Modern Fairy Tales for Grown-up Girls

D Ravenswater Tanya

Description

In this darkly humorous collection of short stories, seemingly passive women transcend their expected selves and find forms of escape and retribution within constrained relationships and circumstances. In a voice balancing sharp observation and compassion, Tanya Ravenswater speaks to women and also the men who seek to love and understand them.

Informations

• Publié par: eBookPartnership.com
• Date de parution: 30 janvier 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783013036
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Modern Fairy Tales for Grown-up Girls
Women s Short Stories
Tanya D. Ravenswater
Short Stories Tanya D. Ravenswater 2013
The Author
Tanya D. Ravenswater was born in County Down, Northern Ireland. She graduated in modern languages from St Andrews University, Scotland and later gained an M.A. in Counselling Studies from Keele University, Staffordshire. She has worked as a general nurse, as a counsellor and in counselling education.
Tanya writes fiction and poetry for adults and children, and has facilitated numerous writing projects within an educational context, including creating nature and place-themed anthologies for schools. Her short stories have been published among short-listed entries for the Cheshire Prize for Literature , and her poems have appeared in poetry magazines, such as, among others, Orbis and Obsessed with Pipework .
Tanya currently lives in Cheshire with her husband, two teenage children and an alpha Jack Russell.
The Artist
After obtaining a degree in Creative Arts at Manchester University, Jon Clayton gained experience as an artist and illustrator in various contexts, before becoming a Primary school teacher. He has a particular interest in mixed-media figure and landscape painting, and continues to develop his practice as an artist, undertaking commissioned works, including book illustrations and cover images.
Acknowledgements
To Susan and Paul Feldstein, literary agents and publishing consultants, of The Feldstein Agency, Bangor in Northern Ireland, for their advice and ongoing commitment. Specific thanks to Susan, for her skilful editorial work.
To Jon M. Clayton, artist, for cover illustration and all his support.
To Diana Horner of eBook Partnership, for her help in managing the conversion of text and image to e-book.
To all my family and friends, for their enduring interest and for bearing with !
Contents
The Author
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Pamela Meets Carol-Anne
A Few Words from the Floor
Baby Box
Esther and David
Finding Lucie Miller
Gatekeeper
For the Ravens and M.J.
Pamela Meets Carol-Anne
Pamela s mother, Joan, died in a small Lancashire hospital, on a Bank Holiday Monday. Pamela was forty, her mum only sixty-five. She d been recovering after surgery for her hernia. It was a sudden heart attack. Totally unexpected, the staff nurse said. Such complications were very rare.
There was nothing else for Pamela to do but grieve.
Her capable older sister Anna, and brother-in-law Mike would take charge of Mum s house and all the funeral arrangements. Jeremy and Roger, her Managing Director brothers, would deal with finances. Her husband Tom would take care of any other practical matters as required. Their innocent five-year-old son, Eddie would smile beautifully throughout the funeral and give everyone, except Pamela, something else to focus on. Pamela should simply be allowed to be Mum s youngest daughter and concentrate on her goodbyes, Anna said.
Pamela s Dad and his new wife, Carol-Anne, were flying in from Majorca for the service at the Crematorium. Carol-Anne was still referred to as Dad s new wife , even though they had actually been married for over thirty years. Carol-Anne was the tacky waitress Dad had flirted with on holiday when Pamela was five. Originally from Leeds, Carol-Anne wore bottle tan and flaunted her pushed-up breasts in cheap, stretchy nylon vests. She carried garish handbags, trailing with teenage charms. The summer after that holiday, Mum and Dad had divorced. Dad moved out to Majorca to live with Carol-Anne. Pamela herself couldn t remember it well at all, but Mum and Anna had painstakingly made sure that she had the right memories.
Dad and Carol-Anne had taken over an English pub out in Majorca, and fixed themselves up in a swanky new apartment. Dad paid Mum maintenance and would visit the family, without Carol-Anne, for a few days every Christmas and summer holidays. Dad and Carol-Anne only had themselves to worry about, Mum had always told Pamela.
Pamela s family often still called her by her childhood nickname, Peeple . When Pamela was about four, she was playing a little christening game with her soft-toy family of Troogies. She baptised each toy in turn over the bird bath in the back yard, not caring one bit that the water was full of nasty, icky-brown sludge. When all her Troogies had their names, Pamela had patted her own head with her pudgy wet fingers and announced, I Peeple! I Peeeeple! For some time after the game, Pamela would only answer to Peeple. We think you were trying to say people , Mum had repeated, as Pamela grew up. It was so odd and sweet ! None of the others did anything like that. You were always different. In a little world of your own.
There was no point in Pamela arguing about it. The name had stuck to her, like chewing gum in the middle of a child s silky head of hair, which no one wanted to cut out. It seemed to suit the others to let the name stay attached to her. Her boyfriends, and later even her husband Tom, took their cues from her family.
Like her nickname, most of Pamela s Troogies also accompanied her into adult life. A Troogie was a kind of soft toy rabbit, with a furry body, a cloth head and chewable floppy ears. Mum had got a plastic pack of them for Pamela from the caravan park shop in Filey. She needed to be kept amused, so the others could sit in peace on the camping chairs. The Troogie family had their names round their necks on cloth printed labels. The mum was Gemma, the dad was Alan. The big girl was Kate and the small one was Pixie. The blue-and-white boys were George and Joe. Sadly, Pamela only had Pixie for a year before she got lost.
Even when Pamela had her own son, Eddie, the Troogies were never mixed with his teddies. They stayed propped up, on a quilted cushion in a rattan chair in the corner of Pamela and Tom s room. They were daft really, Tom often said. But if Peeple wanted them, there they would have to stay.
At the Crematorium, Anna arranged for Pamela to sit between Dad and Carol-Anne. Eddie would be no trouble, Anna told Pamela. He would stay with Anna throughout the day and after the service, when they all went back to Mum s house. Eddie would help his Auntie Anna in the kitchen. He would offer nibbles to the guests, in Mum s indestructible melamine bowls. That would make everyone feel better, in spite of the occasion, Anna said. That way Tom can circulate, with Mike, Jeremy and Roger. You can have your own time to think, Peeple. You won t have to bother talking much to Dad and Carol-Anne anyway.
Anna was very good at doing what she did to Pamela. She had done it all their lives. It was difficult for Pamela to explain exactly what it was, but it made her feel cornered. As soon as she started to feel like arguing and pushing Anna away, Anna would offer her even more help and wisdom, which would make Pamela feel even more guilty and cornered, all over again.
OK, Anna. Thanks for that. Pamela surrendered, as usual. Anna had been born to look after people, Mum had said often. Such a pity she and Mike never did have children of their own.
When Pamela arrived at the Crematorium, Dad and Carol-Anne were already seated on the linked mauve chairs with black metal legs. Tom let go of her hand in the aisle and took Eddie to sit with him, in between Jeremy and Roger. Suddenly Pamela felt uncertain and alone like a small, empty boat, cut adrift.
Pamela s seat was in the middle of the second row, which meant that she had to side-step her way along, in front of Matthew and Win, and past Mr and Mrs Howard, before squeezing in between Dad and Carol-Anne. It was the kind of situation that made her feel very sensitive about the undisciplined size of her bottom and how badly she blow-dried the back of her hair.
Hi! Dad said, holding his Order of Service against his chest, awkwardly making a fuss of twisting his knees to one side. Manage ok there? Glad you re with us!
Carol-Anne moved her handbag from Pamela s chair. Sorry! Just keeping your place, love. Good to see you, Pamela! She patted Pamela s knee, her wrist jangling with bracelets.
According to Mum and Anna, Carol-Anne had always been older- and uglier-looking than she appeared in the pictures in Dad s wallet. I think he keeps showing us photos of her in her twenties , before they even met. It s pathetic, Anna would sneer. Actually Carol-Anne didn t look at all bad for her sixty years, Pamela thought now. A bit unusual and a little on the brassy side perhaps, but she had obviously made an effort. Her hair was gathered into a wispy bun and topped with a black fascinator. She was wearing a flamingo pink and orange maxi beach-dress, which she immediately apologised for.
Sorry I couldn t be all in black, love, she whispered, behind a trembly, dimpled hand. Hope you don t think it disrespectful. I don t have anything black and we had to leave Majorca in such a rush, I didn t get the chance to shop. And apologies for the garlic breath! Your Dad insisted we get a baguette on the plane. They didn t warn us about the garlic mayo.
Pamela shared an Order of Service with Carol-Anne. They only had to stand up for two hymns. Mum had never really been a churchgoer, but she had liked The Lord is My Shepherd and Amazing Grace on the radio and television. Whatever anyone believed, Anna said, they had to have two good standard hymns, to cover bases. Carol-Anne linked arms with Pamela. Pamela didn t feel completely comfortable, but was touched that Carol-Anne did.
When Mum s coffin disappeared behind the corrugated curtains, Pamela started to feel tight in her chest. She tried to pretend it wasn t happening, and to ignore the cold tingling in her arms and legs. But the feeling became overwhelming. I can t breathe! she suddenly said out loud to Dad and Carol-Anne. I need to get out of here!
Anna spun round in her front-row seat.
Sit down, Pamela, Dad hissed. We ll be finished soon. Come on, love. Take some deep breaths.