Parties and Playdough: 2013 365 Challenge #76

Apparently this is Mummy (it started as an alien)

Apparently this is Mummy (it started as an alien)

The highlights of today were parties and playdough (and obviously NOT the rugby).

My daughter is getting quite creative with her playdough, although she still likes to copy pictures and get ideas from others. I think her model of Mummy is a good likeness, what do you think?

Amber had a birthday party to attend this afternoon, so we had a quiet morning at home. I took the playdough shift then hubbie tooking the hide-and-seek / den-making shift while I did housework in my pyjamas (doesn’t every body?)

My beautiful party girl

My beautiful party girl

The party was great. It was a Yogabugs party, a new one on me. It’s like a yoga class for kids but done through interactive story-telling  so the children are totally absorbed. Who knew that you could get twenty kids to give their attention to a complete stranger for nearly an hour? Only the parents got into trouble (mostly me) for making too much noise. I haven’t been shushed three times in twenty minutes since I was at school.

Amber loved it. She sat directly in front of the lady running the group and did everything asked of her, being a shark, a turtle, a fish, an oyster and a mermaid. I’ve never been to a birthday party with so much calm. At least normal service resumed after food, as the kids ran up and down the empty village hall for twenty minutes, giggling.

Amber made me laugh when she opened her party bag and said “there’s not much in it.” It was a gorgeous bag, with a windmill, some tattoos and a lovely bracelet, as well as sweets and cake. But there was no plastic tat. Kids love plastic tat, the cheaper and nastier the better. I’ve contemplated filling party bags with beautiful wooden toys before but awful, bright, plastic toys win every time. The minefield of planning a party for a four-year-old! I’m sure it doesn’t get any easier.

Cute little Yoga Bugs stretching high

Cute little Yoga Bugs stretching high

Cute Yoga Bugs being sleeping star fish

Cute Yoga Bugs being sleeping star fish

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Claire sat back in the chair and winced as the dazzling spotlights stabbed viciously at her eyeballs.

“Can you turn the lights off?”

“How will I see to clean your wound?”

“I thought cops had superpowers.”

The woman laughed. “No. Not that I’ve noticed. Now hold still or I’ll handcuff you and take you to A&E.”

Claire chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to be still. The policewoman dabbed at her head and Claire twitched as if she’d been electrocuted.

“Bugger, that hurts. Sorry. I’m holding still. Promise.” Claire chewed her cheek harder and dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palms.

“It’s only an antiseptic wipe. We’re not sure what they hit you with. It wasn’t anything sharp, you don’t need stitches. The first aid kit has some Steri-strips which I can use. You should still see a doctor.”

“I’ll go in the morning. Right now I just want to sleep.” Claire felt blindly for her tea and nearly knocked it off the table.

“Here love.” A much friendlier voice came near and her tea was pushed into her reaching grasp.

“Thank you. At least someone is sympathetic.” Claire smiled at the hostel manager then winced again as the policewoman resumed cleaning her blood-smeared scalp.

“I’d be more sympathetic if you would be a better patient.” The woman frowned like a school teacher and Claire shrank into her chair.

She’s no older than I am, why does she have the ability to make me feel about five. At least the other one’s gone. I don’t need a teacher and a headmaster making me feel like an idiot.

Claire looked at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it was nearly midnight. “I’m so sorry, you should be tucked up in bed by now too, shouldn’t you?”

“Nah, it’s Saturday night. We never finish before dawn.”

“Really? There’s that much crime in a tiny village like this?”

The woman chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Claire squeaked as the woman dug in with her antiseptic wipe and then pulled at her head to get the wound straight for the Steri-strips. Come on Claire, don’t be a wuss. She tried to take her mind off the procedure and let it dwell for the first time on something that had been bugging her.

They said my boyfriend called them. Now was that Josh or Michael? And how did either of them know I was in trouble? She wanted to ask but didn’t want to distract the policewoman from her work. The cut was just below the hairline on her temple but she still didn’t want a noticeable scar.

As if reading her mind the policewoman stood up and said, “There we go. It shouldn’t scar. The more a scalp wound bleeds the shallower it is. This isn’t much more than a graze. You were lucky.”

Lucky? Right.

“Girl got mugged last week and they beat her so hard they damn near broke every bone in her face. All because she didn’t have any money in her purse.”

Claire shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her. Okay, lucky. Got it.

“Er. You said my boyfriend called you.” She looked up at the policewoman and noticed for the first time that she had hazel eyes. It made her face softer, more approachable. “Only, you see, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The woman smiled, revealing little dimples that instantly made her younger. “Well, someone cares about you very much. He left his number so we’ll call him and let him know you’re okay.”

“But how did he know I was being robbed?”

“He said you rang him and he heard the scuffle before the phone cut off.”

Images of the attack swam through Claire’s mind. She vaguely remembered yelling something that had caused her phone to light up and reveal her location in the dark. At least there was an upside to her stupidity.

Poor Michael, having to phone the police to rescue his ex-girlfriend. A picture of the last time she saw him waved in her mind like a protest flag. Well, serves him right. Still I should probably ring and say thank you.

“I’ll call…. Oh no, bugger. My phone!” Suddenly the reality of the attack sunk in. “My bloody phone! What the hell am I going to do without it?” A hollow sensation exploded in her stomach and spread like a black hole.

“You’re lucky it was a good one. If it hadn’t been they might not have run off.”

“You don’t understand. I need that phone. It’s my only way to keep in contact with the world.”

“There are payphones you know.”

Claire laughed, then, a bitter scornful laugh. “Payphones? Are you serious? Can you tweet, email or Skype from a payphone? Does it tell you where you’re meant to be or have all the numbers of your friends and family stored in its little memory? Can you use it as a torch, camera, music player, magazine and paperback?”

Her breathing became rapid and the edges of her vision darkened in panic. The iPad. I still have my iPad and it’s synched up. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and concentrated on what needed to happen next.

“I’d like to report a theft please.”

***

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Reviews, Hormones and Biscuits: 2013 365 Challenge #75

Buying a box of biscuits - big mistake!

Buying a box of biscuits – big mistake!

I’m due on tomorrow which means today was a day of being narky to everyone and then saying sorry. (More than usual, that is!)

Oh and a day of biscuits.

I made the mistake of buying a family selection box at M&S when we went shopping for socks. Family selection? Really? I let the kids have two each, but that was only to keep them quiet on the hour-long drive home. I’ve eaten about half the box. 😦

We had a lovely family day at a place called Springfields – one of these discount retail outlet places that also has a playbarn for the kids. We went a year ago and bought shirts for hubbie and I took them back because they were too small and impossible to iron. It’s taken a year (and the promise of contract work) to get us back out there again to spend his refund voucher on more shirts!

Running after Aaron like a hamster in a cage

Running after Aaron like a hamster in a cage

I always get the short straw when we go to Springfields. Hubbie spends the time shopping (because he has less guilt than me when it comes to spending money on himself) while I climb round the playbarn like a hamster with the kids.

Actually the playbarn was lovely today as it’s a week day: there were only three other preschool-age children and Amber went off with the eldest which meant I only needed to keep Aaron out of trouble!

At the weekend it is a battlefield of storming child-troops and shouty or indifferent parent-sergeant-majors

The only sad part is that it always rains when we go. It’s out in the Fens and I guess there’s nothing stopping the weather sweeping in and drowning the colour out of the place. I say sad because there are beautiful gardens full of dinosaurs and daffodils and we were looking forward to a walk. As the kids had soaked themselves in the outdoor part of the playbarn we had to just head to the car. Fun family day though.

I also got my first review for Dragon Wraiths today. It was three stars so I read it with shaking hands and thudding heart: even though I swore I wouldn’t care about bad reviews. As it turns out it was lovely (and makes me wonder what he didn’t like that made him dock two stars). Because it’s my first I have to repeat it here, but I promise I won’t bore on every time someone comments on something! 🙂

a gallop for the imagination, 14 Mar 2013
This review is from: Dragon Wraiths (Kindle Edition)

Entertaining, imaginative, romp with thoughtful characters and scenic descriptions. Fans of Anne MaCaffrey’s Dragons of Pern series should enjoy this tale.

Happy with that!

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The first thing Claire noticed was the cold. She felt as if she was floating on an iceberg in a choppy sea. That would explain the seasickness and the fact I’m freezing. But not the pain. Did I get walloped by a polar bear? And how the hell did I end up in the Arctic Ocean? She tried to remember but it made the pain worse.

The next thing she noticed was the siren, quiet at first but getting louder. Not quickly like a fire engine rushing to the scene but a slow rise, coming up from murky depths. Why is there a fire engine in the ocean? I wish it would bugger off: it’s stabbing straight through the hole that damn polar bear made in my skull. She reached up a hand and it came back sticky. A polar bear with a blunt object.

The siren came nearer and Claire’s head throbbed in time with the rise and fall of the wail. Blue light flashed at the edges of her vision and she closed her eyes, willing it to sod off so she could get back to sleep. Another noise joined the wail. A voice, deep and stern, like a hall-stalking headmaster. I’m not smoking or late, go away and leave me alone.

Then a word stood out in the wall of noise.

“Claire?”

Oh.

“Claire Carleton?”

The noise came with the purr of an engine and then dazzling white light shone over her.

That’s it, I’ve died. I don’t remember dying but at least I can see the light.

The engine hum went away but the light didn’t. A loud slam made her jump and she cursed at the stab of pain.

“Miss Carleton? Thank god we’ve found you, are you hurt?”

“Who are you and what are you doing on my iceberg?”

“She’s delirious.” This was said over the man’s shoulder. Claire heard a second slamming noise and footsteps.

A kinder voice said “We’re here to help. Your boyfriend said he thought something might have happened to you and that you’d Tweeted you were just leaving the Old Nags Head. We’ve been searching the route. What happened?” She hunkered down next to Claire and smoothed the hair away from her face. Immediately she pulled her hand back and examined it.

“She’s hurt. Best phone for an ambulance.”

“No. No more sirens or lights it makes my head ache. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I think a polar bear hit me.”

“You’re not making sense love. Were you attacked?”

A flash of memory lit up as if illuminated by a search light. She nodded, then regretted it when the world twisted.

“They took my bag. And my phone, the bastards.” She sat up, then fell sideways against the woman, nearly knocking them both over.

“I’d be happier if you saw a doctor. Will you let us take you to A&E?”

“Blimey do you even have one?”

“The nearest is Sheffield, it’s about forty minutes.”

Claire thought about the drive, the three-hour wait, endless questions and more bright lights.

“Can you take me to the hostel instead? I’d like some dry clothes and a mug of Earl Grey.”

The police officers conferred and seemed to reach an agreement. Claire was raised to her feet and guided to the back seat of the car.

“One more thing, please?”

“Yes?”

“Can you turn off that damn siren?”

***

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Relentless Revision: 2013 365 Challenge #74

This is me when faced with revision...

This is me when faced with revision…

I’ve been revising Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes all day today.

Well, no, let’s be honest. I’ve been farting about on Twitter and WordPress and getting my head around Hotmail switching to Outlook, while thinking to myself I should be doing revision.

I’ve watched Homes Under the Hammer, dozed on the sofa and walked the dog. I’ve stacked the dishwasher, although I haven’t hoovered or cleaned the floor like I should have (just delegated the hoovering to hubbie but now I feel guilty because domestic chores are my job).

Have I mentioned before I hate doing revision on my novels? Probably once or twice. I’m fine for a page or two but then the sheer scale of the job overwhelms me, or I come across a scene that really stinks, and that’s it. Poof. All motivation evaporates. I really really want to stop working on Baby Blues (it will never be ‘finished’!) but if I release it into the world before it’s ready it will die and maybe take my (currently non-existent) reputation as an author with it.

On a happier note my wandering through the world of WordPress has introduced me to some great new blogs. I thought I should have a look wider than the parenting/writing blogs I tend to follow, and I’ve found some lovely photography sites and other more general ones. When I have time (i.e. when I’m meant to be revising again) I’ll pick out one or two to share.

Anyway, I think it’s time to have something different happen to Claire. I have an idea or two floating around so going to open my Word doc and see what falls on the page.

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Claire pulled her coat tighter and tucked her chin into the collar. After the heat of the pub the night air was bitter. She had stayed longer than intended, enjoying the open fire and the good wine, and now the sky had settled into a dusky shade of blue.

What a stupid idea to walk. I must stop listening to advice. Who cares if it’s only fifteen minutes, I got enough exercise this morning with those horrible brats and the oh-so-charming Pete.

The sun had set behind her and she knew the sky was laced with red and orange. Ahead it was dark, with only a faint glow highlighting the hills beyond the village.

I hope there are streetlamps up the lane. I didn’t think to bring a torch. Claire dug in her bag for her iPhone and used it to light the road ahead. I don’t want to step in anything nasty.

She walked on, concentrating on the pavement directly in front of her in case some careless dog owner had left something behind. These are the only shoes I’ve got that aren’t already crusted with mud. I’d like to keep them that way.

Ideas for her blog post drifted through her mind, floating on a glass of wine and settling into the rhythm of her stride. How am I going to write about this morning in a funny way without getting Pete into trouble? I guess I don’t have to name him. She thought about the weaseling trip and laughed, the sound echoing in the still night air. Too many pies. Cheeky bastard. Patting her tummy Claire thought that maybe her jeans were a little tighter than they had been a few weeks ago. It’s all these pub dinners. Why do they have to make the Fish and Chips look so yummy on the menu? Mind you, it was yummy. But it’s not exactly sushi or noodles. If there was any justice I’d be burning the calories doing stupid things like walking back to the hostel in the dark.

As if the words formed an image in her mind Claire became aware of just how dark it was. The pool of orange light cast by each streetlamp only seemed to highlight the darkness in between. Killing the light on the iPhone she tried to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her heart thudded loudly and she twitched at the sound of something scurrying in the hedgerow behind her.

What’s with all these looming walls and rustling trees? It’s spookier than a cemetery at Halloween. Come on girl, you’re not one to be afraid of a bit of black. Sheesh don’t add fear of the dark to your newly found phobias. Josh will piss himself laughing.

Claire opened her shoulders and raised her neck as if she was back in Madame Émile’s ballet class imagining a line pulling her head to the ceiling. It was as she was about to release the inhaled breath that she heard the footsteps. They were steady, unhurried, coming up behind her. She resisted the urge to walk faster. City life had taught her to ignore the approach of others, to remember that not every stranger on the street was out to kill you.

She strode the length of a long wall and saw the turning to the hostel driveway up ahead, past some houses set back from the road. The footsteps behind her seemed to be drawing nearer although their pace matched her own. It made her think it must be someone with a long stride. Or someone intent on catching me up.

Her heartbeat came faster now and the battered fish sat heavy in her stomach. She lengthened her own stride and glanced up and down the road ready to cross and turn up the drive. She deliberated whether to abandon the walk home and return to the safety of village. It was unlikely that the driveway had any lighting and she didn’t remember there being houses between the main road and the hostel.

Silly girl. Why didn’t I drive down for dinner? Or leave earlier. Somewhere between the thump thump of her footsteps and their unwanted echo and the timpani-pounding of her heart Claire knew why she hadn’t bothered. This is Hope Valley. People don’t get attacked out here. People get attacked in cities like Manchester. She thought about all the news stories she had seen with some poor soul sobbing, explaining that that sort of thing just didn’t happen round here. Claire felt the blood drain from her face at the thought that it has to happen somewhere.

The attack came from her right, not from behind. She had been so concerned with the footsteps she had failed to see the shadowy figure lurking on a park bench beneath the trees. Claire felt someone grab at her bag, trying to pull it from her shoulder. She swung out an elbow and let the bag slip free, knowing her phone was in her hand and her wallet in her back pocket. She’d at least learned that much. As soon as the bag was free she ran, hoping the man had what he wanted. She had forgotten about the footsteps, the fact that anyone following her would have seen her phone in her hand.

The first pursuer caught up with her as she crossed the road. Self-defence classes came to her aid and she jabbed the heel of her hand into his solar plexus before he could get a good grip. He crumpled, winded, and Claire span back to the driveway, wondering if her trembling legs would carry her the full distance before the second person arrived.

Her mind screamed at her to do something and without stopping to consider she yelled “Call Michael”. She heard her phone ringing in the pitch black of the lane. The screen lit up as the call connected.

Oh stupid girl.

The light shone bright in the darkness and the running footsteps came straight for her. Something sped through the air and she felt the impact against her temple, as a piercing pain stabbed through her head and blurred her vision.

A familiar voice rang in the darkness. “Hello? Michael speaking.”

Claire felt someone wrench the phone from her hand and then nothing.

***

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Fifteen Assumptions That Might Be Useful To Make

Oh this is just lovely! Had to share…

Anne Thériault's avatarThe Belle Jar

1. Assume that you are loved.

2. Assume that those who love you find some kind of value in you and the things you do.

3. Assume, however, that you don’t need to be valuable in order to be worthy of love.

4. Assume that there is no one out there keeping a tally of all of your failings, ready to throw it in your face when you’re either feeling too good or too awful about yourself.

5. Assume that if anyone actually is keeping a tally of all your failings, that act says more about them than it does about you.

6. Assume that you can’t make all of the people happy all of the time; maybe not even some of the people some of the time.

7. Assume that you will, over the course of your life, sometimes anger or disappoint the people you love.

8. Assume that…

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Ideas and Interviews: 2013 365 Challenge #73

Old meets New in the City

Old meets New in the City

Sometimes you have to get out your comfort zone to realise how comfortable it is. I actually missed the kids today, even though I enjoyed my London adventure.

I also felt like I was on some kind of research mission for a character not yet born. Not Claire, Helen, Lucy, Annalie or Rebecca.

Someone new.

Someone who, like me, tries to return to work after being at home with the kids for years and finds it all a bit different to what she remembers.

A comedy, definitely.

There will be an incident where she goes into Pret a Manger to buy tea and a sandwich, forgets to say ‘dine in’ and is too embarrassed to confess. She’ll end up heading out into the winter’s day instead of eating her avacado, crayfish and rocket bloomer snug in the warm cafe. She may wander the City streets surrounded by suits, carrying a cup of tea she’s dying to drink, desperately seeking a bench. In the snow. With her hands red-raw and freezing.

She may squat in the lee of a building next to the sneaky smokers, drain her cup of tea in one long gulp while feeling as self-conscious as a pink hippo, then head for Costa. She might go to the Ladies to scoff half a sandwich before buying a second cup of tea, then sit with the other half of the sandwich in her bag calling out to her rumbling tummy.

Lunch with Daddy

Lunch with Daddy

She’ll feel nervous to be back in London again and be slightly bemused by the new buildings. The fact that they’ve completely rebuilt Kings Cross will leave her flumoxed. She’ll get lost trying to find her platform with only minutes to catch the train home and really want to stop and take a picture when she spots Platform 9 3/4 as she runs for the escalator. She’ll resist and board the train as the doors close with a hiss, praying it’s the right one.

She’ll sit on the train home feeling like a real person for the first time in years, tapping away at her laptop and watching as the weather changes from blizzard to sunshine to blizzard again every few miles. She’ll wonder how the kids got on with Daddy and look at the picture he sent of them having lunch at Tesco.

Maybe she’ll call home and hear that they’re all snuggled on the sofa watching Peter Pan, having had a brilliant day at the park, and feel that maybe they didn’t miss her much at all. Until her daughter says “Miss you Mummy” and makes her all choked up and grateful.

She’ll sit, watching the world whiz by out the window, feeling the blissful space and distance away from the family home and feel torn between wanting to be a Mummy and wanting to be a normal functioning productive wage-earning adult again.

That might all happen in my next book. 😉

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Claire felt a sharp sting as a hand slapped her on the bum, followed by a loud guffawed as she squealed in surprise.

“Come on love, they’ll be waiting for us at the bus.”

Claire felt a strong desire to kick downwards and boot the source of the taunting voice on the noise. Taking a deep breath she conquered the impulse and poured her anger into her voice. “Get your hands off me. I’m stuck.” She tried to turn and glare at the offensive man trying to shove her through solid rock but she couldn’t move her head more than a few inches. Actually I’m quite glad he made me cross, it gives me something else to think about other than coffins and closed spaces and what they’re going to do if I really am stuck. Her mouth felt dry and she could feel her heartbeat begin to quicken as the sensation of immobility seeped through her consciousness.

“You’re not stuck love, you just need to wiggle those hips. Too many pies is it?”

“I am not fat. How dare you?” Claire wrenched herself forward until her shoulders were free. The sound of tearing cloth filled the tight space.

“Nah you’re not fat love, you’ve got a nice arse. Got you moving though, didn’t it?” He sniggered as he nimbly clambered through the rock behind her.

Now I know why they call it weaselling. Not only do you have to have the agility of a rat in a drainpipe, the instructors are all weasels too.

“You’re lucky none of the teachers can hear you talking like that.” Claire spat the words over her shoulder as she wriggled through the crevice towards the chink of daylight at the end.

“No chance of that, they’re miles ahead. You know you’re being shown up by a bunch of kids?”

“They’re smaller than me; of course they can get through. Besides, kids are bendier.”

“What about the teachers, they all whisked through quick enough.”

He chuckled and Claire could hear the goad in his voice. She thought about retaliating that most teachers were skinny because everyone knew they were a day away from a nervous breakdown, never mind being poor as church mice, whatever that meant. She decided the trek leader wasn’t worth her ire and concentrated instead on getting through the narrow fissure in the rock without losing any more skin. Her hands were raw and she could feel a graze on her cheek from when she slipped and fell against the rock at the beginning, much to the amusement of the gaggle of brats in her group.

“Why did you want to come with a bunch of kids anyway?”

The trek instructor seemed to read her mind. Claire thought about telling the truth: that she’d been double-dared by her boss’s PA to go weaseling and had discovered the only way to go was to join a school party. Sod that. Makes me sound like a right muppet. As she dug her chipped nails into the crumbling rock, trying to pull herself forward before she got slapped on the bum again, a nasty idea popped into Claire’s mind.

“I’m an undercover journalist, investigating malpractice by tour guides and trek leaders. You know, inappropriate behaviour, hazardous practices, unsafe equipment.”

She giggled quietly as she heard Pete the trek guide suck air through his teeth at her words.

“You knew I was mucking about, like, when I slapped you and said you had a nice bottom? You won’t report me? I need this job. I’d never do that to one of the children.”

He sounded genuinely concerned and Claire felt a stab of guilt. She let him sweat a moment longer then, with as much reassurance as she could put in her voice while wedged in a tight crevice, said “don’t be silly. I was winding you up. I am a writer but not a journalist. I have a blog and I’m meant to do loads of outdoor stuff to please my boss.”

There was a pause and Claire wondered if Pete would be offended or see the funny side. She suspected he wasn’t sure how to react either and felt a bit sick at the thought of being cruel. It was below the belt I guess.

“I am sorry. You pissed me off that’s all.”

“That’s okay. I deserved it. I shouldn’t have wound you up. It was just nice to have a bit of a laugh. You have to be so careful around the youngsters.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Claire pulled herself through the gap and crawled out onto a ledge, glad to be able to stand vertically for the first time in half an hour. She squinted her eyes against the sudden brightness and tried to see how far ahead the school party were. She wasn’t in a hurry to catch up. “Just spending the morning on the bus with them was enough.”

“Ah they’re alright. All full of lip and nonsense at this age. Give me ten-year-olds to teenagers any day.”

Ten, fifteen, five? They’re all the same. You can keep the lot of them with my blessing.

***

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A Manic sort of Day: 2013 365 Challenge #72

Mega Blocks Garages: a moment of calm

Mega Blocks Garages: a moment of calm

Phew. What a non-stop day.

It started at 7am when Dragon Wraiths went free on Kindle for my first promo day. There began a crazy 12 hours of tweeting, Facebook updates and madly checking my KDP Dashboard to see how many downloads I’ve managed. (124 as I write this).

It’s addictive, checking the KDP Dashboard every five minutes (125 now) and I can see why people have programs on their computer to disconnect the internet so they can get some real work done. Actually I was wondering today when I’ll ever get round to start/finishing a new manuscript. Between the daily blog, revising Baby Blues, and keeping up with Social Media stuff, there isn’t much time left to write.

I hope I haven’t overdone Twitter today. I do get frustrated by the clutter of promos in my Twitter Feed day in, day out. I know I follow a lot of self-published or new authors but there is often no actual human interaction and I don’t want to join that noise. That said, my increased Twitter activity is obviously paying off as I also reached 100 Twitter followers today. Not sure one of them would buy a book or retweet a comment – I think it’s mostly follow and be followed – but it’s a start and we all have to learn somehow.

Preparing for a possible return to Contracting

Preparing for a possible return to Contracting

Then came the next manic bit of the day: finding out I have an interview for a contract job tomorrow. I was really hoping they’d let hubbie take the contract but that hasn’t happened so I’m off to London.

I’m terrified.

Not of going to London, although it will be the first time in two years aside from a family trip to the Olympics. I used to go to Agency and Client meetings in the Big Smoke all the time when I worked for a living (said tongue in cheek of course!). Funny how four years at home with a couple of kids can erase all your confidence.

I know I can do this contract, whatever is involved (unless it’s databases: I hate databases) but the learning curve will be steep. I haven’t used Excel in two years except to keep track of Claire’s hostel visits and I haven’t put in a full working day in over a year. Thinking about concentrating for that length of time in a strange office with a new brief for a new company (my last contract was back at my old office) is making me feel more than a bit sick. But we’re in a recession and I can’t turn down work, especially not when I went cap-in-hand asking for it! So I will squeeze my post-pregnancy feet into my heels, and my post-pregnancy tum into my stretchy trousers and get on a train. Wish me luck! (Oh and if I get the contract there may be a few days a week when Claire will be ill in bed with the flu or reading a good book…. The contract is an hour’s drive away so there won’t be much writing time in the day!)

Talking of which, it’s bedtime and I’ve completely failed to write a Claire post after falling asleep on the sofa. Another favour from hubbie required to take kids in the morning then! Oops. Apologies if it’s a short one!

Morning Update: Was up most of the night because my brain was running a zillion miles an hour. I had 332 total downloads for my first promotion day. Wow! If only 1% read it that still means 3 strangers reading my book. Feels weird.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire ignored the twisting in her stomach and opened the email. How bad can it be? Then she remembered her leaving party and the things Julia had said. Okay, pretty bad. Then let’s get it over with at least.

Claire

Carl has asked me to collate a list of activities to inject some fun and humour into your blog. These are all near your current location in Castleton so you’ll have to pick the ones that are available. We suggest number five and/or six as they are activities more specific to the Peak District. If you can furnish me with your future itinerary I will find some other activities that have Carl’s approval.

Julia

1. Kayak and/or Canoe
2. Raft Building
3. Climbing/Abseiling
4. Mountain/Hill Walking
5. Weaseling
6. Caving
7. Orienteering
8. Rope Course
9. Search and Rescue
10. Archery

Future Itinerary? Does she think I’m planning that far ahead? Actually Julia probably plans her sick days. Claire thought about the list of hostels booked for her time with Sky. Oh I can at least look a bit organised, that will be nice. As long as she finds things I can do with a six-year-old girl. She remembered the kids on the Go Ape rope course and decided that Sky was probably more suited to adventure activities than she was. She scanned the list and laughed, relief flooding through her like caffeine.

What is Julia going on about? I’ve done half of these and the rest aren’t exactly High Adrenalin. I mean, Raft Building? I’m hardly going to get eaten by a crocodile or fall into shark-infested waters, however much she hopes I might. I guess her main desire is that I get wet and humiliate myself.

Checking Julia’s email again, Claire looked at the activities at number 5 and 6. Caving. I’ve been in the Blue John Cavern, isn’t that caving? And what the hell is Weaseling? Julia’s email had a link at the bottom to a website with more information. Knowing she would regret it Claire clicked on the link and scrolled down to Weaseling.

Weaseling is all about getting into a tight spot – and then getting out of it! This activity is very similar to rock scrambling, as the fun comes from low-level climbing. It’s also fairly similar to caving, with small, often dark spaces forming the perfect playground for intrepid weaselers, but it all takes place above ground level. Weaseling doesn’t require ropes as there are no big drops or climbs, so it’s great for younger children.

Great for younger children? Should be fairly easy then although I can’t say I’m that keen on the ‘dark spaces’ bit. With a sigh of resignation Claire followed the information and wrote down the phone number to book a day Weaseling.

I’ll remember this Julia, don’t think I won’t.

***

The Roaring Lion of March: 2013 365 Challenge #71

One of the many blizzards today (photo doesn't do it justice)

One of many blizzards today (photo doesn’t do it justice)

March has truly been roaring today. If it is true that it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb we’re in for some cracking Easter Weekend weather. Here’s hoping!

I braved the minus-seven blizzard to walk the dog this afternoon and was inspired to write Claire’s post today about the weather. Not sure where she’s going to be hiking yet, still have to research that bit.

It is also inspired by my discovery of Christian Around Britain. Following an ex-soldier as he walks the entire 6500 miles of UK coastline without stopping, to highlight the plight of homeless exservicemen. Christian says:

“On the 8th of the 8th 2012 I am embarking on a journey which will either kill me or make me. I am going to walk the whole coastline of Britain non stop, which is approx a 6500 mile journey, equivalent to walking from John O Groats to Landsend seven and a half times, and will take between 18 months and 2 years to complete, I will be starting in Blackpool and finishing in Blackpool.”

On his Facebook support page they also add:

Christian has NO support team nor NO PR team, contrary to popular belief! This walk is off his own back and he walks independently to his OWN schedule. We are humbled by his monumentous efforts. He is not being paid by anyone for this task.

He sleeps rough to highlight the plight of homeless ex-service personnel. He will not accept a comfy bed in a house but garages, sheds or a safe garden would be looked at! If he does not accept your offer of shelter, please DO NOT be offended, he wants to maintain his independence and will only stop when he reaches his destination for the day (though breakfast, a cuppa or a pint is gratefully accepted!). We are so grateful though for all your offers and he will look at his point of rest on the day and look at the support map.

He has posted photos of the snowy weather down by Beachy Head where he has been today (on his birthday). My sister said (jokingly) on Facebook ‘a year or two spent walking sounds like fun to me’. After twenty minutes outside today, with full snow gear on top to toe, I was frozen to the core and desperate for a cuppa. I’m sure it’ll be fun in summer but not now. It certainly puts Claire’s little challenge to shame. Maybe I’ll have Claire hear about Christian or bump into him or something! 🙂

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The thrumming of the wind through the trees sounded like the roar of a jet engine. It made Claire think of her planned trip to the Maldives for the first time since dropping Josh at Manchester airport.

I’d give half my shoe collection to be walking across the tarmac headed for a plane right now.

The wind blew sideways, sneaking through a chink in her thinsulate armour. It froze her neck and sent shudders down inside her coat. She huddled in deeper and pulled at the fleece to protect her skin from the arctic blast.

Shivering Mountain is right. Maybe I should have checked the forecast before I left Castleton Hostel.

Claire tried to take in the view but it hurt too much to raise her head into the gale. A glittering light drew her gaze and she realised the sun was peeking through the cloud, taunting her like a holiday post card.

What are you trying to say Sun? Are you twinkling Look at me! In parts of the world I’m hot and inviting. I warm the sand and bronze the skin. Not here, though. Here I just highlight the puddles and make the wind-torn trees look like a mockery of spring.

Claire turned her back on the mocking sun and pushed on. She felt like one of those toddlers she saw out with their mummies: dressed in snowsuits, unable to walk or use their arms. Like mini-Michelin Men with only their red faces showing beneath brightly coloured bobble hats.

Dressed like a baby, pretending to be the sun. I think I’m losing it. Thanks Carl, your job is done.

 

After half an hour Claire tugged the fleece scarf away from her throat, desperate for air.

How can I be freezing and sweating like a racehorse at the same time? And where is that damn fort? The guide said it was a short and easy walk to the top of Mam Tor. In the summer maybe.

The roaring wind thrust piled-up clouds before it, until the sun was completely hidden and Claire’s visibility reduced to several metres of swirling snow. The flurries chased every which way like shoppers on the first day of the sales. Their hurried movement made her twitchy as if she really was fighting foot and elbow in Hobbs for the best bargains.

Claire raised her head, squinting through the pellets of ice stinging her eyes. The path, that had been clear in front of her a heartbeat ago, had vanished beneath a swirling curtain of white.

Bugger. I knew I should have brought a map. Not that it would help me much now. Pulling off one glove with her teeth, Claire reached into her pocket for her iPhone. Her numb hands dropped it and it bounced once before landing in the gathering snow.

Double bugger.

She dropped to her knees and gathered up her phone as she might a child who had fallen from a tree. Please be okay, please be okay. She pressed the on button and prayed for life. The screen lit up in the gloom and Claire felt her heartbeat slow to its normal tread.

The snow continued to fall, creeping down her neck and soaking her clothes as she squatted on the floor and shielded the screen with her body. With one senseless hand she typed her location into the Maps program. The signal was weak and it took an age for the screen to load. At last a map appeared with a dot showing her position on Mam Tor. She zoomed in and her heart jolted as she saw the crumbling cliff inches from her current location.

It can’t be that close, I would have noticed it before the weather closed in. Despite her confidence she didn’t fancy trying to walk any further until the snow stopped. A quick glance informed her there was no shelter so she hunkered down and hoped the vicious wind would come to her rescue and blast the cloud away. Come back taunting sun, all is forgiven.

Her hand hovered over the call button as she felt a biting need to talk to another human being. No one even knows I’m up here. Damn you Carl for your stupid goading and damn me too for reacting to it.

Her mouth held the words “Call Michael”, knowing the phone would respond and dial up a number she had yet to delete. She swallowed hard and turned her back to the wind.

***

 

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‘Unable to stop Mothering’ Sunday: 2013 365 Challenge #70

Happy Mothering Sunday

Happy Mothering Sunday

It’s Mother’s Day here in the UK today. It’s always an odd day for me. We’re a loving family (most of the time!) and supportive of each other as often as we have the energy, so a special day of appreciation isn’t really required. That said, the idea of Mummy having a day off is always bandied about, as if it’s a possibility with two small children and when said ‘Mummy’ is a woman who doesn’t know how to be taken care of.

The day began with two small children standing outside my door with flowers waiting to be told they could come in. So cute. Although I think my little man was hoping to share in my chocolate egg treat. He didn’t want to leave the egg behind to go downstairs while I had a lie-in and later, when he came up to find I’d eaten it already, he was bereft.

It’s lovely to have a lie in, although I get them quite often these days as hubbie lets me go back to bed to finish my post.  There are some advantages to us both being unemployed! Today, though, I had a cream egg and a gossip magazine 🙂

My gorgeous Mother's Day cards

My gorgeous Mother’s Day cards

Then I was up, stacking the dishwasher and making pancakes as per my usual Sunday ritual, because I don’t know how to be anyone else and these things always need doing.

We went to the Farm, because it was too darn freezing to do anything else, and had great fun on the didibikes with Mummy and Daddy showing the kids how it’s done. At Grandma and Grandpa’s I got to take care of my Mummy, making tea and lunch while the grandparents played with the kids and watched the rugby. Home to feed the kids and cook a roast dinner for the grown-ups and that was Mothering Sunday for me.

I like to think that my failure to be ‘taken care of” or ‘pampered’ on Mothering Sunday is because I take ‘Mothering’ in its literal sense and I mother everyone else! I can only really relax when I’m by myself. Kids are back at nursery today so maybe I’ll squeeze some reading in between the novel revision and post writing. In the meantime I need to get on with my post and find some new way to torment Claire! 🙂

__________________________________________________________________________________________

“Plague Cottages? Chatsworth House Sculpture Gardens? Seriously Claire, what part of High Adrenalin Activity or Celebrating the Outdoor Lifestyle did you not understand? People don’t want to read about the rich and the dead and it hardly fits with either the YHA or the Coca Cola brand. Are you deliberately trying to flunk the brief?”

Claire held the phone away from her ear as Carl’s voice whined out like a washing machine on spin-cycle.

“Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You know I’m fulfilling your ridiculous brief to the letter. My followers are increasing steadily, I’m writing about every hostel I stay in and the places of interest in the locality. I can’t jump off a cliff every day, even if that would make your year. Particularly if they forgot to tie the rope.”

Claire inhaled and tried to regain control of the conversation. She looked around the layby she’d pulled into when the phone rang and wondered if there was any chance of finding caffeine in walking distance. Who knew how long her boss would rant at her on the phone and she’d left Eyam hostel without breakfast to escape the overpowering women who had turned up in her room after dinner.

She sighed audibly; a mother tolerating a difficult child. “Look Carl. You tell me exactly what I’m not doing and I’ll do it. I’ve never missed a brief or target and I don’t intend to give you the satisfaction of suggesting I’m doing so now.”

She scanned the horizon again, hoping to see a trucker’s café or something. Anything. I miss my hands-free. Who drives a car without it these days? She vowed to get a cradle for the iPhone at the next opportunity.

“Well I don’t know,” Carl blustered, “you’re the Ideas lady. Go read some other blogs with thousands of followers. Find out what they’re doing that you’re not. Inject some bloody humour into your posts for Christ’s sake. Julia says it’s like reading the Daily Mail.

Julia. I might have known Carl hadn’t actually read the blog himself. What is it with her? Did I offend her once, in this life or the last?

“If Julia is such an expert maybe she can devise some new activities. Better still, why doesn’t she come and finish off the brief, let me get back to what I do best.” As she said the words Claire felt a prickle run across her scalp like an Indian Head Massage.

I’m not sure I want to go back.

She shook off the traitorous thought and concentrated on keeping warm as the temperature plummeted in the stationary car. She didn’t dare leave the engine running in case it overheated without the fan and she couldn’t put the fan on because she’d never hear Carl over the noise. Not that that would be a bad thing.

“I’ve told you before, I need Julia here. But yes I’ll ask her to locate some activities for you, seeing as you seem to have forgotten how to carry out basic research.”

Bollocks. That was stupid. Now Julia has a free rein to make my life hellish. Idiot Claire, next time keep your mouth shut and your temper under control.

“Lovely. I look forward to embracing Julia’s input. Perhaps she could spare a day out of the office to join me in one or two of the activities?” Claire smiled, hoping her saccharin-sweet expression would wing its way to Manchester to make Carl itch.

“Good. I’ll tell her to get onto it straight away.” The phone went dead.

Bugger. How to shoot yourself in the foot with a twelve-bore.

Claire rammed the car into gear and turned the key hard enough to break it. As the engine fired into life she imagined Carl’s body prone on the road in front of her and wheel span as she shot out of the layby in search of vengeance. Or at least coffee.

***

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‘The Extincts’: Resurrecting my Love of Reading: 2013 365 Challenge #69

Roelant Savery [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Roelant Savery via Wikimedia Commons

I was lucky enough to grab a free copy of a children’s book (MG I would guess) from our local book shop today, while taking the kids in to spend their World Book Day vouchers.

I always find it odd taking a free book and my daughter exclaimed in horror when I didn’t pay for it. Funny because I happily give my own books away for free. Maybe that says something about how I rate my writing or how I perceive the difference between an ebook and a paper copy.

The book, an uncorrected proof, is called The Extincts  and is by Veronica Cossanteli. The proof copy says it will be published in May 2013. When I got home I found it on Amazon here.Looks great.

I read some of the book this afternoon while Daddy took the kids to buy me a mother’s day gift (and after I’d ordered my mum a spa day and printed and laminated the voucher). I was hooked, as much as I have been by any book recently. I have three half-finished novels under my bed – Noughts & Crosses by Malorie Blackman, The Real Thing by Catherine Alliott and Rowling’s Harry Potter & The Chamber of Secrets which I’m reading because I’m finding the others too much at bedtime. I never used to leave books half-read and couldn’t understand how my husband would have three or four on the go but these days I have to be in the right frame of mind. When I’m not I re-read something that’s so familiar I can open it at any page. I feel I can happily read this book, The Extincts, to the end not just becuase it’s great but because it isn’t emotionally taxing.

My eclectic half-read pile of books

My eclectic half-read pile of books

Veronica Cossanteli’s book has the strongest opening and voice of anything I’ve read in ages. There are bits that don’t flow but partly that’s shifting pace to Middle Grade fiction after reading YA and Women’s lit. The pace, the language, the imagery and the plot concept are all great. It has reminded me how much I love Middle Grade fiction (probably one reason it is Harry Potter I turn to in times of trial.). MG fiction tends to be entertaining without being too close to home emotionally (like the Catherine Alliott book) or too challenging in subject matter (like the Blackman book).

It’s like the TV my husband and I watch these days: it has to be safe, preferably funny, definitely non-emotional and (for me) non-violent. We have enough struggle in the real world, our entertainment is a time to escape. We couldn’t even watch the nature programme on penguins recently because the chicks were being attacked by cormorants.

I was drawn to the Cossanteli proof because the publisher is Chicken House, who ran a competition I wanted to enter last year. Funny how life can throw you random choices that have significant results. The book has entertained me, broken my dry-spell of reading and reminded me that reading can be fun as well as challenging and stretching. It brought to mind a quote I read on Twitter the other day:

“One must own that there are certain books which can be read without the mind and without the heart, but still with considerable enjoyment.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader

It’s also reminded me that I would love to write Middle Grade fiction if only I had the imagination for it. Maybe one day.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Claire dumped her rucksack on a bottom bunk and went to stand at the bay window. There were bars in front of the glass, presumably to stop small children falling out. Claire opened the window wide and leaned out as far as she could. She was in the turret at the front of the hostel and the hillside dropped away, falling down to Eyam village. Weak rays of sun prodded through the heavy cloud and highlighted buildings beneath her. She turned and looked at the bunk where her rucksack lay, conscious of an urge to lie down and close her drooping eyelids. She’d barely slept after her frantic evening ringing hostels trying to arrange her two weeks with Sky.

The door opened and the hostel warden poked her head round. “Not really meant to let you stay, love. Checking in isn’t really til five.” She smiled apologetically.

“That’s okay. Thank you for letting me in to leave my bag. I’m trying to decide whether to walk into Eyam village or drive to Chatsworth house.”

“Eem Miss.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s pronounced ‘Eem’ not E-yam’. E-yam sounds like a cheese.”

Claire flushed. “Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s alright. Southerners never get it. Walk into the village, it’ll be pretty when the sun breaks through. There’s a nice bakery and a tea room.”

Claire thought privately that it was a bit early in the day for tea and cake. She didn’t want to offend the woman so she merely nodded and went to get her things from the rucksack.

“If you’re wanting to walk into the village take the path rather than the road. It’s real pretty, winding past a llama farm. Comes out behind the church.” The lady shone a bright grin then ducked back out, closing the door behind her.

“Eem it is then,” Claire said to the empty room. She let herself out and followed the signs for the footpath.

Halfway down the hill Claire regretted her decision to walk. Down is fine but I don’t fancy the climb back up.  The sun’s attempts to break through looked like they might be scuppered by the surly clouds and Claire could feel moisture gathering on her hair.

By the time she reached the village Claire was sweaty and irritated, knowing she had the return climb to contend with after whatever delights Eyam had to offer. The footpath took her into the village past the church. She turned right and stopped at a sign proclaiming the ‘Plague Cottages’. I thought the whole village suffered from the plague, not just a few cottages?

A dark green sign promised illumination and Claire stopped to scan it. The notice told of Mary Hadfield, who lost her sons, aged 4 and 12, early on in the plague and her husband nearly a year later. Just when she must have thought the worst was over. I can’t believe she lost thirteen relatives in total. Claire felt the grey of the day seeping into her soul.

I don’t think I even have thirteen relatives, never mind that many all living within the same clutch of houses. She tried to imagine living that close to her parents and Robert. I don’t know what’s more depressing: that she had them or that she lost them.

Claire took a quick snap with her phone then walked on towards an impressive high stone wall and black cast iron gate on her right. The board said it was Eyam Hall, Historic House and Craft Centre. Whatever it is, it’s closed. Clearly they don’t expect many visitors in March. Can’t imagine why.

She wandered on past a Post Office and some more cottages, following signs for the museum. May as well get some facts for the blog, then I can get out of here and go somewhere less depressing. Like maybe a morgue.

The museum looked like a school house or a village hall, hulking opposite the car park and public toilets. When she got closer she could tell it, too, was closed.

Seriously? No wonder they had no problem separating themselves off from the world. Who the hell would want to come here? It’s dark and dreary and half of it isn’t even open.

Claire spotted a map urging her to ‘Discover Eyam at a Glance.’ I think I’ve done that. It wouldn’t take more than a quick peek. Having located the YHA hostel on the map Claire realised it was a short walk up the road from the museum. For a second she contemplated heading into the village for an early lunch and a better look around. Or I could walk back to the hostel and drive to Chatsworth for some civilisation. Her eyes scanned the featureless museum building staring blankly at her and decided on Chatsworth House.

That’s assuming it’s open.

 ***

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Feelin’ the Positive Vibe: 2013 365 Challenge #68

You can never beat the good ol fashioned cardboard box

You can never beat the good ol fashioned cardboard box

La Maison chez Martin had a more positive day today. We got some sleep (until daughter wet the bed for the first time at 4am but, hey, you can’t have everything). An old friend/colleague got in touch to say he might have some contract work for me (or hubbie if I get my way!) and we went out as a family. It was only to the supermarket and Costa but sometimes that’s enough. I even managed to walk the dog without getting lost in the fog, although I didn’t manage to make a start on my Claire post as we bumped into a friend of Kara’s – a crazy boxer-labrador cross called Beamish. He likes to collect 12 foot sticks and carry them home so Kara didn’t get to run with him that much but it was nice to have company.

I guess all the positive has to have an opposite and today it’s the writing. I didn’t really like my Claire instalment yesterday – I couldn’t seem to create the cave scene with any authenticity. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited a cave and I haven’t been to the Blue John Cavern at all. I relied totally on their website and good old Tripadvisor. I’m also at a complete dead-end for today. Claire has about a week before she picks up Sky for her Easter break and things get interesting again but I’m stuck with what to do in the meantime. There are only so many day trips and hostel descriptions you can do before it gets boring!

The bliss of sleep

The bliss of sleep

The other part of writing that wasn’t great today was picking up Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes for the first time in six months and realising it’s crap. I mean properly rubbish. I haven’t looked at it since writing and editing Dragon Wraiths in an intense seven-month period (for the Mslexia competition) and since writing 56,000 words of Two-Hundred Steps Home.

Of course it’s wonderful that the two projects in-between have obviously honed my craft but it makes me feel sick to think I sent out queries for Baby Blues and someone asked for a partial. Even if they take 8 weeks to get back I’m not going to be able to knock the rest of the manuscript into shape by then. Of course it’s unlikely they’ll ask to see any more but I do know the first fifty pages are better because they’ve had a lot more revision. I don’t know how much better as I’m scared to read them! 🙂

What I need to do, but somehow can’t manage to make happen, is join a critique group and/or locate a Beta reader in the business. It’s all very well having friends read – they’re great at spotting typos and continuity errors – but they don’t have the knowledge or desire to tell me the honest and brutal truth. I KNOW that good critique and beta readers are essential to a writer’s business, what I don’t know is how any writer ever brings themselves to give their unpolished work to someone. You’d think I would prefer it to sending my manuscript to a brutal agent but an agent is just going to ignore it or at worst send a pithy one-pager.They won’t tear apart a year’s work line by line without hope. You see I’ve had a mixed experience of critique and it’s left me doubtful.

I received one critique of the first chapter of Baby Blues (my first ever critique) and they didn’t find a single positive thing to say. I was ready to give up writing for good: not because I’m thin-skinned (although probably that’s true too) but because I figured they knew more than I did and I was just plain rubbish. Then I had a second critique on the same first chapter and received a nice balance of constructive criticism and positive praise on what was working well.

The question is: was the first critique right or the second? Am I a writer or a doomed-to-fail amateur. If two people can read the same chapter and have two completely different responses how can I find a beta reader or critique group to trust? And, more to the point, how on earth do I find time to do critiquing in return? Arrgghh so many questions. If I thought being a parent was tough, with too much conflicting advice and no clear path, then being a writer is just as hard. Actually I guess the two are pretty similar. Maybe I’ll write a blog about that! 😉

Anyway, enough rant. Time to go and search the brain-cells for that hidden inspiration…

_______________________________________________________________________________________

“Ruth? It’s Claire.”

“Claire? Why are you calling: Is everything okay?” Her sister’s voice rose in agitation. Claire buried herself deeper into the armchair, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks and the defensive words bubbling up into her mouth. Besides, how could you defend the indefensible?

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a rubbish sister. I called to see how you are. I didn’t want to phone so soon after the operation, in case you’re resting, but I haven’t been able to get hold of Mum. I was worried.”

“Mum’s here with me and you know Dad; he never answers the phone if he’s by himself in case, God forbid, he might have to talk to one of us for more than a minute.” Ruth chuckled then coughed. The sound made Claire shiver.

“You are okay though?”

“You mean apart from having a hole drilled in my skull and some of my brain removed?”

Her voice was hard to read. Claire felt goosebumps rise along her arms and huddled deeper into her jumper. Maybe this was a bad idea. She sat without responding, unable to find anything adequate to say.

“Sorry, Claire, I shouldn’t joke. It’s driving Mum nuts. You know how she is. She thinks I’m being unduly frivolous. What can you do but laugh though?”

Claire thought privately that she’d probably be curled in a corner sobbing and hoped no one ever had cause to find out.

“You’re very brave. I’d be scared witless.” The words were out before Claire could censor them and she immediately regretted her lack of control. Ruth didn’t speak and Claire wondered if she was realising for the first time that she ought to be scared. Then her sister sighed; a low sound like a gust of wind on a deserted shore.

“Of course I’m scared. Terrified. And I’m not brave. I have to be strong for Sky. She doesn’t really understand. All she knows is that Mummy is poorly and had to have her hair shaved off and that Nana is looking after both of us. It will be harder for her when I have the chemo and I’m properly sick.”

Claire felt a lump in her throat and shook away the image of her sister with no hair. Somehow it brought home the reality of cancer more than any words had done. She tried to make her voice matter-of-fact when she spoke.

“That’s why I’m calling. How do you feel about Sky coming travelling with me for the school holidays? Give you a chance to have some peace and quiet in the house. Well as much as you can with Mum fussing round.”

“Travelling where? She doesn’t have a passport.”

Claire laughed. “The Fens can be a bit different but I don’t recall needing a passport to go there.”

“Oh. What’s in the Fens? Isn’t it just endless fields of flat nothingness?”

Claire had no idea. She hadn’t thought that far. A glance at the YHA map had shown the nearest hostels to be around the east coast and she’d figured that small children liked the seaside. There were only a handful of hostels so they’d have to stay a few days in each or travel a bit further afield. It seemed hostellers were more interested in the Peaks and Lakes than the Fens.

“It’s got sea and sand and space, what more do kids want?” Claire heard the doubt in her voice and hoped Ruth didn’t notice.

She did.

“Are you sure you’re going to cope with a small child for two weeks? Sky is quite… full-on you know. Besides, I’m not sure about her being away. She’s only little.”

“She stays with Mum and Dad doesn’t she?”

“That’s different. It’s just down the road and she’s used to them.”

“I am her Auntie.”

There was a pause and Claire smiled ruefully as she imagined the thoughts going through Ruth’s mind. I haven’t been much of an Auntie up until now. She decided to get the attack in before her sister did. “Look, I know I haven’t spent as much time with Sky as I should have done. See this as my chance to make it up to her.”

“Well. If you’re sure. Have you booked? It’ll be rammed. And the first weekend is a bank holiday: The whole world will be off work.”

Claire felt a hollowness form in her stomach. She hadn’t thought to book. So far she’d stayed in whichever hostel had space: the hostels had all been clustered together.

“I. Er. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” She pulled out her iPad and opened a new note.

Book hostels for me and Sky ASAP.

Otherwise we’ll have to stay with Mum and Dad for Easter. Claire remembered last Easter, when she had taken Michael to her parents’ house for the long weekend. It had been a disaster.

They’re going to remind me of that every minute. Bugger that.

“Leave it with me. It’ll be fine.” She repeated the words, as much for her own benefit as for Ruth’s. Then she said her goodbyes, hung up the phone and pulled out her YHA guide. She began dialling immediately and prayed for a miracle.

***

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