Saturday Sample:Face to Face with the Führer by GIll James, filter coffee

 

London 1976

She looked at the young man curled up in the doorway. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, at least. She would try her best not to wake him. She must get inside though. This meeting was really important.

It was getting worse. It showed up more at this time of day anyway. They got lost in the crowds as the day wore on. Somebody should do something.

This one looked about the same age as she was then. Goodness, something like this –  or worse – could have so easily happened to her.

It wasn’t as bad, now, as it had been then. Not yet. It was similar enough though. It was as if it was all starting over again. Nobody had really believed it was going to happen back then either.

Could she do this? Well, she’d have to try. Gingerly she stepped over him. This sort of thing wasn’t so easy any more. She cursed. Why did people have to get old?

He stirred slightly. The smell was awful. Then, to add to the bad body odour, he farted. It was a bad one and suggested an upset stomach.

No wonder with the sort of food he probably has to eat.

She fumbled in her handbag and found her purse. She slipped out a large note, looked over her shoulder to see that no one was watching and posted it into his begging tin. He nodded and grunted.

Don’t you dare spend it on drugs or alcohol, young man.

She knew she shouldn’t do it, really. There were systems in place to deal with these people but they just weren’t working fast enough. She’d always preferred a more direct method. Wait for the authorities and you’d wait forever. Sometimes you needed to stop them anyway. The authorities aren’t always right.

She pushed open the door. In seconds the world of the young man was left behind. Now she was in the plush foyer of the five-star hotel where she was to meet the reporter. She recognised the soft notes of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons – wasn’t that Spring playing? Nice.

She sat down on one of the overstuffed armchairs. Goodness, the carpet was so thick here and the parquet area round the reception desk so polished.

She watched some of the guests going up to the desk. All furs and smart shoes. Not her scene really. Not anymore. She smiled to herself. Actually, though, no less than she deserved after all of that.

A waiter, all in black and white, made his way over to her. “May I help you, madam?”

“Can you bring me a pot of black coffee, please?”

“Certainly, madam.”

She was getting into her stride now. Yes, she would be able to tackle that reporter, she was sure.

The coffee arrived. She took a sip. It was very good. This was the life most certainly. Now then, what should she tell him when he arrived? 

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About the author 

T  

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.    

http://www.gilljameswriter.com  

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE

https://www.facebook.com/gilljameswriter

https://bsky.app/profile/gillj.bsky.social

 

 

Saturday Sample: On The Feast of Stephen by Gill James, builders' tea

 

 

 

 

 

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Saturday Sample: 280 x 70 by Gill James, black coffee

 

Suited 

 

If he just carried on sitting there and grinning it would be all right, wouldn’t it? They would think he was fine, wouldn’t they?  They would assume he’d understood everything, right? He would just purse his lips and nod agreement.

Roberto Alexandro, the current vice-chairman had a thick accent. He spoke very softly, though, and it always made Thomas want to go to sleep.  

He nodded gently and closed his eyes. He wondered whether he looked important enough in his petrol blue suit, with matching polka dot tie and paler shirt. Sure, he looked smart.     

He didn’t like wearing suits. He always felt cramped. Thank goodness the office had the policy that you could dress casually if you weren't customer-facing. The tie was strangling him. He loosened it a little. 

Something changed in the speaker's tone.  He sat up and started listening. They would be replacing the chairman the next day. There had been a vote of no confidence

There was a general murmuring.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Alexandro, "I know this has come as a shock to you, but if I could have your attention. We shall vote tomorrow.  For the next twenty-four hours I will take over the duties of the chair."     

“Why wait?” a voice said. “Thomas is here. Won’t he do?”

Thomas went hot and the cold.  He could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Why would they want him? 

There was massive assent. He opened his eyes and found he was not the only one grinning. New chairman, eh? Fancy that.

There was one problem, though.  He would now have to wear his suit to the office every day.

He straightened up his tie.  

 

Find your copy here  

About the author

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.    

http://www.gilljameswriter.com  

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE

https://www.facebook.com/gilljameswriter

  

The Return by Gill James, fizzy mineral water

It was a handsome bird. A robin. All red breast and puffed up feathers. He looked as if he owned the place. Haughty. Knowing. Wise? They're aggressive little creatures, don’t they say? This one just seemed serene. His head cocked from side to side when he looked at her.

She began to notice him every day. He was always on the fence in the morning when she had breakfast and on the old red brick wall when she had supper in the evening. He must have been following the sun.     

            

The days began to get longer and warmer. She started to work regularly in the garden. There were new plants to put out, beds to be dug over and weeds to be extracted. She was glad of an excuse to be out in the sunshine.

He sat on the fence and watched her.

One day as she turned over the soil a particularly large worm appeared. He swooped down, picked it up and returned to his perch. She remembered her father and another robin.

"He's only watching us like this because he's waiting for us to find a worm," her father had said.

One day he’d even perched on the handle of the garden fork when her father pushed it into the soil before he took a rest.   

"Would you like me to find you some more?" she asked her robin. "Here you go. Here you go."

She turned over the soil. He pecked at the worms that began to arrive.         

Her son had given her a bird feeder. She studied the Internet and bought a balanced selection of food. There would be something for everyone. The robin watched her from the wall as she filled the feeder up. 

"I think these are the ones you like," she said as she put some dark seeds into one of the containers. 

As soon as she was back in the house he swooped down. Yes it was definitely the black seeds he liked.

"Don't eat them all at once," she whispered.

She topped up the hanging containers every few days. Now he was bolder. Each time he flew over to her and perched on the water tray as she worked.

"You're keen," she said. "You'll be eating out of my hand next."    

 

He cocked his head from side to side again. Was this his way of agreeing with her?

She sprinkled some of the seed on to the palm of her hand and held it out to him. He looked her straight in the eye. He moved his head again and then pecked at a couple of seeds in her hand.

"Go on then. You know me. What are you scared of?" Yes he did know her. And no of course he wasn't scared of her. 

He pecked gently at a few more seeds and then began to feed greedily.

Now they had a new routine. He would watch patiently each time she filled the feeder and then flutter his wings excitedly as she poured some of his favourite seeds into her hand. He now received most of his food directly from her. This seemed right and somehow familiar.    

 

And so the days went on. He was there for most of the daylight hours. He watched her when she worked on the garden, occasionally coming down off the fence or the wall to tackle a promising worm. Whenever she filled the bird-feeder he was there, ready to eat from her hand.

There was always this question in his eyes. Something suggested meaningfulness as he moved his head from side to side. She needed to know his secret but he was incapable of telling it to her. She must find it out herself. 

"What is it then?" she whispered as he fed from her hand. "What is it you're trying to tell me?"

He even let her stroke his head.     

 

She spoke to her friend on the phone about him. "He's such a little friend. Really tame. And those eyes are just so wise."

"Well you know what they say, don't you? Robins carry the souls of those we've lost. That's why they like to be close to humans."

They did? She looked it up on the Internet. There were lots of examples.

"So who are you then?" she said to him when he came for his daily treats. "Little Geoff? Ada? Bill?"

He stopped feeding and stared at her. She recognised a look in his eyes. "Oh, well then. So that's it." 

He chirped and carried on feeding.       

About the author

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.    

http://www.gilljameswriter.com  

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE

           https://www.facebook.com/gilljameswriter   

 

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