Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

Happy Friday lovely people,

Todays post is a quick book review.  Some time ago, one of my favourite authors, the lovely Katie Fforde, wrote a book called Going Dutch.  I have read many of her books but this one managed to slip through the net until kindly Amazon reminded me of it a week or so ago.

In case you haven't read any of her books, Katie writes romantic fiction.  In true Katie style this particular tale has the feel good factor and is perfect for a Summer read.  The story is of Jo and Dora, both escaping broken relationships and finding lasting friendship on a barge on the Thames.  Not only do they find friendship but also adventure and the possibility of romance.

Will Jo get herself together and find love on the Holland trip?  Will Dora ever see what the rest of us see in Tom?

I read this book over several nights.  Ordinarily a night owl, I couldn't wait to switch off the tv, snug up under the duvet and read more of the story.

Thank you Amazon for kindly recommending it to me, I shall heartily recommend it to my friends.  Oh and thank you Katie for yet another lovely light hearted story. 

Julesy x

Short Story - A Moment In Time. I hope you like it x

A Moment In Time.

Alex felt the heat of a scorching red sun beating down on the back of her head on a dizzying hot summer’s day.  And in the all too familiar headspace of another unwelcome trance the flashbacks came.

This time Alex was looking back at the school playground.  A place where lifelong friendships might be forged or perhaps moments that shape a person into what they later become.  There stood a 7-year-old boy and a slightly older girl.  The boy stood quite still, wearing little round glasses with brown plastic frames.  He lifted his hand and shielded his piercing blue eyes from the sun.  He was a skinny specimen in grey shorts with elasticated waist, a crisp white shirt and knee-high socks.  Alex looked back at her childish self; she was somewhat taller and thicker set than the boy, her curly red hair pulled back into a bunch with a bright blue bobble.  She was wearing her red check summer uniform and she carried a pink skipping rope, which dangled down from her right hand.  ‘Move’ she said forcefully, standing directly in front of him.  She stood firmly, hands on hips, her pretty face contorted with contempt.  The boy stood still, rooted to the spot.  Alex enjoyed the feeling of power she had over the boy especially since so many other kids teased her for having ginger hair, pale skin and freckles.  She was taking back control.  This was not the first time she had picked on him; he was a pretty easy target.  ‘Are you deaf as well as stupid’ she said poking him in the chest with the plastic end of the skipping rope.  ‘You could go around me’ he answered, standing up straight and growing in height and confidence.  ‘The playground is big enough for everyone’.  The girl’s face reddened and screwed up with rage.  She took a step forward and leaned in towards him spitting in his face as she spoke ‘Give me your lunch money you silly boy.  You look like a monkey with your stupid hair and your sticky out ears.  Do it now or you’ll be sorry.’ 

The boy thought for a moment and chewed his lip. He fiddled with the coins in his pocket and with a considered look on his face he finally held out a two-pound coin in his sticky hand.  He breathed deeply to stop the tears, which were forming in the corners of his eyes.  As Alex went to snatch it from him he curled his fingers back around it and silently put it back in his pocket. He turned from her and walked away but as he did so Alex whipped the back of his legs with a sharp thwack of her skipping rope, the cheap nylon leaving red welts on the backs of his knees. ‘That’ll teach him’ she thought as she waited for his response.  The boy didn’t falter, he kept walking and he didn’t look back.  She was momentarily puzzled.  Why hadn’t he cried?  Why hadn’t he challenged her?  He had turned the other cheek.  This was bravery.

As quickly as the flashback came, it had passed and in it’s place another.  It was a cold and crisp autumn day.  Alex’s dad was pushing the rusty red bike through piles of red and brown leaves on the pavement outside number 47.  The stabilisers had finally been taken off.  ‘If you believe in yourself you can do it’ he called encouragingly, his hand cupped by the side of his mouth, as she began wobbling down the street on two wheels for the very first time.  Dressed in warm clothes and wearing kneepads and helmet Alex started pedalling hard, wobbly steering giving way to confidence.  ‘Yes!’  Her dad shouted ‘Yes!  I knew you could do it’.  As the bike gathered pace down the hill Alex thought she saw the familiar face of a boy wearing glasses watching her.  At about the same time, she realised that the brakes were failing and as her concentration lapsed both bike and rider clattered in a heap on the pavement.  Alex stood up and brushed the leaves from her woolly jumper.  She was embarrassed having fallen but she waved at her dad from the bottom of the hill and grinned despite the bruised knees and grazed knuckles.  She looked around for the boy.  He was standing beside his own garden-gate half way down the hill.  They exchanged shy smiles as the boy clapped lightly to congratulate her bike-riding success.  With an extraordinary feeling of self-belief never previously experienced, Alex ran back up the hill with the bike.  This was confidence. 

No sooner had the positive sensation of confidence settled then the desperate and unnerving whining noise of an animal in pain flooded through Alex’s mind, like a tidal wave, sweeping the optimistic mood of the previous memory crashing to one side.

Barnaby lay on his side, wrapped up in a thick red jumper.  He shivered, his eyes opening now and then as a tiny whimper escaped his mouth.  The elderly black Labrador foamed gently at the mouth while the boy and the girl sat cross-legged on the floor, side by side and tempted him with water, squeezing a sponge between his lips one last time.  Barnaby was the boy’s dog and he was leaving.  He had been poorly for weeks and nobody could bear to see him hurting any more.  The lady in the green veterinary nurses uniform picked up his weary body and gently carried him to the table.  Family and friends crowded round, each one holding a paw or stroking their friend Barnaby’s grey chin.  Salty tears rolled silently down the faces of ‘his people’ as Barnaby slipped gently away from one world and unseen by the family bounded into the next, released from pain and suffering.    Alex reached out for the boy’s hand and squeezed it gently.  Through the dream-like haze, Alex felt the prickle of new tears forming at the memory shared by two childhood friends.  This was loss.

Looking through a picture window into a small cottage Alex watched as another moment in time flashed before her.  He was big and strong, much changed from his gawky younger self.  He was tall, manly and wearing a smart suit.  Alex matched him in height, her demeanour displaying a gentleness brought on by maturity.  Her thick red curls were pulled back from her face leaving wispy trails just at the sides.  She wore a white cotton dress and no shoes.  A ceiling fan above them gently circled, cooling the oppressive summer night.  They began swaying gently together as the music played.  The sultry sound of At Last by Etta James filled the room.  Alex looked on and drank in the familiarity of the scene. A memory from a life filled with exceptional moments.  The man took off his glasses to reveal his pretty blue eyes and pulled the girl towards him, his lips gently brushing hers.  Their eyes locked as they moved slowly back and forth in time to the music.  He took her hand in his as they edged towards the bedroom and he tenderly touched her cheek.  Electricity filled the air as a storm brewed.  She smiled at him, an unmistakable look of adoration and complete and utter love.  He led her into the bedroom and gently closed the door as thunder grumbled and lightning struck.  This was love.

One memory merged into the next as the thunder grew louder.  Alex watched, unable to move, unable to do anything as the image of war played out.  It was baking hot and the air was dusty and dry, so dry it caught in their throats.  The muffled sound of gunfire and exploding grenades in the distance suddenly replaced by an almighty intense flash of orange and a deafening boom.  The dirt-covered truck was thrown by the full force of the explosion onto its side. Panic ensued. Sound became muted, barely audible.  The medic with the thick red hair, tied back with a blue bobble ran to the aid of the soldiers in the truck.  Everyone else ran the other way, arms gesturing her to safety.  Alex was alone as she reached the silently smouldering truck and frantically searched, hands desperately clawing at the wreckage for signs of life.  There was none.  And then she found him. Once so big and strong, he now lay there broken and bleeding, barely breathing.  She gathered every ounce of strength she could muster and pulled him to safety, dragging him like a doll and shielding him as best she could. The truck exploded and the man’s glasses fell from his pocket and onto the dirt.  One final blast as shrapnel flew through the air and life ebbed away.  This was death.

Alex gulped air into her lungs frantically, her heart beating wildly against her rib cage and her eyes flew open.  The pavement rushed up towards her face, her red curls flying out behind her. 

The broken man in uniform, clutching a two-pound coin had reached out to her from beyond the grave in her final moments and reminded her of special shared experiences.  They had grown together, the awkward little boy and the feisty red head, and Alex had loved him more than anything.  She had loved him more than life itself and life had tortured her with his loss.  In that split second as the pavement at the foot of the tallest building in the city greeted Corporal Alexandra Stone, she remembered love, she remembered bravery, she remembered all that she had learned with him and from him.  She knew he had made her a better person and as her life drew to a close she wished she could have taken one step back instead of forward. This was regret.