A HUGE hello to readers of my page. The U3A Writers Group has been a fantastic source of inspiration. Sharing such high qualify and varied writing has encouraged me to try different styles and subject matter. Also despite the fact that I come and go in such a fickle manner there is always a warm welcome on my return.
My novel entitled "A Novel Conspiracy" by Mary Parker Caine, is available on Kindle eBooks I hope that you will enjoy reading it.
Currently I have written dozens of short stories, often as a response to a U3A assignment. I will continue to download new stories in the hope that you will be inspired to join us. You will have already seen "The Judgement. This was written as an assignment which had to begin with "I looked into the judge's eyes and could tell that I wasn't about to hear good news". Now I have added a few more.
"Letter from the Costa" was a response to a story by another member. She wrote the story from Cheryl's point of view and I decided to explore the motivation of Terry, her partner. You will notice that (sic) is only used to start, then the reader hopefully accepts the writer's grammar as appropriate to the story.
"The Prize Winner" was an assignment about a lottery winner. It was fun thinking about how a life can change with sudden wealth.
"The Friendly Chat" was the result of an exercise in Subtext. I endeavored to write in between the lines. I hope that I succeeded.
A BIG thank you to all of you who have said such nice things about our site. Please leave a comment, we like nothing better than praise!!
My novel entitled "A Novel Conspiracy" by Mary Parker Caine, is available on Kindle eBooks I hope that you will enjoy reading it.
Currently I have written dozens of short stories, often as a response to a U3A assignment. I will continue to download new stories in the hope that you will be inspired to join us. You will have already seen "The Judgement. This was written as an assignment which had to begin with "I looked into the judge's eyes and could tell that I wasn't about to hear good news". Now I have added a few more.
"Letter from the Costa" was a response to a story by another member. She wrote the story from Cheryl's point of view and I decided to explore the motivation of Terry, her partner. You will notice that (sic) is only used to start, then the reader hopefully accepts the writer's grammar as appropriate to the story.
"The Prize Winner" was an assignment about a lottery winner. It was fun thinking about how a life can change with sudden wealth.
"The Friendly Chat" was the result of an exercise in Subtext. I endeavored to write in between the lines. I hope that I succeeded.
A BIG thank you to all of you who have said such nice things about our site. Please leave a comment, we like nothing better than praise!!
Letter from the Costa
by Mary Parker Caine
29600 Marbella
(Málaga) Spain
July 2011
Hello Ma,
I bet your(sic) surprised to get a letter from me aren't you? I've got good news, Cheryl and mes (sic) getting married. What do you think of that?
I know that you will be a bit disappointed cos you would prefer me to aim higher, but you know what mum? I love her, alright she is a bit dozy, but there isn't a nasty bone in her body and she’d do anything for me. Actually talking of Cheryl there is a bit of bad news. There is no need for you to worry so don’t get into one of your states, but she’s in hospital. Nothing serious, we had a bit of an accident with the barbecue You know that new Napoleon one that I told you about. They get hotter than you would think.
Anyway she’s going to be fine. I've got her the best clinic on the coast. But they haven’t half got a nerve. Poor Cher is an emergency and all they want to discuss is the price. Well I said, look mate I can pass 3 clinics as good as this before doing 0 – 60 in the Porsche, so let’s get real here. That changed their attitude I can tell you. I managed to half the cost. Well when you love someone only the best is enough. Which really is how we had the accident –
I’d left Cheryl cooling her heels in the port after she had been well out of order. Now mum you know me, I'm too generous for my own good. I even bought her those Labooty shoes that they wear in Hello magazine. Let’s face it that’s the nearest to fame a girl from Newall Green can hope to get. Well instead of getting a bus back to the villa, the cheeky cow only melts my plastic buying so much stuff it filled the boot of the taxi she came home in. I saw red, as you can imagine, whose money does she think it is? Well the barbie was warming nicely as I’d planned to cook a couple of entrecotes. I know, I know, I'm too soft but mum why be horrible when life is so good out here? Instead I cooked the whole bloody lot, plastic bags and all. We were lucky not to die from the fumes. I don’t think them shoes is really leather, do you?
Now, if she were a bit more savvy Cheryl would have disappeared sharpish. What does she do? Starts screaming, “Terry stop it, that’s me new gear.” Course I grabbed her, well that’s how accidents happen. But mum she looked so pathetic all bandaged up, I said how sorry I was that she’d got burnt. She said, I'm sorry too Tel. So you see she knows she was well wrong. I do regret my actions though if I hadn't been so mad with her I would have made her take ‘em all back. As it is, now I've even buggered up the new barbecue.
Still she'll look a treat when she gets home. I got the surgeon bloke to make her cheeks stick out a bit more. That’s all she really needed to look perfect. Trouble is she wants her mum to come over to look after her. I can’t look at that miserable face it looks like she’s swallowed her false teeth. She can’t stand me neither but who does she think spoils her daughter? And where does Cher get the few quid she bungs her in an envelope thinking I don’t know?
I wish you’d come over mum. I miss our chats over a cuppa. The phone isn't the same. I could get Benny to sort it out, he can get you to the airport and I could meet you in Málaga. You'll love the villa – with your own room and bathroom. It’s even got a telly with the full Sky package so you won’t miss Corrie. Try to be happy with my news; once you spend more time with Cher you'll love her too. She’s like a big soppy puppy needing affection, but you gotta let her know who’s boss, then everythings fine.
I love you mum, your the best, your loving son,
Terry XXXXX
Hasta luego
The Prize Winner
By Mary Parker Caine
“Move out of the way, you fat cow. I can’t see the game!”
Tania looked around at her husband slouched on the leather settee, his football shirt stretched and not quite covering his distended beer belly which rested flaccidly on the waistband of his ripped jeans. He belched and replaced his can onto the coffee table.
“Any more of them chicken nuggets left?”
She bit back a reply and went to fetch some. Why had she bothered to make home made goujons with sesame seeds when all week he ate pie and chips washed down with cheap lager? She sighed and went upstairs.
Catching her reflection in the hallway mirror, Tania turned sideways to check her own still reasonably toned figure. She wondered how things had turned out like this. Phil had been such a happy pleasant young man, full of ideas and plans. He used to open the car door for her and treat her like a china doll. Now he swore almost constantly and insulted her as a matter of course. Peer group pressure. She was sure of it. Since Phil’s job had brought them to this rundown area to live, he had changed. But what was the point of having a flat screen TV if your children went to school with those of the local gangsters? Tania was studying with the Open University and was determined that her two children would have a private education, no matter how hard she would have to work. Her mum was minding them today, so that she could do an assignment.
“You deaf or what?”
Phil advanced into the bedroom and she shrunk back defensively.
“ Didn't hear you love. What was it?”
“Don’t bother professor. No wonder you never want a leg over anymore, is it! Why can’t you be a beautician like Pete’s wife? She makes good money.”
“I know she does, but I prefer what I’m doing. Afterwards I’ll get a really good job and we’ll be set up. You’d like that wouldn't you?”
“Who cares what I like anymore?”
“I care Phil. What would you like?”
“A bloody cup of tea and I've been shouting for one for ten minutes.”
Tania sipped her tea as Phil checked his lottery ticket. “18…”
“Bloody hell, I got 18.”
“45…”
“Shit!”
“23…44…”
Tania nearly choked on her tea, she was sure that the lucky dip she’d bought last night had 44 and 45. She had been furious thinking that it was a con, because it was unlikely that two consecutive numbers would occur. Still she probably didn't have any of the others.
“35…7” Phil threw his ticket at the television.
“It’s a bleeding fix that game. You know that don’t you.”
“Well they say that they test the machines.”
“You have to argue with me, don’t cha. Well I can tell you this, you daft cow, that when I win 5 million, you’ll be the first thing to go.”
“You don’t mean that Phil, you’re just cross that you haven’t won.”
At this Phil became uncharacteristically active and stood up, rounding on her angrily.
“Of course I’m bleeding cross! If I won that lottery I would start again. I wouldn't have to put up with you and the kids. I’d be like that Joey Essex in TOWIE; girls would be putty in my hands.” At the thought of his fantasy conquests, Phil’s shoulders straightened and he even tried to hold in his belly. He sat down and picked up a fresh can, a smile playing on his face.
“Well, who’d a thought it Phil?” Gary asked as he looked around the fashionable bar in upmarket Weybridge. “You and me in this place?”
Gary was beginning to irritate Phil. At first he had enjoyed their bachelor nights on the town. Tania had been the first thing to go and picking up the totties who hung around the clubs had been well brilliant. Now he was a bit fed up with them as well, all plastic nails and that sticky gloss muck instead of proper lipstick. Besides they never shut up.
Now that’s more like it, Gary had noticed her too and had turned to say something; but Phil was already pushing his way through to the bar. The honey blonde hair hung smoothly to her slim shoulders and her pert buttocks were shown to perfection in what he now knew to be a bandage dress, Harvey Largy or someone. He checked out her legs and was pleased to see that they were as good as Tania’s in her heyday. He lightly touched her arm saying. “Excuse me miss, can I get to the bar?”
“Of course, Phil, be my guest.” Phil stared dumbfounded into his ex-wife’s eyes. He continued to stare as the man to her right picked up her glass saying, “Darling our table’s ready.” Then proprietorially but gently, he guided her through the crowd.
His hand shook slightly as he gulped the cold Stella Lager. Gary slapped his back. “Fancy seeing old Tania, I spotted her straight away. She’s still got a nice arse. You always did know how to pick ‘em Phil.”
“Leave it out Gary.”
“Tell you something mate. I know she left you and everything, but not many women would have shared their lottery win like that.”
Phil felt sick.
887 words
April 2012
Friendly Chat
By Mary Parker Caine
The light breeze lifted Zara’s hair as she walked across the terrace. Jake stepped forward to greet her with a light kiss to her cheek.
“You look beautiful today.” She smiled as she sat down and replied, “You look well yourself. California obviously agreed with you.”
“Mm. It wasn’t quite what I had expected but it was interesting.” A waiter arrived and asked what they would like to drink.
“Perrier and lime for me, please.”
“Make mine a lager.” Jake said then returned his attention to Zara. “Is it too cool here, we could move tables?”
“No, it’s fine and the view is lovely.”
“Yes, it’s why I suggested we meet here. In the summer it’s a great place for lunch and to watch the river traffic.”
“I can imagine that.”
The lingering silence was broken by the arrival of their drinks which they sipped with intense concentration.
“So tell me more about California; was it fun?” Zara enquired.
“I know I talked about it so much, but the reality was disappointing. People seemed so superficial, shallow, instant friendship, instant goodbyes.”
“Well you have had some practice at that. It sounds like the perfect milieu.”
Jake took another sip of his lager.
“But business went well for you? The emails that you circulated were upbeat.”
“I suppose.”
“Everything is alright with you, isn't it? I mean you are happy now. Things have worked out the way that you wanted?” A pink tinge touched her cheek as she watched Jake ponder her question.
“Business is good. It turned out exactly as I hoped.” He stared at the river.
“So there you are then a good result!” She smiled brightly.
“I have made such a mess of things.”
“How can you say that? You are successful and now that you are home the world is open to you. That doesn't sound like a mess to me.”
“I have been wondering what happened to you. After I left, I mean.” Zara shrugged her shoulders, “This and that, same old, same old. But my life is good, I mean just take this view. I have no regrets.” Jake took her hand into his, holding it gently.
“You didn't go ahead with the plans we discussed?” He asked in surprise.
“The flat you mean? Well, you tell me. What would you have done?”
“I have no idea.”
“You are an intelligent and sensible man. Put yourself in my shoes and tell me what you would have done.” His hand tightened on hers and he felt the soft returned pressure as she held onto him. “How could I have made such a mess? I don’t understand why I left like that.” Their eyes met.
Her voice was almost a whisper. “Because at the time it is what you felt you had to do. So, for you, it was the right thing.” She lightly touched his knee saying “No harm done.” Then she sat back and withdrew her hand. She picked up her drink and he did the same. A tourist river bus passed by and the commentary reached them as they sat contemplating the river.
Jake put down his glass and turned towards her saying. “You have been on my mind so much.” Zara pretended to punch his arm saying. “You know that I don’t believe you, don’t you?”
“I worried about you and how you were getting on.”
She spread her arms saying, “As you can see, I am well. Things are good. I am really busy these days.” Her cheerful face lit the restaurant and she did look tremendously well.
“That decision was the worst mistake that I have ever made in my life.” He intoned. “How can you say that?” Zara chivvied. “A new work experience, a new romance and now you are back. And we are still friends. We are still friends, aren't we?”
Jake’s voice was puzzled. “I don’t know what happened. How did things change so quickly?”
“They just did and now we have moved on.” He stared at her, taking in her golden hair slightly longer now and her clear hazel eyes, direct and true.
“But I was so happy before.” He sighed.
She stretched across to squeeze his hand saying “So was I.” Then she checked her watch. “Gosh how time flies, I must be off. No dawdling in these days of “crisis”.”
She stood and Jake rose too. He faced her and wrapped his hands around her delicate fingers. She lifted her gaze to meet his. It was Zara who broke the silence. “So will you be back at squash this week?”
“I couldn't miss it for anything.”
She gave him one final smile saying, “See you on Friday.” Then she crossed the terrace with a light step that lifted the hem of her silk dress.
808 words
The Judgement
When I looked into the judge’s eyes, I could tell that I was not about to hear good news. Unable to comprehend the circumstances that had led me here, my thoughts returned to a hot autumn day. How could a single look bring about a downfall so dramatic that there could be no salvation?
Struggling to reach the next boulder I had grabbed the offered hand and leapt across. I looked up into the twinkling gaze of large warm brown eyes which held mine in startled surprise. I let go of his hand and blushed. That was the beginning of the end of all sanity as I plunged headlong into the passionate obsession that was Francois. He was new to the walking club, overweight and he sported an outdated moustache. But when he sat beside me as we ate our picnic lunch, I fought the urge to touch his bare arm, solid, hairy, masculine. His conversation lacked interest but his voice seemed to hypnotise me with a message that hadn’t been spoken. His musky odour drawing me towards him….
We began to walk together, somewhere quiet where I wouldn’t be seen with him. Just to avoid the wrong interpretation of our friendship. At least that is the story I told myself, despite the tormented nights longing for his arms and finding relief in my own frantic fingering. Step by step he drew me in, a willing slave to his sexual alchemy. When finally he kissed me, my mouth was hungry and fevered; we pressed together desperately and with a reckless urgency that couldn’t be halted. All reason fled as I relished the unchecked lust that surged through my trembling body. I gave myself up to his exploring hands and tongue in a surrender of exquisite longing. Invincible, powerful, strong, he rammed into me as I cried out, overwhelmed yet demanding.
My addiction swept away everything in its path. I sold everything for my next fix, friends, honesty, judgement, nothing held any value. My mobile phone was always in my hand and thoughts of him coursed through me with a frightening clarity that left me breathless. When he set up a video camera, my thoughts that he would watch me later heightened my lurid desires into a crazed frenzy. Nothing was too much and everything was not enough. He satiated me but left me wanting more. I worshipped him. But the sorcerer began to tire of his apprentice and his eyes stopped seeking mine as they scanned for fresh meat.
My phone stopped ringing and I walked the floor of my apartment hour after hour begging him to call. I sat in the café opposite to his building, watching him go in alone and come out alone. Why had I doubted him? Now it was obvious that he must be missing me too. He hadn’t replaced me. Maybe he feared commitment? It was all beginning to make sense at last. I felt so happy, triumphant even as I strode along his street, bag slung over my shoulder and the groceries swinging from my hand. Suddenly there he was, but he had his arm around a tall brunette and was ushering her inside. For one hour, two, three I watched that door. When she pushed it open to leave, I caught it and entered the building.
His face, wreathed in smiling charm, dropped in shock when he answered the door to my ring. My nonchalant shrug reassured him enough to invite me inside and that was his fatal mistake. Although then even I didn’t know it. When I followed him into the kitchen and saw the detritus of an intimate lunch, jealousy hit me like a blow to the stomach. They had used napkins, serving dishes…. I stared uncomprehending. No rushed fucking, this was romance, this was emotion.
“You cooked for her?”
He puffed up with pride as he detailed the menu. His voice began to blur into a background buzz that grew louder and louder until I could stand it no more. I told him to shut up and he laughed when he saw me waving the knife. He laughed at me and I was so, so angry.
The gavel startled me and I looked at the tall slim brunette, white faced, her hands gripping the rail of the dock. She fainted as the fifteen year sentence was announced. She had paid a high price for a home cooked French meal.
745 words
April 2012
Struggling to reach the next boulder I had grabbed the offered hand and leapt across. I looked up into the twinkling gaze of large warm brown eyes which held mine in startled surprise. I let go of his hand and blushed. That was the beginning of the end of all sanity as I plunged headlong into the passionate obsession that was Francois. He was new to the walking club, overweight and he sported an outdated moustache. But when he sat beside me as we ate our picnic lunch, I fought the urge to touch his bare arm, solid, hairy, masculine. His conversation lacked interest but his voice seemed to hypnotise me with a message that hadn’t been spoken. His musky odour drawing me towards him….
We began to walk together, somewhere quiet where I wouldn’t be seen with him. Just to avoid the wrong interpretation of our friendship. At least that is the story I told myself, despite the tormented nights longing for his arms and finding relief in my own frantic fingering. Step by step he drew me in, a willing slave to his sexual alchemy. When finally he kissed me, my mouth was hungry and fevered; we pressed together desperately and with a reckless urgency that couldn’t be halted. All reason fled as I relished the unchecked lust that surged through my trembling body. I gave myself up to his exploring hands and tongue in a surrender of exquisite longing. Invincible, powerful, strong, he rammed into me as I cried out, overwhelmed yet demanding.
My addiction swept away everything in its path. I sold everything for my next fix, friends, honesty, judgement, nothing held any value. My mobile phone was always in my hand and thoughts of him coursed through me with a frightening clarity that left me breathless. When he set up a video camera, my thoughts that he would watch me later heightened my lurid desires into a crazed frenzy. Nothing was too much and everything was not enough. He satiated me but left me wanting more. I worshipped him. But the sorcerer began to tire of his apprentice and his eyes stopped seeking mine as they scanned for fresh meat.
My phone stopped ringing and I walked the floor of my apartment hour after hour begging him to call. I sat in the café opposite to his building, watching him go in alone and come out alone. Why had I doubted him? Now it was obvious that he must be missing me too. He hadn’t replaced me. Maybe he feared commitment? It was all beginning to make sense at last. I felt so happy, triumphant even as I strode along his street, bag slung over my shoulder and the groceries swinging from my hand. Suddenly there he was, but he had his arm around a tall brunette and was ushering her inside. For one hour, two, three I watched that door. When she pushed it open to leave, I caught it and entered the building.
His face, wreathed in smiling charm, dropped in shock when he answered the door to my ring. My nonchalant shrug reassured him enough to invite me inside and that was his fatal mistake. Although then even I didn’t know it. When I followed him into the kitchen and saw the detritus of an intimate lunch, jealousy hit me like a blow to the stomach. They had used napkins, serving dishes…. I stared uncomprehending. No rushed fucking, this was romance, this was emotion.
“You cooked for her?”
He puffed up with pride as he detailed the menu. His voice began to blur into a background buzz that grew louder and louder until I could stand it no more. I told him to shut up and he laughed when he saw me waving the knife. He laughed at me and I was so, so angry.
The gavel startled me and I looked at the tall slim brunette, white faced, her hands gripping the rail of the dock. She fainted as the fifteen year sentence was announced. She had paid a high price for a home cooked French meal.
745 words
April 2012