If you are interested in reading more, you can search for it as an e-book on Amazon or follow the link:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Beside-river-Stories-Ashwater-ebook/dp/B00AUHY4GE
Deus ex machina
The clouds fell moments after sunset, bleaching the bare hill-tops around him. Sam had crawled from his shelter to catch the view over the valley and, kneeling, he tilted his head to feel the first drops of rain on his face. The plastic sheeting over his bags sang as the coolness spread down his neck and traced the shape of his shoulders and back.
It had been years since he’d last visited a gym and his bare chest revealed more bone than muscle. He was taller than average but certainly lighter than he should have been and his narrow shoulders looked like a coat would just slide straight off them.
As the rain grew heavier, the air became a thick undulating pink and he crawled back under the canvas. His fingers shook as he sought the zip but he found it and, as the wind grew stronger, he pulled it tight to the ground, ripping the seal.
***
He closed the double doors after him but the rain had already followed into the Old Orchard Cafe. The waitress crossed her arms and thought half-heartedly about tossing him right back out. But she relented, as she did every week, and he sat, finding himself a booth that looked out over the bay.
“You okay there, Sam?”
He had unfolded the menu already and spread it flat on the table-top like a treasure map. On top of it he’d fished out a mix of coins and was carefully arranging them.
“You look cold,” she said. When he didn’t reply, she chewed her lip and took a step back. He was lucky that he’d missed the other waitresses; they lacked the patience he required. “Everything OK there?”
He sighed at that. “Had to come in. Got too bad.”
“You over the valley?”
He nodded, “Beans on toast. Please.”
“You want a drink with that?”
“Water. Tap. Please.”
As he ate, he palmed humidity from the window and watched the world flooding away. He saw cars lifted from the tarmac and sliding across the road, finding ditches before they disappeared beneath the water. He saw people running from the tide. Screaming.
“You sure you don’t want a hot drink, Sam?” The waitress stood at his side again and the world was normal once more; it was just rain. “Happy to get you a tea from the staff pot. No charge.”
His face brightened beneath unkempt fuzz, “Really?”
“I’ll get it now.”
The waitress returned with one of her own mugs, professing that she was the ‘world’s best mum’, and set it before him. He had already finished the food and happily warmed his hands holding it.
She smiled at him again, “How come you staying out in the wilds there?”
“No-one bothers me,” Sam replied, then quickly added, “The farmer doesn’t mind if I keep to myself. He knew Dad.”
The waitress nodded, drying her hands on a tea-towel she slung over her shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re interested but my Bill could do with someone on the site,” she began. “Help with the lifting and so on.”
Sam looked down, following a single floating tea leaf, “Maybe.”
“That’s better than normal,” she smiled. “Are we seeing some progress?”
“Well, maybe.”
The quiet held a moment after that, allowing just the sound of rain on glass. They had spoken often enough over the past few months but the boy had rarely offered anything for her to cling to; just words and ideas, never anything he would actually do. She knew she couldn't push him but, likewise, she couldn't let the silence stretch any further.
“You don’t have to be out there,” she said, sliding into the seat opposite him.
Sam shifted, sipping his drink again. “Please sit down.”
“Your mother’s just a phone call away, y’know,” she said. “She’s waiting. She wants to hear from you.”
“She’s okay. She’s fine,” he replied. “I got something though...” He reached into his pocket and drew a small, dog-eared piece of card; it was new but ill-cared for. “I treated myself and...”
“Why’d you buy that?”
“Why does anyone?” Sam shrugged.
“You don’t have money to waste on scratch cards.”
“If this...”
“Don’t, Sam.” She crossed her arms and leant back into her chair, looking out into the gloom. She had heard too many of his ideas to believe that they would end in any other way; he would slip out into the storm, back to wherever he curled up to sleep, and reappear a week later, maybe a month, like nothing had ever happened.
“If this wins, I’m gonna split it fifty-fifty with you for letting me in and all the free drinks...”
“It’s not going to...” She hadn't snapped at him, but he reacted like she had.
“Why not?”
“She wants to hear from you, Sam.”
He lowered his head and tried to take a sip from his empty mug before setting it on the table before him. “She’s got her garden; her strawberries, apples, that orange tree.”
“She can help you, not me.”
“I can’t talk about this every time...” he snapped, shifting to slide himself out of the booth until the waitress caught his hand and the idea faded.
“...but you do keep coming in.”
Every part of him wanted to move, wanted him to get up and walk back out into the rain, but something held him back. “No one else will have me.”
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
Sam hesitated and he looked back out to the road; headlights flooded the window and left him blinking away the image of a burning eye. “I need to see what life wants for me.”
“How you going to know when it comes?”
There had been a time when the answer would have come easily, but he had been away so long that conversation had become a chore. At first he had talked to himself and there was a comfort in that, he could voice his ideas without criticism or challenge, but he had tired of that charade and fallen silent in time. Now each word felt like crossing a field knee deep in mud.
“I... I studied English at the campus up on the hill...”
She knew, of course, and she watched and waited for him to say more.
“... This lecturer I had, Simon Wells, he kept throwing my stories right back at me. He hated them. Laughed at one.” Sam’s fingers drummed the table-top, “He... he said they weren’t any good, that’s what he said. He said that and he threw them back at me.”
“That’s all he said?”
“They were all ‘Deus ex machina’,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The hero was always rescued. Someone always came in and saved the day at the last minute. No matter how unlikely. He said it didn’t make sense.”
“You never tried changing that?”
“I did,” he replied, beginning to tap his foot nervously on the lino. “But I was... I was dreaming. I was kidding myself. So, I thought, if my decisions have been so lousy, maybe fate can do better.”
“So you’re waiting to win the lottery?”
“No...” he replied, standing up. “I’m waiting for life to take an interest in me.”
“Don’t go again.”
“Thanks for the food, the tea...” he said, buttoning his coat and snatching the scratch card from the table before he left.
The waitress watched him go, head down and hair still dripping. He didn’t even look back before he disappeared out into the rain.
Sam ducked into an alley for shelter and held the card in his hands. Match three. For a moment he allowed himself to daydream of sports cars, of holidays, of parties, of a life without illness. Then he used his thumb-nail to scratch the surface off.
He blinked away rain drops and saw a strawberry, an apple and an orange.
Just download and read the short stories. Really enjoyed them. Very interesting and well written. Have you done anything else? Where can I download it?
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