No Place Like Home , livre ebook

Title Page
NO PLACE LIKE HOME
And Other Short Stories
By
Angela Gascoigne



Publisher Information
No Place Like Home and other Short Stories
Published in 2013 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Angela Gascoigne to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2013 Angela Gascoigne
All the characters and events in this book are fictitious, any resemblance to actual events or characters is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.



No Place Like Home
“Help me! Someone, please.” The old lady’s voice was weak, her body frail and tired. “I’m lost. I need to find my way home.”
Thora’s tartan slippers squelched underneath her. Every step she took left a little puddle of water in its midst. The sleeves of her pink, hand-knitted cardigan had been stretched out of all proportion, and her fine grey hair was stuck in wet strands around her pale face.
Her journey on foot seemed to have lasted for a lifetime and all to no avail.
Poor Thora grew increasingly distressed as it became horribly apparent to her that the route to her home, consisting of roads and foot paths she usually knew like the back of her hand, seemed curiously wrong, leading to nowhere.
The sound of a cat crying in the distance caught Thora’s attention then, triggering something in her memory. That sound was so familiar to her that she knew immediately what she had to do. So, trusting her ears and following her heart, she continued in a dream-like state onwards through the unfamiliar surroundings. All fear was evaporating from her now.
The cat cries gradually became closer and louder until finally, to her immense relief, Thora knew she had found her way home. There was her bright red front door, her pretty window boxes in full bloom, her white lacy curtains at the windows. More importantly, there was her faithful cat, Simon, sitting on the door step waiting for her. Tentatively, Jane opened the front door just enough to allow Simon to slink inside. The last thing she needed was to become embroiled in conversation with the neighbours, listening to their gossip-disguised-as-concern. She felt enough guilt as it was.
Simon greeted Jane with a slick figure eight movement around her ankles. However, even the sound of his favourite cat food being opened and spooned into a china bowl served as no inspiration for him to eat. He simply sniffed at the contents before turning away.
Jane took off her glasses in order to wipe a tear from her eye and then bent down to stroke Simon’s head. “Oh I know you miss Thora, old man. I miss her too but you really must keep your strength up.”
And then, as though a spark had ignited him, Simon ran into the living room, climbed up onto the rocking chair beside the window and squirmed and stretched his elastic body before finally settling down to sleep.
Thora stroked Simon’s silky black fur from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. “Everything will be alright now, Simon. I’ll never leave you again,” she whispered. He rolled and stretched, pushing his head against her hand as if asking for more.
Looking around at the family photos and other familiar things in her living room, Thora felt safe and happy at last. She was warm and dry now and surrounded by the things she loved. Exhausted, she drifted off into a deep and comfortable sleep with her beloved cat snuggled up on her lap.
“Bye bye for now Simon,” Jane called before leaving. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow,” she said before quietly closing the door behind her.
Jane was devastated by the tragic death of Thora, her dear friend and neighbour. What made the situation even harder for her was the fact that she had been caring for her friend tirelessly in the hours leading up to the tragedy, yet she hadn’t predicted what was going to happen.
On that terrible evening, Thora’s temperature was raging with no sign of breaking. It was the worst case of flu Jane had ever witnessed. She made a pledge to herself that if Thora showed no sign of improvement by the morning, the doctor would be called immediately.
With a glass of warm milk and a good book at hand, Thora was comfortable and settled in bed for the night. The warm room was thick with the aroma of camphor and eucalyptus. “Sleep well, dear. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything and I’ll be right over,” Jane reassured her friend. Then she quietly left, unaware of the fact that Simon had slipped out of the door with her.
Jane heard nothing more and presumed her friend to be fast asleep until morning. Unbeknown to her though, Thora had woken during the night. Finding Simon wasn’t there by her side, she’d become so worried that in a state of feverish confusion, she’d decided to get dressed and go out looking for him. After losing her way in the dark and becoming entangled in bushes, poor Thora had stumbled into the lake of the local park and perished.
The news of Thora’s death left the local community in a state of shock. She had been so well liked by everyone who knew her.
Sadly, her house had to be put up for sale, but with one vital condition: as stated in Thora’s will, her house would only be sold to someone who was willing to take Simon on and love him as she herself had.
The winter sun had long since gone down and the night was still. The silvery glow of a full moon lit up the living room of Thora’s cottage.
The only sounds to be heard were the creaking of a rocking chair and the contented purr of a black cat.



And The Wind Cried, Mary
Another broken plate , thought Mary as a horrendous crash came from the kitchen area. The safest place to be right now as far as she was concerned was tucked up in bed under the quilt. Mary couldn’t remember the last time there had been a storm as violent as this one, and what made the situation even worse was the fact that it was now late July and for the past two weeks, there had been nothing but torrential rain to look forward to every day.
It was still early in the evening but even so, she felt too afraid to stay up and wait for whatever fate would become her. At least if she died in her sleep she wouldn’t be aware of it.
The mobile home which Mary had made her home for the past five years was, although compact, incredibly warm and comfortable under normal conditions. During the long evenings of summer there was no better place to hold a barbeque with friends while enjoying the beautiful scenery of the surrounding countryside. Tonight though it was unusually dark outside and the rain was teeming down without a moment’s break. The wind was so strong that it rocked her flimsy home severely. Mary felt sure it would be ripped clean off its breeze-block foundation and sent crashing and tumbling across the fields with her inside.
Reaching for her mobile phone, Mary dialled Gavin’s number only to be put through to his voicemail once again. She sighed with disappointment before starting to speak. “Where are you, Gavin? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening.” Mary’s hands were visibly shaking now. “I’m really scared. I don’t want to be here on my own.”
Outside her window came the sound of tin cans rolling across the ground and glass breaking. The contents of her recycling bin had no doubt been strewn across every inch of her compact garden, as well as the surrounding areas. Mary just knew that if she was lucky enough to survive the night, she’d have a major clean-up operation on her hands come morning.
Five minutes had passed and there had still been no reply from Gavin. Mary’s hands felt clammy and her fast, shallow breaths were making her light headed. She dialled his number again. “Why are you ignoring me?” she said while trying to disguise the panic in her voice. “Did I do something wrong?”
But still no reply came.
Why did Gavin always have to play these mind games? They’d been an item for three years now but still he loved to play it cool. “You don’t need to be texting me and phoning me all the time when we’re apart,” he’d say. “I need my own space sometimes but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
Mary begged to differ. As far as she was concerned, Gavin just didn’t feel enough for her to make any kind of commitment. He would get in touch when he wanted to and not a moment before. No amount of pestering from Mary would change his mind, if anything, it would only make him dig his heels in deeper. But she could be just as stubborn and the more he ignored her text messages the more she sent. Of course, he always had an excuse: “I forgot my phone,” or “my battery was dead.”
She felt like her head would explode at any moment. The storm that was raging outside the window was nothing in comparison to the one that was brewing up inside Mary.
Another ten minutes had passed and there had still been no word from Gavin. “I give up. I won’t be bothering you again!” Mary screamed as she threw her phone across the room sending it bouncing off the flimsy hardboard wall. She roughly undid her ponytail and shook her glossy brown hair free, before smothering her face in the pillow and sobbing her way into a fretful sleep, all the while tossing and turning. The wind swirled, twisted and howled in her ears and inside her head. “Mary, Mary...” it seemed to cry. “Wake up, Mary! Get ou