Mulled Vine

She had a small, angular face, dark eyebrows and bright, piercing blue eyes. She held her hands together in front of her, looking at me anxiously.
“You want … how you say .. sexy?”
Sexy? At my age? I most certainly didn’t, well at least not with a complete stranger, pretty or not.
I shook my head and made to pass on, but she reached out and grabbed my arm.
“Please. I give … good time. Little money.”
I turned to her, looked into her hungry, imploring eyes, and smiled.
“How much?”
Her anxious expression returned.
“Tventy punds.”
I reached into my wallet, pulled out a £20 note, and gave it to her.
She looked at me expectantly, then took hold of my coat lapel.
“You see … I do nice.”
I took her hand gently and lowered it, shaking my head.
“No. You take the money and go home.”
She looked at me quizzically.
“Go home,” I repeated.

(A joint venture over coffee and smoothie by Daughter and Dad)

 “They don’t understand! They’ll never understand!” I said under my breath. I stormed into my room and sulked on my bed. I started to drift into a deep slumber. I dreamed I was on a cloud, floating above a magical land with waterfalls, lakes, forest and mountains. It was beautiful. All of a sudden I was entering a lightning storm. I woke up. It wasn’t a dream.

I began to worry because it couldn’t be real. I could not be floating on a cloud. Yet here I was; there was no denying it! The cloud floated on through the storm and I found my self surrounded by terrifying bolts of lighting and bone shaking rolls of thunder. Not long after, however, the storm passed and the sun shone gloriously over the magical landscape. Ahead of me a tall mountain loomed, on top of which sat a majestic castle. The cloud drew nearer and I knew I’d be able to get off on the ridge below the castle. I waited for the right moment and leapt. Unfortunately I misjudged the distance and fell many hundreds of feet to my death.

I’m afraid I left quite a mess on the magical landscape.

I wanted to say something to her, but I allowed the moment to pass. She hesitated, looking at me expectantly, almost willing my tongue to speak, but my fear was too great for the both of us. She smiled a sad smile and turned away.

The next time I saw her she was also smiling, still a little sadly I thought, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking, for this was her wedding day. I watched as she and her new husband walked down the aisle amidst much confetti and celebration, and I wondered what if; what if I had just for that moment allowed fear no place in my life?

She danced naked in the rain, whirling round and round with joyous abandon, her long ebony hair releasing a graceful shower of spray as she moved, her pale body a slender lithe lily in the wind. The sniper watched the magical scene through his sights, wondering why she had been chosen, but all he had was a face, time and place, and a brutal order. Yet here she was, beautiful, childlike in her ignorance, and he couldn’t do it. The rain stopped, and out came the sun, transforming the grey scene into a world of a million bedazzling diamonds wrapped in a bow of infinite colours. The sniper surveyed the scene then lowered his rifle – he knew what he had to do. He dialled the prearranged number and made a note of the place where his next and last victim would be.

“What a cool house, Joe!” cried Tom.

I smiled, not really knowing what to say. I’d lived in the old manor house for so long that I guess I took its size and lavish gardens for granted. My father is the warden of Farley Manor and I am his only son. I don’t know my mother – she died when I was very little, my father says of cancer. I have a picture of her: a beautiful, slender young woman with sad eyes and I imagine those eyes knowing that she wouldn’t see me grow up and being sad because of it, but that’s silly, I know. My father is an earnest man of few words, and has been as long as I can remember. He is tall, lean, with cold grey eyes that leave one with no doubt as to who is in charge. I suppose I love my father, but it is a strange sort of love; kind of a mixture between awe, respect and fear. He never hugs me and I sometimes feel he thinks I’m a nuisance, a left over part of my mother.

Tom is my only friend from school, Pembury Grammar School for boys – a “serious establishment” our headmaster always tells us – and his being here at my house is a rare treat indeed because father is not keen on people visiting. He says its because he has to look after the place and doesn’t want any of my hooligan friends damaging anything – it took me weeks of nagging to get permission.

I like Tom. He is serious like me, but like me has a wickedly fun streak and the two of us get along famously. Father had allowed use to roam around the whole gardens, so we were engaged in a very splendid game of hide and seek, too young for our teenage years, but who cares? I had just found him hiding in the maze and we were sitting resting on the edge of the fountain, looking back at the house.

“Really cool, Joe. You are so lucky.”
“I suppose, Tom, but it gets a bit lonely sometimes without anyone to hang out with.”
“You have me.”
“Yes, but that’s hardly ever. I wish father would let you visit more.”
Tom nodded, staring vacantly into the distance.

“Hey, what’s that?” he shouted suddenly, pointing towards the house.
I looked to see what he was pointing at. “What?”
“There! The attic window. A face!”
I looked but couldn’t see anything. “There’s nobody up there.”
“I tell you, there was someone, a girl with black hair. Very pale.”
“Woooooo… a ghooost…” I teased.
“Stop it!” he said, getting annoyed, “I saw someone!”
“Sorry.” I replied. “We do actually have a ghost, you know?”
“No way!”
“Yes. Father says it is a young woman who was murdered here long ago. She was locked up in the attic by her father and left to die.”
“Ugh. That’s horrible.”
“Definitely. Do you believe in ghosts?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“So shall we go have a look then?”
“What? No!”
“Oh come one. Be a sport!”
“I would but my father doesn’t allow me to go up there.”
“Why not?”
“He says there are precious vases up there and I’m not to go there.”
“Oh, OK…”

I could sense the disappointment and really did want to be a good sport. “Listen … well … my father is doing his rounds of the estate so we could take a quick look.”
Tom’s face brightened immediately. “Cool let’s go” and ran off towards the house with me in hot pursuit.

We reached the house at the same time and stopped, listening. Its weird how something can be a home one minute and a source of thrilling terror the next. I did actually believe in ghosts, despite what I’d told Tom. From earliest childhood the house had been full of creaks and distant noises, and sometimes when I lay in my bed trying to fall asleep I imagined I heard crying coming from the attic two floors above me. I’d asked my father about it and that is when he told me about the ghost, the girl called Isabelle who didn’t listen to her father and was horribly punished for it. It was a cruel story to tell a little boy, but he was like that, my father: very tough, and he expected the same from me I guess.

We climbed the flights of stairs quietly, listening both to the house and for my father, who I knew would skin me alive if he caught us. We soon reached the top floor and crossed the landing towards the final set of stairs that led up to the attic. I looked over towards Tom and could see that he was not looking as brave as he’d done before. “You OK?” I asked. He looked at me and nodded grimly. This was serious business.

We were about to start our ascent when I remembered that we would need a key to get into the attic. I once before had “explored” this area and found the way into the attic barred by a very solid, locked door. My courage had left me then and I had not returned, at least not until today. I did however look for the key and found it finally in a box at the back of my father’s cupboard. I told Tom to wait for me while I retrieved it and returned within a few minutes.

We paused before the final leg of our adventure, listening for the ghost, and for my father. I’m not sure who I was more terrified of, but I lead the way, quickly climbing the stairs. We stood at the door, ears pressed to its ancient panels, listening. Nothing. Just the wind sighing sadly as it drew its breath through the cracks.

I put the key into the keyhole and turned it slowly. I was surprised to find that it actually turned very easily. I thought nobody, including my father, ever went into the attic. My heart pounded in my throat as the door creaked open slowly, revealing a vast dimly lit space littered with clutter from yesteryear. Cobwebs hung everywhere between the clouds of ancient dust. In the middle of the attic was an old four poster bed bedecked with a thick veil. Tom nudged me and nodded towards the bed. I’d seen it too: the outline of a person, sleeping or perhaps worse, dead. It took all my courage to take a step forward rather than run for my life. Here at last was the answer to the question that had been burning in my subconscious for most of my life, the source of that presence I had always sensed and sometimes heard.

We reached the bed and with trembling hands slowly drew the veil back.

Before us lay, not a child, not a ghost, but a dead woman dressed in a long, faded red dress. She must have been dead a long time because the skin hung tautly on gaunt bones and her fingernails extended grotesquely beyond their usual boundaries.

“Ugh!” hissed Tom. “Who do you think she is?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “but she’s got something in her hand.”

We leaned forward, expecting her to leap at any minute, and inspected the item in her hand, a gold locket. I reached and took it from the wizened fingers, then opened it to find two pictures, one of a woman, the other of a little child. The child was I, and the eyes of the woman were sadly familiar; this was my mother.

I stood staring at the photographs, unable to move, struggling to comprehend the awful horror of what lay before me. Tom hissed impatiently “What is it?”

Suddenly behind us the floorboards creaked and we turned to find my father standing, cold fury in his eyes. “So you found her.”
We looked at him fearfully.
“I told you not to come up her, Joseph. You should have listened to me.”
“Sorry Father” I mumbled.
“Yes, very, very sorry Mr Brands,” offered Tom hopefully.
“Sorry, doesn’t cut it. Joseph I’ve told you so many times what happens to the disobedient, haven’t I?”
I nodded mutely.
He lunged forward angrily. “Give me that key!”
I managed to step to one side, causing my father to fall forward on his face. Tom shouted, “Let’s get out of here!”

We ran for our lives, fleeing from the attic, pausing a moment to lock the attic door, sprinting down the flights of stairs out into the glorious sunshine and freedom from the nightmare. We kept on running, even though I knew my father would not be in pursuit – the attic was used to confining its occupants.

We reached the front gate and I turned to look at the house one final time, and saw my father at the barred attic window, shouting noiselessly, pointlessly, while behind him I saw the sad familiar eyes fade into oblivion with a gentle smile.

Young Simon was walking around his local supermarket picking up a few items for his evening meal when he noticed an old lady was following him. He tried to ignore her but every direction he went she followed.

Eventually he went to the checkout, but the old lady managed to push in front of him and turned to speak to him.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, “I am very sorry if I have alarmed you by following you around, but you look just like my son who died recently.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” replied Simon, “that must be very disconcerting for you. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Well there is one thing that would cheer me up a bit,” she said. “As I’m leaving, will you call out ‘Goodbye mother’ to me?”
“Of course,” answered Simon and as the old woman was leaving, he called out, “Goodbye mother!”

The girl on the till checked out his items and said “That will be $135.”

Simon was shocked. “How can my bill be £135?” he asked, “I’ve only bought a few things!”

The checkout girl replied, “Your mother said that you would pay for her!”

It’s not difficult to make a woman happy. A man only needs to be:
1. a friend
2. a companion
3. a lover
4. a brother
5. a father
6. a master
7. a chef
8. an electrician
9. a carpenter
10. a plumber
11. a mechanic
12. a decorator
13. a stylist
14. a sexologist
15. a gynaecologist
16. a psychologist
17. a pest exterminator
18. a psychiatrist
19. a healer
20. a good listener
21. an organizer
22…. a good father
23. very clean
24. sympathetic
25. athletic
26. warm
27. attentive
28. gallant
29. intelligent
30. funny
31…. creative
32. tender
33. strong
34. understanding
35. tolerant
36. prudent
37. ambitious
38. capable
39. courageous
40. determined
41. true
42. dependable
43. passionate
44. compassionate

WITHOUT FORGETTING TO:

45. give her compliments regularly
46. love shopping!
47. be honest
48. be very rich
49. not stress her out
50 . not look at other girls

AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO:

51. give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself
52. give her lots of time, especially time for herself
53. give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT: !

54. Never to forget:
* birthdays
* anniversaries
* arrangements she makes

HOW TO MAKE A MAN HAPPY

1. Show up naked
2. Bring beer

This was the place: derelict building, at the end of the alley, last door on the left, the guy had said. Mind you, he had been very drunk and took two full unsteady minutes to examine the photo I showed him before answering, “That’s Lola for sure, not that you’d recognise her; you her father or summat?” I nodded and gave him all my available cash before moving on; this was the end of my search, many months of wandering the streets at night, peddling the picture of my little girl, trying to avoid trouble. I pushed the door open and climbed the stairs, covering my mouth because of the putrid stench of urine-washed vomit, finally arriving at what was her room. I hesitated before pushing the door open, dreading what I might find. She lay there, my angel, pride of my heart, cold and immobile, gone.

My wife sat down on the couch next to me as I was flipping channels.

She asked, ‘What’s on TV?’
I said, ‘Dust.’

And then the fight started…

******************************************

My wife and I are watching “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” while we were in bed.

I turned to her and said, “Do you want to have sex?”
“No,” she answered.
I then said, “Is that your final answer?”
She didn’t even look at me this time, simply saying, “Yes.”
So I said, “Then I’d like to phone a friend.”

And then the fight started….

******************************************

Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, grabbed the dog, and slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked up the boat up to the truck, and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad all day.

I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into bed. I cuddled up to my wife’s back, now with a different anticipation, and whispered, “The weather out there is terrible.”

My loving wife of 10 years replied, “Can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?”

And that’s how the fight started…

******************************************

I rear-ended a car this morning. So, there we were alongside the road and slowly the other driver got out of his car. You know how sometimes you just get soooo stressed and little things just seem funny? Yeah, well I couldn’t believe it…. He was a DWARF!!!
He stormed over to my car, looked up at me, and shouted, “I AM NOT HAPPY !!!”
So, I looked down at him and said, “Well, then which one are you?”

And then the fight started…..

*****************************************

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.
She said, ‘I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds.’
I bought her some bathroom scales.

And then the fight started…

******************************************

When I got home last night, my wife demanded that I take her someplace expensive… so, I took her to a gas station.

And then the fight started…

******************************************

After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver’s license to verify my age. I looked in my pockets and realized I had left my wallet at home. I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later.

The woman said, ‘Unbutton your shirt’. So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair. She said, ‘That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me’ and she processed my Social Security application. When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about my experience at the Social Security office.

She said, ‘You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability, too.’

And then the fight started….

******************************************

My wife and I were sitting at a table at my high school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table.

My wife asked, ‘Do you know her?’

‘Yes,’ I sighed, ‘She’s my old girlfriend. I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn’t been sober since.’

‘My God!’ says my wife, ‘who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?’

And then the fight started…

******************************************

I took my wife to a restaurant. The waiter, for some reason, took my order first.

“I’ll have the strip steak, medium rare, please.”
He said, “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?””
Nah, she can order for herself.”

And then the fight started…

******************************************

A woman is standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror. She is not happy with what she sees and says to her husband, ‘I feel horrible; I look old, fat and ugly.

I really need you to pay me a compliment.’

The husband replies, ‘Your eyesight’s damn near perfect.’

And then the fight started…..