Secrets...

This week, I'm up at Moniack Mhor. The incredibly hot weather has deserted us, but it's still beautiful. And peaceful. And we're even getting some writing done.


I've been hoping to post some of the work from this week, and today's exercise, serendipitously, involved getting a secret from one of the others and writing a story based on it. Sound familiar? No gorillas today, though.


I can't tell you whose secret it was, because I don't know myself. 



Secrets...

You could get through at the bottom of the garden, down where they have their compost pile. It wasn’t the first time I’d gone over. Last summer, when they were on holiday, I went through every day, climbing up the cherry tree and sitting there, looking at the windows with their drawn over curtains. I liked how it felt, the hiddenness, the quiet space. I could sit there and hear my mum calling to me.

Today I’m here again, sitting in the tree, invisible behind the spread of blossom, and they’re here as well. The mother is planting something, and walks past every so often so that I can see her arm holding a fork or a watering can. We haven’t got anything like that in our garden, although I like the dandelions. I try and catch the moment when the yellow bits turn into the fluffy white stuff, but it always happens when I’m not there.

‘Can we put the swing up?’

It’s her. I can’t see her, but I recognise her voice. Today it sounds a bit cross. The ends of the branches of the cherry tree hang down nearly to the ground, making a sort of cave, and she sticks her head through. If she looks up, maybe she will climb up and join me, and then we can make a house up here, and I can come over every day.

‘No, love, not today. You’ll have to wait until Daddy has some time.’

‘But I’m bored!’ She drags the word out like chewing gum. I can’t do that.

The mother stands up and bends back a little bit. I know she’s doing this because she does it every time she stands up when she’s gardening and I see her from my window.

‘Why don’t you see if the girl next door wants to play?’

I hold my breath. We can make a little shelf and put teacups on it made out of bark like the teacher was telling us about.

‘But I don’t want to play with her.’ The branches sway as she tugs on a handful. ‘She wet her pants at school, and she smells funny.’

‘Not everyone is as lucky as you.’ I love the mother. I want her to be my mother.

‘I hate her. I’d rather die.’ The branches swing again. I dig my fingers into the bark.

Next door I can hear my mum shouting. I want to pee. It takes forever until they go back indoors.

The next time I climb up the tree, the swing is up. I don’t have a go because someone might be looking out of the window. I take out the knife and start to saw at the ropes that are wound around the biggest branch. I have to be careful. The rope springs apart and I cut more slowly. This was in a story too. Our teacher read it in a low voice, how the broken rope makes the girl fall off the swing. I will watch it from my window, watch the petals fall down from the tree and watch her lying on the ground.  

           

            

Gorilla

Having started this blog with flash fiction, it seemed like a plan to carry on with another piece. This one started life as a writing exercise done with Gabe (10), Hatty (13) and Graeme (44). We had to tell each other secrets, and use one as a base for a story. I had Gabe's secret, which was that (shhh) 'Hatty is a gorilla...' 

Gorilla

The suit was hot and itchy, her breath pooling into a swampy puddle behind the plastic nose and mouth. She tried to pull it away from her face, but the hairy paws were too big. A swell of panic rose up in her chest and she tore at the head until it fell off.

‘Hey, get that back on!’ A face appeared around the door, hair stuck in a plastered wave across a forehead speckled with red. ‘You’re on in a minute.’ The wink made her feel a bit better.

Dressing up as a gorilla wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind. The leaflet in the shop window had shown a girl in a short skirt jumping out of a cake, hair moulded into kiss curls on her cheeks, hands positioned above her head to say, look at me! Not like her, not hiding at the back and avoiding notice. Something made her take down the number.

‘You’re a bit small.’ The interview took place in a dirty office, the windows grimy enough to filter out the sun. The woman sat behind a desk cluttered with empty mugs, ash from a cigarette dropping down onto the No Smoking sign. ‘But we’ve had someone drop out. Birthday party this evening. Ted’ll meet you there with the outfit.’

As she took the slip of paper, she wondered what sort of cake she’d be too small for.

Ted’s face came back through the door.

‘Come on, time’s up.’

She caught at the loose fabric of the legs with her claws as she shuffled towards him. Her head was wedged at an angle so she could see through the gap in the mouth. From down the corridor came a swell of voices and a tinny blast of music. This was it. She didn’t think she could do it. She had no choice.

‘Rrrrooooaarrrrrrhhh!’

 

The voices stopped for a split second before rising up again in catcalls of derision. Her mask had slipped again, so she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at her or the birthday target. What was it Ted had whispered as he’d thrust her through the door? Lifting her arms, she jumped from side to side, and then made a run for the loudest voices. Howls of appreciation surrounded her as she grabbed at the nearest body, and she was pushed and turned and passed along in a wild parody of a children’s game.

Until she came out at the end of the line, balancing for a moment in a space of dizzy uncertainty. Where was the music? Ted had said, wait for the music and leave while they’re singing. She felt rather than heard the shift in the group. One voice started, the rest joining in a rising wave.

‘Ooh, ooh, ooh!’

She turned towards the door, then back to the pulsing sound. Where was the music?

‘Ooh, ooh, ooh!’

The darkness pressed in like a blindfold, though the rest of her felt stripped bare. In desperation she took a step, made gorilla movements with her arms. The chanting rose up a level. Encouraged, she leaped and postured, chasing after the sound of feet, of squealed protests and imagined prey. She was the gorilla.

It was the feet that did it. One of them had twisted round, catching her mid-stride: she felt herself falling, grabbed out at nothing and landed. Heavily. Right on top of the birthday cake.

The head came off, and there was Ted. Behind him, a confusion of faces, red and looming; to one side, a woman wailing over the remains of the cake. They all span, rising and falling like an upside-down carousel; if she didn’t get out of the suit soon, she might be sick.

‘Come on, get up.’ She could feel Ted grabbing at a handful of the black fur. He gave a sharp tug, trying not to laugh. ‘Shit, you’re so gonna to get the sack for this.’

The animal force was draining away. A bit of herself was going with it, looking back with contempt at the figure left behind, swamped in cheap nylon fur, smeared with cake, hair plastered with sweat to the sides of her face. She didn’t want it to end like this. One hand moved, sliding a little in the slick of buttercream. Her body heaved itself over, her second hand pressing knuckle-down on the floor, lifting her shoulders in a powerful arch. For a brief moment, she squatted, letting her eyes take in the bare room with its thin festoons of foil-backed streamers, the table crammed with bottles, the edging bodies regarding her with apprehension. And she sprang, a scream of defiance echoing around the ceiling, her fists pounding the muscles of her chest. A moment of silence balanced in the air as the sound of her challenge faded.

‘Ted, get me out of here!’ She couldn’t be sure that she’d spoken it out loud, but there was an answering squawk of feedback from the speakers.

‘Happy birthday to you...’ Ted’s voice was a little off-key, but gaining in volume. A few more voices picked it up, then more, until the ragged chorus set the bunched balloons in movement.

Back in the stuffy room, she and Ted looked at the cake-encrusted costume.

‘I don’t think they need to fire me.’ Her legs were trembling with reaction. ‘I might just disappear.’

A head came in from the corridor, followed by a hand holding an envelope. She and Ted both shrank back.

‘Here y’are, love.’ The hand came towards her, the man still chuckling. ‘We ordered a stripper but, by ‘eck, you livened things up.’ He nodded towards the envelope. ‘Don’t give up the day job now,’ and he was gone.

She had a quick look in the envelope, then back up at Ted.

‘Do you fancy a drink? On me.’ She was a gorilla, she could do anything.

He gave a low whistle and held open the door.

They left the gorilla skin behind, lying in a heap on the floor.