lifestyle
Short Stories High Elms
by STELLA EAMES I thought of the solution whilst engaged in the most mundane of tasks – washing the kitchen floor one Saturday afternoon with the radio on. I put down the mop and bucket and took off my apron. It was a perfect day – hotter than most spring days. Leaving the kitchen floor to dry, I put a bottle of water, a sandwich and a book in my bag and walked to the nearby woods at High Elms. I often go there. It’s one of my favourite places, a half hour walk, mainly through a park and then along footpaths. Once there I skirted the car park, noting that it was busy, and settled in a corner of one of the open spaces, resting my back against an old elm tree, enjoying its shade. I could see dog walkers and mothers with children. There was no one near me but I enjoyed their distant voices, watched the children running about and listened to the hum of insects and the birdsong. I never opened the book and, in the warmth of the sun, I admit I nearly dozed off. Nearly, but not quite, because I had chosen this quiet corner for some thinking time. I think best, not in absolute isolation and silence, but when human activity surrounds me, but busy with their own lives. No-one taking any notice of me that’s a big plus. I can understand why J K Rowling wrote in her local café rather than at home. That’s the kind of environment I need to try to work through the solution to a problem that’s been worrying me. The problem – I want to be a writer. But I work and have a mortgage to pay. I can’t just give up work and take a creative writing course. But I need help and direction in how to plan my book. I want to write a crime novel. But how can I fund my course and the time out I’ll need to write the book? And would I actually have the creativity to think up an interesting plot and its solution, plus all the other essentials you have to include – such as the tangled love life, over – reliance on alcohol, childcare problems, rebellious teenagers, or all of the above, of the lead detective? Yet maybe… I could give up my own en-suite bedroom to a lodger and charge £500 a month all in. I would use the so-called box room. She’d be at work all day giving me peace to write. I’ve always been reasonably thrifty and good at saving the modest lump sums which come my way from time to time.
26 Life in... Orpington October 2020
Jotting on a pad from my handbag I made a list. Starting with clearing out my bedroom for the lodger. Second – place the advert. Non-smoking professional female wanted etc etc. Distracted from my thoughts by a piercing voice I looked up and saw a well-dressed woman plunging into the woods. I assumed the Molly being shouted for was her dog. I glanced at my watch – half past five, no wonder the sun is going down and it has become a bit cooler. Stiffly I got to my feet, noticing that the green space was empty of people now. I could still distinctly hear Molly, Molly come here girl. Walking alongside the edge of the wood took me past the carpark, now containing just the one car. Molly’s owner’s probably. I’ve noticed that most dogs get driven to their walks by car, few actually arrive at High Elms on their own four paws. I couldn’t help noticing that the rear window had been left open. Not uncommon, I’ve often noticed dogs with their heads out of an open car window. I’ve nearly left a window open myself and I don’t even have a dog. Keeping an eye open, I casually strolled through the car park as though my route naturally took me past the car. Molly, Molly could still be heard distantly and out of sight. Slipping on my gloves (yes I’m good, that’s why I’m inspired to write crime fiction), I reached through the open window and unlocked the car door. No alarm sounded. Good. I sat briefly in the driver’s seat to operate the boot unlocking lever. Then run round to the boot, still no-one in sight, yes there’s a handbag. Empty it out, remove most of the banknotes from the purse, put everything else back, close the boot and walk briskly away, never run. I never hang round to check, but my theory is that Molly’s owner (and all the other idiots who leave money in their cars) won’t notice anything amiss til the next time she uses her purse – and only even then if she knew how much was in it in the first place. As I said, High Elms is my favourite place and no-one notices me there. Would you like to submit a short story? Email lauretta@lifeinmagazines.co.uk for details.
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