Personal Blogs

BLUE HAVEN

My Blue Self

I hear the glass tumbler drop to the floor, but I don’t move. With its dull thud, I know it hasn’t shattered, so I resist the urge to pick it up and concentrate on trying to retrieve more information.

Damn it, I can’t, it’s gone. No traces of my dreams remain. I rub the back of my hand from where it bluntly hit the glass as I lashed out in panic. As I count to ten and breathe in the same manner my therapist taught me, I am once again in control of my anxiety. Opening my eyes, I look down at myself and my bed covers to ensure they are still the same.

Yes, my blue self is still here.

You may wonder what my blue self is, It is hard to explain, but you will see. Clair and I, (My rather patronising therapist), have concluded on the idea that I have created my own heaven. I wouldn’t normally agree with her, but on this occasion, she is right- but only in parts. She thinks it is because I am trying to reconnect with my deceased husband, Frank. I am not trying to connect with him; this IS him. He created my blue heaven to protect me. I like to think of it as a blue haven.

As I step out of my light blue bed sheets, I brush down my crisp pyjamas to iron out any creases. I have specifically chosen these garments to match so when I slip into bed at night, I disappear into the blue haven, and that’s where it all happens.

Think I’m nuts yet? It doesn’t matter, they all do.

I am allowed one other colour in my haven and that is white, but only a splash of white is allowed. I look over at my bed and frantically start to put the bed sheets straight. It HAS to be perfect because I will get frustrated with the edge of the duvet cover if it dares to curl up and crinkle. To prevent this linen disaster, I set about rearranging the thick white quilt inside, and pat it back down before I strategically place my furry white show cushions on top. After I am satisfied that my bed is heaven ready, I turn around and dash across my thick white sheepskin rug to the other side of my room, where I pick up my journal and my special blue feathered fountain pen. I quickly rush back to pick up the tumbler before heading down my new blue carpeted staircase and flopping into my cosy, yes you guessed it, blue chair.

I mutter over and over to myself as I try to remember the dream, writing down every detail, until it’s nothing but a mass of blue scribble on a white page. I rip out the page, and I start again. This time focusing on writing neatly to get a clear description of my vision.

The orange dropped to the floor in front of black shoes, women’s shoes. I could hear screams and shouts, but I could also hear music, like soft jazz, but it wasn’t through a sound system, it’s a different sound as if was coming from the side of me. The orange was rolling in that direction, so I turn to look, but I wake up and the vision is gone.

I quickly flip over to the previous day’s entry

The black clock on the tall magnolia wall says 3.33 pm, a flash of a badge came into my mind. Blue and white with the name Kelly written across it. I see butchers, and the butcher and his female assistant look concerned. I hear her say to call security. Then I wake.

I don’t know the store, but I know what this means. Someone is going to get hurt tomorrow. I know it’s tomorrow because my dreams come every three weeks, for three nights at 3.33 am. Then it happens. Clair seems to think I am making this up because Frank died at 3.33 am.

I’m not, you will see.

I am sat in my blue chair, watching the next few hours drift by, until it is time for my next visit with Clair. You may be wondering why I keep visiting her if she never gets things right. But I have no choice. She is part of this. On the day I found her, I had a sign. I was looking on the internet for ways in which to kill myself. My screen froze, and her website flashed up- her BLUE website. The contact number was on the screen just staring at me. Then I looked at her name. Clair Bloomsbury. Its blue sound filled her second name.

She was part of this.

Frank had sent her to me.

To read the rest of the book, please visit Amazon and look for Aubrey Fox (UK) 

The Fiend in a Turtle Neck

A romantic comedy.

Prologue

One night I met a stranger in a bar, his need to impress me failed, and I made sure he was aware of his stupidity. 

My name is Louise, a stereotypical middle-aged woman who likes a glass of fizz, leads a dull existence, and pets animals as a pastime. 

As a matter of fact, the dull bit is past tense. The previous version of myself was a misery and pretty much hated the life she had... until she met a stranger in a bar.

This is my story...

The Fiend in a Turtle Neck

"Do you come here often?" he slurred through his wandering lips.

I looked him up and down in distaste, the way I would normally look at one of my boring work reports, concluding that my new admirer was two gins away from a slap.

My eyes rolled as I swerved from the stool, stepping off elegantly into my new shoes; Ones that I had recently gifted myself from my pathetic pay packet.

"Hey don't go, you are very beautiful with your eyes."

My head turned sharply as I scowled back at him.

"Very beautiful with my eyes...what the...you really are a moron!" I attempted to move away, but he grabbed my arm with the intent of pulling me back to engage in more drunken discussion. 

"I'm sorry, I meant, you have beautiful eyes, I was trying to pay you a compli...'

He couldn't finish his sentence due to the mortifying truth that I wasn't as elegant as I had previously thought. Somehow, my balance had disappeared, and with a hideous ankle twist, I ended up falling to the floor in what felt like a scene from the matrix, but a little less nimble. On landing, my pretty floral dress had become a colourful parachute, which in turn, enabled my flesh coloured control pants to become the evening's entertainment.

In utter embarrassment, I jumped up flustered, but quick, and punched the baffled Buffoon that was staring straight at me, hard in the face.

The fiend with the predatory chat up lines.

It is a blur as to what happened next, partly because it all happened so quick, but also because the prosecco was working its magic. One thing was for sure though, the security guards didn't take kindly to a violent middle-aged woman hurling a punch at a leery bloke.

After being escorted outside, I came to the realisation that I would have to go back home to my miserable flat, as my friend was currently examining the throat of someone half her age and certainly wouldn't resist her lust to respond to my text.

I started walking after exchanging a few unpleasantries with the security. My ankle throbbed, and I was crying through bitter tears at the embarrassment of my fall and the realisation that my long awaited night out was now cut short. 

I would be spending the rest of the night on my own watching catch up on the TV, yet again.

Placing my hand on a wall that separated the pub and the car park, I took off the instigators of my epic fall. I was just about to throw instigator number one across the street when I heard someone shouting.

"Oi...oi...wait up." I turned around to find the predatory fiend.

"Oi...oi." I shouted back, bemused. "What kind of English is that, and do you want another fat lip to match your top one?"

"Look, I am really sorry, I deserved that. I'm just not good with...and I didn't mean to grab your arm, I just don't know how to talk to women...or woman. I am not gay though...I like women...woman."

"For crying out loud...Are you on drugs?...Seriously."

I was starting to thaw a little at that point...I must admit. There was an innocence that was starting to creep in, and he looked better outside than he did in the pub. Even so, I was in no mood to tolerate idiots, so I attempted to walk off, but he ran in front of me. 

"I know you, have you seen me before?" He looked slightly familiar, but I couldn't place where I had seen him before. 

I folded my arms in protest but stopped to hear him out.

"I was married for 13 years, my wife left me for the milkman, you would have heard about it, even if you haven't seen me."

I laughed, " The milkman? Couldn't you have thought of something more original..." I paused as I realised who it was stood in front of me. I am not sure which dropped first my mouth, my bag, or my heart.

"You're Phillip Daniels," I whispered

"Oh, you do know me then?" he sighed as if relieved."

"Yes...yes of course. You donated all your inheritance to the Furtree Rescue Centre. Like two million or something. I work there, well, I volunteer on a Friday."

" I know I have seen you...I have been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you."

I was stunned. "You look nothing like your picture in the paper. I mean who wears turtle necks for a press release?... And your hair?" I laughed, "had a parting as if Jesus was about to walk through it. You looked really smug too." By this point, I had developed a tipsy giggle and a lot of nerves. Phillip Daniels...he was an idol in our town, probably the nicest man I would ever meet, and he wanted to talk to ME...

"Ok, you can stop with the compliments, I will get a big head." He laughed as he flushed a little. "I know I can be a bit goofy, but I just wanted to talk to you. Kath, at the centre, said you were coming here tonight and I..."

At this point I was a little tipsy, so I wasn't sure if it was the Prosecco taking over, or the fact the I was actually very attracted to him, but I lunged at him anyway. Almost as if I had been starved of affection for the last decade.

In truth, it wasn't a bad analogy of my life. Apart from the odd disastrous date, this wasn't far off the mark.

After he excepted my generous gift, we pulled away from each other. As he adjusted his shirt, which had become unbuttoned in places, I patted down my...what was... straight dark bob.

"Well, that was a little unexpected," he smirked as he enthused his words.

Phillip's nervousness had become a little contagious, as I found myself delivering a speech that could have turned into a novel. After a good few minutes, I concluded with the following statement.

"...and that's why I...well...we had that moment. Also, you look better in the light, without that hair and turtle neck combo."

My novel fell incomplete and pointless at that moment as he scooped the base of my neck in his hand, and kissed me with a lot more confidence, and assertiveness, than the first time around. 

3 days later

I was very cross and extremely disappointed. I didn't like him at first anyway remember. It was him who chased me. He took my number, said he would call...but didn't. I had to go to the centre, and they would probably all know about how I launched myself at him. 

I was upset because, for the last few days, all I could think about was him.

As I walked into the centre, I could already sense the rumour mill had started. The funny looks, the quietness and the odd smirk were undoubtedly noticed. I attempted to put it down to paranoia, but I knew gossip when I saw it.

I stood by myself in the kitchen, making myself a hot drink. The other staff scuttled out of the room, and I swear one was laughing at me. I was just about to march into the supervisor's office when I got a tap on the shoulder. It was Kim, the morning dog walker.

" Lou, could you help me with Pippa, she seems to have got something tied around her neck, poor thing. Could you just try and keep her calm whilst I free it from her."

I quickly put my cup down. Pippa was my Achilles heel. I wanted her so badly, but my landlord wouldn't allow dogs. She was a hybrid of, I'm guessing, a handful of breeds, but with her limp and solitary eye, she was adorable. Sadly no-one wanted her because she was eight and nervous.

I rushed to Pippa, to find a balloon tied around her neck. I turned to Kim but she wasn't there. She was, however, stood with a couple of others waving from the window. 

As I walked into her pen and knelt down to fuss the old girl, I spotted a note hanging from the string.

"Meet me near the apple tree."

I smiled as I placed the paper next to my chest. It's Phillip, it's got to be.

I closed the pen and ran to the tree. I stopped behind the outbuilding that separated us, my heart beating so fast, that I almost ran in the other direction through sheer nerves.

Taking a deep breath, I turned the corner and put my hands over my mouth as I laughed out loud.

My predatory fiend was sat on the bench in front of me, and he totally rocked a side parting and a turtle neck.

Present Day

That was three years ago when I lived on my own with only the TV for company.

Now I have a one-eyed dog and a husband.

His name is Phillip Daniels.

The End