Margie's entry:
After the Rains Came
Once upon a time, before the rains came, when the sky was wide and blue, and only blue, the air hot and still in the humid heat of a searing sun, a man and his little girl stood hand in hand at the edge of a field. Week after week they had waited for the rains that would not come. And with every day that passed the corn leaves faded and changed from a rich green hue through pale yellow to khaki, from upright to folded, until bent double they exposed the desiccated heads born to die before their time.
The child tugged at her father’s hand. ‘Come, Daddy. Mummy says come and eat.’
The man hoisted his daughter onto his shoulders and trudged up the dusty farm road. Small hands stroked his face. ‘Daddy, why are your eyes wet?’
‘They’re raining, my little Victoria, just raining.’
Once upon a night, the winds rose, pushing ominous shapes across the sky. The man ran outside and silhouetted against the pulsating light from giant sparks, held up his face and his fists to the thunderous heavens. ‘Too late, too late,’ he raged, then raced down the road past his walking plough and dying field, to his horse tethered under a tree.
‘Robbie, come back,’ called his wife, running after him through the rain spewing down in solid sheets. ‘Let it be, we’ll get it tomorrow.’ If he heard her he took no notice. On he raced, on she followed and behind them both cascaded a wall of uprooted trees, rocks and mud gathered by the flash flood pouring down the mountainside….
At daybreak a tear-stained little girl ran barefoot out of the empty farmhouse. ‘Daddy, daddy, mummy, daddy,’ she screamed, brown mud oozing through her toes, slipping, sliding, sucking, holding her down.
Clare's entry:
Secrets and Lies
“Once upon a time,” whispered Maisie, gazing solemnly at the dolls and teddy bears seated around her, “there was a Daddy, who couldn`t be trusted!”
Julie gasped, standing in the hall, watching her four year old daughter through the doorframe. She waited for more. But Maisie had heard that small intake of breath, and her face turned towards the door.
“Mummy?” she queried.
Julie swept into the room and hugged Maisie.
“Hi darling, is it story time? Can I join in?”
Maisie looked at her darkly.
“No Mummy, it`s only for my toys, not for grownups!”
Hastily, Julie chivvied Maisie into her outdoor clothes and, collecting the dog from the scullery, they set off in the autumn sunshine towards the village green.
But later, whilst Maisie was happily munching her tea, Julie`s worries returned as she remembered her mother, Sue`s words, after meeting Paul.
“He`s utterly charming darling, not sure if I trust him though.”
Even then, the words had jolted Julie.
“What do you mean?”
“He just seems a wee bit, well, odd, that`s all. I know London and the publishing business can be a weird world, but there`s something …. oh, I don`t know, I`m sure I`m just being silly.”
Charming was also exactly how her best friend, Pippa, had described him, when she had first introduced them.
“You don`t go out anywhere since Guy … well, since Guy died. There, I`ve said it! It`s been three years on your own with Maisie and it`s time you had a life again. Just come over to dinner on Friday evening, bring Maisie, she can sleep upstairs with our two, then you don`t have to drive back. There`s this charming man you must meet. His name is Paul.”
And so the nightmare had begun, oh so gently.
Christine's entry:
2 Siblings + ˝
Once upon a time… before the storm, that is… our family lived in a golden bubble of perfect happiness. At least that’s how I remember it.
On Thursday the 15th of October 1987 Dad took Mum for her check-up. She was pregnant. They picked me and my brother up after school and we went to Selsey for our favourite beach walk. Our cottage was just outside Chichester, so it was only a short drive.
Robbie and I mucked about as usual, but the atmosphere was heavy – as if charged with a malevolent force. Mum and Dad kept stopping to talk, and their faces were tense, even pained.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a bellowing roar as if a ferocious beast was attacking our house. Mixed in with the howling I heard the garden furniture banging against the patio wall. I rushed to get Robbie and we crept downstairs. Mum was crying and Dad was trying to telephone. He banged the receiver down when there was no connection.
The wind ripped a length of guttering from the eaves and a window shattered upstairs. Our confused questions drowned in the storm-fuelled chaos and suddenly Dad pulled us all down on the floor in front of the inglenook fireplace. Seconds later we heard a drawn-out groan and crunch as our ancient copper beech was torn out and flung into the conservatory.
We lay there, huddled together until the storm had exhausted itself… our last – enforced – family cuddle.
Daybreak revealed the true, ugly extent of the devastation.
Mum left and we went to stay with our grandparents. Our half-sister was born two months later. Although I didn’t meet her for twelve years, I already hated her with all the fury of the gale that destroyed our family’s golden bubble.
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