Tales to Thrill!

When I was 12 I got 50/50 for a piece of creative writing. I was never going to top that, so it's the last piece of fiction I ever wrote. Available now for the first time!

Something a bit different for the blog - a piece of fiction. I don’t write fiction as a rule - I tend to write essays or analytical features. I remember reading a story about the author Douglas Adams - he had huge success and was a multi-million seller, but one of the achievements he was most proud of was, at 12, getting 10/10 in a school essay. 

“Douglas Adams was born in Cambridge in 1952, and by the age of twelve had already started to distinguish himself in creative writing. One of his English teachers at Brentwood School, Frank Halford, recalled giving him an unprecedented and unrepeated 10/10 for a creative writing assignment.”

St. Johns College, Cambridge 

That early success, perhaps, inspired him to become a great fiction writer—from the Hitchiker’s Guide series to Dr. Who. I had a similar experience, with the opposite effect. In 1992, when I would have been 12 or 13, I wrote a short story for creative writing and got an unprecedented 50 out of 50 marks. 

For right or for wrong, I figured I would never top that, and pretty much never wrote fiction again. 

Anyway, thanks to my parents never throwing anything out, and myself also being an obsessive hoarder, I recently found, filed away, a copy - a draft given there are a few spelling mistakes and typos which must have been fixed in the final version. 

It’s set in Northern Ireland in the early 1990s against the backdrop of the Troubles, but I would say key influences at the time were “Prisoner Cell Block H” and Frederick Forsythe. It’s awful, but I’m still somewhat proud of it. It had chapters but no title and seems to have been part of a series. I think there’s at least one other story somewhere set in the same universe. 

So here, for the first time outside Mrs. Lamont’s English class… Enjoy! 

Tales to Thrill

CHAPTER I

Joan looked at her watch. "Damn!" she swore. He was late, he always was. At first appearances, she was not what you would call attractive, but as you took in more details, she had a certain air, one of maturity and experience. She decided it was pointless to wait any longer and started to walk away. She shouldn't have told him. She always made the same mistake. Last night, she got slightly tipsy and let out her secret. She was an ex-criminal, but this time, she had been so sure. She thought that he would be different different from the rest. but he wasn't. He was just the same.

When she got out of prison (Longman Detention Centre) she had had hopes of finding a husband and settling down, but it wasn't easy at 32, and then there was the big secret. She always called it the big secret whenever she was thinking to herself. It made it seem more childish, like a secret club or something stupid. It still didn't stop the icy feeling in her gut whenever she thought about it.

She stopped outside the block of apartments. The place wasn't too bad and the rent was a bargain, too good to be true. It was run by an old "pre-decimilisation" lady. She thought of it as a bargain most of the time but whenever she thought about it she felt guilty. It was like stealing. Something she had sworn never to do again. Something she had sworn not to do as the judge's hammer had come down. Locking the stable door after the horse had bolted. Bolted straight into prison carrying her on its back.

She stopped outside the door and put her key in the latch and shuddered; locks always made her shudder. It was understandable."Get a grip of yourself" she said, muttering the words to herself. "You're the one with the keys now". She just had a simple lock on the door, anyone could break in. She had a fear of locks. She wasn't worried about burglars.

She never had anything to steal; besides, who would climb up three flights of stairs (the lift was always out of action) to break into a two-room flat in the sleaziest part of town. "The sleaziest part of town" she repeated to herself. Some day she was going to get out of this dump. When Mike Bradly had turned up in her life it had seemed the perfect opportunity. The phone rang. She walked over and picked it up.

"Hello, Joan?" She recognised the voice as Mike's and a feeling flushed through her."Joan?" the voice said again. "Yes Mike!" she said, then all at once it burst out of her. "Mike, I didn't think you would call me, after last night I mean, I thought… ". Here she stopped. Mike said "I just want you to know why I didn't turn up today. I was thinking...". Joan held her breath, "...and while I was thinking I realised it didn't make any difference to me!" Joan breathed a sigh of relief. Emotions flowing through her.

"Lets just forget anything we said last night, Huh?" "Sure" she said, "You got a deal!" She put the phone down. Outside her window Mike Bradly put the pay phone down.

"Got her!" he smiled to himself.

CHAPTER II

Joan smiled. It was the first time she had smiled all week. It was the first time all week that he had heard from Mike. She was standing outside the office at the newspaper block. She thought to herself, "Everything will be perfect; I will get Mike and get this job." "Come in!" a voice shouted. Joan stood up and walked into the office "Name?" said the man at the desk. Joan looked at the desk.

J.Sutcliff was embossed on the name tag.

Flattery couldn't hurt. "Joan Armill, Mr. Sutcliff. I've heard a lot about you. I recognised you at once!". Soften him up! She tried her best smile. It was weak, but she was desperate for the job.

"Next!"

"But....." she began.

Mr. 'Sutcliff' cut in. "Miss Armill, Mr. Sutcliff is away on holiday. You don't think we would hold Aunt Agatha interviews in the editor's office do you? That alone shows how little you know about our newspaper, as well as showing up the fact that you are a liar. If you were how shall I put it? not so 'mature', you could perhaps have become a journalist, but I'm sorry you are just not who we are looking for. Next!" "Oh bugger you" she said. "Madame, I have asked you politely. Would you like me to proceed to the next stage in your removal?"

Joan left. Better off without the job! Besides, they could easily have found out about the false name. A criminal record wasn't exactly a good point when you were looking for a job. She stopped deluding herself and walked on, on the verge of tears. "Hey you look a bit downtrodden" said a voice behind her "what's up?"

She looked around her and smiled at Mike "Oh nothing, I've just been to a job interview ".

“Didn't go to well, huh?".

"Oh it's O.K."

By this time they were outside her flat. "Do you want to come in for a cuppa?" she said cheerfully, the prospect having washed any trace of sadness away. As she walked through the door she felt ashamed of the mess and the obvious cheapness of the flat, but then she knew Mike had lived in greater messes; far greater.

CHAPTER III

"I might as well stay now that I am here!" Mike said with a grin. "Tea or coffee?...... or perhaps you would like something stronger?" she asked, wearing an impish little smirk. “Coffee will be fine, thanks!" he said with equal merriment. “Fresh or instant?" she asked. “My my, you are full of questions today!" he laughed " Instant will be fine" "I'll just put the kettle on” she replied.

As Joan was making the coffee, Mike glanced across the room. It was small but looked cosy. Joan wasn't too bad, either. In the past few weeks, he had really come to know her. It almost seemed a shame to…

"Sugar?" Joan called from the kitchen, or rather the small equivalent that could almost, with a little imagination, be called a kitchen. “No thanks!" he replied, "I'm trying to cut down."

“Just right too!" Joan said. “I'm not fat!" he protested. They both laughed. "So"said Mike, "What will you be doing this Thursday?" "Why?" she asked "It's my birthday" he said, and then, forestalling the next question- "Double figures is all you need to know!. Besides, I always laugh when I'm telling anyone my age!" "Why's that?" she asked. "I'm a terrible liar!" he said. They both burst out laughing.

"Well?" he said. "Well, what?" she asked him. "Are you doing anything?" He said, sounding almost exasperated. "No, she said unless that was an offer?" “It most certainly was! I'm going to treat us to the most expensive restaurant in town!" "No Mike, please" "What is it, hun?"

"I feel guilty about you taking me out to all these expensive meals when the most I can scrape up is a Chinese." "There’s no need to feel guilty about that!" He said. "This isn't my money, it's our money, and we can do what we like with it, expensive meals included! Ο.Κ.?"

"Yeah, O.K." she snuffled “but I warn you, you're crazy to spend it on me!" Mike Bradly forced a smile. This was an expensive way to get her out of the flat for an hour or so, but there was a schedule and to stick to it he would have to make her an offer that she couldn't refuse.

CHAPTER IV

It was 11 O'clock and the 'managment' were getting fed-up with the two love birds in the corner. Mike sighed. They had been there for two hours but it would be worth it. "Do you want to go now?" said Joan. She was worried that she was boring him and she had noticed his sigh. "No this is fine"," really" he added almost as an afterthought. "I think we better leave all the same." she said "The fat waiter in the tuxedo looks like he is going to have a heart attack!" They both laughed. Mike's laugh was uneasy and forced and even Joan's laugh took a bit of effort. She knew something was wrong. Mike was on edge, she was sure of it. But she couldn't figure out why. She put it down to nerves, what with it being their first date after the confession. She thought back to what had happened. Mike hadn't even seemed shocked, just withdrawn.

Odd.

"Do you want help with your coat?" he repeated. She looked up suddenly. "Pardon?" she asked. Mike motioned with the coat and she said "sorry I was miles away!" "In paradise?" he asked. "No" she replied, "to be in paradise I would have to be with you!" They both laughed. The wrinkles beginning to show on Joan's face.

CHAPTER V

When they got back to the flat Joan asked Mike in for a cup of tea. Oddly, Mike declined the offer. He was acting very strangely today. Maybe it was the years begining to catch up with him, she thought to herself, then smiled at the thought.

 Meanwhile, Mike was acting like anything but a decrepit old fogey. He was standing outside an electrical suppliers. Beside him was the wall that led to the backyard of the store. It had metal spikes along the top. Mike dressed in black, checked that he had everything, then clambered up onto the bin. He reached for the empty drink cans he had brought and placed them quietly over the spikes. Then he threw a blanket over the top and leapt up, grabbing hold of the bottom of a spike through the blanket. He hauled himself up and over. Springing down like a cat he let himself collapse and roll. Then he looked up and, with the help of a coal bunker, clambered up until he could reach the burglar alarm. 

He unscrewed the front and snipped the wire to the speaker. The alarm went off and he stood back in shock. Forgetting that he was halfway up a wall he plummeted backwards and landed heavily on the ground. A light came on and he stood up and looked as a short man came out.

"It's no good" the man said "You'll never be able to break into the place quick enough on your own."

"Of course"

"Relax Charley" said Mike "I got the alibi I needed. I've made sure I can take her out anytime I like." "For any length of time?" "Who is she?" "Joan Harrap. Nice looking girl but a bit on the tall side for me" "What name did you give her?" "Mike, Mike Bradly"

The man snorted. "Your first name and my last one! Hardly inconspicuous if the police come asking, is it? Won't take them a second to suss out two of the maze breakers,will it?" "Relax!" Mike said "Why should it matter? It's just a precaution. We'll be out of the country by then!"

"Have you got the stuff?" "It's in the shop". They walked into the electrical shop. The shop was partly a cover for the bomb factory run by the I.R.A. It was a good disguise. It meant that if there was one of the frequent raids, they could explain the excess electrical supplies.

On the table stood a package of yellow bread-like substance wrapped in cellophane. It had Czechoslavakia stamped in red on it. Mike drew in his breath and let it out in a whistle. Semtex. "How does the detonater work?" he asked" -timer, remote control or mercury balance?" "Remote control" the fat man answered.

CHAPTER VI

Mike was just leaving when he heard a rattle behind him. He spun around and caught Joan falling into his arms. Then she pushed away his body. "You were going to use me!" she screamed at him, pushing him away. "Hell" thought Mike, wondering how much she had heard."I heard it all" she screamed in answer to the unspoken question. "All of it" she said again. She slumped down into his arms and began to cry again. Quietly, but with many tears.

CHAPTER VII

Mike smiled. It seemed as if he had overcome all of his problems. He had known that she was catholic but he hadn't known how strong her opinions were. Somehow. perhaps because she loved him, he had managed to convince her that what he was doing was right. He had overcome the problem of 'affecting entry. Joan was against thieves but she hadn't forgotten the tricks of her one-time trade. The only change to  the plan was the promise he had made her the bomb would go off only when he was sure no-one would get hurt. He smiled again, this time at Joan. This time with a hint of nervousness. It was on. For tonight.

CHAPTER IIX

Joan was nervous. Suppose something went wrong. With her prison record she would be back inside for sure. "I must stop thinking like this” she told herself. There was nothing she could do now, even if she had wanted to. And she didn't. Her father had been killed by the army in a street riot, and they had never even apologised. It was that day she became a thief, anything to go against the so-called law. Now, she was doing something about it, the climax of her revenge.

She followed Mike over the wall and landed just as gracefully as he had before her. Now for the alarm. Her plan was a little trick also used by the army to defuse bombs. By squirting water hard onto the appliance, it short-circuted before it had time to work.

Mike felt in his pocket for the glue and began to glue the small handle to the window. When Joan nodded, he brought out the glass cutter and drew a rough circle near the deadlock. He gave it a tap and the glass came out in his hand. Holding it by the handle, he set it down and reached for the deadlock. Opening it, he climbed inside and whispered to Joan that her part had been done and it was time for her to go. Despite the fact that she had protested, they had agreed on this earlier. She bid him luck and made her way back over the wall.

CHAPTER IX

It was on the news in the morning but Joan missed it. In fact she didn't hear about it till the newspaper arrived through the post. It was spread all over the front cover:

I.R.A. MAN KILLED BY BOMB INCIDENT

Joan couldn't believe it. He was dead. The only man she loved since her father and they were both dead. Killed by this bloody stupid war. This was the last sentence she was ever to think as she opened the rest of her mail. Among them was a package. If she had looked closely she would have recognised the writing as Mike's.

The explosion ripped through her body, and as her already dead lungs breathed out their last gasp, it seemed like a sigh of relief.

But no-one could hear her, and now he had silenced her forever.