Rest In Peace

Posted at 8:09 PM, 20/6/2006 in Short Stories

McNally shifted his bulk on the hard-backed chair. He never could get comfortable in standard sized chairs. His own chair back at the station had been specially made to fit him perfectly. The nurse checked the patient and wrote something down on the chart at the end of the bed. She certainly wasn’t comfortable having the huge detective watching her every move.

"Wait! Did you see that? He moved." McNally gestured to the old man in the bed and the nurse redid her checks.

"I’ll get the doctor." She spoke calmly and quickly disappeared out the door, relieved to be out of the tiny room.

McNally peered closely at the old man’s face. The wrinkled eyelids twitched ever so slightly again but didn’t open. This old man was the only person who could identify his shooter. What if he didn’t remember? If that aged memory failed, Walter John Mitchell would walk! Again!

McNally had been tracking Mitchell for years. Everyone said it was an obsession, especially his ex-wife. Was it wrong of him to want justice for his partner’s death? Not to mention Mitchell’s other victims. McNally didn’t think so.

Columbus had saved his life that day. McNally was certain he had been the target, his uniform making him stand out in the crowd. Columbus didn’t wear a uniform. He knocked McNally down and when the bullet came, it hit him squarely in the chest.

Time hadn’t dulled the memory for McNally. He hadn’t even heard the shot; the most vivid memory was Columbus’ blood soaking his shirt as they fell together to the pavement. Columbus had met his fate with courage and died in the line of duty, sacrificing his own life for the life of the man would be his only partner. Columbus was buried with full police honours and as the coffin was lowered into the ground, McNally vowed to find his partner’s killer and put him away for a very long time.

With Columbus’ death still fresh in his mind, McNally transferred out of the squad. He couldn’t bear to watch the other officers training one-on-one with their partners. Being a detective meant he could continue to be a police officer but as he didn’t always have the same partner, it was easier to bear the loss. Being a detective also meant he could keep his vow.

The door swung open and the doctor nodded to the detective as he made room beside the bed. After the usual checks, he motioned for McNally to follow him into the hallway.

"It looks promising, but it could be hours before he regains consciousness. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll call the station if there’s any change." The doctor put his hand on the big detective’s arm. "I know how important this is to you, but with a head injury like this and at his age too, he might not remember much."

"I know, I know. I hear what you’re saying Doc, but I can’t leave yet. This is the closest I’ve come to nailing this guy." McNally turned back into the room and, moving the chair back beside the bed began his vigil.

McNally pulled out the well-worn folder containing everything he had on Mitchell. The list of victims’ names nearly filled a whole page; Columbus appeared halfway down in McNally’s bold handwriting. It was underlined too.

The old man had been lucky, all of Mitchell’s other victims didn’t even make it to the hospital alive. The bullet had been deflected off a metal plate in his forehead, the solid reminder of another violent encounter ironically saving his life.

It was close to midnight when someone waved a steaming coffee cup under his nose. The detective gratefully accepted the cup from the nurse and when he turned back to the bed, his eyes met the old man’s.

"Hello Mr Wallace. I’m Detective Michael McNally, from Westminster Police. I need to ask you some questions, if you’re up to it?" When the old man nodded, he moved the chair even closer and opened the notebook.

"I gave him all the cash I had, why did he have to shoot?" The voice was faint but steady. "I’ll never forget his face."

"That’s just the type of animal he is." The detective had to stop himself from shaking at the old man’s words. This was the break he had been waiting for so long. He held the mug shot out to Wallace. "Is this the man who broke into your home and shot you?"

"Yes. Yes, that’s him."

"Thank you, Mr Wallace. With your help, this man will get what he deserves." McNally put the photo away in his notebook for the last time. "I’ll see to it he goes away for a very long time."

Walking back to his car, McNally felt a great weight lifting off his shoulders. Mitchell was history now. No more loopholes and false alibis to get him off the hook.

"Cop Killer Jailed!" The newspaper headline summed up the outcome of the trial in three neat little words. McNally folded the paper and smiled to himself. Justice might be slow but it eventually catches up. He picked a loose thread off his reissued uniform. It felt good to be part of the squad again. There was just one more thing to do.

The wreath might have seemed a little unusual but the florist wasn’t surprised. It was the same one McNally had ordered for the funeral. From the florist’s, it was only a short drive to the cemetery, which was smaller than the one where Mitchell’s other victims lay.

"We got him, Col. You can rest now, buddy." McNally placed the wreath with its dog bone centrepiece against the headstone. He picked up his new partner’s lead and together they left the pet cemetery.

Money or Love

Posted at 7:36 PM, 6/6/2006 in Short Stories

Grace didn’t give the mail a second thought as she dumped the pile on the table. It had been a long day and what she really wanted was a hot cup of coffee, and maybe a chocolate biscuit or three.

It wasn’t until the twins were in the bath that she sorted the envelopes into categories and came across the plain white envelope. G. Harris, 114 Merrian St, Wintergarden. The handwriting was unfamiliar and the postmark smudged. There was no clue as to where it came from or who had sent it. Maybe it was for Graham. He had only been gone a couple of months. Should she send it over to his new apartment?

‘Mummy, Mummy!’ Simon stood in a puddle of water, tugging at her sleeve. ‘All the water’s gone. Sally did it!’

‘Did not!’ Sally joined her brother making the puddle even bigger.

‘Did too! Did too!’

‘All right! Enough! Mummy’s had a busy day and she’s very tired.’ Grace took a big breath and silently counted to ten. ‘It doesn’t matter who pulled the plug out, it’s done. Now up those stairs and let’s get you dry and into pyjamas.’

After several stories and the usual requests for drinks, Simon and Sally were finally down for the night. Grace sat at the kitchen table, writing cheques. If she timed things right, her pay should cover them all, with just a little to spare. So much for Graham’s support for his children. The monthly pittance didn’t stretch that far.

Grace picked up the white envelope again and held it up to the light. Disappointingly the envelope was too thick for her to see anything.

‘This is silly, Grace. Just open it. It’s for you anyway.’ Grace thought aloud. ‘Just you’re luck, it probably a chain letter.’

A neat little packet fell out of the envelope. Inside were ten fifty-dollar bills. Grace double-checked the sheet of paper the notes had been wrapped in. It was totally blank.

It wouldn’t have been from Graham; he needed to see the relief in Grace’s eyes when he handed over any money. Grace wrapped the money up again and put it back inside the envelope. Who did it come from? And what was it for?

Grace always loved a good mystery but they were usually the ones she got from the library. Could someone she knew have taken pity on her single parent situation and was afraid she would refuse a financial hand? Or was it something more sinister? She instantly banished the thought. It was either Graham’s in some shady deal or it was some kind of fairy godperson.

Grace put the envelope in the hatbox in her wardrobe. If Graham asked for his mail, she would say she opened it by mistake and put it away for safe keeping. If he asked why she hadn’t rung him about it, she would say she never liked to ring him at work. And if she rang him at the apartment, she might have to speak to the almost teenage Gabby. Or maybe, she would just say there wasn’t any mail.

With her job being so busy, and the twins being such handfuls, Grace had little time to ponder the mystery of the envelope money. Graham didn’t ask about mail so he obviously wasn’t expecting any envelopes with large amounts of cash inside. In fact, he told Grace that business was so slow he wouldn’t be sending any money this month. Of course, Gabby wasn’t one to scrimp on anything so Grace could just imagine where her children’s support money was going.

Three days later, another envelope arrived. Just a little bit paranoid, Grace took it upstairs and opened it on her bed, with the door closed and curtains drawn. Once again there were fifty-dollar bills wrapped in plain white paper. This time there were fourteen.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Grace compared the two envelopes. The postmarks were different but the handwriting was definitely the same. As Grace studied them with Simon’s magnifying glass, she discovered both envelopes had been recycled.

The original name and address must have been written on a sticky label, and after peeling it away, her name and address had been written in the space. Was the sender saving the cost of a stamp by reusing the old one? Or had the envelopes been hand delivered? The very thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Grace now had over a thousand dollars in her wardrobe. She was tempted to spend some of it on new clothes for all of them. Goodness knows the children could both use some new shoes! She was tired of having to fill the radiator every time she drove the car so getting it fixed would be high on the list too. No one would be the wiser if she kept her spending small and ordinary.

The twins were strapped into the back seat of the car, which now ran like a dream, drinking their first ever store-bought chocolate milks. There was a mountain of groceries to be unpacked and Grace wasn’t even a little concerned about how she was going to fit it all into the cupboards; they had been pretty empty for a while.

As she drove down towards the house, Grace noticed a man she didn’t recognise near her letterbox. Was he delivering another plain envelope? When she pulled up in front of the house next door, he jumped away from the box and walked quickly down the street.

Grace waited until he had disappeared up the lane before she drove into her own drive. There was no plain envelope with the mail but Grace was sure the stranger had something to do with them.

Over the next month, there were four more envelopes. She had seen the stranger twice, both times walking away from her house. And both times, there was an envelope in the letterbox. The amounts varied but it was never less than five hundred, and once there was nearly five thousand.

‘Could this be counterfeit?’ She asked herself for the hundredth time as yet another bundle of cash was added to the stash. The notes all looked real enough and no one had questioned them at the shops or garage.

‘Grace. Grace.’ The voice calling her name broke through her thoughts.

‘Oh, hello Mrs Sumner. I’m sorry. I was miles away.’ Grace took the book and library card from the old lady’s out-stretched hands. ‘Is it only one book this week?’

‘Yes, thank you dear. Are you thinking about that poor unfortunate man from number four? Such a terrible thing to happen in our street.’ Mrs Sumner was a bit of a gossip and loved to have a chat. Grace had no idea what she was talking about and, seeing it was already time to pick up the twins, she didn’t really have time to find out.

‘Yes, terrible.’ She replied quickly, making a show of checking her watch. ‘Is that the time already? I’d love to stay and chat, Mrs Sumner but I really must get going. The twins get so upset if I’m late picking them up these days.’

‘Of course dear, off you go. It must be hard raising those darlings alone. That father of theirs should be horsewhipped for deserting you all.’

Grace nodded in agreement as she dashed out the door. She was only a few minutes late but the twins hugged her extra tightly.

‘We thought you weren’t coming, Mummy.’ They wailed. ‘Just like Daddy.’

‘Well Mummy isn’t like Daddy. I’ll always be here.’ Grace tried not to put Graham down but sometimes she could just throttle the man. ‘After dinner we’ll go to the park for a swing, okay.’

The street was blocked off with blue checked tape and several police cars. Grace had to show her licence to prove she was a resident before they would let her though.

‘Maybe I should have listened to Mrs Sumner’s gossip for a bit.’ Grace thought as she drove slowly though the crowd gathering around the townhouses.

Her end of the street was quiet and after dinner, she took the twins down to the park as promised. Most of the neighbourhood was out in the street and everyone was talking about the man from number four.

‘I heard he was killed by the mob.’

‘Stole some money from ‘em, he did! Thousands of dollars he was supposed to be laundering.’

It was difficult to tell if the talk was true or just people voicing their own ideas.

‘Well, it’s such a pity about the gardens. Unit one always had the best gardenias in the street.’

Listening to the chatter, Grace suddenly had a very awful thought. It couldn’t be! She called the twins and they walked home, careful not to attract too much attention.

She put the twins to bed and retrieved the hatbox from the wardrobe. It was still quite full. The envelopes were bound together with a hair ribbon just like love letters. Some love letters!

The more envelopes she looked at, the more convinced she was that they had been delivered to the wrong address. The second number one was actually a slash, but having been written on the roughed-up part of the envelope, it could easily have been mistaken for another number one.

So the correct address was 1 / 4 Merrian Street, the murder victim’s address!

Grace felt her heart skip a beat. What if the killers figure out what happened and come looking for their money? They had to get away from Wintergarden!

The ringing phone cut short her frantic thoughts. It was Graham.

‘I need you to move out of the house. Gabby’s pregnant and we need the room.’

‘What about us? What about your other two children?’ For all his faults, Grace never thought Graham would ever throw them out on the street.

‘The house is in my name too, Grace. And if you don’t do what I want, I’ll go for custody too. After I’ve finished with you, no court would give you custody of a budgie! You’ve got a week!’

With the dial tone bleating in her ear, Grace hung up and sank into the sofa. Where would they go? She suddenly remembered her aunt and uncle in the country.

‘Oh Grace, your Auntie May is airing out the spare rooms as we speak.’ Uncle Jack’s booming voice told her it would be all right.

The next day Grace gave her notice at the library, blaming the stress of single parenthood, and receiving a glowing reference and a week’s pay.

‘I hope you and Gabby are very happy.’ She muttered under her breath as she dropped the keys off to Graham at his office.

She made another stop on the way out of town; the local charity accepted the hatbox without question. What a surprise they would get when they opened it!

Life got a whole lot better for Grace and the twins. The locals had really warmed to the Douglas’ niece and the twins were thriving in the country air. Grace worked some shifts at her uncle’s café and one of the eligible men had taken a real interest. She found herself falling for Michael Pickering’s easy manner.

‘Mob Strikes Again!’ The newspaper headline struck deep in Grace’s heart. Getting paler with every word, Grace read about another murder in Merrian Street, a double murder. Was it a coincidence that all three victims had the same initial and last name? the newspaper asked.

‘I suppose you have an idea about why this happened?’ Uncle Jack pushed a strong coffee across the café counter. ‘Want to talk about it?’

Between sobs, the whole story came out. When she looked up, Grace met the eyes of both her uncle and aunt. They nodded understandingly.

‘What about the baby?’ whispered Grace. ‘There’s no mention of it.’

‘I’ll find out. Don’t you worry about it any more.’

On the outside she appeared her normal self, if a little preoccupied. Inside however, Grace was tormented by the though of Graham and Gabby’s baby.

News came swiftly. Apparently one of the killers had been caught. They hadn’t believed the two victims when they swore to know nothing about any money, and decided to end it once and for all. Grace sighed with relief; her and the twins were safe. No one was going to come looking for them. The baby, Graham Jr, was being cared for by Social Services, as relatives hadn’t yet been found. If no family came forward soon, he would be put up for adoption.

‘I’m going to adopt Graham’s baby.’ Announced Grace at dinner the following night. ‘After all, he is the twins’ half brother. That makes us family, doesn’t it?’

‘Don’t do it out of guilt, Grace love. You’ll only regret it later and that wouldn’t be fair to you or the kids.’

Grace knew Michael spoke out of love and concern for her but she was determined to go ahead with her plans. She just hoped it wouldn’t upset his more obvious plans for her family.

Social Services were very surprised to hear from Graham Harris’ ex-wife. Seeing no family had come forward, they sent a social worker to visit Grace.

‘Why would you want to adopt the son of your ex-husband and his second wife?’ The question was innocent enough. ‘We understand the divorce wasn’t exactly pleasant.’

‘This doesn’t have anything to do with them, or me. Graham Jr is half brother to my twins. Regardless of Graham’s behaviour, I think his son should be with family.’ Just managing to keep her hands steady as she cleared the empty cups away, Grace held her breath as the social worker wrote down everything she said.

‘I won’t promise anything but I can’t see why Graham wouldn’t be placed in your care.’ The social worker closed the file. ‘You’ll hear from us soon.’

Michael watched Grace closely as they waited for the department’s decision. While he loved Simon and Sally like they were his own, he wasn’t sure if adopting another one was such a good idea. Actually he would have liked Grace and him to have one of their own.

‘You know I’ll support you with this adoption thing. But on one condition. Marry me, Grace. Let’s be a real family for Graham Jr.’

‘Can I think about it?’ Grace never expected to remarry but Michael was everything that Graham hadn’t been. He would make an excellent father and the twins adored him. And she suddenly realised how much she adored him too.

Once again, in the space of a few months, Grace found her life changing. Social Services supported her adoption of Graham Jr, due largely to the twins’ blood ties. And her impending marriage to Michael.

As the mild spring evening faded, Michael waited in the garden with their family and friends. Grace, dressed in a loose flowing gown, walked up to him and just as he was about to kiss her, she whispered in his ear.

‘Just how do you feel about four children?’

A Mother's Help

Posted at 10:02 PM, 11/5/2006 in Short Stories

‘You can’t make me! You’re not my mum!’ Luke stormed off down the hallway and slammed his bedroom door.

Karen sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. This step-mothering was the hardest work she had ever done. After six months you’d think it would get a little easier, but Luke refused to adjust to the new living arrangements.

If only Derek hadn’t taken that fly-in fly-out job with the mines. Having his dad around more often would take some of the pressure off Karen.

‘It’s only for a few months, just til we get back on our feet. All the extra bills, what with the ceremony costing so much.’ Derek’s words trailed off into silence.

He still loved Sarah in some strange sort of ‘ex-wife’ way. They had been divorced well before Karen came along, although Luke tried to imply otherwise at every opportunity. Karen was pretty accepting of most things and had always thought she was thick skinned too, until last August.

Everything was going just fine until then. Until Luke had come to live with them permanently. And in the most difficult of circumstances too. When Derek was home, things just bubbled away under the surface. When he was away, the whole Luke volcano blew up on an almost daily basis.

It was nearly dark and the house was quiet. Like most nights after a yelling match, Luke hadn’t come out of his room. Karen covered his uneaten dinner with wrap with a practised hand and put it in the fridge. It would disappear eventually, either in Luke’s stomach or in the bin. She put the kettle on and sat on the back porch waiting for it to boil.

‘It will get better, you know. Teenage boys always rebel.’

The soft voice startled Karen out of her wits. The last person she expected to see on her back porch was Sarah! Sarah looked exactly the same as the last time Karen had seen her, right down to the same shade of pink lipstick. They hadn’t even had a conversation on that occasion.

Recovering quickly from the initial shock, Karen contemplated Sarah’s words and could detect no hit of malice. Just as well as she was looking after Sarah’s son and his father. She might as well get something useful out of this unexpected visit.

‘Do you think so? I’m at my wits’ end and Derek isn’t much help up in Newman.’ Karen ran her fingers through her hair and gestured politely to the other cane chair.

‘Luke just needs more time to adjust to what’s happened.’ Sarah slid into the chair and sighed. ‘You know his favourite dinner is tuna casserole. He’d never let that get plastic wrapped and put in the fridge. I remember having to make it for a whole month because he would eat nothing else.’

‘How did you know about the..oh never mind.’ Karen shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose you would tell me the tuna casserole recipe?’

Their conversation went on well into the night. Sarah had wanted to look in on Luke before she left and Karen had let her. After all, the boy was asleep and what could it hurt? It wasn’t like Luke would see her.

The next afternoon Karen put their plan into action. The tuna casserole was cooking away in the oven and she resisted the urge to question her stepson about his day the moment he entered the kitchen.

‘What’s that you’re cooking?’ Luke dropped his school bag in the middle of the floor and began to raid the pantry.

‘It’s tuna casserole.’ Karen didn’t turn from the sink but she held her breath waiting for a reply.

‘It won’t be as good as my mum’s.’ Stomp, stomp, stomp went size nine runners down the hallway.

‘Well at least the door didn’t get slammed today.’ Karen thought aloud. ‘I wonder what Sarah will make of that.’

That night, Sarah met Karen on the porch. After rehashing the day’s improvements, and imparting some more words of advice, she took another silent look in on her son and left.

When Derek came home for his week with them, Karen didn’t tell him about Sarah’s visits. She didn’t really know why she didn’t, and as Sarah didn’t visit while he was home, it seemed the right thing to do. Besides, Karen didn’t want Derek to think she couldn’t look after his son without Sarah’s help.

It took another few months before Luke stopped comparing everything she did to how his mum had done things. They were still a long way from being close but at least he was talking civilly most of the time.

Sarah continued to visit and Karen had come to expect her presence on the back porch most evenings. The two women spent most of their time trying to come up with ways to help Luke come to terms with his current situation. They could never go for coffee and cake, but mother and stepmother were becoming friendlier.

‘Can you get that phone please, Luke? My hands are covered in breadcrumbs.’ Karen called from the kitchen where she was making rissoles; another recipe gleaned from Sarah’s memory.

‘Yeah, yeah! I’m getting it.’ Luke wasn’t exactly in a good mood. He had been plugged into the stereo trying to study at the same time, against his stepmother’s instructions.

He came into the kitchen, his face pale and silently handed the cordless phone to Karen. She took the phone and after a short hushed conversation, hung it up.

‘Can I go see him?’ Luke asked quietly.

‘The company are sending him down with the Flying Doctor.’ Karen tried to keep her voice steady and failed. ‘We can meet the helicopter at the hospital.’

It had been a freak accident, the company man had said. Two other miners had been killed but it seemed Derek had left just before the explosion rocked the shaft. That was strange in itself, as he was only partway through his shift.

Karen and Luke arrived at the hospital as the helicopter landed on the roof. They waited together outside the theatre as Derek was operated on, and saw him settled in intensive care before the nursing staff insisted they go home to sleep.

Sarah didn’t come to the hospital but she met Karen on the porch as she arrived home. Luke, upset and half-asleep, stumbled into the house without lifting his head and went straight to his room.

‘No need for a long talks tonight, I know what’s happened.’ Sarah reached out and Karen felt a chill run down her spine. ‘Luke needs you. They both do. Luke will accept you have a place in his life, especially now his dad needs you more than ever.’

Derek’s rehabilitation took more time than Karen could ever imagine. Luke helped out around the house and the three of them started to be a real family.

Late at night, Karen would sit on the back porch unwinding and waiting for Sarah. Karen had started to feel that Derek and Luke were finally her’s alone and she didn’t really need Sarah’s advice any more.

Sarah must have come to the same conclusion, as her visits were becoming fewer. Karen suspected she was looking in more often but Derek and Luke never mentioned her visiting. It wasn’t long after Derek’s discharge from hospital that she came to see Karen for the last time.

‘I don’t think you need me to come visiting any more, Karen. I know that Derek and my son are in good hands. Love them like I do and you can’t go wrong.’

Karen watched as Sarah slipped through the wall and glided silently down the hall to have one last close look at Luke before she passed on for good.

Fateful Flight

Posted at 8:47 PM, 4/5/2006 in Short Stories

Hannah walked to the hangar and stopped at the door. Was she just tempting fate, she wondered for the fifth time? Ever since that visit to the fortune-teller at the mall with her sister, she had been extra careful whenever she had a flying lesson.

Doug the flying instructor had taught hundreds of people to fly and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her while he was up there in the cockpit. The first few lessons had been about as dangerous as driving on the road.

‘On the tenth day your feet are off the ground, you will not get home.’ The fortune-teller had delivered the vision without any expression in her voice. The rest of the reading had been pretty ordinary.

All the way home, Hannah’s sister begged her to stop the flying lessons. Rose believed in star signs, horoscopes, and palm reading. She lived her life by the stars.

Hannah was the exact opposite. Hannah wanted to be up in the sky with the stars. If she couldn’t get to them, then the clouds would do.

Hannah enjoyed her trips into the sky. Rain, hail or shine, she would turn up for her lessons at the local airfield. It was like a drug, she had to keep going back for more. Only one more lesson and she would be able to fly a short solo trip around the airfield.

The lesson was as uneventful as all the others before it were. After executing yet another near perfect fly-over, Hannah put the little plane down without a bump. Doug was impressed.

‘That was very nearly the best landing you’ve done yet! You’re a natural pilot.’ Doug signed the paperwork and handed Hannah her student file. ‘When do you want to go up solo?’

‘I’ve only got Thursday afternoon free.’ Hannah pulled off the flying jacket and packed her equipment away.

‘It would have to be the one day I’ve got off,’ grumbled her instructor. ‘I guess you’ll finally get to meet my trusty sidekick.’

Hannah had heard about the trusty sidekick, Pete, from other students. Apparently he was really hard to get along with, but was almost as good a flyer as Doug. At least I won’t actually have to be in the cockpit with him, Hannah thought.

For the next two days, Hannah thought of little else but her first solo flight. Rose continued to remind her of the fortune-teller’s warning, phoning almost hourly.

‘Doug wouldn’t let anything happen to me. The plane is going to be checked by Pete, who is just as good as Doug.’ Nothing Hannah said would convince her sister and she continued to bombard her with phone calls.

Thursday morning was foggy, cold and dark but Hannah’s spirits were high. Only a snowstorm would have kept her out of the sky today. Fortunately, it never snowed this far north. By the afternoon, the sky was still dark but conditions were clear enough for flying. Not ideal for a first time solo flight but Hannah was confident enough. If she had doubts, she could always ask Pete to come along as a co-pilot.

Pete was already checking the plane over as Hannah pulled on her jacket and strode over to the hanger. As she got closer, she could see his face frowning at her from under his beanie.

‘Are you sure you’re capable of flying this plane?’ he remarked, looking her over.

‘Most definitely!’ Hannah replied all thought of asking for a co-pilot disappearing with Pete’s remark about implied lack of skill. ‘Doug signed me off two days ago.’

His checks completed, Pete ran her through the cockpit checklist and gave her some final instructions.

‘The runaway is a little higher than this ground, so the fog will be minimal up there. Once you clear the fence, pull the usual right hand turn. Your return approach should be directly over the car park. Don’t make it a long flight, the fog will be closing in on the runaway soon enough. Good flying.’

‘Thanks, Pete.’ Hannah put on her harness and started the engine.

The engine refused to start. Maybe it was just the cold, damp air. Maybe it was a sign. She was all alone in the cockpit, no Doug to make sure nothing happened to her. Hannah shook her head. Damn Rose and her fortune-teller!

‘It’s just cold. Give it a minute and try again.’ Hannah said to herself.

She looked out the window towards the hangar and Pete gave her the thumbs up sign. Now that’s a sign! Hannah felt herself relax and when she turned the key again, the engine roared into life. Taxiing up to the runaway, Hannah saw Pete had been right about the fog. She could see the way clearly and was soon going through her take-off list.

Once up in the air, Hannah felt so free. She flew over the fence and turned right. She could see for miles up here. The fog was gathering over the low ground and the hills rose up like little green icebergs.

‘So much for fortune-telling!’ Hannah said aloud as she turned for the last leg back to the airfield. The light was just beginning to fade but she could make out her little white hatchback all alone in the car park.

And that’s when the vision’s true meaning hit her. In the fading light she could just make out the dim glow of the headlights she had left on. Just before the car battery died and they went out.

The End