David Moody's Blog, page 33

Away With the Fairies

I’ve got my head down working on a new novel at the moment, so things are relatively quiet around here. I thought I’d share a free story with you to keep your attention!

I released THE LAST BIG THING in January – a collection of some of my favourite of the short stories I’ve written. The collection includes a number of new stories, one of which is AWAY WITH THE FAIRIES. You can read it here.

The last year of my mother-in-law Betty’s life was pretty bloody miserable. She had cancer, and she came to live with us in Birmingham for most of that time until she went into hospital. She ended her days in a hospice, and it was the most remarkable place; desperately sad and yet always warm and welcoming. The staff there were incredible. Some of the other patients clearly knew they were there to die, whilst others had no idea at all, often arguing with the nurses to try and get released or simply making their own spur of the moment attempts at escape. Without having much direct interaction, we got to know many of the patients just by being around them. If you’ve ever spent time with someone as they approach the end of their life you might have felt the same strange mix of emotions as me: you don’t want them to die, but equally you know it’s probably the kindest thing for them. And in that peculiar period of time where the rest of the world carries on regardless while your life is put on pause and your relative’s life fades away, emotions can run high.

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‘You really are heartless, Andrew, you know that?’

‘So you keep telling me, sis.’

‘I just wish you’d show a little respect, that’s all.’

‘What, like he showed me?’

‘He did a lot for us.’

‘When? He was never there.’

‘He worked long hours to support the family.’

‘To support his drinking.’

‘Give it a rest. Stop talking about him like he isn’t here.’

‘But he’s not here. Jesus, Jess, look at the state of him.’ Andrew waved his hand in front of his father’s face. No reaction. ‘See? He’s long gone. Away with the fairies.’

Jessica and Andrew sat either side of the bed, Dad between them, propped up with pillows. His face appeared hollow, cheeks sunken now that his false teeth had been consigned to a plastic beaker. His eyes looked ahead unblinking, looking through everything, staring at nothing. Not a movement. Not a sound. Not a flicker. Sometimes the hospice felt more like a morgue.

Jessica lowered her voice. ‘The nurses were saying last night how he can probably still hear everything we’re saying.’

‘Shit. I hope not.’

‘They said he’s probably getting a lot of stimulation from listening to us talking.’

‘Arguing.’

‘Talking.’

‘Well he doesn’t look very stimulated. I have to keep checking he’s still breathing.’

‘Please, Andy, just try and be nice.’

‘Nice? Nice? For fuck’s sake, when was he ever nice to me?’

‘I know you two didn’t get on—’

‘And whose fault was that?’

‘—but I wish you’d try and make an effort. Let bygones be bygones.’

Andrew crossed his arms defiantly and slumped back into the uncomfortable plastic chair. ‘I’m wasting my time here.’

‘Do it for Mum.’

‘Ease up on the emotional blackmail, Jess. Give me one good reason why I should stay?’

‘Because it’s the right thing to do. Besides, you’ve not been here twenty minutes yet.’

He checked his watch. ‘Seriously? Christ, feels like hours.’

‘And you only ever come once a week. Twice at most.’

‘I’m busy. I’m working.’

‘Yeah, so am I, but I still manage to get here most nights.’

‘I don’t know why you bother. He doesn’t even know you’re here. Why d’you keep putting yourself through it?’

‘Because he’s my dad. You just don’t get it, do you? I’m not here for me, I’m here for Dad.’

‘Yeah, but chances are he’ll never wake up.’

Jessica paused, on the verge of tears. She bit her lip, but then said it anyway. ‘It’s all about the odds with you, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, here we go…’

‘I’ve said too much.’

‘You have, but go on, you’ve started now. Might as well put the boot in.’

She paused again, then spoke. ‘I wasn’t going to bring it up. Not here.’

‘You might as well. Dad’s past caring. Anyway, it was him who first took me into the bookies. Hadn’t set foot in a betting shop until he dragged me in before the match one Saturday.’

‘I know, I remember. Mum gave him hell over it. Especially when…’

The words dried up.

‘Go on, sis, don’t hold back.’

She shook her head. ‘You lost so much to gambling, Andy. The house, the kids, your marriage…’

‘You don’t have to tell me. I’m not proud.’

She lowered her voice again. Even in his current state, she didn’t want Dad hearing her. ‘I’m worried that when Dad’s money comes through, you’ll gamble it all away.’

Andrew shrugged. ‘So what if I do? He won’t care. He’s no use for it now.’

‘That’s hardly the point. I just think—’

‘I don’t want to die.’

Jessica was interrupted mid-flow by the desperate, pleading voice of another patient in another bed in another bay elsewhere on the hospice wing.

‘I don’t want to die,’ she said again.

‘Jesus, here we go,’ Andrew muttered, bracing himself.

‘It’s just Brenda next-door,’ Jessica sighed. ‘Have a little compassion, will you? These people are dying. They’re here to see out their days peacefully.’

‘Peaceful? That’s the last thing this place is once she’s fired them all up.’

‘I don’t want to die,’ Brenda said again, a little louder this time. Then again. ‘I don’t want to die.’ And again and again on an increasingly desperate-sounding loop.

Andrew looked over his shoulder at Raymond, the wizened, white-haired old gent in the bed diagonally opposite Dad’s. Raymond had been sound asleep but had perked up and shuffled upright as soon as he’d heard Brenda’s moaning. Andrew braced himself. ‘Here it comes… Any second…’

He hadn’t spent anywhere near as much time in the hospice as his sister, but he’d been around long enough to get used to the routine and he watched for Raymond’s inevitable reaction. Unlike the majority of the patients in this wing of the hospice. Raymond was still communicative, yet his reality appeared to be several decades out of date. He’d been a teacher once, by all accounts, and on regular occasion when Brenda’s recurring outbursts triggered him off, he still believed he was. ‘Jennifer Billings, is that you?’ he shouted to someone who wasn’t there. ‘What have I told you? You’re never going to amount to anything if you’re not prepared to put the effort in.’

‘It’s about time he eased up on poor old Jenny, don’t you think?’ Andrew laughed to himself. ‘Don’t know what she did to deserve all this abuse. Must have left an impression on the stupid old goat.’

The noise was mounting. The woman in the next-door room continued moaning, and Raymond continued to berate non-existent Jenny. True to form, their combined noise triggered the next one off. Enid belonged in a bed two bays farther down the corridor, but she was mobile and the only place she didn’t go was where she was supposed to be. ‘Help me, I’m sick,’ she wailed, her voice higher in pitch than both the others, easily discernible. ‘Somebody help me. I’m sick.’

‘They’re all sick,’ Andrew grumbled, watching as she shuffled into view then shuffled away again. He winced as the volume continued to increase. ‘Not sure how I feel about these mixed wards.’

‘It’s not a hospital, Andy, it’s a hospice. Do you think they’re bothered?’

‘Fair point. Half of them don’t even seem to know they’re here.’

‘They’ve been prodded and poked and medicated and tested… I don’t think they care by the time they get to this stage. They’re just glad of the comfort and care. You’ll be the same when it’s your turn.’

‘No chance,’ he said quickly. ‘Not me.’ He nodded at Dad. ‘If I end up in this state I want someone to finish me off.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Jess said without hesitation.

‘Thanks, sis.’

‘Your problem will be finding someone who still cares enough when you get to that stage. You’ve already pushed most of us away.’

He ignored her. He usually did when she was right.

The patients’ combined din continued to escalate. Dad’s jaw began to judder, as if he was ready to join in but couldn’t make it past the first syllable. Up and down his bottom lip went, a tremble becoming a definite movement, until he swallowed involuntarily then coughed and retched. Jessica was up out of her seat and over him in seconds, tissue poised to catch the phlegm. Andrew looked away and sunk back into his chair, bilious. ‘Disgusting,’ he grumbled.

‘He can’t help it,’ Jess snapped at her brother. She screwed up the tissue and dropped it into the clinical waste bin with all the others.

‘It’s gone quiet,’ Andrew said, and he was right. Dad’s sudden outburst had brought the cacophony to an abrupt end. A gluey full-stop. Calm was restored. Enid shuffled past again, this time without a word.

A nurse appeared at the foot of the bed, a wide smile on her face, eyes locked on Dad’s vacant gaze. ‘Everything all right here?’ she asked, sounding brighter than she had any right to at half-past nine on a Monday evening.

‘Fine,’ Jess replied, trying to summon up a smile herself.

‘He looks very peaceful tonight.’

‘He always looks the same these days,’ Andrew said. ‘Think it’ll be long?’

‘Jesus,’ Jess said when she realised what he was asking. ‘Will you shut up.’

The nurse had heard it all before. Much worse, probably. ‘No way of knowing,’ she answered. ‘Make the most of the time you’ve got. We’ll keep him comfortable and warm. Make him feel safe.’

‘You’ll be doing well if you can make him feel anything.’

‘Thank you,’ Jessica said, talking over her brother, and she meant it.

The nurse moved on and the silence returned, but it didn’t last long.

‘What did you have to say that for?’

‘Because it needed asking,’ Andrew replied. ‘This is just a waste of everyone’s time, his especially.’

Jessica leant across the bed and lowered her voice. ‘These are the last days of our father’s life, maybe even the last hours. Can’t you just stop thinking about yourself for a while and show some respect? What else would you be doing now anyway? Propping up some bar somewhere? In the all-night bookies? Slumped in front of the TV putting bets on with your phone?’

‘Give it a rest. It doesn’t matter what I’d be doing, point is I can’t see what benefit anyone’s getting from this. I don’t care what you say, he doesn’t know we’re here.’ He jabbed his finger in Dad’s direction to underline his point. ‘If he’s not getting anything from this and we’re not getting anything from this, why are we bothering?’

‘Who said I wasn’t getting anything from being here? Don’t put words in my mouth.’

‘Well, are you?’

Jess didn’t answer at first.

‘Does it matter what either of us wants? Dad’s all that’s important at the moment. Like the nurse said, we need to focus on making the time he has left as comfortable and peaceful as possible.’

‘Peaceful? In this place?’ Andrew looked back over his shoulder again, making sure that Raymond wasn’t about to kick off and berate another imaginary pupil, the noise of the patients’ last combined outburst still ringing in his ears. When he was satisfied there wasn’t about to be another interruption, he turned back to face his sister again. ‘I’d hate this. I mean what I said, when my time comes, if it looks like I’m heading this way then I want someone to finish me off.’

‘Well like I said, don’t look at me. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be happy to do it, mind.’

‘Thanks for your support, sis.’

‘I’ll use your inheritance to buy you a ticket to Dignitas.’

‘To what?’

‘Never mind. Doesn’t matter.’

Jessica paused, again wondering whether she should prolong this conversation, then deciding that she would.

‘Seriously, though, who would look after you?’

‘The state,’ Andrew answered without hesitation.

‘You mean no one.’

He pushed his chair back, looked down at his shoes. ‘Haven’t seen the kids for a couple of weeks. Shirley’s being a dick about the maintenance payments again and—’

‘You mean you’ve gambled your money away.’

‘I pay my way.’

‘Providing the right horse comes in.’

‘Ease off, sis, I’ve got enough people on my back right now. I don’t find all this as easy as you do,’ he said, gesturing around.

‘You think this is easy for me?’

‘You’re the one who’s all smiles and happy voices all the time.’

‘When I’m here for Dad, yes. This is hell, though. This is really, really hard.’

More nurses appeared. Three this time, hunting in a pack. ‘We need to reposition your dad,’ one of them said. ‘Should only take a couple of minutes. We’ll give you a shout when you can come back in.’

They were barely out of their seats before the curtains had been whipped closed around the cubicle. Jessica paused on the other side of the faded screen for a moment longer than she should have, just listening. Funny, she thought, how the curtains brought about such an abrupt change in behaviour. She was still thinking about it when she caught up with Andrew in the family lounge. He’d already made himself a coffee. It was almost at his lips when she came in. He caught her eye then handed it over and fetched himself another. He noticed his sister was crying.

‘What’s up?’

‘That’s the most redundant question I’ve heard all day. What do you think’s up? Our dad’s dying, or had you not noticed?’

‘Yeah, of course I noticed. But Dad’s been dying for a long time. We knew the cancer was going to get him eventually.’

‘That doesn’t make it any easier.’

‘I know that, but you weren’t crying out there, were you? What happened?’

‘Maybe I think about what other people might be feeling, has that ever occurred to you? Maybe I just don’t want Dad to see me upset. Maybe I’m just struggling with this and the longer it goes on, the harder it gets.’

‘Like I said out there, this isn’t benefitting anyone.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know… it’s the little things that get to me. Those nurses just now… they were chatting away to Dad, then they closed the curtains and started talking about him like he wasn’t there, like he was a piece of meat. You grab his feet, one of them said. Roll him over this way. One of them called him a lump.’

‘He is! Even now. He’s lost a lot of weight but I’d still struggle to shift him. That’s why it takes three of them to move him around and hose him down.’

‘Andrew, please,’ Jessica said, hiding her tears in her coffee.

‘Look, I’m sorry if you think I’m being harsh, sis, but Dad’s gone. He stopped being Dad when they wheeled him in here, whenever that was.’

‘Seven and a half weeks ago.’

‘Right.’

‘I know. I’ve been here just about every bloody day since.’

‘Okay, but the point is, he’s had his time. His number’s up. This is just delaying the inevitable.’

Wandering Enid drifted past the lounge doorway. Jessica waited until she’d gone then hissed at her brother, ‘you just want to get your hands on his money.’

Andrew shrugged. No denial. Then, ‘so do you.’

‘I don’t. I mean, it’ll be nice and everything, but I’d rather have Dad than his money.’

‘You saw him about as often as I did before he got sick.’

‘You know how it is…’

‘Always off on holiday or doing up the house.’

‘If you’re saying I should have seen more of him then yes, you’re right. We both should have.’

‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying I think you’d rather be debt-free than be visiting the old man here every day like this.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Come on, Jess, you forget how well I know you. I’m not stupid. I know roughly how much you’re on, and your Brian can never stop telling me how much he picks up each month.’

‘And?’

‘And I know it’s not enough to sustain your fancy lifestyle. Brian told me as much.’

‘I don’t have a fancy lifestyle.’

‘Believe me, compared to me you do.’

‘People who live on the streets have a fancy lifestyle compared to you.’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘And what’s Brian been saying exactly?’

‘Last Christmas he was half-cut. He was bending my ear about you and your credit cards. He didn’t say a lot, but it was enough to start me thinking. I reckon you’re mortgaged up to the hilt. Probably got everything on credit.’

‘Not everything…’

‘You’ve dug yourself into a hole, haven’t you? Big house, two nice new cars on the drive, couple of holidays abroad every year…’

‘We work for everything we own.’

‘I’m not saying you don’t both work hard, I just don’t think you actually own much of it.’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘You’re right, it isn’t. And what I do with my share of Dad’s estate isn’t any of your business either. When the money’s gone, it’s gone.’

‘You’re starting to sound like him now.’

‘Christ forbid.’

‘Okay, you’re right – the money will make a difference. A big difference, if I’m honest.’

‘How big?’

Jessica shuffled awkwardly in her chair and finished her drink. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘You see, I’m just trying to get a feel for things, sis, because Dad’s cash is going to make a massive difference to me, if I’m honest. It’ll get a couple of people off my back for starters.’

‘Oh God, what kind of people?’

‘Not the kind you’re probably thinking, but not the kind you want to keep waiting for money, either.’

One of the nurses appeared at the door. ‘All done. You can go back in now,’ he said.

When Jessica and Andrew returned to his bedside, Dad looked completely different. An orderly was still tidying, smoothing down the bedclothes. They’d washed Dad. Combed his hair. Changed his pyjamas and propped him up in a more comfortable-looking position. ‘Looks lovely, doesn’t he,’ the orderly said, and she gently stroked his cheek. Jessica nodded and bit her lip to save more tears. Dad didn’t react to anything. Breathing heavy. Eyes fixed ahead in that same vacant gaze.

Brother and sister re-assumed their positions on either side of the bed. ‘I might get going soon,’ Andrew said.

‘I hate it when people say that,’ Jessica replied.

‘Say what?’

‘I might do something or other when they know full well they’re going to do it whatever.’

‘Okay then, have it your way. I’m going to go soon.’

‘That’s better. Places to go? People to see?’

She sounded more vitriolic than she intended.

‘Yes, as it happens. Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘What kind of people do you need to see at this time on a Monday night?’

‘Jennifer Billings, come back here when I’m talking to you!’ bed-bound Raymond yelled from across the way, startling them both. His physical frame might have withered over the years, but an unquestionably authoritative tone remained to his voice. ‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

And that was it.

‘Help me, I’m sick,’ Enid wailed on her way past the bay.

‘I don’t want to die,’ Brenda moaned from next-door.

‘Christ’s sake,’ Andrew sighed as their voices continued on a loop. ‘I can’t take much more of this.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘Help me, I’m sick.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

Dad’s mouth began to twitch again, and the twitch became a violent cough. Jessica rested a hand on his shoulder – stopping him from slumping to one side – then wiped a green-tinged dribble from his chin.

The man in the fourth bed in the room snored loudly, audible even over the combined patients’ voices. ‘How anyone can sleep through this racket I have no idea,’ Andrew said, struggling to make himself heard.

‘Help me, I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

Several more repetitions and the voices eventually petered out.

‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take,’ Jessica admitted.

‘What, the noise?’

‘No, all of it. Being here night after night…’

‘Go home then. I am.’

‘I’m going to stay a while longer,’ Jessica said.

‘But you just said—’

‘I know what I just said.’

‘You and Brian fallen out again?’

A pause, then ‘yes.’

‘Bought something you shouldn’t have again?’

‘We needed it.’

‘But you didn’t have the money?’

‘Yes.’

She was crying again now but tried not to let her brother see.

‘You need Dad’s cash more than you’re letting on, don’t you?’

Another pause. Yet more tears. ‘Yes.’

‘Me too. I’m in trouble, Jess.’

‘And me. Bloody hell, Andy, I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘It’ll be okay, sis. We’ll get it sorted. Soon as he’s croaked we’ll get the solicitors sorted. There’s only you and me named in the Will and there’s only the house and his car to sell. I’ve got a mate who knows a bloke who can put us in touch with a lawyer who’ll see us right at a decent price. Won’t be long now.’

Jessica nodded.

‘Brian said he’d leave me if I didn’t stop.’

‘Didn’t stop what?’

‘Spending. I can’t help it, though. Since the kids left home I get bored. It makes me feel better, spending a few quid.’

‘It’s an addiction,’ Andrew told her. ‘Believe me, I should know. Gambling’s the same.’

‘I can’t see another way out of this mess.’

Andrew paused before speaking again. It was clear he had something more to say but wasn’t sure if he should – could­ – say it. Deep breath. ‘We could, you know, speed things up a little.’

Jessica wiped her eyes and looked up at him. For a moment she didn’t know what to say, how to react. ‘Tell me you’re not serious…’

His face cracked. ‘Had you going there, sis.’

Jess relaxed. Smiled. Shoulders slumped. Almost laughed.

‘I thought you meant it.’

‘I know you did. Let’s be honest, we’ve both considered it, haven’t we?’

Dad coughed again, louder this time. Jessica dabbed at the spit pooling in the corners of his gaping mouth.

‘I feel terrible saying this,’ Jessica admitted, ‘but yes. And I know I was shitty with you earlier, but things would be a heck of a lot easier for all of us – you, me and Dad – if he just stopped fighting and let go.’

‘He’s hardly fighting. He’s barely even breathing.’

‘I’m sick. Help me.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘Jesus, not again,’ Andrew cursed, looking around. ‘I wish these noisy bastards would just shut up. Don’t they ever stop?’

‘I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

The three patients’ voices were ringing in his ears, filling the hospice with noise.

‘The staff never do anything,’ Jessica said. ‘Bloody useless, they are. It’s making my head hurt.’

‘We should complain. This can’t be good for any of them.’

Dad’s chin was going again. He retched. Jess was out of tissues. She looked around for another box.

Shuffling Enid appeared at the end of Dad’s bed, frightening the life out of both Andrew and Jess. ‘I’m sick,’ she said.

‘Fuck me,’ Andrew said, clutching his chest.

‘Go back to your bed, Enid,’ Jessica told her, but she didn’t.

Andrew was far less understanding. ‘Nurse!’ he yelled, ‘One of your patients has escaped again.’ But no one came.

Dad coughed again and Jessica found more tissues in his bedside cabinet.

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick,’ Enid said, and then she drifted away.

‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ Jessica said, competing with the din. Her hands were sticky with Dad’s mess and she got up to wash them. ‘I mean, I know the NHS is stretched and under-resourced, but surely they can do better than this,’ she continued from the sink.

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick. Help me.’

‘I’d write to my MP,’ Jessica said, ‘but she’s next to useless. Did you see her on the TV the other night, Andy? Andy? Are you even listening to me?’

Andrew didn’t take his eyes off Dad, just gestured. ‘Look.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Look,’ Andy said again.

Dad’s mouth was moving. Forming silent words.

‘What’s he saying?’

‘Don’t know, sis.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

‘Wish they’d just shut up,’ Jessica hissed. She wanted to yell at the other patients to be quiet but she stopped herself. She sat down opposite her brother.

Dad’s mouth was still going. Same movements. Same silent words. On a loop.

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

‘Is he copying them?’ Andrew asked.

‘Which one?’

‘All of them? None of them? Can’t tell.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

And then, gradually, Dad’s mouth began to match some of the words. He was picking out snatches of what Brenda, Raymond and Enid were each repeating tirelessly. The same few words every time.

And then his lips synced with the sounds.

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die .’

‘ I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die .’

‘ I’m sick.’

‘You’re never going to amount to anything.’

‘I don’t want to die .’

‘ I’m sick.’

Different words combined. A single sentence formed from fragments. On repeat.

‘Fuck me,’ said Andrew, pushing back his chair. Dad had definite eye contact with him now. First time since they’d brought him in here.

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

‘I’m never going to die.’

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THE LAST BIG THING is available now in hardcover and as an ebook. For a limited time you can get £5 off signed copies purchased direct from INFECTED BOOKS.

The post Away With the Fairies appeared first on David Moody - author of AUTUMN and HATER.

Triffids again (last time, I promise)

This is the last part of my DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS retrospective. My look back at the original novel can be found here, the film version here, and the 1981 BBC TV adaptation here.

Prior to re-watching the most recent (2009) BBC adaptation of DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS, I’d only seen it once before. I had to psych myself up to watch it again, because my overriding memory of the 3 hours miniseries was crushing disappointment. This was the first time TRIFFIDS had been adapted for the screen with a decent budget, and yet I found it to be massively off the mark. A wasted opportunity.

Many of the novel’s story beats are there, and the Triffids themselves are very well realised, but I remember being hugely frustrated by a number of aspects of the production, to the point where I’d promised myself I wouldn’t watch it again. But then this series of posts came around, and I gritted my teeth and pressed play. My expectations were clearly better managed second time around, because I found more to enjoy on repeat viewing, but there’s no question this is certainly NOT the definitive version I’d hoped for.

There’s no trailer available as such, so here’s a BBC preview from when the series was shown over Christmas 2009 (hence the seasonal graphics at the end):

As I’ve said in my previous posts about TRIFFIDS, there’s a certain naivety and clunky charm to the original novel. I think that’s certainly part of the reason why the book was so successful and why it’s proven to have such a long shelf life. In my first post I talked about the (genuinely unintentional) similarities between TRIFFIDS and AUTUMN, but a similarity I didn’t initially pick up on was that between the characters of Michael in AUTUMN and Bill Masen. Both are ordinary folk trying to deal with the most extraordinary of situations, and the portrayal of Bill in this particular version of TRIFFIDS is where we start to hit problems. Here, Bill’s an action hero with an encyclopaedic knowledge of Triffids, who comes from a line of Triffid experts. It doesn’t work.

The miniseries moves at an erratic and, frankly, odd pace. The apocalyptic scenes at the beginning of the story, whilst admittedly visually impressive and often arresting, feel too overblown and Hollywood-inspired. There’s chaos and noise everywhere, and yet the reason the previous BBC TV adaptation was so chilling and unsettling was because it was so quiet. You could feel the fear of the suddenly sightless millions who were too afraid to leave their homes and venture out onto the streets. Here, though, everything’s very much in your face. Similarly the comet debris which causes the blindness, which worked so well as a literal slowburn in previous adaptations with people gradually waking up blind, is reduced here to a blast of quasi-nuclear ultra-white light. The end result may well be the same, but the effect on the pacing of the story is disappointing. And the series continues at a similarly frantic rate, bouncing along from set-piece to set-piece. It’s like driving through an area of outstanding natural beauty at two hundred miles an hour. There are some incredible things to see here, but we’re moving too fast to get anything more than a glimpse. That said, some of the CGI ruined cityscapes are terrific.

But here, for me, is where we hit the first major stumbling block. Eddie Izzard, playing Torrence, a character added for this adaptation, escapes a plane crash by surrounding himself with inflated lifejackets (honest), and then goes on to become the ‘big bad’ of the piece and… and it just doesn’t work. The character is paper-thin, his motives and behaviours desperately cliched and choreographed, and Izzard’s performance is just awful. I’ve seen him live a few times, and this is a similar kind of delivery – a smart looking, verbose villain – and it just doesn’t work.

Now might be a good moment to briefly mention the other leads. Dougray Scott plays the aforementioned Bill Masen/Rambo clone, with all the emotional depth of a doner kebab. One of my major gripes with the original novel is the character of Josella Playton, who fits all the uncomfortable stereotypes of women written by men in the fifties. Somehow the 2009 script renders the normally excellent Joely Richardson even more pathetic than the versions of Jo we’ve seen previously. I expected this might be an opportunity to redress the balance somewhat and give Jo more of a positive role, but the opposite is true. She exists to look plaintively into the camera and pine after superman Bill. Honestly, it’s painful to watch at times. Rounding out the main cast is Jason Priestly as (for some reason) an American Coker, who sits on the fringes of the story until he’s needed, and whose final appearance in the series involves throwing papers out of a helicopter window whilst flying, AND SOMEHOW MANAGING TO GET THEM TO LAND IN BILL’S DAD’S GARDEN. Bill’s Dad, by the way (another character added for this version) is played with real style by Brian Cox.

A word about the Triffids. They’re pretty good, actually. Clearly CGI, but they’re quite menacing. They’re faster than you’d expect, and noisier, and more reactive, and yet if you can get over these facts, then they’re very effective. Their use of their roots to capture and overpower their victims, whilst at odds with the behaviours in Wyndham’s novel, makes for several entertaining scenes (not least when Eddie Izzard gets his comeuppance, which was one of the main reasons for me sticking it through to the end…).

There’s a real effort to update the source material here, but I think it goes too far. It unnecessarily overcomplicates the plot in a number of ways – mystical goings on in the jungle, genetic manipulation of the Triffids, overinvolved economic explanations and subterfuge – and to my mind each of these deviations robs the story of its simplistic power. It also gives us a number of needless plot holes, most notably that for an economy suddenly so dependent on the Triffids, it’s population is remarkably blinkered about their danger. Much of the middle act of the novel is jettisoned or stripped down, to the point where certain parts feel needlessly bolted on for effect (Vanessa Redgrave as leader of a religious group which sacrifices its members to keep the Triffids at bay being the prime example). Again, these scenes just distract from rather than add to the story.

Bottom line, this version of DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS is worth a watch, but manage your expectations. As I said at the beginning, it’s a missed opportunity which pales in comparison to the 1981 BBC version of the book. Judge for yourself – it’s currently streaming on Amazon Prime in the UK.

So what are my conclusions now that I’ve re-read the book and re-watched all three adaptations in relatively quick succession? First, it’s hard to make a Triffid scary, but the less you have them do, the more menacing they become. Second, their numbers are the real threat, and that’s something no adaptation has yet been able to successfully exploit. Third, the emptiness and quiet of the original novel is one of its key strengths, and filling the world with explosions and noise simply lessens the impact of the story. Fourth, Bill Masen is an everyman with a passable knowledge of Triffids, the more heroic and gung-ho you make him, the less the audience cares. Five – John Wyndham knew what he was doing. He wrote a startling book about of two devastating events (the coming of the Triffids and the mass blindness in the human population). None of these adaptations has yet managed to fully exploit the synchronicity between the two. They seem to be all about blind people, or all about Triffids, or all about nothing at all.

And what would make a good adaptation? I have my ideas, but I’m not going to share them here. It’s my hope that, one day, a film studio will look to tackle TRIFFIDS again, and that maybe I’ll be able to have a crack at the script. I can dream, can’t I?!

Thanks for sticking with me as I’ve indulged my Triffid-related passions over the last few weeks.

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Falling Down

The JoBlo movie network website always has stacks of great content. One of the sections I enjoy most is the snappily titled “The Best Movie You Never Saw”, and this week it featured one of my favourite films. A quick glance at my RECOMMENDATIONS page revealed that I’d never written about it for this site, so I thought I should put that right post haste! This weekend’s film recommendation is Joel Schumacher’s startling 1993 movie, FALLING DOWN.

Freeways are clogged. Terror stalks our cities. At shops and restaurants, the customer is seldom right. Pressures of big-city life can anger anyone. But Bill Foster is more than angry. He’s about to get even.

  Foster abandons his gridlocked car on the hottest day of the year and walks straight into an urban nightmare both absurdly funny and shatteringly violent. Michael Douglas is Foster, an ordinary guy at war with the frustrations of daily life. Robert Duvall is the savvy cop obsessed with stopping Foster’s citywide rampage.

I don’t think this was a direction anyone expected Michael Douglas to take: a Hollywood heart-throb sporting a short-sleeved shirt and tie, dodgy glasses and an even dodgier haircut. After a string of huge films including BASIC INSTINCT and FATAL ATTRACTION, the role of Bill Foster was definitely taken against type. I’m typically not a fan of films starring big-name actors (because there comes a point when you stop believing in the characters they play and start thinking oh, there’s Brad Pitt/Tom Cruise/Michael Douglas/insert name here… for me it often detracts from the movie). In the case of FALLING DOWN, though, it actually helps. The familiarity of Michael Douglas adds another layer to his character’s alienation, emphasising how completely at odds he is with his surroundings.

It’s a film of two halves, in more ways than one. In the first half we’re with Foster almost* all the way as he comes up against obstruction after frustration after obstruction, when all he wants to do is get home to celebrate his little girl’s birthday. We cheer when he stands up for himself at the burger joint where he can’t get breakfast two minutes after time, and we punch the air when he gets one over on the dumb gang members squabbling pointlessly over imagined territorial lines. (*I say almost all the way, because whilst we’ve maybe all had moments where we’ve wanted to shoot up a phone box with a machine gun or fight back against some perceived unfairness when we’re out shopping, FALLING DOWN takes this to a new level. And once the spontaneous laughter and shock has died down, the film often cuts away giving the viewer very little time to consider Foster’s morality or, indeed, to think about how deserving his ‘victims’ really are).

And then the film changes. Completely.

I’m not going to say too much about the shift change, because to do so would rob the movie of some of its power if you’ve not seen it before. Suffice to say, it has some similarities to the tonal shift which occurs two-thirds of the way into HATER, and I won’t deny that certain aspects of FALLING DOWN influenced the way I wrote the novel.

But there are other equally interesting aspects of the film to focus on. Robert Duvall is in fine form as the cop who, on his last day before retirement, is trying to stop Foster and who, in doing so, is forced to evaluate his own life, loves and achievements (or lack thereof). There’s also the impact of events on Foster’s family as they wait for him to get home. This is another story where every character believes without question that they’re in the right and everyone else is wrong. The dynamics are fascinating.

For such a sensational story, and considering the track record of director Joel Schumacher (Flatliners, The Lost Boys, Batman Forever, Batman & Robin), events are presented in a relatively straightforward manner and the film is shot with a grimy-looking colour palette. To me, FALLING DOWN has always felt as oppressive as it looks: watching it feels like being overdressed and force to walk through an unfamiliar and horrendously crowded city on the hottest day of the year which, essentially, is what Michael Douglas’s character is forced to do.

It’s hard to believe that FALLING DOWN is more than twenty-five years old now. In some ways it’s dated, in other ways it feels disappointingly relevant. However you view it, and wherever your sympathies lie, there’s no arguing that it’s a bold and affecting film which asks questions we’re still no closer to answering a quarter of a century later. It’s worth watching for the dual powerhouse performances of Douglas and Duvall, but there’s so much more to see here. If you’ve not seen it, can I recommend you put that right immediately. And if you’re new to FALLING DOWN, I’d be very interested to hear your thoughts.

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My relationship with Europe (NOT Brexit-related)

Last year two of the German language publishers I’d been working with for some years closed down unexpectedly. It was a real disappointment, not least because I’ve always enjoyed a lot of success in Germany. But every cloud has a silver lining, and the experience forced me to think differently about how I want foreign language editions of Infected Books titles to be published in future. If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know I always try to have a foot in both publishing camps – traditional and independent. The wide exposure of mass market publishing is vital, but I also love the level of control that independent publishing offers. As demonstrated by what happened in Germany, having other publishers involved can have risks.

So I’ve decided to take a new approach. Foreign language editions of Infected Books titles will now, wherever possible, by published directly through Infected Books. Rather than pay translators a fixed fee, I’m instead tipping the usual relationship on its head and paying them a royalty.

The first fruits of this new strategy are starting to appear. I’ve worked with the original translator and cover artist and a revised edition of Straight to You: Postapokalyptischer Thriller is now available from Amazon.de. The re-release of the Herbst (Autumn) series will follow shortly.

For me this is a logical progression in independent publishing and I’m excited by the prospects. Are there any of my novels you’d like to see available in your language? Let me know and I’ll see what I can do.

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Fifty Shades of Hate

I need to get something off my chest. Right, here goes… I once took literary inspiration from E L James, author of the unfeasibly popular Fifty Shades series. I don’t mean to offend fans of Fifty Shades with that comment, but you have to admit, those books are unfeasibly popular. Something like 150 million copies sold? That’s incredible.

So, on one hand, it’s hats off to Ms James, because she’s found a formula people clearly like and she’s sticking to it. You could argue that I’ve done exactly the same (though I do at least try to experiment – the book I’m currently writing is nothing like anything I’ve released previously). On the other hand, though, from what I understand of the books in the second Fifty Shades series, they’re pretty much a scene for scene rehashes of the first, just with the internal thoughts of an impressionable young student replaced with those of a complete fucking pervert.

And I’m claiming I was inspired by this series? Let me explain…

I’ve said before that the second HATER trilogy came as a result of discussions I’d had with Ed Barratt, producer of the upcoming HATER movie, about a potential TV adaptation. The original books were told exclusively from Danny McCoyne’s perspective, and whilst that worked well on paper, it would have been hard going on screen. A TV series would need to dive deeper and fill in the blanks, following different characters and situations to ramp up the drama and keep the viewers’ interest. And for a while I was struggling to work out how I would do that.

Enter E L James.

When I heard about the release of Grey in 2015, it was a lightning strike moment. And it was such an obvious solution. The HATER story is about a divide that rips through the human race; I’d told events from one side, so I needed to go back and tell the other.

And that’s essentially how the genesis of THE FINAL WAR trilogy came about. It was then a question of working out how I could tell Matt Dunne’s story and make it dovetail smoothly with the original books. I knew I’d need a standalone start to the new series (2017’s ONE OF US WILL BE DEAD BY MORNING), and that was always written with the intention of book #2 sitting alongside DOG BLOOD. DOG BLOOD is the book where the Haters and the Unchanged have the most direct interaction, and as the violence escalates it gets harder to work out who’s really pulling the strings. The recently released ALL ROADS END HERE will give you more of a clue.

But the ending of the second trilogy posed more of a problem for me in terms of when and where it would be set. 2011’s THEM OR US brought Danny McCoyne’s story to a close, and following him through some incredibly dark days allowed me to talk about the direction I believed the human race would ultimately take as a result of the Hate. But THEM OR US was nearly a very different book. The personal perspective and relatively small scale of the final novel took a lot of people by surprise, and though I thought it was important to take that approach, I did so knowing that I was intentionally glossing over some dramatic, large-scale events.

I’m keeping this deliberately spoiler-free, but after the end of DOG BLOOD/ALL ROADS END HERE, the overall conflict has reached a crossroads. It’s a pivot point. It’s here that the Haters are finally finding their full strength, whilst the Unchanged are desperately clinging onto what’s left of their military superiority. This is the point in both of the trilogies where the balance of power is actually most finely poised.

I’d always had it in my head that prior to the events of THEM OR US, somewhere between the Midlands and the east coast of the UK, a huge land battle must have taken place between the Haters and the remaining Unchanged. This pivotal battle would be so important that it would involve pretty much everyone left alive, sucking people in from the surrounding areas like a black hole. And now, thanks to the author of Fifty Shades of Grey, I’m ready to tell that story.

This is where the fates of the surviving characters from both DOG BLOOD and ALL ROADS END HERE will be decided. This is CHOKEHOLD, and it’s out on 19 November. And if you think you already know all the answers because you’ve read THEM OR US, you don’t.

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The definitive HATER timeline

A lot of people have asked how the six books in the two HATER series tie together. Here’s my answer.

The HATER series is available now in print, ebook and audiobook (US and Canada only). The final book in the series – CHOKEHOLD – is out on 19 November from Thomas Dunne Books.

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Await Further Instructions

Families can be funny things. It’s no surprise when you think about it: we chose our friends and our lovers, but not our parents or our siblings. Why should we be expected to get on with them when all we share is genetics and a house? Don’t read anything into this intro, by the way, I’m not about to give you the potted history of the family Moody. I’m actually just going to recommend a cracking little film to you: AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

A family’s tense reunion turns terrifying when they get trapped in their home by an unknown force, and sinister commands begin appearing on their TV.

I really enjoyed AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. It’s well made with a strangely timeless feel and an arresting visual style. Director Johnny Kevorkian and writer Gavin Williams have put together an original and claustrophobic tale set in a desperately tense, powder-keg, pressure-filled environment: the family Christmas. In many of my books I write about the end of the world because it’s where I believe we’d see people showing their true colours and acting as they want to, not as society tells them to, and it strikes me that this, strangely, is quite a similar set-up. To my mind, Christmas comes a close second to Armageddon. Think about it – it’s often a time when we’re trapped in an alternate reality. Everything looks and sounds largely the same, but it isn’t. For those few days over the festive period, the normal rules and regulations and routines don’t apply. Setting this movie in the deceptively cordial surroundings of a small family Christmas was a masterstroke.

I don’t want to say very much about the story for fear of spoiling the film. Safe to say, it ticks my boxes by showing the impact of a potentially world-changing event through the eyes of a small and restricted family unit. The characters are so focused on their individual hang-ups, arguments and relationships that the larger implications of what’s happening seem to pass them by.

Again, I don’t want to spoil the movie by giving too much away. It rattles along at a really good pace and manages to transform itself from something that begins like a fairly grounded suburban family drama, into a full-on hybrid of a Twilight Zone episode and David Cronenberg movie with definite overtones of Tetsuo, the Iron Man (which terrifyingly, just turned 30).

AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS is currently all over Netflix, so if you’re looking for a film to watch this Sunday afternoon/evening, you should check it out. Highly recommended.

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Straight to You audiobook now available

My mission to get audiobook versions of all my novels published is a little closer to completion as STRAIGHT TO YOU has just been released. It’s superbly narrated by Matthew Jackson, and I’m really pleased with how it’s turned out. You can listen to a sample here, or grab a copy from Audible, Amazon or iTunes.

The sun is dying. The temperature around the world is rising by the hour with no sign of any respite. At this rate the planet will soon become uninhabitable; all life extinguished. It might be weeks away, it might be days…we may only have hours remaining. Society is crumbling. The burning world is descending into chaos.

Steven Johnson’s wife is hundreds of miles away and all that matters is reaching her before the end. He has to act now, no time to stop and think. Every second is precious. Tomorrow is too late.

“Straight To You deserves to be ranked alongside such classics as The Stand and Swan Song.” –Ginger Nuts of Horror

“A truly breath-taking and awe-inspiring read from an undeniable master of this sub-genre.” –DLS Reviews

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The Day of the Triffids (part 3)

This week my DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS retrospective reaches peak point. If you’ve read my earlier posts you’ll know that a). TRIFFIDS is my favourite book and it’s had an enormous influence on my writing and b). I’m currently working my way through the various film and TV adaptations. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’d love to write the screenplay for a Triffids movie/miniseries, so I’ve been looking at the pluses and minuses of each version to try and understand why they’ve succeeded or failed. Today we get to the 1981 BBC TV version which is, without question, the most faithful adaptation of John Wyndham’s story yet produced.

Back in the day, when there were only three UK TV channels and we were on the cusp of the home video revolution, this adaptation of TRIFFIDS occupied the primetime. It faired pretty well, with decent viewing figures, favourable reviews and plenty of media coverage. Following the release of the novel in 1951, the name Triffid came to be used to describe any over-sized or vaguely menacing-looking plant, and the beautiful design of the 1981 creature (for want of a better word) also became unexpectedly iconic. I wrote previously about how hard it must be to visualise a genuinely threatening, seven-foot tall, walking carnivorous plant, and yet visual effects designer Steve Drewett did just that. Their vivid colouring, their stings dripping with poison, and their borderline flamboyant, quiff-like styling resulted in a realisation of the Triffids like nothing seen previously or since. There’s an arrogance to their appearance. It’s almost as if they want you to come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.

But before I get into the detail and explain why I think this adaptation works so well, let’s watch the title sequence and enjoy the theme music by Christopher Gunning. I say enjoy, but if I’m honest, at the tender age of eleven, these titles scared me just about as much as the Triffids themselves!

Produced by David Maloney, one of the driving forces behind BLAKE’S 7, the six, thirty minute episode format of the 1981 adaptation of Triffids gave the writer and director space to breathe. Gone are the constraints of making a single ninety-minute movie and, as a consequence, the series is able to more closely follow Wyndham’s original novel. There are some deviations which make the story feel somewhat uneven, but these can largely be forgiven. There’s a cliffhanger at the end of every episode, for example, and these are frequently ineffective and forced. And it wouldn’t have made any sense for there to be a time jump in the middle of a chapter, so the final episode is set six years later and, as a result, feels superfluous. I’d have preferred a longer exploration of Bill Masen’s journey and for the series to have ended at the point where he’s reunited with Josella. It robs the story of the climax it deserves.

Throughout the opening episodes, this version of Triffids barely puts a foot wrong. By necessity it takes some liberties with the source material, but the changes introduced by screen writer Douglas Livingstone are carefully done and are in keeping with the tone of the book. Those who’ve read the novel will know that there’s a huge exposition dump early on, where Bill explains his history, and his history with Triffids, to the reader. Livingstone cleverly enables this by having Bill, in hospital with his eyes bandaged as a result of a Triffid sting, preparing an audio ‘letter’ to a friend by recording his memories on cassette.

It takes Bill the entire first episode to get out of hospital, but by the time the second instalment arrives, we’re deep into Wyndham’s familiar apocalyptic territory. There are many memorable scenes here: the blind woman desperately trying to open a tin of cat food to eat; the man who, with a rope tied around his waist and his wife holding the other end to keep him safe, edges out into his back garden to pick vegetables to eat, only to be struck down by a Triffid; the pack of zombie-like blind people who crowd around cars and bang their hands against the locked doors of the pub where Bill and Jo take shelter, desperate to get inside; the man who was blind before the comet display who now walks along the street with his white stick, unable to quite work out why the world feels so different this morning…

There’s very little sensationalism on show here. It’s a slow-moving apocalypse which succeeds by remaining reasonably in time with the beats of the original novel. Visual effects are largely (and wisely) kept to a minimum, with some magnificent sound design adding to the unease. The cast is strong: John Duttine is a spot-on Bill Masen, with good support from Maurice Colbourne as Coker and Emma Relph as Jo.

It’s hard to believe that this adaptation was made thirty years after the original publication of the novel, and that it’s now another forty years since the series was first broadcast. As you’d expect, there are many aspects which now feel simplistic and outdated, and yet the series doesn’t suffer unduly as a result of this. It’s a technically limited adaptation with problems symptomatic of the time – for example, the jarring cuts between exterior scenes recorded on film, and studio scenes recorded on videotape – but these issues don’t detract, and I think I know why that is.

When you boil it down to basics, THE DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS isn’t a story about blind people or about carnivorous walking plants, it’s about a handful of survivors trying to come to terms with what has happened to the world about them. Like all the best post-apocalyptic fiction, it’s about human reactions and interactions. As was seen in the earlier film adaptation (and as we’ll see again in the second BBC TV version), it’s so easy to put the Triffids front and centre and let them steal the show. That’s the opposite of what the story needs, and I believe it’s why this version works so well. Less is most definitely more.

And that’s a lesson the team behind the next version of Triffids definitely didn’t pay attention to in school.

The 1981 version of DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS is available on DVD from all the usual outlets.

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You goddam HATERS!

Well that was interesting! A few weeks ago I asked an obvious question on my website, Facebook and Twitter. I wanted to know which side you’d choose: HATER or UNCHANGED. The results are in.

I thought it would be interesting to just ask the one question with no follow-ups. I could have asked whereabouts in the world you live or any number of other questions to see if what factors affected your allegiance, but I didn’t. In the HATER books, the Hate ignores all our existing differences, so it made sense for this very unscientific poll to do the same.

369 people voted across this website, Facebook and Twitter, with 59% of people picking Haters over Unchanged. Interestingly, this varied between platform. On my website the split was 49% Hater, 51% Unchanged, on Facebook it was 62% Hater, 38% Unchanged, and on Twitter it was 58% Hater and 42% Unchanged. Does that mean people feel more Hate on social media sites than here on my warm and welcoming website? I don’t know, maybe they do. Interestingly, Haters were far more vocal, with around 60% of comments being from Haters and only 40% Unchanged.

So there you have it. Totally unscientific and little more than a ‘finger in the wind’ exercise. Still, if you’re in the UK like me, I hope this has taken your mind off the other votes we’re currently having to contend with for a couple of blissful minutes!

One last thing. I was interested to read a comment on this poll where the commenter said their allegiance had switched now they’re reading the second HATER trilogy because it tells the story from the Unchanged perspective. If I’m honest, the same thing happened to me while I was writing the books. As I worked my way through HATER, DOG BLOOD and THEM OR US I was Hater all the way. But having spent the last few years writing ONE OF US WILL BE DEAD BY MORNING, ALL ROADS END HERE and CHOKEHOLD, my loyalties seemed to switch. I wonder if, by the time you’ve read CHOKEHOLD, you’ll have come to the same conclusions about the state of the human race as I did…

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