They’re shooting in the fields around us.
Dark shapes against pale skies.
Tweed caps, boots and Barbour jackets.
Dogs weave, nosing close to ground.
Sudden clamour-call and beating,
Startled pheasants whirring clatter
panic this way, that way
this way,
slower than the shot that brings them down.
Iridescent, plumply feathered,
heads dangle bloodied beaks.

We watch safely from our window.

They’re shooting in the fields around them.
Camouflaged and faceless shapes.
Bullets ricochet off homesteads.
Figures drop and clutch at hostile earth.
Others panic this way, that way,
this way,
slower than the shot that brings them down.
A bloodied sandal dangles from a tiny foot.

We watch safely from our sofa.

You said what!
To hear wrong I just might.
I am a bit deaf.
So I cannot believe I heard right.

You and I must be dreaming.
You would never say a thing like that.
You had a dream and it seems real.
If it is true I will eat my hat.

You said what
You love David, so you say
Well I have news for you
I married him yesterday.

Silence.

The clock ticks quietly on the dresser. 

It’s pitch black and silent outside. 

In the house too, save for a faint glow from the embers of the evening’s fire and the regular drip of water on the floor of his bedroom where shingles have been ripped from his roof. 

After hours of howling winds and creaking walls the storm has abated and he prays it’s gone for good. 
For a moment more raindrops rattle on the roof. 
Then all is silent again. 

Yesterday he’d heard groans and crashes as trees were torn down in the copses round the house and along the track to the settlement. 
He’d seen his cart shed disintegrate and fly away in a thousand pieces before the maelstrom caught the cart and rolled it across the yard and down the bank until it was wrecked against a wall. 
No sight nor sound of his mule. 

And now all is silent. 

He shivers as the night’s cold invades the house but he fears to go out and fetch more wood for the fire. 
So he pulls his coat around his thin old shoulders in the silence and huddles down to wait. 

To wait for light. 

To wait to find out what he has left. 

To wait to find out who else survived. 

In the silence.

After the storm.

HE had never liked putting the clocks back. Suddenly the Sun would set by just after 4 o’clock to be deeply dark by half past five. And tonight, for the next three and a half hours, gangs of kids would come banging on the door, frightening his wife into giving them sweets or biscuits, and letting off thunderous fireworks outside houses that refused to comply. Halloween. He’d hated it ……… for years. 

As soon as it was dark enough he went into the sitting room. She was sitting miserably in her cosy armchair with the television on, a dim table lamp lit next to it and the curtains carefully drawn so as not to let even a chink of light betray her presence. Curled tightly on her lap was the cat she had adopted for company when it appeared as a stray from nowhere two Halloweens ago. She’d taken pity on it because of its obvious distress when a particularly vicious gang had thrown fireworks at it shortly before a car ran some of them down in a bizarre accident that had the neighbourhood animated for days. Now she saw it as her privilege to cuddle it and keep it safe throughout the explosive evenings from Halloween to Guy Fawkes Night. The cat certainly appeared to enjoy the attention. 

HE went over to the armchair. She was watching a romantic film in black and white on Talking Pictures and there were faint tear tracks down her face. He leaned over and lightly stroked her cheek, feeling it’s warmth as a sharp electric shock. She gave an involuntary shiver, pushed the cat off her knee and got up to switch on the electric fire. 

The cat mewed quietly as if in protest. As soon as she sat down again it leapt onto her lap and sat glaring at him. 

“Tough!” HE breathed. “I heard you. You needn’t swear at me. I know your game - waiting for goodness knows how long ‘til it’s safe to go back to your witching ways. We’ll not see you for dust then. Think yourself lucky! At least she can see you and comfort you and feed you and imagine that you love her, you wretch! While I look out for her all the time and only get Halloween to manifest myself and attempt to communicate with her - for all the good it does. If you know the secret of how I make her see me for pity’s sake tell me; there’s no manual for ghosts on Halloween. The best I seem able to do is make her shiver. No wonder ghosts get a bad press!” 

The cat regarded him steadily then stood, arched its back, turned round twice, sat down and brushed its whiskers with its front paws. As it curled up it quietly mewed “Sorry. I can’t help you, it’s against the Warlocks’ Code. It’s something you have to figure out yourself.” With that the cat closed its eyes, licked its lips and went back to sleep. 

HE watched over his wife while she watched television and dozed for the rest of the evening. Then, just as she got up to go to bed, she shivered again and involuntarily knocked over his framed photograph on the table next to her chair. She gently picked it up, gazed at it through blurry eyes and whispered “Hello you! Don’t worry, I’ve not forgotten you. Sometimes I think I feel your presence near me and it comforts me. Just like I comfort that old stray cat. But YOU are a keeper!” 

She kissed the photograph and stood the frame on her table. Then she shooed the cat out of the back door and climbed the stairs to bed. HE realised he was fading away for another year but for the first time since he died he knew everything was going to be alright, that he was still loved and he could carry on watching over her until next year. 

The mantle clock struck twelve. All was quiet and nothing moved

Dear Sirs,

Please find enclosed the unsolicited articles which you sent me. 

At first I thought they were samples which I might find useful. Accordingly, I asked my dear friend, Muriel, to tea and showed them to her and asked her opinion. She was very interested and examined them carefully. She also thought that they might just be useful, although neither of us could think of a situation in our experience when such things have been useful. 

Thinking that a gentleman might be more aware of these articles, I invited my great-nephew to Sunday tea. Gerald is such a dear boy and often entertains me with tales of his exploits at University so I had no hesitation in showing him your wares and asking him for his opinion. I’m sorry to say that I have never seen Gerald spill his tea like that and I’m still trying to get the stain out of the upholstery. Gerald did not seem keen to elucidate further than to say that he did NOT think that I would get enough use from them. 

Personally I have always thought that red and black together are a little risqué but I do think the quality of the leather used is very good. I have enclosed the tiny key in a separate envelope so that it will not get lost and urge you to stress to your customers that it is very difficult to unlock the chain when alone. I missed the Women’s Institute meeting for the first time in forty five years and had to ask the Vicar to use the key when he paid his usual visit. He manfully came to my rescue although he did seem unduly impressed that I had managed to lock the chain, and appeared to find the situation quite amusing. Dear Vicar, he always looks on the bright side of life. 

However, I have been persuaded that I have no real use for these articles and am therefore returning them to you and expect the postage to be refunded. 

Yours sincerely,

Gertrude Derty (Miss).

As I walked out that evening the gaggle of spectators went quiet. A subdued wolf-whistle was shushed. It was the longest fifty yards I’d ever walked. I adjusted my helmet as I reached the crease and forced myself to look confidently around the field. Everyone was smiling and exchanging glances with eyebrows raised.

Arlington Hammer’s village team had been living up to its name. Their fast bowler was a hefty six foot three and had been slamming the ball down the pitch consistently, dismissing our best batsmen and bowlers too. He looked at me appraisingly, then casually tossed the ball to one of the less competent slow bowlers. “You’ll do for her,” he muttered, though just loud enough for me to hear, “a woman, what do they think they’re on!”

I took my stance. Our team, Milby Village, had been desperate for one more player and having played at school ten years before, I volunteered. What an uproar that caused. One or two misogynists were very vocal in their disapproval, but in the end it was decided needs must and I was grudgingly accepted as ‘last man’. I’d thrown myself into keeping fit and was usually first at nets and last to leave.

My mouth was dry and my palms sticky inside my gloves as I positioned my feet and patted down some high spots in the dusty crease. He lobbed a patronisingly slow straight ball towards me. I stepped forward and whacked it away to the boundary for four. A cheer rose from the crowd with more whistling and the fielders who had closed in around me, moved further out again. The next was a no-ball and the next a wide. Had I disconcerted him? Number four was a clever leg-break but I was there and edged it between slips and square leg for three. My partner made short work of the last two of the over and it was me again. “Give him hell,” Jack hissed as we passed. Suddenly I was facing their best fast bowler. Gone was his condescending smile. He hitched up his trousers and paced out his run-up. I was ready and hit out with all my strength. Another four and even an admiring “Not bad,” from the wicket-keeper. His mouth set, Mr Hammer, as I was silently calling him, hurtled to the crease and the wicket shattered behind me.

We’d lost the match but as I walked back that evening to loud applause, I was a happy woman. Our captain had been out for a duck. With eleven runs to my credit I guess I’d keep my place on the team and maybe move up the order.

And if you believe all that, you’ll believe anything!

Have you ever tucked into your Sunday lunch
While on telly are folks with nothing to eat?
Have you left roast beef at the side of your plate
And been told you’re lucky to have meat?
Have you gone for a walk on a sunny day
And met someone in a wheelchair?
He cannot walk, his legs just won’t go,
Yet he seems without a care. 

Do you stop to admire the beauty of a tree
Then meet someone who is blind?
The only beauty they probably know
Is music and someone who’s kind.
Have folks in for a drink or a chat
While someone’s alone up the street
Elderly - doesn’t get out very much?
For someone to call would be a treat. 

Once I fell and hurt myself
And moaned at the pain I was going through.
Then I met someone always in pain.
She smiled and said “How are you?”
So you see what an unfair World it is -
How smiling is a hard thing to do -
And all the smiling faces around
Have more problems than you.

Lily Jones heaved a sigh of relief as she stood and looked around her new flat. How pleasant and welcoming it seemed now that her paintings covered the rather bare walls. The council had been very good about rehousing her, and at last she felt safe.

She wandered over to the large bay window which overlooked a pretty courtyard – the perfect place to put a little table and two comfortable chairs and gaze out at the world as she drank her morning cup of coffee.

She became aware of a face at a window across the courtyard,  nodding and smiling at her. Lily ducked away quickly, frightened of being recognised, then relaxed and looked back. The face was still there - an elderly lady with grey hair and glasses, and a splash of bright pink scarf. No threat there!  Lily nodded and smiled back. She felt warmed, and not quite so alone in the world. After that, they often exchanged smiles and nods.

One day Lily was coming back from shopping when someone stopped her – it was the lady from across the way.

“Hello dear”, she smiled, “have you settled in now? My name is Eleanor Collins and if there’s anything you need to know, please do ask. I’ve lived here quite a long time now so I know most of what goes on.”

Lily smiled and was about to make a quick excuse and move on when something stopped her. 

“My name’s Lily,” she said, “Why don’t you come up tomorrow morning for a coffee – I’d love some company”.

The next morning Eleanor was at the door and sniffed appreciatively at the aromas of freshly ground coffee and newly baked scones. “Ah, a lady after my own heart” she chuckled.

As they sat down in the window with their coffee Eleanor told her a little about her own life. She was a retired teacher who had never married, but enjoyed a small circle of friends. “I’m afraid a lot of people round here think I’m a bit nosey,” she said, “but I do like to keep an eye on things. Mind you, I have had some embarrassing moments when I’ve put two and two together and made five.

Last week I saw a stranger coming out of Mrs. Curry’s house and walking off with her pedigree dog. Well, you hear about dogs being kidnapped all the time, don’t you? I hurried across and knocked on her door to let her know and I felt very foolish when she said she’d employed a new dog walker after she’d sprained her ankle. Good job I hadn’t phoned the police! And then there was the time when a removal van turned up and took all Mrs. Dales’ furniture away while she was out. Nobody had told me she was going to live with her daughter. But here I am, running on – why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Lily looked at the kindly face, the eyes full of wisdom, and somehow, it all tumbled out. How Lily had looked after her mother for years, had inherited a little nest egg when she died and had fallen for the first man to sweep her off her feet. Unfortunately he was only interested in her money, and when Lily refused to divulge her bank details he had become violent and threatened her. Fearing for her life, Lily had fled to a battered wife’s home and had eventually been rehoused by the council in this nice little flat. She’d lived in fear of being discovered ever since, but was beginning to feel a little more confident now.

This was the start of a firm friendship and the two ladies were often to be seen sitting together in one window or the other. One day, when they were putting the world to rights over their coffee and cake, Lily gasped and pulled back behind the curtain. “Eleanor, it’s him – he’s found me” she gasped. Eleanor looked out and saw a man standing in the courtyard, glaring up at the window.  He was large and burly and looked very threatening. As their eyes met, she recoiled from the hatred she saw there.

The police were called and came round quite quickly, but by that time of course he’d gone. They left a policeman who checked the locks at all the doors and windows and installed an alarm. “We’ll try and keep an eye on things” said the kindly officer, but Lily was not reassured – she knew they were short of staff.

Lily slept badly for the rest of the week, but eventually relaxed a little when nothing happened. By the end of the week she was so tired that she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. She slept right through the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen, the shrill ring of the telephone and the noise of the alarm. She didn’t know what woke her up eventually, it must have been the smell of the smoke in her bedroom and the roar of the flames outside. She tried to switch on her bedside light but nothing happened. Panic stricken she struggled out of bed, but in the smoky darkness she had no idea how to escape. There was no way out of the door, she could see the flames already licking around it. Coughing and spluttering, her eyes streaming, she retreated to the window, but she knew she couldn’t jump, she was two floors up!. Then she heard someone calling,“Lily”. The wardrobe doors were open and there was Eleanor, coming forward to help her. What on earth was she doing here? Lily was half dragged into the wardrobe, and was astonished to find a door in the wall,  hidden by the wardrobe. Stumbling through, she found herself on a fire escape and a fireman was helping her down.

“My friend, Eleanor”, she gasped, “She’s still up there”. But the fireman shook his head. “No pet, there’s no-one else, we’ve checked - apart from the man in the kitchen who must have started it. He splashed so much petrol around that he went up in flames himself! I’m afraid he’s a goner.”

As Lily was led away in an ambulance, she glanced up and saw Eleanor in the window of her flat. She smiled and waved, and Lily was very relieved, until she was questioned by the police the next morning.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jones, it’s very easy to get confused in a fire. You couldn’t have seen Miss Collins in your room. It appears that she spotted the fire from her window and alerted the Fire service and the Police, then tried to ring you, but there was no answer. She must have thought she was too late. She had a massive heart attack and must have died almost immediately. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Rhoda Proudlove gave a sigh of satisfaction as she surveyed her latest entry for the online dating site. She had carefully checked every little detail as usual and read it to herself for the last time.

“Gloriana, successful business woman in her early thirties, w.l.t.m. mature businessman for intelligent conversation and companionship, and perhaps a little fun.” The photo she had posted online would surely appeal to anyone, especially the more mature man she was hoping to ensnare. Long blonde hair, blue eyes and just enough make-up to enhance her lightly tanned features – she looked like a film star. This was no surprise as she had used a digitally enhanced photo of Goldie Hawn from the internet!

She glanced at the mirror on her desk and grinned – it did not reflect the vision on the screen in any way. Small eyes set a little too close together gazed out at her from a thin and pasty face which showed every line of her 50something years, and her lank, straggly hair was more ash-grey than ash-blonde!

Still, what did it matter? Her prospective suitors would never set eyes on the real Rhoda, she would make very sure of that! Pressing the submit button, she sat back to await developments.

Rhoda was a very successful business woman in her own line of work. Every few weeks she would reinvent herself on line and target a new group of ‘suitors’. She knew from experience that they would be older men who were only too ready to believe that a glamorous young woman would be interested in them. “Well, there’s no fool like an old fool” she would say to herself, contemptuously. Rhoda had no heart, no scruples and definitely no conscience.

Six weeks later, and Rhoda was online again, about to talk to her fifth suitor, Henry. She smiled to herself as she looked back over the last few weeks. Her bank balance was already richer by  £40,000, and she was now looking forward to a nice Easter break in a luxury hotel in Venice

 How easy it had all been, almost too easy. Granted, she always had to put quite a lot of effort into the first few weeks with each new man, establishing a warm and caring relationship with her target over the phone and lulling him into a false sense of security until she felt the time was right to move in for the kill.

Suitor no. 1 was Howard. After finally agreeing to meet him, she had rung up in tears to say that her landlord had thrown her out and she would need to find £10,000 to pay off her arrears and find a new place. Howard had very obligingly coughed up and as soon as the money had gone into her account, she had closed it and started up a new one under a different name. Howard waited in vain for the cosy little meeting where a grateful Gloriana would “make it all up to him.” 

And so it went on. George paid out £10,000 for a life-saving operation for her mother, and Ted paid out for a life-saving operation for herself. Frederico, being Italian, had fallen for the Mafia ‘price on her head’ pitch. It was always £10,000 as Rhoda felt that was a nice round manageable sum. After each haul she would lie low for a couple of months, spend the proceeds and reinvent herself.

Finally, she was ready to move in on Henry. Somehow she had sensed that he was not quite so suggestible as the others. He was always pestering her to show herself on-line, or to meet up for a cosy little dinner. It had been quite difficult fobbing him off. It was nearly the end of March, and she had booked an Easter holiday in four day’s time. She would need to make sure that the business was concluded before that. It was cutting it a bit fine, but still……..

After she had finally agreed to meet him later that week, her plan swung into operation.

Ringing his number, she waited until he answered, then burst into floods of tears. “Oh, Henry”, she sobbed, “I was so looking forward to meeting you on Friday but I can’t. My sister has rung up from Australia to say my Mum is very ill – I have to drop everything and fly over on Friday the first.  I’ve no idea where I’m going to get the money for the fare, and on top of that I’ll have to pay her medical bills. What am I going to do?”

There was a long silence instead of the immediate offer she expected. Quick, Rhoda, rethink!

“Could you possibly lend me the money, Darling? I promise I’ll pay it back as soon as I get home. We could meet up for dinner and I’ll show you just how grateful I am”.

“Don’t you worry, Pet,” said Henry, “Of course I’ll lend you the money. It’ll have to be in cash, I don’t believe in banks. Where shall I bring it to you?”

Of course, this was not at all what Rhoda wanted to hear. She was used to quick, clean payments with no complications, but however much she pleaded, Henry was adamant. If she wanted the money, they would have to meet face to face. In the end she agreed that she would meet him at the airport before she flew out. He would be in a wheelchair with his carer, he said, and was longing to meet her at last.

Rhoda, for the first time, was thrown. This had never happened before – she would have to use all her acting abilities to get through this one.

Friday arrived, and Rhoda left for the airport looking quite unlike her usual self. Wearing a long blonde wig with a headscarf tied round to keep it on, and heavy make-up, she also sported huge glamorous sunglasses and a face mask to ward off any viruses. At least she gave the impression of glamour, hopefully enough to fool Henry. 

At the gates an old man with white hair and a long beard was waiting, waving a red rose as arranged. His carer hovered protectively over him. 

“Darling,” cooed Gloriana, “you came. Have you got the money?” Henry signalled to his carer, who passed over a bulky envelope. Gloriana’s eyes glistened greedily, but as she took the package “Henry” pulled off his beard and wig and leapt out of the wheelchair.

“Rhoda Proudlove?” he said. “Chief Inspector Bassett of the Fraud Squad. We have been following your every move for the past few months. We know all about your  

nasty little scams and you are under arrest”.

Rhoda could only stare with her mouth open. “You tricked me”, she squealed, “You’ve been leading me on!”

The Inspector smiled. “April Fool.”