?’ She had felt sick herself at
this thought. She had closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but it was
no use. The thought was now planted deep in her psyche and would not leave her
until he had left the house to go to work.
Time had
dragged by, but finally he awoke and left the house as usual without kissing
her goodbye. Despite this, a pang of guilt shuddered through her as she realised
he would never she her again. It was the last time she would ever feel guilty
about him though. She heard the familiar sounds of his sports car pull away
from the drive and speed up the road and into the distance. Leaping out of
bed, she put on her dressing gown and retrieved several boxes she had hidden
under the bed a few weeks earlier. She ran down the stairs and began packing
ornaments. The job was rough and ready and she had already decided that some of
the pieces would have to be sacrificed, because time was so limited. The
removal men were due to arrive in less than three hours and there still was so
much to do.
The packing was
finished with half an hour to spare so she decided to take a shower and try to
unwind. There had been no time to think about the situation earlier but with
nothing left to do except wait, she had begun to shake violently as she worried
at the prospect of him returning home for his breakfast at nine o’clock, as he sometimes did. A cols sweat
ran down the back of her neck at this last thought. She would be in so much
trouble f he did come home now.
She had lit her
tenth cigarette, nervously as the removal men parked a lorry big enough to carry two
houses full of furniture. She cursed under her breath, as the vehicle was so
conspicuous on this tiny street where the perpetual net curtains always
twitched. She felt slightly embarrassed at first as the two strangers entered
her home. It would also be the last two people who would see her now as she
was, the scorned woman about to abandon a life as the permanent doormat and
recluse. She instructed them to remove the items she wanted. She hadn’t the
heart to clear out the entire house; it had been hard enough just to continue
the pretence for the last two weeks.
She decided to
make herself scarce and made her excuses that there was no milk left for a cup
of tea. Walking to the corner shop, furthest away from their home and her
In-laws was the best option. Careering into her retired father in-law or one of
their friends was too much to risk. Besides she no longer had the strength or
inclination left to continue to lie. At that moment in time she could quite
easily admit to anyone who asked that she had resigned from her job and was
leaving her husband.
As she arrived
back at the house with supplies, the net curtains in this neighbourhood watch
street were already beginning to move. She had to control a hysterical laugh,
twisting and turning in her stomach as one of the local residents tried to hide
behind his curtains, but in his over zealous reaction, he walked head first
into is welsh dresser and almost knocked himself out.
Luckily by the
time she had arrived back at the house, the majority of her belongings had been
packed into the storage pallet. The three of them stood awkwardly in the half
empty living room sipping hot tea whilst trying to make polite conversation.
Looking around her, the house looked quite empty, despite the fact that she was
removing only the bare essentials and she began to wonder what the two removal
men made of it all. Did they feel sorry for him? She had told herself however,
that she had left the place habitable and after all his favourite sofa and
television had been left behind, because as he had constantly reminded her…’As
long as I have my sofa and tv nothing else really matters’. He probably
wouldn’t even notice she had gone until his dinner failed to appear magically
in front of him whilst watching Thunderbirds, she had thought cynically.
The house had
been emptied in less than an hour, but there wasn't time to relax yet. He could
still burst in the front door and she really couldn’t cope with anymore
confrontations. She felt worn and weary, with a six hour coach journey still
ahead of her. Taking one last look around the house that had never felt like
home, it had been more like a stop gap, somewhere to sleep and eat for the last
five years. How someone or something could feel so right then go so horribly
wrong in such a short space of time. She had spent half of her adult life with
this man. Inhaling deeply, she had decided not to waste another moment watching
life pass her by. Placing a carefully written letter on the coffee table, she
slung her rucksack on her back and walked out of the house and up the street
without even a backward glance.
The taxi she
had ordered was waiting further up the road to take her to the bus station. It
was on the outskirts of the town so the risk of bumping into anyone, especially
her husband was very slight. However, sat on a bench at the station waiting for
her bus, her nerves were on a knife edge. She was becoming paranoid with every
tick of the station clock, thinking that everyone knew her and was watching
her. She was a city girl born and bred and she was used to her face being lost
in a crowd. She could be herself or someone else in the city and no-one would
notice. Here though in a countryside market town, everyone knew you and your
business even if you were oblivious to them. Every word, action and suggestion
was duly noted then gossiped about over morning coffee. She couldn’t handle it,
just the way she couldn’t handle the way the old local families treated her
like an outsider. Tourists were fine visiting the area, they put bread on the
table and at least they would only be a nuisance for a week or two before going
back home, but those imported from the cities to live in ‘their’ town
permanently…’well the nerve of those city slickers’
She broke off
from her thoughts; her cynicism was not helping the situation. She needed to
move forwards and not think about the past. ‘You are right where you want to
be, my girl’.
As she stood up
she felt the pins and needles in her feet, so she walked over the sand dunes
until the landscape changed to the black rocks of the coastline. She began to
walk up the coastal path that wound its way up to the top of the dark volcanic
mass. Walking through the thorny bracken and bright green luscious ferns, she
found it incredibly calm and peaceful on her troubled soul.
Stopping at
the highest point, she looked out to sea as something below her caught her eye.
Some steps had been forged out of the stone face and she could not resist an
exploration as to where they would take her. Winding down the steep slope she
lost count of the number of steps when she saw the views that beheld her. It
was a secluded beach with rocks all the shades of grey and black enclosing this
tiny alcove of paradise. The turquoise sea lapped over the indigenous rocks,
but barely brushed onto the clean golden sands.
Sitting down by
one of the many clear rocks pools, brimming with colourful tiny marine life, she drifted off once more into deep thought. As she swirled the water with a long
elegant finger. Her thoughts took her to the two kindly nuns she had met on the
National Express coach. Relief had washed over her once she had finally boarded
the vehicle and the worst chapter of her escape plan was over. The nuns were
elderly and quite frail, but very warm and friendly. They had sat opposite her
for the entire journey. With everything on her mind she had completely
forgotten to pack supplies, not even a bottle of water. The two nuns had
brought some jellied fruits with them and she must have looked thirstily at
them enjoying the juicy sweets as the youngest lady offered her one and then
again every half hourly intervals. Perhaps they had felt sorry for her because
she was travelling alone or maybe they could see she had the weight of the
world on her shoulders. She was grateful for their kindness and wished them
both well on their continuing journey as she left the coach.
Checking her watch, her heart skipped a beat. Her husband would know the truth by
now. He would have read her letter and seen the state of the house. Worrying
suddenly, she thought about how he might have reacted to the news. Did he
crumple to the floor crying into her letter with regrets or had he flown into a
rage and vented his anger on the furniture that was left.
Shaking the
thoughts from her head with a shiver, she was shocked to notice that dusk was creeping in on a
blanket of indigos, violets and pinks across the coastal sky. It was time to
head back to the warmth and safety of the caravan that she would call home for
a while. Her streetwise city girl instincts had not left her completely as she
knew it would be foolish to remain here in this unlit and uninhabited place.
As she walked
back along the coastal path she took her mobile phone from her coat pocket and
felt brave enough to switch it on. Ten messages had been left. She felt sick
again and turned it off. Perhaps, she would call her parents just to let them know
she was alright, but deep down she still couldn’t face the music just yet. The
accusations and ridicule she knew would be the ultimate fall out. They would
just have to wait. With each day that passed, she knew she could strengthen her
resolve and one day be ready to go back to her hometown the same way she had
left it five years earlier, happy, independent and free. But for now she just wanted to soak in the last moments of her first day.
I listened to other authors reading extracts from their own latest pieces of work, which I always greatly admire. For me public speaking is hard enough, but reading your own words to an anticipating crowd is petrifying, so I had great admiration for those reading. I also listened to James Barclay's interview, which was very interesting as he described how he struggled as a writer in his early years and gave me motivation to carry on with my writing endeavours .
David Howe of Telos Publishing and Terry Martin of Murky Depths Graphic Novels when I went to the bar and began talking to a lovey gentleman who bought me a drink and started chatting about writing for the BBC, this was Paul Cornell, who had written episodes for Doctor Who and so I attended his workshop on the Saturday to learn more about how to get your foot in the door as a BBC script writer, I'm still trying, but the writer's room only open up for submissions one a year, so I persist.
This panel is of author Storm Constantine and Terry Martin. I always recommend attending these conventions and panels as an aspiring writer because you can pick up amazing snippets of valuable advice from a pro and these panels are a chance to ask them pretty much whatever you like. Saturday evening was a live band and meal and I even had the absolute honour of player pool with the late, great Ian M. Banks.
EM - Com Birmingham. The two previous Sci-Fi and Fantasy Conventions were smaller, with a family feel and were focused around books, graphic novels and their authors. This Em - Com was huge in comparison, with many stalls to weave in and out of selling books, witchcraft products, Harry Potter memorabilia, Sci-fi toys from favourite TV and films, I wondered how I could possibly stand out from the rest. As you can see I went with a Scottish theme to match the Scotland theme that runs through the Beyond Books I write, and it seemed to work selling quite a lot of my signed books.
The other differences were that this event was very firmly centre around stars of the film and TV world, all lined up in a long row down one side of the huge hall, stars like the cast from the Red Dwarf, Game of Thrones and Star Trek and Doctor Who were there and it seemed most people attended purely to get a signed photo of the stars. No-one seemed to care about the writers who made the series or film the success it was in the first place. Very different and the amount of cos-play was astonishing. Above is an ewok, but there were storm troopers, Darth Vaders, Trekky fans galore, dressed up in some amazingly realistic costumes.
The most amazing experience of my writing career and of Sci-Fi and Fantasy Conventions was the Sci-Fi Weekender in Wales. More cosplay, but there was a much more of a balance between writers, artists, actors panels, with cosplay competitions and different areas, such as the shopping area, scifi cinema, comedians and shows out of this world. Definitely an eclectic mix to entertain just about every fantasy.
And of course, there were still those members of the public who spend a fortune, and great creative time and effort on their costumes. They walk around all day long having their photos taken with other cos-players, which I find fascinating.
