Miranda Kate's Blog, page 25

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 183

This week's phorot promo was taken by Alexa Wilson on Twitter. Found in the middle of a field in an area called Forlorn, in the Cotswolds, UK. I had to write about it!

This turned out quite well. I wanted something unique and I think it works. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.


Leg
Duncan was right; it had been washed up by the tide. Damn! I stood at the top of the cliff looking down and saw the leg there on the rock. The shoe was still on the foot.

I looked around. No one was about. Good. But how was I going to get down there? It was a secluded cove, with no footpath access, and the cliff was sheer. I got my phone out and called Duncan.

‘You’re right, it’s still there!’

‘It’ll probably go out with the next tide.’

‘But what if it doesn’t? What if someone spots it and reports it to the police? We can’t risk it. We have to get it, now, and get rid of it.’

‘But how?’

‘Abseil down, it’s the only way.’

‘Rather you than me.’

‘I’ve done it before. But I don’t have the equipment, Jake has. Go to his and get it, will you?’

‘I’m a bit busy at the mo—‘

‘I couldn’t give a toss! Go and get it, NOW! We’re in this together, don’t you forget that!’ I hissed at him.

‘All right, all right. I’ll be there in fifteen. You’re at the bluff, yeah?’

‘Yeah – hurry!’

I shoved the phone back in my pocket and looked around again, still no one about. I carried on walking a bit further ahead so as not to attract any attention. I looked out at the water, the tide was still moving out, good. It would give me time to get down there. I didn’t mind heights, getting down or up wouldn’t be an issue, it was about being seen; there were so many busybodies in this tiny seaside town.

Up until now I thought we were good. It had been a week. There’d been no trace of anything washing up. We’d taken all the body parts out on Duncan’s dad’s fishing rig in the dead of night, to where we knew there was a shark colony, and we’d seen them come up to feed. So how did this leg get missed?

I heard a car horn and watched Duncan pull up in the parking bay. I walked back to the cliff edge and waited. He came rushing up with the ropes and security equipment I’d used with Jake when we’d gone down to Cheddar Gorge. I knew how to set it up, but was worried Duncan wouldn’t be heavy enough to take my weight.

‘Do you think you can hold me?’

‘Oh yeah. I can handle over 200 pounds at the gym, easy.’

I put it on, and he took the line. I walked to the edge and sat down, swinging my legs over.

‘I’ll hang here a minute, while you get your bearings.’

‘Okay.’

I turned round and hung my body over, taking the weight on my arms. Then I pushed my feet into the cliff wall and started to move my weight back. Duncan braced himself, standing firm with the ropes wrapped round him and one arm. He had special gloves on too.

‘You good?’ I asked as I let my weight pull the ropes taut.

‘Yep,’ he said, looking relaxed.

‘Okay, I’m going down.’

I leaned back and started to take steps down, and then I started to release it out quicker, taking a few leaps. I reached the bottom and detached the ropes, rushing over to the rock.

It was covered in bits of seaweed, but there was something strange about it. It wasn’t discoloured or bloated and … oh god, it wasn’t real! It was a bloody mannequin leg! Bloody hell all this over nothing! I was relieved and annoyed at the same time.

I walked back to the rope, and reattached myself. I tugged twice on the rope, and felt it go taut and started the climb back up.

But half way up, I don’t know what happened, but the rope went loose and I lost my footing, kicking out at the last minute so I didn’t slam against the rock further down. I felt a crunch and pain shot through my body. I’d landed on the rock, on top of the leg. I couldn’t move. I just hurt. And then I couldn’t breathe. I tried coughing but there was fluid in my throat and I couldn’t clear it.

I saw a head peep over the top of the cliff, Duncan, and then another head – was that Jake? And then they were gone. To get help I hoped. I lay there on top of the mannequin leg, trying to breathe, but it was getting harder. I waited for the sounds of sirens or a helicopter, even a boat, but there was nothing. I couldn’t hold on much longer, my vision was beginning to fade. 

Review: The Dinner List, by Rebecca Serle

The Dinner List by Rebecca Serle
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I read this for my bookclub. A book I would never have picked up otherswise, but what a journey! One that ended in tears for this reader. Heartbreaking tale.

The Dinner party is seen through the eyes of the birthday person, Sabrina, and written in first person. The chapters are divided between the conversation at the dinner party and the story of her relationship, switching back and forth, and unravelling both the reason for the party (and the particular guests), and the events in the relationship.

The best way to engage a reader is through emotion and this story has a LOT of emotion. The main characters broken childhood and her deep, in-love relationship, binds the reader to her. I felt every piece of it.

The story is revealed in such a way it is compelling, too, as you understand more and more. The ending being one of those you don't really want to see, but can't look away from. I didn't want it to end.

It was like being a fly on the wall in another person's life. I found it intensely personal, and roller coaster ride. Highly Recommend.

View all my reviews

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 182

This week's picture prompt was taken by Lurie Belegurschi, an Icelandic photographer. He took this at Jokulsarlon Glacier (in southern part of Vatnajökull National Park in Iceland), of a Lenicular cloud formation.  He has some incredible shots on his website, definitely worth checking out. 

I went sci-fi with this one. To me the photo called for it. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.


Occupied

It hurt. The pain cut right into my bones. I couldn’t tell if it was the arrival or what I had landed on that was causing it. All I could see was white; everything around me was white. There was water, or fluid of some sort.

What was this feeling that was getting into every single part of my body and my bones? I turned my head and saw the sky, or at least what I thought was sky. It contained strange colours. I had always been taught that it would look blue.

It had strange shapes moving across it, or in it. I didn’t know what they were; they looked like I could touch them, like they were made of something soft.

The pain became apparent again. I turned onto my side and onto my knees and stood up. The ground beneath me cracked. What was this stuff? I touched it with my fingers. It was cold, so cold. Is that what was making me hurt?

I looked around. Behind the white there was black ground, it had a texture; rock of some sort. But the white persisted between, some soft and fluffy looking, some hard and cracking. Cold and water meant ice, or snow, according to my chemistry lessons. Was that what I was seeing?

‘Report.’ The speaker button on my jacket jolted me out of my thoughts.

‘Water,’ I said. I bent to touch it and brought it to my lips. ‘It contains salt. It must be ocean. And it’s cold here, so cold there is ice and snow, tons and tons of it.’

‘Life?’ The button echoed across the empty land.

‘None visible,’ I said. ‘I’m going to walk.’

I followed the edge of the water. The shapes in the sky had changed, as had the colour. A sun was beginning to become visible on the horizon. It was fascinating. I headed towards a mound of black rock, hoping to get more visuals on high ground. I reached the peak and saw something in the distance. It looked like geometric shapes of some sort – squares, but with lines that weren’t natural. Could it be a building? I’d read about those.

I headed towards it, but could see no forms of life. When I reached it, it had windows and a door, but it was empty. There had been life here, once, but how long ago?

I said, ‘Scan.’ A light appeared out of the button and streamed over the building, taking in every inch.

‘205589,’ it announced.

I whistled; that was a long time ago. It explained its derelict state.

‘There’s nothing more here. Shall I stay?’

‘No. Prepare for removal.’

I lay down on the hard floor and stared up into what they said would be a blue sky, but was more white, reflecting the desolate landscape. I saw a spec move across it at high speed. What was that? Then a rushing sound hit my ears. I sat up, putting my hands over my ears.

‘Stop,’ I shouted.

I saw pieces of debris nearby start to fly up as the loud noise continued to batter my ears.

‘Something is here.’ Something big hit the ground. I stood up. The noise reduced but didn’t stop. Then I saw them, running towards me. They looked like us but a different colour.

Then a pain hit my body and I fell backwards. I thought it was my removal; that they hadn’t had time to cancel. If you didn’t lie down it could hurt. But I was still there on the ground and I was leaking. My bodily fluid was running out of me as the creatures arrived, three of them standing at my feet and watching me.

‘Wow, it’s blue,’ one of them said.

‘Real freak show,’ another said.

The other kicked me in the foot. ‘Is it dead yet?’

I felt like I was drifting away. I whispered, ‘Removal, now.’

‘What did it say?’ the foot kicking one said.

‘Dunno.’

‘Shall I shoot it again?’

‘Nah, leave it. It’ll be dead soon and we can drag it back.’

Then I felt it; my removal. Thank goodness.

‘What the fuck?’

‘It’s disappearing!’

‘But how?’

When I opened my eyes again I was back home and people were healing me. My captain arrived at my side.

‘Still there and still hostile, I see.’

‘Yes, Captain,’ I whispered.

‘We’ll have to leave it another millennia then.’

‘Yes, Captain.’ 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 181

This week's photo is from Bogdan Panait, a Croatian photographer. I have no idea of the location, but you wouldn't catch me on that bridge! 

This one is a little dark, but that's just I roll sometimes. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Resilience

I’d reached the bridge. I was relieved, although from my prone position I couldn’t tell if it was intact. I just prayed it was, although if it wasn’t, death would be a better alternative to being caught again.

I pulled my broken body onto the first of the bridge’s slats, willing them to hold. In the damp misty air the ropes were wet - I just hoped they weren’t weak as well. The autumn leaves from the trees at the other end had blown onto it and were decaying; it would be slippery.

The bridge swayed under my weight, raising a creaking sound. I tried to still it; it would identify my location. Despite my eagerness, I had to slow down to kill the sound, and take this slat by slat. I didn’t want to think about what might be on the other side; what was ahead of me was enough for now.

As I lifted by body slightly and pulled, the swaying and the creaking began again. I wouldn’t be able to stop it if I was ever to make it across. I could only hope the fog would muffle the sound and not carry it to him.

He had to be hunting for me by now. He had to have known I’d escaped. He thought that hobbling my ankles would be enough to stop me, but he under estimated my endurance for pain. He’d kept me for so long he’d forgotten what I could tolerate.

He’d grown distracted, probably by the new ones he’d managed to snare. I heard them going through the earlier stages. I was long past that. It was what had escalated my desire to escape; listening to it. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live with the despair it brought. I had to believe it would come to an end; that he would eventually get caught and not torment more women.

I focused my gaze on where I was going. I had to succeed in getting across this bridge. I had to succeed in finding help. I had to bring an end to this for all of us.

There was a rustle behind me. I didn’t want to turn and look. If it was him, I didn’t want to see; I didn’t want to know I had failed. My whole body was on the bridge now. I only had to twist to my left or right and I’d go into the ravine. Death might not be what I wanted, but if it was the only choice between that and going back to the hole underground and being used for his perverse pleasure, I’d welcome it.

I lay still and waited for his voice, his breathing, his skin-crawling touch. But nothing. Had it been an animal? Something in the underbrush? Was I still free? I didn’t want to turn and find out. Instead, I reached out my arm and grabbed the furthest slat, not caring about the sound or the swaying; just wanting to get on the other side.

Nothing stopped me; nothing broke my rhythm as I dragged my way across. I wouldn’t have stood even if I could. I’d have never managed to stay upright, not with my vertigo. I kept my eyes on the next goal and didn’t look down.

When the last slat came into view, driven into the ground on the other side, I dared to feel hopeful; I dared to believe I was on the home straight. I thought about breaking the bridge after me; stop him from being able to follow. But what if another managed to break free? What if another needed an exit route? I couldn’t do it.

As I pulled myself up to sitting on the solid ground on the other side, I looked back at the bridge, and there it was, the creature that had made the sound: a white dove. It was perched on the first post of the bridge on the other side. It eyed me through the swirling mist, and then took off, sweeping overhead into the woods I was about to enter.

I’d like to have taken it as a sign, but I didn’t trust them anymore, I didn’t trust anything – only my resilience; it was what had kept me alive, even on the days I’d wished I was dead, and had gotten me this far.

And if I could keep it going, I might not be the only one it saves.

Sleep Christmas Sale!

 

(Click on the picture to buy)

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 180

This week's prompt is by Nasser Osman, an Egyptian Photographer/Artist. He call this Egrets Land. He has some wonderful creations, worth checking out. 

This story has been stuck in my head for a few days. Nice to finally get it down. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Feeding Time

‘Did you see it, George?’

‘I did, Ron.’

‘It took longer than I thought.’

‘Yeah, that thrashing about was the first mistake I think.’

‘Yeah, caught far too much attention; and then hanging off that log.’

‘Dangling is never a good idea that far out.’ George shook his head.

‘It wasn’t long before he realised that, although dragging that stump out onto what was left of the starboard side wasn’t pretty.’

‘Baking it in the sun; spreading the scent about. That’s when it started to really get crowded.’

‘Yep, up until then it had just been you, me, Ralf, Davy and a couple of the shark brothers.’

‘When did you turn up, Petunia?’ George looked past Ron to where Petunia had just landed on the end of the boat wreck.

‘Not until it was all over, really; when the black and white boys showed up to clean away the last of it.’

‘So you didn’t get any pickings, then?’ asked Ron.

‘Nope. I missed out this time, maybe next.’

‘You never know, something might wash up in a day or two,’ George suggested.

‘But then it’ll be on the turn. I’ve never been one for matured flesh.’

‘Not for my palate either,’ said Ron in agreement.

‘Some days you can’t be fussy.’ George puffed out his chest. ‘Got to make do or starve.’

The other two nodded.

‘It was just the one guy, on his own then?’ asked Petunia.

‘Yeah, think he’d lost his way, drifted maybe, and then a squall must have hit him,’ replied Ron.

‘Shame, a crew gives everyone a chance to have a feed.’

‘Remember that cruise liner that went down last year? That had been a real feast that!’ George looked out to sea, his eyes growing misty in reminiscence.

‘Oh that was exceptional. Didn’t have to hunt for food for weeks after that,’ Petunia said, staring out in the same direction.

‘Nobody did, not even the black and white boys. There’d been plenty for everyone.’ Ron joined them looking out across the ocean.

They all wondered when the next bounty would come.

Editing Process in Publishing Houses - Pheobe Morgan articles

To round up the Editing Processes in Publishing House Q&A, here are a couple of articles by author Phoebe Morgan, which I thought were interesting and relevant to how the editing process works in Publishing Houses. Phoebe Morgan is Editorial Director of HarpersCollins UK and an author.

The first is how the editing process works seen from both sides - that of the editor and that of the author (in this article, Poebe Morgan and Abigail Dean)
 (click on the picture to go to the article)

And this gives an insight into what being an editor of a big five publishing house is like: A day in the life of an editor.

(click on the picture to go to the article)

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 179

This week's picture prompt was taken in the Orpheum Auditorium, New Bedford, Massachusetts, US. This Auditorium opened on the same day the Titanic sunk, April 15th, 1912. A supermarket now occupies some of the building, but the rest remains beautifully deserted. This image was taken by Frank Grace, and he names it The Haunting New Bedford Orphuem.  He takes some incredible pictures, definitely worth a browse. 

I wrote this and couldn't find an ending so turned it into this. I think it works. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

The Show Must Go On. 

She rushed down the aisle as fast as she could, trying to ignore the laughing and jeering going on in the audience either side. It couldn’t happen this way, it just couldn’t! His dreams dashed in such a public way. Moving quickly was difficult in this new fangled bustle dress that was all the rage, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her saving her darling.

She got to the steps at the side of the stage and someone rushed out and grabbed her arm.

‘Madam! You can’t go up there! The show MUST go on!’

She was having none of it, and pulled her arm out of their grasp, picking up her dress as she ran up the steps. By the time she reached the stage he had collapsed. She knew he would; it was the stress of the performance. She fell to her knees at his side and cradled him.

‘Oh Hugo, my Hugo,’ she whispered.

The lights faded and the wood under her knees creaked; her arms falling empty.

He was not there - no one was. The stage was empty as was the theatre. The only fool was her – Phyllis, believing that wishing him back would be enough. It would never be. He’d never be back. The theatre was closed and disused now.

She slumped back onto her behind and brought her legs round, crossing them under the rags that were once her best dress and looked round the auditorium. Like the faded theatre walls her memories were becoming colourless and fragmented. This last moment seemed to be the final one and it kept playing on a loop.

She hadn’t been able to bring Hugo back anymore than she could bring herself back. She was locked in purgatory, forever reliving this traumatic event; the death of her beloved Hugo.

She spotted movement at the back of the theatre.

‘Who’s there?’ she called.

She stood up, but it was dark under the dress circle and she couldn’t make out if it was a person or a shadow. She went down the steps and walked back down the aisle, trying to make out if someone was there.

When she reached the back she found nothing. Her shoulders slumped. She’d hoped for something or someone to break the monotony. Then she heard his voice again and looked to the stage. There he was!

She rushed down the aisle as fast as she could, trying to ignore the laughing and jeering going on in the audience either side. It couldn’t happen again, it just couldn’t! She had to stop it. His dreams dashed so publicly. Moving quickly was difficult in this new fangled bustle dress that was all the rage, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her saving her darling.

She got to the steps at the side of the stage and someone rushed out and grabbed her arm.

‘Madam! You can’t go up there! The show MUST go on!’

She was having none of it, and pulled her arm out of their grasp, picking up her dress as she ran up the steps. By the time she reached the stage he had collapsed. She knew he would; it was the stress of the performance. She fell to her knees at his side and cradled him.

‘Oh Hugo, my Hugo,’ she whispered. 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 178

This week's picture prompt is a photo, as best I can confirm it, of a Bergdorf Goodman Window display. @maiasylba on Pinterest pinned it, saying she saw it in the window, and where there are many photos of Bergdorf Goodman windows uploaded on her Pinterest board. She is the founder of Musetouch Visual Arts Magazine. It definitely looks like a window display. 

I struggled a little with this one. Sometimes I am not sure what story I want to write, but then deadlines approach and I have to go with what comes out the fastest. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Mannequin

Larissa stood in front of the mirror trying on different pieces of jewellery; she didn’t like any of them. Then she tried to pick out a dress for the evening too – maybe try and match it to the jewellery, but she couldn’t decide on it.

All that went round her head is what others would think – not what she thought, or she liked, but what they might like. She hated living like this, but it’s how life had evolved since she’d become famous. It wasn’t about what she said, or what she did, only about what she wore and who had made what she wore – unless she did something outrageous or said something controversial, which she did from time to time just to mix it up. She laughed at the storm it created, and even at the fallout, but at the end of the day it was all pointless.

They’d painted her as some sort of angel and put her on a pedestal but it only made her feel isolated and unreachable. And even though they claimed she had sought out this lifestyle, the truth was all she had sought to do was express her art. They treated her like royalty, but it was only a matter of time before they cut off her head.

Larissa was acutely aware of the tightrope actors like herself walked. It was all about what was fashionable and hip now, and staying in that place. The second she did or said something wrong, she would tumble and fall, crashing to the ground and become a has-been. A part of her longed for that moment, because then it would all be over and she could end the charade – it was really what fuelled her outrageous moments. But another part of her was terrified because nothing was ever as you imagined and she didn’t want to be exiled from a world she had grown to love.

So here she was trying to dress herself in something provocative yet enchanting that would wow the people, when really all she felt like was a mannequin in shop window on display for people to gawk at and critique.

She found herself a nice little cream number, with a smattering of beads and sequins and some outrageous costume jewellery which would sparkle nicely for the cameras. She’d make up the names of the designers as she often did, just to baffle them all, and get them googling it. They wouldn’t dare say she had made it up for fear of insulting a famed name they didn’t know about. It would be a laugh.

And she’d get through the photo shoot on the way into the event by imagining all of the press as zombies clamouring for her brain. That would keep a smile on her face.  

She took one last check in the mirror before she left for the event and smiled at herself. Did she do it for her or did she do it for them? She didn’t know, but either way, it kept both sides fed and happy. 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 177

This week's photo was taken by Walter Arnold an American fine art photographer. He has a wealth of incredible pictures, worth a look if you need inspiration. 

This particular photo is from a selection he did called The Art of Abandonment, all taken in this incredible abandoned house called The Mason's Castle, or what was Craig-E-Clair Lodge in the late 1800s, and then remodelled into Dundas Castle in 1921, but Dundas died before it was completed. It passed through hands into that of the Masons (as in masonic), and has never been restored. It is in Roscoe New York and you can find more about it HERE.

This is when I wish I had millions and could buy it off them and give it the love it so desperately needs! 

After having posted about Tricky the last three weeks, I have written something new, and a little spooky. I hope you enjoy it.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there

Hidden
Peter hid in the corner of the room wondering if it was over yet. He hoped it was, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d run all the way up to the top of the house and into rooms he’d never seen before. They were empty and the paint was peeling, but there was something magical about them.

He sat fantasising about living up here; his own little world, away from everyone, the angry adults and all the shouting. He imagined friends and adventures and even how he would decorate it.

He got up and acted it out, playing kings and queens, and sword fights about who could enter his domain. He imagined doors that led to faraway places over oceans.

When the light started to fade, Peter wondered if it was safe to return downstairs. He opened the door a crack and listened. Nothing. All was quiet.

He tiptoed down the stairs to his room, but when he got there, all the furnishings were different. His small bed was now a huge double and his cars wallpaper had been replaced with some fancy lilac stuff. There was a dressing table and mirrored wardrobes.

He wondered if he’d gone down the wrong stairs and come out in a different part of the house, one he hadn’t seen before – it was so big, with so many rooms. He kept to his part, his bedroom and bathroom, and downstairs where the kitchen and lounge were. They didn’t really let him venture further. For some reason his dad didn’t want him exploring. He wasn’t sure why.

There were lots of bottles on the dresser and he took a closer look, opening each one and having a sniff. After a while he felt woozy and took a step back. That was when he saw movement in the mirror. When he looked he let out a short scream.

In the reflection he saw a lady standing behind the door watching him. She was dressed in a floaty, glistening dressing gown and fluffy slippers, in a mauve that matched the walls, and her hair stuck out all over her head like she’d had a nasty fright. Her eyes were painted with what looked like black rings round them, and were wide and staring at Peter. He was terrified. He didn’t want to turn round, but he had to if he wanted to leave the room.

He slowly turned. She was still there.

‘Hello,’ he said in a small voice.

She blinked. ‘Hello,’ she replied in a croaky voice.

‘Who are you?’

The woman laughed, a husky, chesty sound, which led into a cough.

‘I’m your grandmother.’

‘Oh.’ Peter’s eyes widened. ‘How come I haven’t met you before?’

‘You’re father thinks I’m crazy.’

‘Are you?’ he asked tentatively.

She laughed again, more gently this time and moved to the bed and sat on the side of it. ‘Maybe a little.’

She patted the bed and he cautiously walked over and perched on the corner.

‘You don’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. In fact I’m overjoyed to finally meet you. It’s John, isn’t it?’

‘No, I’m Peter. John’s all grown up and left home.’

‘Oh, okay. I’m sorry, I lose track of time being shut up here.’

‘I’ve not been up here before. Dad won’t let me.’ Peter suddenly realised why. ‘Oh, because you’re up here!’

‘Yes, probably.’

‘That’s silly of him.’

‘Yes, it is. And a little mean.’

‘Why is he like that?’

‘Because he thinks I was mean to him when he was your age.’

‘Were you?’

She sighed. ‘Maybe. I don’t really remember anymore.’

Peter heard someone calling his name. He looked round, fear in his eyes. ‘That’s dad, I’d better go before he finds me here otherwise he will be angry.’

‘I’m sorry he’s like that.’

‘I’ll come and visit you again, I promise.’

‘I’d like that.’

He rushed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, and ran to the closest stairs, which led back to the empty attic rooms. He ran the length of the corridor up there and found another staircase down the other side, and returned to his bedroom moments before his dad walked in.

‘It’s dinner time. Come down and eat.’

‘Okay.’

They went down the stairs together.

‘Dad, why don’t you visit your mum anymore?’

‘What? Don’t be silly!’

‘I’m not being silly; she’d love to see you.’                

His dad frowned at him. ‘What are you talking about, my mum died eight years ago, before you were born.’