Sandals in the Snow

Lindy and the Fairies #1

by Karen Tucker

Easter 1977

‘I’ve never had enough of anything - including money, friends, and brothers and sisters. Then my Daddy won some money on the football pools and bought us an old house that’s really nice but needs a lot of work. But it meant I had to start a new school where everyone else has known each other for years, and now I’m being bullied and no-one likes me.

‘Then Daddy took Mummy on a cruise, and my Nanna moved in to look after me. But their ship sank and they drowned. I miss them so much my throat hurts. And most of the money Daddy had left was spent on getting them home and buried, so now we can’t afford the repairs to the house.

‘And now my Nanna’s been taken ill. She’s all the family I’ve got, and I’m scared she might die too. Who would look after me if she does?

‘If I could catch a fairy, would it grant me three wishes? Then maybe I could get my Nanna healed, stop the bullying, and get the house repaired.’

134 pages, Paperback

Published April 5, 2023

About the author

As a child, stories, poems etc fascinated me. I used to listen avidly to my mother as she read to me, even learning some of the pieces by heart and 'reading' along with her, long before I understood what the squiggles on the page meant. The one I remember with most fondness is a poem about 'coat of blue and red sou-wester'. Perhaps because of this attention from my mother, I was able to read and write before I started school, and by the age of 7, my parents were told I had a reading age of 14. This is probably why, when my teacher bought Topsy and Tim books for all her class, I alone was given something different - a magical children's novel by Noel Langley, entitled The Land of Green Ginger.

For as long as I can remember, I have made up my own stories. Recently, my mother found an old 'book' I had made - a tiny scrap, a few pages long, into which I had transcribed several (very!) short stories. I can't have been more than about 9 when I wrote that! Even back then, writing was something I longed to do for a career.

But I had no knowledge or experience I could really write about back then. This was forcibly borne in upon me when I signed up for a writing course and found myself stuck on the first assignment, which was to write an article for a magazine or newspaper. I couldn't think of a single thing I felt competent enough to comment on! And while I was still contemplation what I might be able to write about, the company went bust and I lost my money. But I never lost the desire to write.

I joined a local writers' group, The Write Idea, after becoming aware of them through means I no longer remember. We had plans to publish a magazine/book of short stories with some of our work, but somehow it never happened.

Subscription to Writing Magazine and Writers' News helped me develop in many ways, not least by entering their monthly and annual short story competitions. I was shortlisted a couple of times, which boosted my confidence that I had some writing talent, but I never achieved the highest prize and got my work in print in their publications.

Through one of these magazines, however, I did get my first publication. The New Writers competition, advertised in their pages, finally accepted my short story, Full Circle, after rejecting it twice, with very helpful comments on how I could improve it. I had written the original version of this story for a competition to celebrate an anniversary of Robert Louis Stevenson, and had tried to write in imitation of his style. I was somewhat surprised, therefore, to find that my old-fashioned ghost story had been seen by the publishers as being written in a style similar to that of Jane Austen!

My first publication in a non-fiction context was nearly the end of me! I had written to a new cross-stitch magazine and finding my letter published in the next edition, I stopped in amazement to relish the moment. Unfortunately, I happened to be in the middle of Queen Victoria Street in Blackfriars, and the traffic lights were just about to change! Fortunately, I noticed in time to reach the pavement before the first car arrived.

Further success came in 2003, when my paranormal crime novel, Past Sins, was shortlisted for the Debut Dagger Award by the Crime Writers' Association. It didn't win, but on attending the awards dinner I sat at table with several big names in the crime-writing world, all of whom were delighted to hear that I was hoping to join their ranks, and generously wished me luck. That novel is now completed in first draft, and part-way through the editing process, and I have several ideas for follow-up novels, so it could turn into a whole series one day. In the meantime, a collection of short stories starring the heroine of Past Sins is now available on Amazon (Kindle version only), under the title of Liberty Gibbens, Paranormal Investigator - Volume 1.

Some of the Liberty Gibbens stories have been inspired by the short stories in my first two collections, Horri

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[Karen Tucker · Rating 5 out of 5]

Here's a sneak preview of the first section, especially for you!

Wednesday 5 April 1977

‘Oooh, Nanna!’

‘What, love?’

‘Look at this!’ I dive into the ‘sale’ basket and drag out a purple book with fairies on it. Two of my favourite things - fairies and purple!

Nanna smiles. ‘You want a diary, Lindy?’

‘Oh, is it a diary?’ Bother, so it is. ‘Oh.’ I go to put it back, but Nanna stops me. She’s got a thoughtful look on her face.

‘Actually, that might not be a bad idea.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…’ She sighs. ‘I know how difficult it is for you, love, since your parents died. You’ve never really talked to anyone about it. Perhaps a diary would help you express your difficult feelings in a safe way?’

My cheeks flame. ‘What difficult feelings?’ I try to look like I don’t know what she’s talking about, because I really don’t want to discuss it here. The sympathy on her face brings a lump to my throat.

‘Darling, I know you miss your parents very much, but I think you’re also angry at your Dad because we can’t afford to do the house up. And much as you miss your Mum, you also don’t have to look after her any more.’

I stare at her, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. How did she know? I never told her. ’You think I should tell it how I feel?’

Her smile turns misty. ‘I think it might help. You see, Lindy, I do understand. You don’t want to talk to anyone about it, even me, in case I think you’re callous and unfeeling about losing your parents, which I know you’re not. And you’re trying not to get upset about it, but you do need to grieve.’
She points to the diary. ‘You could write all that down in there, where you know you won’t be judged. It could be like the best friend you haven’t got. Lots of people do it, and it often helps.’

‘Hmmm. I suppose I can give it a try.’

Her smile widens. ’That’s my girl! And with that cover, this diary might have been made for you. We may be poor, but I can afford 50p for you, love.’

‘Thank you, Nanna.’
So she pays for the diary and the milk we came here for, and we go home. But as we walk up Linden Close, Nanna sighs.

‘What?’

She nods towards our house. ‘Another tile off. That roof really needs replacing, but I don’t know when I’ll have the money to pay for it.’

I sigh and my shoulders slump. What are we going to do?

Luckily the mood doesn’t last long, because soon, me and Nanna are making hot cross buns together, and I can’t be sad when I’m baking.