The Tall Man of Spiritworld

On the next page a tale will begin about a remarkably unremarkable woman called Sally. As you turn this page you and she will begin a journey full of adventures that she, and perhaps you, never thought would be experienced in this life. You will open a door to a path of words along which your eyes will journey and perhaps widen in amazement.

Ready?

Chapter 1

‘‘Ello there’ welcomes Sally.

The keen-eyed amongst you will have already noticed her dragonfly brooch, how she stands at a little over 5 feet, and the cheery sheen of her ochre eyes. Those of us who are a little less observant will still no doubt be focusing on her long flop of curly brown locks. The people being welcomed by Sally are ancillary to this story and therefore do not warrant a description.

The space in which they’re seated is best described as ‘cosy’, not because it’s small (which it is), but because of the wood-panelled walls, the very low ceiling, the red velvet curtains and, not least, because of the cast iron log burning stove snapping fire in the corner. Thick carpet matches the colour of the curtains and dulls the sound of the chairs being pulled out from one of the five small tables.

‘Tea?’ Enquires Sally as the room gently rocks.

Her customers accept her offer and seat themselves. It’s such a small space, they must be thinking, so how come it feels so large? Well, they haven’t yet got their tea-tickled heads around Sally’s spatial expertise. No conjuror she, but rather one who knows how to put diagonal lines, mirrors and lighting to good effect. And small tables.

Tipping slightly from side to side, the room matches Sally’s footsteps as she returns to the tiny kitchen, which is in one corner of the room and thus shamelessly displaying the wares necessary to run the café: a large copper kettle which is placed upon the stove; a rack of mismatched mugs; drawers full of crockery and cutlery, and; a glass cabinet displaying two fluffy cakes.

Something chugged past outside and caused the room to maintain its unstable motion, a result of the room being located in a charming narrow boat called Beaubelle. Not as narrow as most of its fellow craft (there are some canals in Birmingham it would struggle to navigate), Beaubelle is painted dark blue, with red roses and cheery daisies depicted along the edges. Picture windows line each side of the café section, portholes illuminate the living quarters. He was built 65 years ago by a frustrated juggler called Frank.

He? You don’t refer to a boat as ‘He’. Well, Sally does. Despite the floral decorations, sprays of dried flowers in the café, and pots of yet more flowers growing on the deck, Sally believes Beaubelle to have a distinctly masculine aura.

There is another key difference between Beaubelle and the other narrow boats moored around him, this one being obvious to not only Sally. The roof of the craft was half covered in solar panels and he was spiked by tall wind turbines at the bow and stern. Whilst his fellow craft were powered by fossil fuels, Beaubelle could travel many miles powered by the sun and wind before needing to stop and recharge.

To be precise; Beaubelle could travel a total of 24 miles, which isn’t a particularly large distance. The average person, if not distracted by cake, will take a little over 8 hours to walk such a distance. It requires, on average, three days of gathering energy from the wind turbines and solar panels to push the craft this far.

Beaubelle wouldn’t be able to travel even half this distance had Frank not constructed him from aluminium, and used other lightweight materials for the floors, doors, frames, sinks, taps, plumbing, toilet, shower, stove, cabinets, stairs, ships wheel, rudder, propeller and door handles.

Sally continued this love of the lightweight with her furnishings and had made walls out of thin strips of wood between which were stretched toughened sheets of fire-proofed cotton. Living alone meant she had no concern for soundproofing, plus this thin material allowed the warmth of the fire to travel the length of the boat.

The inside of this mighty fine craft was painted cream. Where there wasn’t that thick carpet the floor was covered in thin rugs and the walls decorated with entirely random pieces of art. Lanterns sheathed in stained glass dangled from the ceiling and were frequently set swinging by unaware heads.

Should Beaubelle pass between yourself and the sun you would perhaps be struck by his higgledy piggledy silhouette. There were the two wind turbines as well as pots of herbs and vegetables, a chimney with its crenelated crown and a wheelhouse that had room for both Sally and an exercise bike, as well as steps into the heart of the boat. The bike, which was hooked up to a battery, provided additional energy whenever Sally or her guests felt like working off some of that cake.

Whilst we’ve been admiring the oddities of Beaubelle the two visitors have finished their tea, paid and departed. A few minutes later Sally heard the pedals on the exercise bike spin. This did not disturb her. At the entrance to her boat hung a sign:

15 minutes on the bike = free cup of tea!

The cost of the teabag, a splash of milk and heating up the water were more than offset by the 15 minutes of energy being pumped into Beaubelle’s batteries. The cyclist stopped precisely after a quarter of an hour had elapsed.

The café was on the deck below the wheelhouse and so Sally’s first view of her customers was always their feet as they came down the five steps. Such a view almost always told everything Sally needed to know about the rest of the person.

On weekend mornings the feet were usually in running shoes; clean and new for the unfit, worn and dirty for the fanatically fit. Midday on weekdays brought with it the first of the shiny black shoes belonging to office workers. Art school students were often easily identified by their boots (black, purple, big soled and/or personally decorated), new parents by their mismatched socks.

She had never before seen anyone wear green combat boots adorned with tiny plastic skulls — today was day zero for that particular claim. The owner of the boots clomped down the steps, nodded at Sally and settled herself into the chair furthest away from the kitchen. Her black combat trousers were festooned with zips and pockets as was her short jacket — a patchwork of green stitched together with thick brown thread — which reminded Sally of looking down from a plane flying over fields and hedgerows.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello there, please take a seat.’

The tea reward was brought to the customer’s table and cake offered and declined. Concern pulled at the face of this stranger which perhaps aged it a few years above 60. Her long grey hair was vaguely tamed with a bright pink hair tie and fell to the middle of her back. The cup of tea was enveloped by her hand, the dainty handle shunned.

Along the walls of the front half of the café were bookcases blessed with a panoply of fact and fiction. These books were one of Sally’s few concessions to weight, but they brought much joy to both her and her guests. Her current guest was currently distracting herself with the array of titles. Sally thought that she was one of them art school students, even though the hour was late.

‘Are you one of them art school students?’ She politely enquired.

‘No,’ came the smiling reply ‘I’m just visiting.’

‘Ah, well, please do feel free to borrow a book, no matter ‘ow long or short your visit.’

Sally turned and busied herself in the kitchen. Not an art school student? Strange. Many of her more adventurously attired customers were from the art school just along from where Beaubelle was moored. They made up the bulk of her Monday to Friday visitors, their numbers added to by the occasional worker from one of the nearby glass-clad offices.

The strange lady quietly finished her beverage, took a look around the café then stood. She thanked Sally then departed. The 19th hour of this Tuesday had arrived 19 minutes ago. Not expecting many more visitors, Sally closed and locked the doors to her craft. She fetched and cleaned her last customer’s cup then counted the number of slices of cake she had left.

Her final drink-making would be for herself. She poured hot water over a bag of liquorice tea then removed the kettle from the stove and threw one last log on the fire. After making a note to ask her supplier to bring more Victoria sponge, plus a half dozen cheese scones, she lit a candle, placed it in a lantern then turned off the electric lights.

In one corner of the café was a small, decrepit and fantastically comfortable sofa. Sally selected a book from one of the higher shelves and carried it, the tea, and the lantern to the sofa, upon which she settled with her legs curled beneath her.

There was no other resident of this boat, not even mice troubled her. Although customers came and went, loneliness never visited. Sally was a solitary soul who enjoyed the brief company of strangers and the enduring company of fictional characters. They laid out their dramas before her every night to the accompaniment of a wind-up record player on which Sally now spun an Ella Fitzgerald vinyl.

Almost two hours passed, interrupted only by the heating of some noodles and vegetables, and the pouring of a glass of water. The end of Sally’s day was beckoning when she noticed something odd beyond the window. She stood and went to the glass for a better view. Across the night sky a jagged vein of lightning split the darkness asunder. The oddness that caused Sally’s breath to hold was that the dazzling blue electric travelled impossibly slowly and from an imperceptible distance beyond the horizon.

The thunderous crack was not followed by the usual boom, nor was it over in an instant but rather continued on until the front end of the bolt disappeared behind a nearby office block. Seconds later the fizzling line pulsed then vanished. Immediately after came percussive rain.

Ten seconds had passed since the lightning had appeared on one horizon and disappeared over the other. Night’s darkness was now drenched in something sinister. Something which Sally couldn’t understand but which left her feeling uneasy. She checked the lock on the door, made the fire safe then retreated to bed.

While Sally managed to sleep soundly, it was going to be a night of troubled sleep for the Physicist. She knew that something was coming, something evil. Watching that strange lightning from the window of her train home gave root to this rapidly-growing sense of doom. Endeavouring to quell this sense of unease, the green-booted, silver-haired lady reminded herself of the skills she was equipped with to deal with whatever may come her way.

These skills had been learned late in life. There wasn’t a single university course which taught a course on everything that the Physicist had learned. Quantum physics was a vital part of her knowledge (hence the moniker), as was mechanics and engineering. And theology and some martial arts and diplomacy. Oh, and navigation.

Many years — a decade, in fact — had been spent acquiring this knowledge. Days and nights poring through books and attending lectures in various institutions. There were no academic certificates adorning the walls of the Physicist’s remote countryside cottage — she always departed each course as soon as the very last drop of information had been squeezed from it. She cared not for ceremony nor recognition.

Despite this scholarly accumulation the Physicist hadn’t been able to find him. He had left her so long ago and she had been looking ever since. It was her search for him which had drawn the attention of the Monitors and it was thanks to them that she was able to continue seeking him whilst making a living.

Her husband, John, had departed this life over ten years ago. A work accident, so bad that his employers couldn’t produce a body. They also refused to let her know the exact circumstances of his death, a position which was, strangely, supported by the coroner. It was her love for this man that had driven her to dedicate the rest of her life trying to find out what had actually happened to him.

Whatever that strange lightning foretold seemed different to anything she had ever experienced before. Whatever may now come, it would likely involve all her knowledge and skills, not just the usual one or two, such may be its complexity. She had needed a moment in a canalboat café to pull together her thoughts. Still, whatever may come, this is what she had been trained to deal with, and this is what the Monitors paid her for.

The Physicist’s nephew’s daughter Siobhan was sleeping soundly upstairs. She always did when she came to visit her great-aunt. It was bad timing that this visit was likely to last much longer than the others. Siobhan’s parents had been in need of help and were currently going through a particularly difficult time. The Physicist had agreed to go to London to collect her grand-niece and, while waiting for her to finish school, spent some time in a charming canal boat café.

The Physicist sighed and gazed out of her cottage window into the dark garden beyond. Despite her varied skills there was nothing more she could do to help her young relatives. Maybe afterwards, should the worst happen, she could be of more help. She took a final sip and wondered which other dramas had occurred within these walls during the cottage’s 300 years of history.

To further ease her mind towards sleep she went upstairs and took a last look in on Siobhan. The bedroom scene was the epitome of serenity; the napping girl nestled amidst fluffy pillows and duvet, the last surviving stuffed toy from her earlier childhood tucked under one arm.

It was time for the Physicist to shake the image of a delicate five-year-old. Siobhan had been a teenager for two years now and was increasingly independently minded. As well as the Physicist’s elfin looks and curly hair, the girl had also inherited her intelligence. The older woman smiled at the recollection of how her grand-niece had taught her some basic economics — one of the few gaps in the Physicist’s knowledge.

A discordant ringing announced to her that someone was waiting for the telephone to be answered. She rushed downstairs and snatched up the handset before the cacophony awoke Siobhan.

‘Hello?’

‘Physicist?’ A nasally, high-pitched voice.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Accountant 49.’ The Physicist’s heart sunk.

‘What a lovely name.’

‘Oh. Yes. Well, no, my name…’

‘I don’t care. You’re a Monitor, right?’

‘Yes. I expect that you’re already aware of the situation?’

‘I am. You need my help.’

‘It would seem so. Tomorrow I am to brief you on your mission.’

‘Marvellous. I’ll be sure to get some biscuits.’

‘No, you must come to 49.’

‘49? Back to London? I’m afraid that won’t be possible…’

‘And I’m afraid you have no choice. You must start on the trail immediately.’

‘But my grand-niece…’

‘I don’t care. Bring her with you. You know what’s at stake.’

The Physicist didn’t reply. This really was terrible timing. But Accountant 49 was right, she did know what was at stake. Some things were bigger than the events in her own life.

‘Well?’ Came the nasally whine.

‘Where?’

‘St Pancras.’

Exactly where she was yesterday. Damn. The Monitor gave her the details then hung up. Returning upstairs the Physicist glanced at the spectacles on her desk in the compact office. Thin copper wires encircled the frame with a single filament protruding over each lens. At the other end the wires attached to two small watch batteries which were secured against the arms of spectacles. From the lenses emanated flickers of soft light. She hurried over and removed the batteries, the room now in darkness. Not normal. Not normal at all.

In her own bed, she was at last beginning to surrender to peaceful oblivion. Her mind held one last thought before the darkness came; if he was able to take control of a key, he will be coming here soon.

Chapter 2

Siobhan sat sullenly throughout the journey to St Pancras railway station. The Physicist — or Great Aunt Katherine to Siobhan — made a half-hearted attempt to amuse the girl, but her mind was partially devoted to events of far greater importance.

Trains from across the city, country and continent converged at St Pancras. People bustled; people ran. People waited; people hugged. The two recent arrivals from the Cotswolds calmly picked a way through the crowds and exited the station. Outside the skyline was pinned with dozens of tall cranes, their cables reaching towards the ground as if they were pulling new skyscrapers straight out of the earth.

Across the road stood a short man with a few threads of hair trailing across his otherwise bald head. Dark rings shadowed eyes that looked upon the world with supreme disinterest. Upon the breast of his dull suit was a name badge on which ‘Accountant 49’ was neatly printed beneath four bold letters: ‘MOPS’.

He met Siobhan with an insincere smile when the Physicist introduced her. The two adults primly shook hands. Accountant 49 proceeded to extract what appeared to be a small tablet computer from his jacket pocket.

‘Physicist, your assistance has been req…’ he began, before the Physicist interrupted.

‘Hush! Not here, not in front of the girl.’

‘Very well, the office is nearby.’

‘So’s the canal. There’s a lovely café there. Let’s take a walk and show Siobhan the swans.’

The girl rolled her eyes but said nothing. She did, however, store away what the accountant had called her great aunt. As she trailed behind the adults, she pondered what ‘Physicist’ might refer to.

Tuesday mornings, just before midday, are quiet times along the towpath of the Regent’s Canal. Here, just minutes from the large railway stations of King’s Cross and St Pancras, shiny new buildings had been constructed amidst Victorian red brick warehouses — now converted into upmarket shops and restaurants. The Physicist and Accountant 49 were too buried in conversation to notice their surroundings.

‘This is the place,’ said the Physicist when she glanced up and saw Beaubelle, ‘fancy some cake?’

‘Well, I really ought to…’

‘Great!’ exclaimed the eccentric woman before the accountant could deploy his excuse.

Siobhan led the way and found a table towards the front (‘bow’ if you’re of a more nautical persuasion) of the boat. The Physicist joined her and looked around for the accountant. She heard a whirring sound and guessed that the accountant was earning his free cup of tea on the exercise bike they’d passed in the wheelhouse. She shook her head and then smiled up at the colourfully dressed proprietor.

‘Good mornin’. Oh, ‘ello again. Tea?’ Offered Sally.

‘Ooh yes please, pot for two. And I’ll have a slice of that Victoria sponge too. Siobhan?’

‘Chocolate. Please.’

‘Tea for two, Victoria sponge an’ chocolate.’ Sally repeated before returning to the kitchen to prepare the order.

A boat chugged past, the owner of which was temporarily relocating his home and gently rocking the café as he did so. Siobhan gazed out of the window, wondering what it would be like to live on a boat. Their tea and cakes were served to them in and on delicate mismatched china.

‘Accountant!’ The Physicist called out, suddenly impatient. ‘Come and have some tea!’

‘Awww...but...’ Came the whiny reply followed by footsteps. ‘That was precisely ten minutes. May I please have two thirds of a cup of tea?’ Accountant 49 asked Sally.

‘Two thirds of a cup of tea comin’ right up.’ Sally replied, bemused.

The exhausted man joined the Physicist and Siobhan, who agreed to her great aunt’s request to finish her refreshments at a table on the far side of the room so that the two adults could talk in private.

‘So, you need my help?’ The Physicist began quietly, once the girl was out of earshot.

‘We need your assistance, yes. We’ve reason to believe that he has taken control of a guard in section 49. The gate here has been closed and the guard has disappeared, along with the gate’s keystone. We think that the guard was somehow controlled by that lightning from the other night.’

The Physicist knew exactly where the gate was. There were gates throughout the world and they always remained open and guarded by MOPS personnel. A closed gate and vanished guard were serious business.

‘Where did the lighting come from?’ she asked.

‘We’ve reason to believe that it came through the north-Oxford portal.’

‘You mean, from…’

‘Yes, from the other world,’ the accountant replied in an even quieter voice than before.

‘So, you want me to find the guard and his keystone.’ confirmed the Physicist, after pausing to consider this disturbing new development.

‘Yes. He wears a black fez hat, red jacket and red trousers. He’s very tall. We’ve reason to believe that he’s gone to the Other Side.’

The accountant couldn’t meet the Physicist’s eyes as he said this. Instead the Physicist met his words with amazed silence. Sally interrupted the silence with a full cup of tea for the accountant (she was a generous soul).

‘It will be a long journey and so I suggest that you prepare well and find yourself some appropriate transport.’

Across the room entered a man of diminutive stature, bearing two large white boxes that towered above his head. He wore the pristine white uniform of a baker. On the top of both boxes was an elaborate logo that prominently featured the letter Z. Sally greeted him and took the proffered packages.

‘’Ello Zoof. Victoria sponge?’ She asked.

‘Is Victoria sponge and….a delicious chocolate orange cake!’ he exclaimed in an accent so exotic that Sally had never been able to place it.

Bakers tend to have a certain level of enthusiasm for their craft. Conjuring mouth-watering confectionary from simple ingredients required that perfect recipe of skill and passion. Few were as passionate as Zoof, Sally’s excitable supplier whose flopped-over chef’s hat and twirly moustache were currently providing great amusement for Siobhan.

From his white bakers jacket he produced a tiny box which he handed to the girl with a jovial wink. On top of the box was that same Z logo. Zoof then accepted the payment from Sally, bowed to both her and Siobhan then retreated up the steps and back on to the towpath.

Sally grinned at the look of wonderment on Siobhan’s face. Zoof tended to have that effect on people. Indeed, there were many things about her cake supplier that Sally continued to wonder about, in addition to his accent. Did he transport his wares by van, bike or foot? She’d never seen. Where was his bakery? Was that an Indian accent?

The accountant and the Physicist continued their conversation entirely unaware of both Zoof’s arrival and departure.

‘Do you remember the way there?’ The accountant was asking.

‘I do. We should talk about payment.’

‘Payment is already sorted, in all currencies. You’ll have as much money as you need on top of your usual rate plus a special bonus.’

‘Crikey, that’s unusual for you lot.’

‘These are unusual circumstances Physicist.’

‘It would seem so.’

Fully appraised of the situation and fully funded, there was nothing more to say between them. The accountant stood, shook the Physicist’s hand then exited. His cup remained precisely one third full of tea.

The Physicist relaxed into her chair and took stock of her surroundings. It was such a cosy room and she admired the apparent self-sufficiency of the café’s owner. As she swallowed the last of her tea, she wondered how much power the canal boat had.

Name: Beaubelle

Built: 1956

Speed: 3 knots

It had been a frantic morning. The Physicist found it hard enough packing for herself, but trying to help someone two generations younger than her was next to impossible. On top of all this she had to prepare the cottage for an indefinite period of emptiness. Switch off switches, throw away food from the fridge, take the bins out, move plants outside in the hope that rain will sustain them.

As she busied herself with these tasks the Physicist reminded herself of how fortunate she’d been in obtaining transport for the journey. It had transpired that her visit to Sally’s canal boat café had been a lucky coincidence. Once the accountant had finished briefing the Physicist, he’d scurried back to his office leaving her and Siobhan to enjoy the café.

Whilst finishing her tea in Sally’s café, it had dawned on the Physicist that she was sitting in a vessel that ran on renewable energy. It had comfortable accommodation. It had ample room for supplies and equipment. Plus, it had Sally. The Physicist was reluctant to take passengers on this journey but, not only was this Sally’s boat, she knew she’d require help on the other side. Of course, Sally had to first be convinced to offer her boat and services. The Physicist had thought of a way to do just that.

‘Excuse me?’ She had said.

‘Yes? More tea?’ Sally guessed incorrectly.

‘No, thank you. I do, however, have something to offer you.’

‘Oh, really?’ Sally sounded sceptical.

‘Did you notice the lightning last night?’ The Physicist continued, unperturbed.

Sally said that she had and admitted that it had indeed disturbed her. For the next hour the Physicist explained to her the source of the lightning, where it had come from and who had sent it.

‘So, there’s a man who lives in an alternative world, ‘e wants to rule our world but in order to do so ‘e needs to open a door to unleash an army of evil from a very bad world. Oh, an’ the only way ‘e can open that door is by getting’ someone who guards a door in this world to bring ‘im some sort of keystone thingy.’

‘Yes!’ the Physicist said enthusiastically.

‘An’ the door guard might actually be some sorta machine that looks like a tall ‘uman, wearing a black fez ‘at an’ red trousers an’ jacket, but the lightning switched its circuits to take ‘is door key to the evil man.’ Sally’s words now oozed with scepticism.

‘Yes,’ repeated the Physicist, now doubtful that she had been believed.

‘Are you sure you’re not one of them art students?’ Sally asked, hopefully.

Siobhan had been listening in on all of this with a look of awe, amusement, fascination and then awe again. It had always been obvious that her great aunt was a bit eccentric. Now she thought her to be entirely mad. The Physicist had been painfully aware of the girl’s concerned expression. She had also been aware that Sally was far from convinced. There had been only one thing she could have done.

‘Let’s go for a short walk. I’ll show you the gate.

‘Is it far?

‘Five minutes away.’

‘Oh right. Well, I s’pose there’s no customers this time of day. Show me the way to this magic gate then.’

Sally had made the stove fire safe then followed Siobhan and her great aunt out of the boat, which she then locked behind her. The Physicist led them along the towpath, which by that time was entirely free from foot traffic. They walked past some brick Victorian warehouses and around a long curve in the canal.

Then ty came to a lock and, on the other side of the canal, a small lock-keeper’s cottage, no longer in use. The towpath rose to the height of the top of the lock, a small bridge carrying the towpath over the water, another warehouse to the side.

It was under the bridge that the trio now peered, all of them lying on their fronts to crane their heads over the edge. The Physicist had brought a small mirror with her so that they could see more easily.

The door was of normal door height. There were few other normalities about this door, including a lock. Carved into the thick wood were depictions of the Earth and solar system. Elaborate patterns filled every space and, in the upper-right corner, an iron plaque with ‘49’ etched into it.

‘Can’t ever ‘member seeing this ‘ere before.’ Sally commented

‘That’s because it’s always open. The back of the door is made to look like brickwork.

‘And through the door?

‘Through the door is the inside of the warehouse that’s beside us.’

‘So, the door leads nowhere, s’just fixed to the wall?

‘It leads to nowhere that we can see, no.’

‘Right.’

The disbelief had briefly vanished from Sally’s comments, now it had returned. The Physicist sensed this and so took from her bag the same glasses that had been on the desk in her office.

‘Take a look through these. Be careful with them, they’re delicate.’ She handed the glasses to Sally

‘Ooh, fancy specs! Been thinkin’ about getting’ some for meself. Eyes not what they used to be you see.’

Sally had, at that point, put on the glasses and fallen silent. She removed them, studied them more closely, then held one lens over one eye. She looked at the Physicist.

‘They’re spirits,’ the Physicist explained. ‘Normally you don’t see so many, but they can’t get through and so they’re waiting.’

‘Waitin’?’

‘Yes, to go through to the other side.’

‘Which we can’t see.’

‘Right.’

‘Right.’

Siobhan had taken the glasses from Sally. She’d gasped when she peered through them. A crowd of shapes, almost human in form, appeared to be glowing. There were no discernible features, just softly glowing lights that looked like men, women and, here and there, children.

‘So, they’re dead people?’ Sally asked, amazed.

‘They’re the spirits of people who’ve passed away. Some recently, some many years, decades or centuries ago. The ones you see are now ready to pass on to the other place except they can’t. Their door, the one you saw under here, has been closed’

‘The other place?’

‘Yes. The other place, the one which that thief guard has gone to with the key to this door. It’s this place which I need your help getting to.’

‘Is it dangerous?’

‘No, not with me. In fact, it’s actually rather wonderful.’

‘Right-o. Black fez ‘at you say?’

Siobhan had still been looking through the glasses. So many spirits, silently waiting. As she had stared at this incredible vision one of the spirits drifted away from the crowd. It appeared to turn, and Siobhan suddenly got the very uncomfortable feeling that it was staring back at her. She gasped, almost dropped the glasses then stood and ran after Sally and her great aunt who were walking back to Beaubelle.

Packing completed, at last. Kyle, her nephew-in-law, was paying a brief visit from the hospital. He’d hugged Siobhan for an uncomfortably long time and, to the Physicist, looked as though hope was the only sustenance and nourishment he was feeding from.

‘She’s doing OK. Not better, but OK.’ He sighed, once his daughter had departed for her room

‘What’s next?’ Asked the Physicist.

‘Patience. More patience.’

The Physicist suppressed tears and held back the despair. For Kyle and for Siobhan she had to remain strong. A distraction would be most welcome.

‘I’m going to take Siobhan on a canal boat holiday,’ she said.

‘Oh. She’ll love that. Thank you.’

‘We’ll be gone for a while and may not be able to stay in touch.’

‘Don’t worry. As I said, we just need patience.’

The last word came out as a sob from his tightened throat. The Physicist held him and uttered reassurances which she barely believed herself.

Chapter 3

Sally Birdwhistle’s career had always come before pleasure, or finding a partner, or having children. Forged in the capitalist fires of the late 1980’s, she had looked just like you’d expect a corporate high-flier to look; driving a sleek Mercedes Benz, living in a central, minimalist apartment, and wearing suits jackets with shoulder pads that her boss could land his helicopter on. What made her stand out was her ability to spot unlikely opportunities, her dark skin and the fact she was a woman — both highly unusual in a very white male industry.

Beating the odds which she’d been dealt by her impoverished east London upbringing, Sally had become a millionaire by the age of 25. Invited to talk on television programmes about finance, a handsome television producer called Todd one day caught her eye.

‘Invest in that construction firm,’ he told her. ‘You’d be a fool not to buy shares in this pharmaceutical company.’

In the early months of their marriage Todd bought his wife flowers, took her out to expensive restaurants and planned exotic holidays. None of this could be paid for on his salary, of course. Indeed, after they’d been dating for a while, and Sally had told Todd how much she was worth, it was as if he’d won the lottery. He tried to hide his delight, of course, but he was as bad at this as he was at investing.

Sally was too busy and too infatuated to notice Todd’s insidious absorption into her life. Manipulative, greedy and opportunistic, Todd emotionally blackmailed Sally into making some terrible decisions, not least of which was her agreeing to give him total access to her bank accounts.

Within six months of that first date they were married, within another year he had managed to divorce her and run away with most of her fortune. Sally didn’t bother trying to find him, nor did she contact the authorities. Instead she realised that devoting her entire life to making money was never going to make her feel happy or fulfilled if she couldn’t ever find the time to enjoy it.

Sally sold her soulless, minimalist apartment and, with the few funds that Todd hadn’t known about, carefully invested it in green technologies and recycling companies. While the returns from these wouldn’t ever bring her the fortunes to be gained from war, unethical pharmaceuticals, and other such exploitative industries, they were enough to fund a simple lifestyle.

Eventually her investments grew enough to allow her to buy an old canalboat which she found rusting and half-submerged in an east London canal. The owner was delighted to get rid of the boat and was only able to persuade Sally to part money for it when they showed her how unique it was. Having proved that the materials used to construct the boat were both lightweight and sturdy, they explained that this would mean that fuel bills would cost considerably less than if she bought a considerably less decrepit, much more typical steel craft.

With the same passion and drive that had made Sally such a success in the City, she named her boat Beaubelle, had his hull repaired then set about creating the most comfortable and efficient craft in London.

The café was added to Beaubelle not because Sally was in need of additional money, but because she wanted to avoid becoming a hermit. Soon after opening, she realised how much she loved welcoming people into her quirky little space. Sally had a gift for knowing when her customers would welcome conversation, or when they simply wanted time alone. People often made the mistake of thinking that, because of her accent and chosen career, Sally wasn’t particularly intelligent. They could not have been more wrong, but she was happy to let people underestimate her.

Zoof appeared during the second week after the café had opened. He offered Sally a sample of his baking and she immediately put in an order for some cakes to be delivered. From that day on, the squat baker only seemed to reappear at the exact moment when cake stocks started to get low. He offered old favourites, new flavours, and occasional advice, such as kitting Beaubelle out with solar panels and wind turbines so that Sally could be totally self-sufficient.

Sally never heard from her husband Todd again, but that was OK; he now belonged to another life. Cruising the waterways of London, bringing happiness in the form of delicious cakes and perfectly brewed tea, Sally’s second life was a much more fulfilling one.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Would you like to read more? I’m currently looking for beta readers for The Tall Man of Spiritworld. The book is 83k words long and is the first in what will be a 2-part series. Send me a message or comment below if you’re interested!