Author's Retreat - the website of Pam Fish

Ideas
My favourite uplifting quote is a good way to start a writing day:- Unless you try to do something beyond that which you have already mastered - you will never grow!" (Pam)

-O-

Try to establish a work space that's just yours. Where you can walk away, and when you return it is exactly as you left it. This isn't always easy, with a family around. But, there must be a corner somewhere, then to deter sticky inquisitive fingers, how about throwing a cloth over it and pinning all the corners together underneath. Would that work? Ideas please. (Pam)

-O-

I always tell people (regarding their writing) "Don't wait 'till you give up work. Start NOW!"(Mrs Cynthia Castellan, NAWG member, writing with the Litchfield and District Writers)

-O-

I've tried establishing a corner in our bursting at the seams house and it just didn't work. Our three year old can unfasten pins. My husband put up a shed for me and that's been fine until the winter started and now I'm either cold, broke from the electricity bills, or back in the house. But it does make a good story in the telling. Sorry this sounds pathetic but at least I'm trying to add something! (Jo Russ, No time as yet to join a group)

This is the contribution. Would someone else like to take this accolade?

Pamela has had many successes with her writing which included 'The Adventures of Trip the Dormouse', written for children in the column of a local paper. 'A Slight Case of Theft' was read on Anglia Television and another of her stories 'Loving Act' on BBC Radio Cambridge. With several novels in the pipeline she is a dedicated writer. Any publisher interested in commissioning her to write stories or seeing more of her work may contact her, through this website. (Contact us) ©2008 Pam Fish.

Elle felt restless, every day seemed an eternity now both her daughters had left home. For years she’d been completely absorbed in family life, trying to be the perfect wife and mother, with all that entailed. At times she could have given lessons to superwoman. From organizing dinner parties to please Brian, who seemed to think she only had to click her fingers for a superb meal to appear on the table, to supervising the girls numerous activities, life had been hectic.

When they’d reached their teens, harassed to the point of exhaustion, she had rebelled. “All you two need is a chauffeur to ferry you back and forth. You both live a charmed life doing interesting things, anything from ballet classes to horse riding. When do I ever get time to do what I want?”

Overhearing Elle’s uncharacteristic outburst, Brian had asked. “What do you want to do?”

“My cousin, Sandra is always extolling the virtue of exercise. Its ages since I played squash. And the only time I go swimming is on holiday.”

“Well ask Mary, your Home Angel, to come in daily, instead of once a week? That will give you more time to do things which interest you.”

Ellie grimaced as he escaped into the garden. There was nothing he enjoyed more after a hard day at the office than pottering about in the greenhouse. Still his suggestion was a good one, she’d phone Mary right away, before he changed his mind.

Brian didn’t like doing mundane chores like cutting grass and pruning trees so they employed Stan Hanson. What Stan didn’t know about gardening could have been written on the pointed end of a pin.

At the time, Elle hadn’t realized it, but those had been some of the best years of her life. Now Brian was coming up to retirement age he was often working abroad. Victoria had married an American and gone to live in Seattle. So apart from the summer vacation she never saw her grandson. Her youngest daughter, Amelia had recently gone to university to study medicine.

It was too sunny to stay indoors, so Elle wandered into the garden. As she sat down, the back gate gave a protesting creak. A tall broad shouldered man was striding purposely up the garden path. What did he want? He was wearing a loud check shirt, jeans and heavy boots. Since most of her neighbours had been burgled Elle was suspicious of strangers. She’d been expecting Stan, or the gate would have been locked. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

His friendly smile was reassuring. “Tom Hanson at your service Ma’am. My father has broken his leg so I’m taking his place until he’s better. If that’s all right with you.”

Often, when she’d taken Stan a cup of strong tea, no sugar, he’d boasted about his eldest son, Tom who was apparently working hard to make a success of his landscaping business.

Tom grinned. “Fair enough. I’ll work for the same rate as my dad whilst he’s laid up.”

“I’ll level with you. One. I want to keep dad’s job open for when he’s well again. Two. I’ve had to bring young Trixie with me because it’s the school holidays.”

“Can’t her mother look after her? I’m not sure I want a boisterous small child running amok in my garden.”

Tom met her gaze steadily. “Soon after Trixie was born my wife ran off with my best friend. Her grandma helps me out. But she’s developed arthritis and it’s taking all her energy to look after Dad, with his busted leg.” He hesitated. “Still, if you don’t like the idea.” Shrugging his shoulders he turned to leave.

“Wait a minute. Don’t be so hasty. It’s just ….well, when it comes to dealing with very small children I’m a little out of practice.”

The little girl who ran happily up the garden path had an angelic face surrounded by an unruly mop of ginger hair. She was dressed in faded blue jeans, which had been patched at the knees and an overlarge tee shirt. Poor little mite thought Elle. Her own children had always been immaculately dressed and taught to be ladylike from a very young age.

Confident that she’d be welcome, Trixie gave Elle a beaming smile. “I shall love playing in your big garden. She pointed to the large Bramley apple tree. “Am I allowed to climb? Its magic being high up.” A butterfly fluttered past. “I sometimes wish I was a bootiful butterfly.”

“Beautiful,” Elle instinctively corrected. “Make sure you don’t fall. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Tom grinned, “Don’t you worry now, Trixie is as agile as a monkey. Proper little tomboy she is.”

Trixie was watching a small army of ants travelling up and down the apple tree. “I don’t think I’ll climb today. Red ants can sting,” she told them, earnestly.

Smiling, Elle held out her hand. “If you like butterflies I know where to find them. Come with me.”

Trixie grasped Elle’s fingers tightly as they walked slowly towards the Buddleia bush, growing near the summer-house, which always attracted lots of brightly coloured butterflies.

Elle remembered that Brian had wanted to surround the bush with a circular bed of ragged untidy looking ‘weeds.’ When she had objected he’d dropped the idea. In retrospect, perhaps she’d been wrong. Elle had forgotten that, seen through the eyes of a child, nature’s flowers were pretty.

“Dandelions are my favourite,” laughed Trixie. “All those fluffy puffballs to blow away, after you’ve made a secret wish.”

A bit dubious about the merits of dandelions, Elle suggested. “Let’s ask your father what we should plant.”

He grinned, “Well, if you want colour, I’d recommend red poppies, lilac speedwell, white yarrow or clover and yellow lesser celandine. But wouldn’t an herb garden be more useful.”

Seating herself on the patio, Elle helped Trixie make a daisy chain to wear around her neck. Tom concentrated on producing the requisite stripes as he cut the enormous lawn.

Eventually, he called. “Trixie, come and help me bag up the grass cuttings.”

The little girl started stuffing them into large black bin liners full of good intentions. But when she had a stack of them all collected together her sense of fun got the better of her. Taking a running jump she dived headfirst onto the black plastic sacks, which soon split. The contents scattered everywhere and Tom was not amused. “That was plain silly. You’re making more work not less.”

“Ooops!” Trixie knew she was in trouble and hastily picked up the large garden rake attacking the mess with more enthusiasm than practicality.

Despite her initial doubts, Elle found it quite entertaining watching Trixie’s antics. When she took Tom the obligatory cup of strong tea she asked the little girl. “Would you like some home made lemonade and biscuits?”

“Oh! Mint.” Trixie munched happily. “Did you make them all by yourself?”

Elle’s secret passion was cooking. Before her marriage she’d run an ‘Olde Worlde’ tea shop, making all the cakes and pastries herself. “Yes. I did. If you come back with your daddy in the morning, when he prunes the trees, I’ll show you how to make ‘butterfly’ cakes. Would you like that?”

This reminded Elle to take out the lamb for tomorrow’s dinner. She was delighted that the little girl wanted to share her hobby. It had been years since her daughters had stood on the kitchen stool rolling out pastry. Or, if they thought she wasn’t looking, dipping a finger into the cake mixture and licking it with glee.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Elle handed Trixie a bag of biscuits. “These are for your granddad to cheer him up. Tell him to get well soon.”

Next day, Elle was up early sorting out all the ingredients. She decided to make a fruit cake as well. She knew Stan was rather partial to cake.

Trixie charged into the kitchen fired up with enthusiasm. “I’ve washed my hands,” she announced proudly. “So I’m all ready to start.”

“Not until you’ve rinsed them again,” said Elle. “Who knows what you may have touched on the way over here. I’m sure you’ve travelled in your daddy’s dusty van.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Elle was firm. No one cooked in her kitchen without being spotless. She wrapped an apron around the small girl’s chest. “All good cooks keep their own clothes covered up.”

Trixie was wearing a pink dress with a big frill round the hem. It was tight and far too fussy but the little girl seemed quite proud of it. “I’m all posh today because I’m playing in your house.”

Elle found her honesty very refreshing. It would require tact, but someone needed to help Tom buy Trixie more suitable clothes. He obviously thought she was still two years old instead of four.

The rest of the morning passed in a flurry of activity. The child chatted happily although she was so lavish with the flour she ended up with a white face. “The last time I played cooking was before Nanna Ivy’s hands went all curly.”

When allowed to lick the remains of the cake mixture from the bowl Trixie declared. “It tastes nicer uncooked, let’s not put it in the oven.”

“I’m sure your grandfather would rather we did.” Elle distracted Trixie. “I’ve sliced the top off the little cakes and cut them in half. If you spread the cream on, we can stand the two halves on top making butterfly wings. Then you can shake icing sugar over them. If you do it nicely, we’ll eat one for our Elevenses.”

Trixie needn’t have worried. Tom was thrilled when he saw all their baking. “It’s very good of you to teach my daughter to cook.”

“I enjoyed myself.” Elle’s curiosity was aroused. “What do you normally do for meals?”

Tom shrugged, “I’m king of the microwave. But we do eat a lot of fresh fruit so it isn’t as horrendous as it sounds.”

“Stay to lunch,” Elle surprised herself by asking. “Its leg of lamb and far too big for one person.”

“Well if you’re sure. We’d appreciate it very much. Trixie misses her grandma’s home cooking and she’s taken a real shine to you.”

An idea occurred to her, which would solve the problem of what to do with all her free time. Brian wouldn’t mind he was excellent with children. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she asked. “What would you say to my becoming her ‘adopted’ grandmother?”

Kevin gave her a wicked grin. “What’s the matter afraid the neighbours will talk?”

She laughed. “Given half a chance they always do. The more juicy the scandal the better.”

“Don’t worry I’m the sole of discretion, your secrets safe with me.” Kevin assured her.

Yvonne said, “I hope so. I certainly don’t want my husband Steve to find out or I’ll be in terrible trouble.”

Stepping out of the car she said, “See you Thursday at 2 o’clock.” Her heart was doing a violent polka, keeping secrets was extremely nerve-racking.

Yvonne ran up the garden path almost dropping one of her numerous carrier bags. Steve would be home soon she had only an hour to prepare one of her famous ‘cordon bleu’ meals. Tonight he was bringing home six guests for dinner. She would have to cheat yet again, pretending she’d spent all day cooking to keep her reputation as a wonderful hostess.

In the kitchen she hastily opened two large cans of game soup. Dumping the cans in the rubbish bin. With a bit of luck if she added a few spicy herbs Steve would believe she’d made the soup from fresh ingredients as usual.

Next she tipped frozen ready roasted potatoes onto a tray and popped them in the oven. Pre-cooked chicken halves were neatly placed on a baking tray on the shelf below the potatoes. Frozen carrots and pears, then runner beans were dumped unceremoniously in various saucepans and the tell tale plastic bags were also hidden in the bin.

Two large frozen apple pies were popped into the oven. She would serve them with cream, which saved time making custard. She lived in hope Steve didn’t want to put anything into the kitchen bin. Or else he would realize she was a cheat.

Yvonne wondered how much longer she could go on living a double life. It was playing havoc with her emotions but there was no way she could give up her afternoons with Kevin. His flowery compliments inspired her with confidence. He was the one person who could make all her dreams come true.

Steve was a good husband but somehow they’d settled into a dull routine. Yvonne felt she would scream if she had to spend yet another full day relegated to the kitchen.

Yvonne forced a smile, greeted him with a light kiss then turned to meet her dinner guests. She had to retain her reputation as a gourmet cook or all her plans would come to nothing.

Heart thumping, Yvonne served up the first course. Steve enthused, “Nothing like home cooking.” His guests agreed.

Yvonne smiled sweetly, thinking, no it was ‘nothing like home cooking,’ but no one seemed to notice anything wrong. Everyone tucked into the chicken with gusto and helped themselves generously from the vegetable dishes.

Yvonne smothered her dinner with gravy heavily laced with red wine and deftly kept the conversation flowing. Steve beamed at her, so far so good.

As the apple pies were not in her usual large dish they could be a give away. Eventually, Yvonne served out portions in the kitchen and passed them through the dining hatch to Steve. Later as the guests tucked into the cheese and biscuits she breathed a sigh of relief. So it was perfectly possible to serve up frozen food without the world coming to an end.

The supermarket shelves had been packed with other ‘goodies’ which would enable her to still see Kevin in the afternoons however many guests Steve decided to bring home to dinner.

Over liqueurs conversation turned to business contracts. Yvonne excused herself and went to load the dishwasher.

Later that evening, when the guests had left, Steve gave her a smacking kiss. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I secured lots of orders tonight, all thanks to the homely atmosphere and excellent food. It wouldn’t have been the same in a restaurant.”

Yvonne thought, do I feel guiltier about my meetings with Kevin or for being praised for my fraudulent cooking? Which secret would worry Steve the most? She decided the latter as he would have to relinquish his claim she was the world’s best cook and he would feel a grade one idiot. She made up her mind that after Thursday, if all went well, she would tell Steve about Kevin. Eventually the truth would come out. She was amazed she’d kept her secret so long.

On Thursday, to give herself confidence, Yvonne dressed in her most glamorous outfit. A pale blue tight fitted suit and brushed her fair hair until it shone. She took extra care with her makeup. It might be the very last time she would meet Kevin so she wanted to make a lasting impression.

From the moment he picked her up the afternoon passed like a dream. Yvonne felt all fingers and thumbs but to her surprise managed to cope. Kevin’s compliments gave her extra encouragement and feeling totally inspired she reached the dizzy heights of ninety words a minute on the word processor. Luckily it was just the same as the one on Steve’s computer so she’d been able to practice whilst he was out.

She said happily, “How absolutely marvellous, now that I’ve mastered the tools of my trade I’m well on the way to becoming a second Delia Smith.”

Kevin laughed, “I thought you wanted to become a ‘temp’ secretary, like the rest of my clients.”

Yvonne shook her head, “Steve would never let me do that. It wouldn’t create the right image. No, it has always been my dream to publish my own special recipes, in a cookbook written in a simple way that anyone can follow.”

Yvonne laughed, “That would be the icing on the cake. I’ll tell Steve tonight about your secret tuition.”

But something told her to keep quiet about the frozen ‘Home’ Cooking. It wouldn’t be wise to shatter all Steve’s illusions. The End