Broken Case Extension

Both Tristan Sender and Lindsay Ratcliffe have, due to extenuating circumstances, officially granted each other and anyone else out there an extension of one week on this story. We have only just posted our Anniversary story anyway, so that should keep any avid readers who might be out there busy.
The broken case will now be due on Monday 7th of December.
We may also if we are lucky have a couple of extra entrants who have expressed an interest in participating.

Anniversary (Lindsay Ratcliffe)

Moving On

by

Lindsay Ratcliffe

It was Halloween 2009. I was newly single and ready to party dressed as a dark angel in a short black dress, stockings, boots, short black wig, Venetian mask and beautiful black feather wings that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Mardi Gras. I almost didn’t go to the party on account that my ex, Tristan, would be there, but I thought it would be a shame not to go having got the costume together. Plus, I looked damn hot in that outfit, even if I do say so, and there’s no better time to face an ex than when you’re feeling good?

I was on my third or fourth glass of punch, by the time Tristan made an appearance. He came as a scary clown wearing an op’ shop suit and a beautifully morbid, latex half-face mask. We both socialised in opposite ways around the party, avoiding each other for long enough to look like neither of us gave a damn anymore. Then at the inevitable meeting we couldn’t help but flirt with each other.

We were still chatting when the silly party games started. The laughter was raucous and the music got so loud it was hard to hear. I can’t remember which one of us suggested it but Tristan and I left the party and went for a walk.

There was a great vibe on the streets in Coogee. The backpackers were out in full force and there was hardly a reveller without glow-in-the-dark horns, a trident or a scary mask. We headed to the Coogee Bay Hotel, however the entry queue snaked to the end of the street, so we jumped in a cab hoping that it was too early in the season for the backpackers to have discovered the Clovelly Hotel yet.

We were singing, laughing and being annoying like only drunk people can when Tristan suddenly changed his mind about going to the ‘Cloey’.

“I’ve got a better idea! Let’s do something a bit more fitting for Halloween!”

I’d no idea what I was getting myself into but being too merry to care shrugged and agreed.

“Turn left here!”

Tristan directed the cab driver and I wasn’t as familiar with the area I was somewhat confused when he asked the driver to drop us on a quiet residential street.

“What are we doing?”

He opened up his over-sized suit jacket and extracted a bottle of vodka that he’d procured from the party.

“Where’s the perfect place to party on Halloween?”

I looked around and saw we were at the edge of Waverley cemetery.

“You’ve got to be kidding?” I was both horrified and excited at the same time, yet I still beat him scaling the wall.

We acted like idiots, hiding behind gravestones then jumping out, scaring the living daylights out of one another. Exhausted and a bit too drunk we sat on the edge of a large memorial looking out at the dark sea, swigging from the bottle.

“I can’t think of a better place that I would rather spend eternity! I love it up here looking out over the ocean!”

He passed me the bottle but didn’t let go when I put my hand to it. He raised the bottle to my lips. I took a swig but I felt his intention change and an uncomfortable feeling crept over me. Suddenly I didn’t want to be alone with Tristan.

“I think I’ve had enough.” I said pulling my arms and legs close into my body.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just getting a bit cold.”

He removed his jacket and put it over my shoulders.

“Thanks.” I pulled the jacket lapels together to make my chill seem genuine.  “I think we should head back. They’ll wonder where we’ve gone.”

“Since when did you care? Not feeling scared are you?”

I shrugged and started to walk away but he pulled me back and lunged in for a clumsy kiss. I pushed him away.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I thought…”

“What part of ‘this is over’ don’t you get?”

“The part where you continue to flirt with me and lead me on!”

I know he was right, but it was not what I wanted. The fight didn’t last long as I said some pretty harsh things and he walked off cursing me. I didn’t much relish being left alone in a cemetery in this silly outfit, but somehow it was better than what might have happened had I not stopped him.

The sea winds lashed around me again and almost took my wig. The jacket flapped around my sides and I genuinely started to feel cold, so I slipped my arms into the jacket properly and thrust my hands into the pockets. The fingers of my right hand wrapped around a folded piece of paper. I pulled it out of the pocket and saw it was an envelope. I presumed it was something of Tristan’s, but I didn’t know any ‘Mrs E Campbell’ nor did I recognise the handwriting so I figured it was something left there by the previous owner. I shuddered but fingered the envelope anyway, considering opening it. The wind whipped up again and the envelope was almost whisked out of my hands. It was enough of a reminder to know that I should be leaving. It wasn’t the auspicious night; just reasoning that being a lone female in a cemetery after dark was probably not a great idea.

I looked around, not sure which was the best way out. I became very aware of the dark. There was no street lighting nearby and thick clouds were suffocating any light that the moon might have offered. Panic rose in my chest as all I could see in any direction, which wasn’t very far in the dark, was gravestones, tombs and a headless silhouette of a stone angel. Then I remembered my iPhone. I turned until the sea-wind was blowing into my face so I knew I was facing East, then used the Map and Locate Me function to work out the quickest way out.

The wind whistling through the lines of graves unnerved me. Using my iPhone for illumination I headed south in the direction of the nearest perimeter wall. The wind changed direction and walking headlong into it was hard going. My stomach tightened, as I saw that the nearby trees were not being menaced by the wind in the same way that I was. I tried to calm and centre myself. Not an easy thing to do given the circumstances. Then I felt something brush my cheek and the shriek that tried to escape was strangled by the wind in my throat.

“Leave me alone!” I was almost in tears. I just wanted to go home.

Then I heard a whisper, which was both inside and outside my head at the same time.

“My letter…”

“Tristan I’ll freakin kill you, if I find out that’s you!”

I somehow knew it wasn’t Tristan but I felt better blaming him. I shook my head, seriously regretting having drank so much. Then the noise came at me again, only this time it was stronger and seemed to assault me from all directions at once. Instead of feeling scared, I felt strangely empowered. I figured the problem was not me, but the letter, which in my inebriated mind at that moment, gave me something to bargain with. I held the letter as if I intended to tear it in half.

“Leave me alone or I’ll do it!”

I heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath and then a localised moan.

“Twelve years! Twelve years I’ve waited!”

In the space two metres in front of me stood a crying man. He was in essence a man but without any mass. I can’t explain how I knew that, except there was no physical energy with his presence. I didn’t feel afraid anymore, just wary.

“Is this yours?” I waved the letter at him.

“Where did you get it?”

“I found it in this old jacket.”

“So! My wife decided to get rid of the last reminders of me?”

“Is this letter to your wife?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Ha! It is if you want me to post it!”

He looked right through me and seemed to tug at my soul. I experienced a kind of pain but not one that I could identify within my physical body. Then I felt a wave of sadness and regret surge through me and the man looked away.

“The letter is to Enid, she was my first love.”

“That’s all very nice but I’m cold, starting with an early hangover and stuck in a cemetery on Halloween in an op’ shop jacket. So not wanting to sound funny or anything, but so what?”

“I wrote that letter to Enid when I knew I didn’t have long left. But I died before I could post it. I hoped you could deliver it?”

He came a little closer but I held out my hand to deter him.

“What about your wife? Does she know about Enid?”

“I wasn’t having an affair!”

“Your wife might see things differently! Did you love her?”

“I was married to her for thirty-seven years!”

“Yes, but did you love her?”

“Yes of course, but she didn’t love me, not in the same way as Enid. Enid adored me. She would do anything for me. She was my first love. You never forget that!”

“So your wife doesn’t give you enough attention and now your planning on spending your eternity hankering after some teenage crush?

“It’s not like that!”

“I won’t post it. I don’t think its fair. How would you feel if you discovered your wife pined for someone else for your whole marriage? Even if I did post it what good can it do?”

He wringed his hands together and pleaded,

“I’ve been waiting twelve years for this! It’s meant to be! Otherwise that letter would never have survived. You have to take it to Enid!”

“Nah I disagree! I think this letter was meant to find it’s way back to you to stop you being an idiot for the rest of eternity. You need to move on!”

“Please! You must!”

“How’s Enid going to feel? What if this letter stirs it all up for her again and then she discovers you’re dead? It’s so selfish!”

“It’s just such a waste to have all these feelings and not to share them.”

“How would your have wife felt if she found the letter?”

He hung his head.

“So she did love you?”

I let him talk. It was clear that he was lonely, but I felt that he’d created his own prison, in both life and beyond because of his misplaced affections and romantic ideals.

“Did you ever think that maybe your wife loved you just as much as Enid, maybe even more, she just showed it in a different way?”

He began to describe his wife and some of the nice things she used to do for him. The more he talked about his wife the less I could hear him and the less I could see him until he wasn’t there anymore.

The wind rushed around me, encircled me, whipping my legs and the jacket against my body, the wings on my back threatening to break. I opened my fingers and let the letter go to the elements. It spiralled upwards in its own private vortex then flipped and flapped, like a fish out of water, as the wind carried it away. It didn’t travel too far before the wind vanished and the envelope dropped, as heavy as a stone, just slightly off the path. There were no other sounds or sensations; the air was now still. The envelope rested on a grave. A bouquet of fresh flowers rested against a headstone.

Michael Mullen

much loved husband

Died 31 October 1997 aged 63   

Anniversary (Tristan Sender)

Anniversary Present

By

Tristan Sender

The crunch of gravel underfoot on the driveway announced James’s approach to the party. It was a year to the day that he had last been here for the wedding of his first cousin Jane to Sir John Goodham. One-year anniversary parties were a tiresome tradition in his and other upper middle class families.

James had never understood the need for such an event, surely five or ten years would be an appropriate milestone; but who was he to complain, free booze, and fine dining awaited him in the white marquee on the other side of the Cotswold stone mansion he had arrived at.

The thing was, James had slightly more reason to approach this social event with trepidation and he felt a lump in his throat as he knocked on the oak door. It opened and the butler on hire for the day ushered him through the hallway out to the picture perfect scene at the back of the house. James hesitated on the terrace, enjoying the English summers day. He inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass and listened to the chatter of happy birds. His moment didn’t last. 

“James what are you doing loitering up here?” inquired his Aunt Elizabeth, host and mother of the bride. 

“Hello Aunty, I was just admiring your garden.”

“Thankyou, it’s nice to see you, but I must say I’m disappointed to see you decided not to bring a companion.” she lied.

“Well you know…”

“Don’t you think its time you settled down; it’s done wonders for Jane.” 

“Well I am sure I will when the right girl comes along.”

“Wives don’t just appear, you have to pursue them. Look, I think I might have found the perfect girl for you. Anne, she’s a bit younger, very attractive and from a delightful family. Anyway, can’t stop I have to check on the canapés; I’ll introduce you later. Enjoy the party.” She turned to pursue her mission inside.

James hated forced introductions and the behind the scenes meddling in his love life that was endemic in his family. He welcomed the opportunity to escape and descended into the garden to find a drink.

The party was in full flow and waiters dressed in dinner suits carried chilled champagne, whilst sweltering in the afternoon sun. James grabbed his first glass and drank it down quenching his nervous thirst. There was only a brief interlude before he was reaching for another only, to be interrupted by the booming voice of his cousin and brother of the bride, Rupert Van De Berg.  

“Well! Well! The weasel returns to the crime scene. Didn’t think you’d have the stomach to show up.” 

“Fuck off Rupert! I didn’t have a choice, I would have been disowned if hadn’t.”

“If it had been me…”

“Is she coming?”

“Far worse than that my old friend!”

“What could be worse?”

“Have you looked at the table plan?” Rupert laughed.

James turned heading towards the marquee with Rupert in hot pursuit. He scanned the ornately printed plan for his name. 

“Table two I think.” teased Rupert.

A look at the occupants revealed the awful truth; He was seated at the same table as

Cecilia Hamilton.

“No!”

Rupert laughed, sticking his boot in further,

“It gets worse! She’s sat next to you, and there’s no way of changing the name tags, they’re sown into the table cloths!” 

“Fuck!”

“Well if you will go dipping your todger in to any lassie that takes your fancy, you have to be prepared for the consequences.” Rupert goaded. “Anyway I think it should be great entertainment on an otherwise dull evening!”

“You mean you had something to do with this?”

“What can I say? Your Mother asked if I knew of any suitable ladies coming to the party. I obliged, and she was most grateful.”

“You utter wanker!” James shouted storming off.  

Cecilia was a nice lady with good manners and a respectable background. She was not unattractive, but James thought that her style was more appropriate for a fifty year old, than a woman in her late twenties. James knew she was not his type, but his taste was flexible depending on how much he had to drink. This had been the case one year ago. 

The wedding like today had been a tedious affair with only a scattering of single women for the men to fight over. Abandoned on his table without a dance partner he had turned his attentions to Cecilia who was in a similar predicament. As they chatted and he drank, the timid girl in front of him became increasingly attractive. Cecilia’s conservative attire left everything to his imagination, and her prim proper tone became seductive and enticing. James longed to find out what she would be like in bed, imagining a wild and passionate woman waiting to be set free. He had decided at that point to do whatever he could to win Cecilia over.  

Surprisingly it hadn’t taken too much, a few glasses of wine, a bit of charm and she revealed the crush she held for him. Their kissing on the dance floor had gained a round of applause and they soon moved their display somewhere more private. The sex in the pool house had been a clumsy drunken event, but not without its charm on what would have been an otherwise uneventful night. He had woken the next morning held tightly in her embrace, and had prised himself free to escape before he was discovered. Rupert, lover of any scandal, was too clever for this and had burst in just as he was putting his underpants back on. 

Rupert and his friends had been quick to publicise the whole affair, and as was so often the case Cecilia bore the brunt of the shame. Branded a desperate slut she disappeared from their social circle, while James enjoyed the strangely appealing title of ‘bastard.’

For weeks after the event he had been bombarded by calls from Cecilia, all of which he had ignored. Her messages had continued, growing in intensity and desperation for nearly a month. Then suddenly without warning they had stopped and he heard no more. 

As James moved from one dull conversation to another his mind was preoccupied with one thing, ‘what was he going to say to Cecilia?’ He decided he would just have to man up, and apologise for being such a rotten cad. Ever the coward he soon changed his mind deciding to leave. He was too late and turning to leave James saw his Aunt and mother making a beeline for him with a young lady in tow.

“There you are James, I’ve been looking all over!” puffed his Aunt. “I want to introduce you to Anne Montgomery.”

“Very pleased to meet you!” said James extending his hand. 

“Likewise.” Anne replied coyly.

James felt butterflies leap in his stomach as he looked into her beautiful blue eyes. 

“Anne has just got back from Nigeria with her family; her father was head of the

British diplomatic service in Lagos.” His mother exclaimed.

 “She hardly knows anyone, so your mother and I thought you would be the perfect person to show her the ropes.” 

“I would be delighted, but think I might rather like to keep her to myself.” James half joked.

“I’m sure I will be just fine, but thanks for thinking of me.” Anne blushed.

The ladies match making was interrupted by the clang of a bell announcing dinner.

“Saved by the bell!” James replied. “I hope we get the chance to chat later.”

“Don’t worry James I have sat you together, now escort the young lady to her seat.”

James had not yet seen Cecilia and her chair was still empty when the hors d'œuvres arrived. Whatever the reason, he was grateful.

James introduced Anne to everyone sat round the table, before greedily dominating her conversation. He discovered they had a mutual love of Africa, and was able to talk in depth about his overland trip from London to Cape Town. By the time the main course arrived James had forgotten all about Cecilia, and was well into his charming stride. He made the first move testing the water by laying his hand on hers. Anne smiled leaving her hand under his, so James leaned forwards and kissed her on the lips. She moved back withdrawing her hand quickly from his, and slapped him hard round the face.

“How dare you!” she shouted. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” 

Reeling from the sting and embarrassed by the silence that had descended on the table

James whispered “I am sorry I thought...” 

“Maybe you should stay off the booze.” She interrupted before getting up and storming out.

He made to follow, halted only by the clinking of glasses to signal the start of the speeches. They passed in a blur of congratulations and toasts, but just when he thought they were over, he heard Jane call out from the main table “Where is Cecilia?

James she is sat next to you, what have you done with her?” 

“Haven’t seen her all night!” James replied back at the top of his voice so all the guests could hear.

“How strange she is supposed to be doing a toast” Jane said sounding disappointed.

“Cecilia was most insistent, oh well I suppose we shall just have to live without…”

“Wait sorry,” a voice cried from outside. “I apologise I got caught in traffic, but I am here now.” said Cecilia as she stumbled into the marquee carrying a large brown bag.

Cecilia navigated her way round the tables to the microphone. James noticed she looked different, her long brown hair was now short and red and she wore several piercings. 

“Thankyou for your patience I wouldn’t have missed today for the world.” She began.

“Commitment is something that should never be underestimated, and although Jane and her husband have only been married a year I can see the makings of a life long partnership.”

“Hear! Hear!’ agreed her audience. James sweated, praying she wouldn’t take it further.

“I have not been so lucky in love so I understand how precious this is.”  

‘Please please don’t…’ prayed James frozen to his seat, but Cecilia was on a roll.

“In fact today is actually an anniversary for me in many ways. It was a year ago almost to the day that I met the love of my life. Unfortunately things just didn’t work out.” She continued.

James felt all eyes were on him and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Rupert grinning in anticipation of what she was about to reveal. He felt compelled to shout out for her to stop, but knew he had to allow her this moment of revenge. 

“Now enough about me, please be upstanding in a toast to mutual love, may we all find the happiness these two have.” 

Cecilia then walked away from the microphone towards her seat next to James. As she reached him she kissed him gently on the cheek. 

“I can’t stay, but I thought I would thank you for your support this year. Here is a sign of my appreciation” she calmly said handing him the leather bag she was carrying.

Before he could say anything she turned running out into the night.

He wondered what was inside the bag, hoping it wasn’t a boiled rabbit or a horse’s head. James didn’t delay gratification and clicked open the brass latches peering inside. There lying on the bottom was a little baby boy with a note attached to his tiny foot. He read out loud in horror “Hello I am William your son. Today is the anniversary of my conception and my Mummy thinks she has done most of the work for the past year, so now it’s your turn.” 

Anniversary (Gertrude and Alice 2009 Short Story Competition)

Unfortunately neither Lindsay or I won the Gertrude and Alice Short Story Competition. Lindsay is however sure that we come close. I will post the stories now, and hope you enjoy them.

The Broken Case

With our stories on the topic 'Anniversary' entered into the competition on Friday we are ready for a new subject. The story production line is relentless and stops for no man or woman. The subject for this fortnight, kindly supplied by Lindsay, is 'The Broken Case'. The due date is Monday 30th November and the only rule is that your story must be 2000 words or more.
I hope if anyone out there is reading these stories that they are providing you with a source of amusement, and perhaps even inspiration to join in and write a story.
If you do wish to write a story please let me know in the comments field below the latest post. Please include your email address and full name. I will then send you my email so you can forward me your story.
(Please note due to competition rules our 'Anniversary' stories cannot be published on the blog until the 27th of November)