Choices and Other Stories Read online

  Choices

  Sean Reilly had never liked cats much but he liked them a lot less after he met the siren of Sodbury.

  He had picked her up at the weirdo fair in Chipping Sodbury Town Hall. It wasn't called that, of course, except by Sean. It was called the Alternative Fair or the Spiritual Healing Fair, or something. There were stalls selling tarot cards, healing crystals, spiritual therapies and all that New Age hippy stuff that attracted a certain type.

  It was not the sort of place you would normally find Sean Reilly, a practical builder descended from Irish immigrant stock. If Sean wasn't at work he was usually at the pub or the bookies. He had come out to Chipping Sodbury from his home on one of the rougher estates in Bristol to price a job. Some old lady wanted a porch built and Sean's father had sent him to give an estimate.

  'Think of a number and double it,' the old man had shouted as he went out the door. 'Those people out there have plenty of money. Old money, son. Time they parted with it.'

  Sean had followed this wisdom but felt a small twinge of guilt when the pleasant elderly lady had gratefully accepted his larcenous price. She lived not far from the High Street so he decided a pint was in order, to celebrate, he told himself. Actually, he felt shoddy and wanted a drink to stop him thinking too much.

  He left his white van parked down a quiet side street. En route to the nearest pub, he had passed the sandwich board outside the town hall advertising the fair within. Sean had a girlfriend of sorts and her birthday was coming up. He decided on a whim that he might as well buy her a birthday gem or a healing crystal or some such, something different, and cheap. Charlene was what his Dad called a 'Doofer' - as in she would do fer now. He had no intention of wasting much money on her. Sean was a self-assured young man and thought that with his fit body, dark curly hair and bright blue eyes he would eventually get someone better. He didn't expect to see someone better at the weirdo fair.

  But there she was! He spotted her as soon as he walked into the hall. Stalls hugged all four walls and there were several in the middle too. Crowds of women, young, middle-aged and old shuffled slowly around the circuit, some pausing to look at the cards, crystals and ornaments arrayed for sale, some chatting to quiet, serene sellers about the benefits of this or that alternative therapy. Men were there too, shuffling along behind the women like reluctant children going to school. They looked embarrassed.

  She stood out like a jewel in a dung heap. For one thing, she was taller than everyone else and her wild, shoulder-length hair made her even more obvious. She wore a short denim jacket over a pale blue T-shirt that revealed a shapely bosom. Her tight jeans showed off a curvaceous bottom and long, lean, lovely thighs. Black knee-length leather boots did not subtract from her appeal. She was not conventionally pretty and not young either, but her large brown eyes twinkled with amusement when he moved in to chat her up. Her name was Juniper Thornton.

  #

  It was her suggestion that they go for a meal in a local Italian restaurant. She led him through a small park and up a quiet back street. While they waited for the starter to arrive he took out a pen and doodled on a napkin, a drawing of a dog. It was good. Doodling was the one impractical habit this practical man could not break. She seemed amused as he imbibed red wine and babbled enthusiastically about the steep price he had extracted from the old lady for her porch.

  'A sordid carry on,' she said, 'but I suppose that's the family business.' She glanced at the napkin. 'Why didn't you go to college, Sean, and study art, like you wanted?'

  Sean frowned. He didn't remember telling her about his boyhood dream but then, he had drunk quite a bit. He threw back another glass of wine and dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. 'It wasn't practical. Dad told me not to be daft and to do a proper job, with him.'

  'Oh well.' She gave him an appraising look followed by an odd, lopsided smile. 'Maybe in some other world, some parallel universe, a happier Sean is now a successful artist. Better than cheating old ladies, don't you think?'

  'Parallel universe, my…!' He stopped short of profanity. 'That stuff is all right for science fiction films but I have to live in the real world.'

  'We all do, Sean. But the real world changes with every choice we make. Some people believe that when you choose differently you make a new reality.'

  'Very metaphysical,' said Sean. 'I can see how you fit right in at the weirdo fair.'

  She smiled and changed the subject.

  When they had finished the meal he offered to drive her home. No, she said, she would drive him. They took a winding path that ran back through the park and along the banks of the river Frome, then through grassland bordered by hawthorn. The path forked.

  She stopped. 'Which way shall we go?'

  He was lost. 'Which way goes back to my van?'

  'The right one.'

  'Then we'll go that way,' he said, too curtly.

  She squeezed his hand. 'Don't you wonder what would happen if we went the other way?

  'No. I don't.' He was drunk and this line of chatter was confusing him.

  'I do. I always consider the path not taken. For example, I could have rebuffed your advances tonight. I wanted to at first. Then I decided to have an adventure. So here we are. Life is all about choices.'

  'Hurrah for the spirit of adventure!' he said.

  'Come on then.' She tugged his hand and led him up the right-hand path. She drove the van competently. It was not far to her home, a small cottage near the local common, almost hidden by an overgrown garden. Inside it was very old fashioned and chintzy with many ornaments on shelves and sideboards. She led the way into the living room where two expensive black leather sofas faced each other like potential combatants while a leather pouffe in between them posed as referee. There was a tabby cat sat on the pouffe looking very comfortable. Sean ignored it and sat on the sofa nearest the door.

  Juniper extracted a dusty bottle of red wine and glass from a cupboard and poured him a drink. 'Do you like music?'

  He thought she was going to put some soft lullaby on a CD player to get them in the mood. 'I love it,' he replied.

  To his surprise, she went to the corner of the room and picked up a fiddle and a bow. He hadn't noticed it there amid the ornamental clutter. She began to play softly. Sean stayed on the sofa and she stood opposite him, stroking the strings with the bow and swaying gently. The music was languid, slow and yet somehow sensual, as were her movements. He relaxed completely.

  After a while, he picked up the bottle for a refill. She stopped playing, put the fiddle down and put a hand over his glass, shaking her head.

  'Time to choose, Sean. Wine or me.'

  He blinked and looked at her. 'Can't I have both?'

  'You're no good to me drunk,' she said. 'Choose, Sean. Will you wake up on the sofa with a hangover or … do you prefer the other option.'

  They went to bed.

  After the usual antics, she rolled over and went to sleep. He slept too, perhaps better than he had slept in a long time. The sun through thin curtains announced morning and he cuddled up and gave her what he thought was the expected guff. She just laughed.

  'I've had my little adventure, 'she said, 'and an itch has been scratched. I'm satisfied. Leave it at that and save the bovine manure for your silly young girls.'

  With that, she had flung the quilt aside and stepped lithely out of the bed. She brushed her long tresses at the old oak dresser.

  'On Sunday mornings I go for a walk on the common with my friend. I'll be back in about an hour. Have a lie in if you like and I'll cook you breakfast before you leave. Hullo, Jinxy.' This last was addressed to the small tabby cat that had just entered the room. It jumped onto the bed wi
th one easy motion and sat watching the woman as she got dressed. Sean was a dog man and didn't much like cats.

  When Juniper had dressed she bent over to give him a swift kiss on the lips. 'See you in an hour'. She walked out and he heard the front door open and shut.

  He yawned and looked around the bedroom. The window to his right looked out on the overgrown garden, an untidy profusion of long grass, wildflowers and hawthorn hedge. There was a wardrobe on the wall opposite him and the old dresser was on his left, by the door. All the furniture was solid and distinctive, not flat-pack modern rubbish, and Sean remembered his father's words when he had set out to do an estimate on the porch. 'Old money, son. They're all loaded out there in Chipping Sodbury.'

  Old money. The accumulated wealth of generations, carefully hoarded. On a sudden whim, Sean jumped out of bed and pulled open the top drawer of the old dresser. There was a mahogany box inside, nine inches by five inches, two inches deep. He unfastened the delicate silver clip and looked inside. A pearl necklace. He picked it up and rubbed the surface of one over his teeth. They were real pearls.

  He looked around, suddenly furtive as a burglar. The cat was watching him. He felt a small twinge of guilt, as he had when the old lady accepted his ludicrous price for the porch. He quelled it, telling himself this was the real world, it was every man for himself and you had to grab whatever you could. These rich folks had all got it by exploiting the working man anyway, or by screwing some Duke six generations ago. If an ordinary bloke managed to get a bit back it was only fair.

  It was pub wisdom and in his heart, he knew it wasn't true.

  But the temptation was too much. He got dressed and stuffed the necklace into the inside pocket of his jacket then hurried out to his van which was parked in the bungalow's small driveway. He drove out onto the common. Juniper was near the roadside, ambling along and chatting to a stocky, middle-aged woman who had two terrier dogs on leads. She waved as the van approached and Sean pulled over, wound the window down and put on his best boyish grin.

  'Not staying for breakfast?' she asked.

  He shook his head. 'No thanks. Busy day ahead.'

  She looked him straight in the eye and a shiver went down his spine. She seemed to be looking at his bare soul. 'You haven't forgotten anything?'

  'Nope.' As an excuse to avoid her gaze he reached for a switch on the dashboard and put the radio on. A half familiar tune came out over the speakers.

  'Pearl's a Singer', Elkie Brooks', said Juniper. She was still looking at him in a peculiar way. 'It was a good night, Sean. I would hate for you to spoil it. Why don't you go back to my place and I'll be up in a minute to cook you breakfast. Go on.'

  She knows, he thought. But she couldn't. There was no way. He decided to bluff it out.

  'No, no. I'll go.'

  Almost in a panic now he put the van into first gear and moved away.

  Looking in the rear view mirror he saw her wave nonchalantly.

  Sean gripped the steering wheel hard, looked at the glove compartment where he had stored the pearls and thought about his actions. He was not a thief, he was a working man. But he could justify petty larceny. That woman and people like her had plenty. They had been born to it. They didn't deserve it, any more than the Queen or the Duke of Edinburgh or the Duke of Beaufort who lived just up the road in some vast estate. All he was doing was spreading the wealth, like a good socialist.

  By the time he had gone through Chipping Sodbury and was heading down the road to Bristol he had almost convinced himself this was true. He made a routine check of the rear view mirror.

  Juniper's cat sat on the back seat of the van, watching him.

  'Bloody Hell!' Sean jerked the steering wheel and nearly went off the road. He looked in the mirror again and the cat was still there. It hadn't been a trick of the light.

  How the devil had it got there? It must have jumped in the van unnoticed when he left the house. Sean once had a dog that would jump in any car with an open door hoping to be taken somewhere. Maybe this cat was the same. But...why hadn't he seen it earlier. He must have checked his mirror before now. Or had he? His mind had been on other things.

  The cat made a strange noise and he looked in the mirror again.

  It seemed bigger.

  Sean shook his head. No, it must be the mirror. Some trick of the light.

  But the rear view mirror made things smaller.

  He was on a minor road with no pavements and nowhere to pull over. He would have to wait until he reached the next village, Winterbourne, and throw the damned animal out there.

  Sean felt something on his shoulder and turned his head.

  He screamed.

  The cat was as big as a Great Dane.

  He jerked his head back to see where he was going. The van had drifted across to the right, in front of the oncoming traffic. He had a quick glimpse of a Volkswagen Golf with a dark-haired woman driving; two young children sat in the back. The woman's mouth was open in a scream.

  Sean's life didn't flash before him but the last few hours did. He regretted the theft. He regretted running away and most of all, and most sincerely, he regretted that a young woman and two innocent children were probably doomed because of his bad behaviour.

  This was not a good death.

  The van crashed.

  #

  Sean woke with a shout.

  A woman laughed. Juniper stood by the wardrobe, putting on her denim jacket. 'Must have been a pretty bad dream,' she said.

  He was still in her bed. He cast a guilty glance at the chest of drawers. 'A dream,' he murmured. 'Just a dream.'

  She ignored the remark. 'On Sunday mornings I go for a walk on the common with my friend. I'll be back in about an hour. Have a lie in if you like and I'll cook you breakfast before you leave. Hullo, Jinxy.'

  The cat jumped up onto the bed and sat looking at him. Sean shuddered and tried to draw back from the animal. 'Just a dream,' he muttered again.

  Juniper scooped up the cat. 'Come on, Jinxy.' Holding the cat easily in her left arm she picked up a brush on the dresser and attended to her long silver hair, gazing into the mirror. 'Have a lie in, Sean, and think about choices. The path taken and the path not taken.' She put the brush down and walked to the door, then stopped and looked back. 'Get it right this time, lover.'

  Sean leaned back on the pillows and avoided even a glance at the chest of drawers. That was a path he definitely wasn't going to take.

  He rose, got dressed, went to the kitchen and made himself a coffee. She kept scrap paper and a pen next to the phone on the kitchen cabinet and he idly began doodling again, a cat this time. He smiled as he finished the sketch, calm now.

  Then he thought about Art school.

  Maybe it could be done.

  After all, there was always a choice.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed Choices you might like to buy the book

  Choices and Other Stories

  Only $1.99

  Choices and Other Stories by Eamonn Murphy is a mixed bag of fantasy tales, many with a touch of romance. Inside you will find a builder who meets his match when he picks up a witch in a bar; A girl haunted in the Mountains of Mourne; another who discovers that the villagers in her new home have a strange secret. There's also a wayward sexist who gets his comeuppance, a duck that won't lay eggs, brick eating worms from outer space and an 18th-century love triangle. This is a light-hearted collection for the gentle reader.

  For random thoughts of a sad old man and information on other books check my blog

  www.eamonnmurphyblog.wordpress.com

  Live long and prosper

 

 

  Eamonn Murphy, Choices and Other Stories

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