This is a modern fairy tale based loosely on Grimm’s story, ‘The Fisherman and his Wife.’

When Gavin discovers some fraudulent goings-on at the museum where he works, his wife decides to use the information to get out of their dismal lodgings and improve their life-style.

Gavin the Afternoon Angler

When Gavin woke up at the usual time of 1pm he was pleasantly surprised to see an oblique band of golden sunshine creeping in over the bedroom windowsill.   It beckoned him out into the so-called garden – a minuscule pit of a plot next to the steps that led down from street level to the door of their basement flat.  It was paved with uneven flagstones, and a few straggly weeds struggled up between them.  In the far corner, however, there was a leggy buddleia, and as this was late June the sun was high enough to touch it for a few hours around midday.

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Her mother always told her she’d inherited the bad qualities of the father she never knew.  She believes she’s an untrustworthy person, and nothing can change that.  She’s about to betray a friend when she nearly runs over a dog.  The experience has unexpected consequences.

Reversing the Flow

It’s a relief to hit the motorway.  Now I can just put my foot down.  Tomorrow I’ll reach my destination and get some answers … after a lifetime of not knowing.

“Oh yes, Mum,” I say, a touch of triumph in my voice.  “You may be lying all smug in your grave thinking your secret securely stowed away.  But you couldn’t control everything, could you?  Some hints trickled out, and I’m following the clues.  I haven’t given up hope, you see, except of course of hearing it from your own mouth.”

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A herring gull covered in oil is only one of the many difficulties that Valerie has to cope with at the animal rescue centre.  Her main concern, however, is for her teenage sister who suffers from post-traumatic shock following the death of their parents.

The Herring Gull

The day hadn’t started well and my mood dropped another couple of notches when Kenny appeared in the doorway of the barn cradling a filthy, newspaper-wrapped object with trouble written all over it.  I was on the phone, feeling mutinous but saying nothing, while Roger, the editor of the South Dorset Herald, fired off his endless tirade.  I’d got his drift ages ago.  My weekly animal welfare column was to have its wings clipped.  In future I was to stick to stories about kittens rescued from treetops and emaciated dogs finding happy homes.  Of course he knew how strongly I felt about certain issues, but he couldn’t afford to lose the advertising and – as he pointed out to me – I had my planning permission application to consider.

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The death of a husband can have a destabilising effect not only on the widow but also on her family and friends.  Trying to adjust to the circumstances can be as fraught with unexpected problems as the task of growing a crop of potatoes.

The Potato Plot

14th March:

When I’d finished, I was sweating.  My face was smudged with dirt, dusty soil clung to my bare arms, and all my muscles ached.  I stopped the rotavator and surveyed the result.  Dark, rich, soft and fluffy.  I tried not to think about it, but it’s barely a year since my husband’s coffin was covered with fresh earth.

I manoeuvred the machine out onto the path.  The thick blanket of soil was ready and receptive, crying out for a crop.  Last year’s afflictions – bindweed, nettles, thistles, dandelions and all – had been banished from my potato plot.

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Emmy-Dee copes quite well with her widowhood.  Her grown-up daughter keeps an eye on her, although she’s often busy.

When Emmy-Dee finds a plumber who deals efficiently with her leaking tap and then starts on her backyard, she’s delighted.  Her daughter becomes suspicious and tries to interfere…

The Transformation of Emmy-Dee’s Backyard

“I was just wondering…”

“Yes?”

Bea’s tone wasn’t encouraging, but Emmy-Dee continued.

“Had you forgotten it was your turn to phone me this weekend?”

“Look, Mum.  I was busy sorting out my paperwork.  I’d probably have called you in a moment, if you’d given me a chance.  Is anything wrong?”

“No.  No, of course not.”  Emmy-Dee attempted a little giggle.  “I hadn’t heard from you for a while, you know.  Last time you mentioned you might be coming down to see me.”

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