The campsite near Silver Peak, north east of Thunder Island

I remember, it was difficult to get up much enthusiasm for foraging in our stay here, as the Silver Salmon Inn served such delicious food., but we did collect seaweed and birds eggs; and even trapped a small rabbit one day. We'd wondered if being so close to the marsh would be an issue with biting insects, but the strong westerly wind meant that we weren't othered at all. We didn't manage to catch any salmon in that river, but both the rivers had plenty of small, darting fish, which we deemed too bony to be worth cooking. 

I enjoyed our camping here, but something about the place fascinated Henry, he went back several times a year without me; and of course, it was from here that he went missing, six years ago now.

Ellis - 020

For Prediction Fiction here

This weeks words: orifice, plug, stretch

I wasn’t sure what I’d got myself into, didn’t really want to imagine how a man got the nickname Petrol.

Going undercover wasn’t just a favour for Kurt, it would also plug a few gaps in my CV. I did love working for Jasper but daydreamed about climbing the career ladder, stretching myself and rising triumphant above numerous challenges. Being applauded for outstanding detecting in a swanky function room. Sharp trouser suit with fun sparkly heels. Jasper, open-mouthed in admiration. Me telling the nay-sayers which orifice to shove things in...

Petrol Byrne though, was that my half remembered green-eyed man?

Ellis - 019

 For Prediction Fiction here

This Weeks Words: contract, support, surrogate

“thnx 4 ur support” said Kurt’s message.

And I’d thought men weren’t good at being passive-aggressive.

In the commune, getting everything out in the open was the way to avoid serious conflict; the aggression between my surrogate family members was never far from the surface. Nothing a chest baring wrestle and a good cup of herbal tea couldn’t solve. I just didn’t think that would work with Kurt. Trust me to yearn for a bloke whose opinion of me would contract if I got my tits out.

The phone pinged again.

“when can u debrief re chatting up “Petrol” Byrne?”

Ellis 018

For Prediction Fiction here
This weeks words: crackle, smoke, traitor

My phone chirruped, a message from Kurt. I guess Jasper had found him.

I felt like a traitor having this crush, but something crackled in me when I saw him, an itch under my skin, wanting to get under his skin. He looked so smooth, so perfect.

Had he deliberately put me in danger? I wasn’t trained for undercover work, but I think I was just meant to keep an eye out, see who was in the club?

I lit a Marlboro; something about the way the smoke tendrilled sparked an almost memory.

Cheekbones, curling hair.

A swallowing green gaze.

Ellis 017

For Prediction Fiction here
This weeks words: gangster, gull, pier

I tried to organise my thoughts. I was still wearing my third favourite dress, sea-foam green covered with black thready lace, like being under a pier. It didn’t look ripped or stained. 

I couldn’t remember seeing DCI Kurt Petersson, at all the Spearmint Rhino, though he had said I wouldn’t be undercover alone. I was to look out for potential Irish gangsters, but accents get lost in the music and shouting.

I flirted to get close, get the men talking.

Gulling them, lulling them.

Yes, accepting drinks.

I don’t remember being on the stage. Or anything much, really. 

Ellis 016

For Prediction Fiction here
This weeks words: bark, native, appropriate

But enough wallowing in old memories, I told myself. Jasper had instructed me to write my report on what I could remember from last night’s undercover shift, I shouldn’t let him down.

I was glad of the new phones that replaced police notebooks, I could stay under the blanket.

I hated report writing, I can still hear my old training Sergeant’s sarcastic drone, “Ellis, the notebook is not the place for your native wit or inappropriate language.” Miserable git, he was.

 Where to start? What can I remember from the haze? I glanced down at my barked knuckles

on travelling

There are things you miss, travelling
Absent things recalled
I miss having my own coffee up,
buying machined hot brown something
No anticipatory smell from opening the bag,
coffee scented with hazelnuts and familiarity

I look at a different menu most nights,
restaurants and hotels, I choose quickly
and eat alone, observing the company
Sometimes a colleague will join me, and rarer, a friend.
I miss cooking at home, or buying a pizza,
heating it up, adding toppings and calling that cooking

I see countries, cities, streets and villages,
Hills and mountains, enclosing forests, shores
Bridges spanning firths and estuaries, and clouds
from the plane. Skies and skies, and more skies and
driving in rain, spatters of red lights and headlights
And always the road, a grey thread sewing the routes

But I sometimes miss my roof terrace.
The decking is slowly rotting because of the rain
but when the sun shines it is a little oasis in my city
Overgrown tubs, grasses and herbs returning to wild
Sitting sipping coffee under contrails and hearing the traffic
knowing that I don’t have to be in it

I sleep easily, in four poster beds, under chintz
or in a modern family room, blandness acceptable
for a night or two. It’s rare to get a view, a horizon
I miss my bed too. For two nights a week, I sleep there
with nowhere to go when I wake
Yet still, I resist the rooting of routine

Ellis 015

For Prediction fiction here
This weeks words: gutter, rime, thrift

Jasper had sneaked to the old gypsy caravan when I was sick one winter, I was twelve. It was a quarantine measure, putting me out there, to stop the rest of us getting influenza. It was quite cosy inside, with old quilts and blankets that spoke of love and history more than thrift, and in the fat guttering candlelight (and fever), I was warm.
Jasper picked his way across the rimed yard, supposed to deposit the soup at the door for me, but he came inside and stayed with me. Ghost stories now, they always make me remember that cosiness.

Inverted Yggdrasil

I reach my branches into the ether
  of zeroes and ones, a binary cloud
  organised and fractal
My twigs twitch and clutch
  the information overload
  taste the ebb and flow
Trolls don't hide under bridges
  but stomp in the open here,
  broken sludge in their wake
My buds are repelled
  the darkness frosts the edges
  turning them inward
Down I go, my roots
  reaching for earthiness
  away from illiteracy, politics
  blasting rhetoric
My toes quest like worms
  and push for warmth, goodness
The fires are raging above
  minds turned inside out
  thoughts splashed everywhere, corrosive
I become a stump
  and wait in the dark
  for the storm to pass

 Written in response to "The Almond Tree" by D H  Lawrence  at the Cardiff Bay Writing Group

Ellis 014

For Prediction Fiction here
This weeks words: pride, quirk, wedge

After they had both left, I tucked my wounded pride under the blanket with me.
I never caught Jessica actively trying to drive a wedge between me and Jasper, but that’s how it felt.
Jasper and I had grown up together as siblings in a commune, an amorphous bunch of kids and adults on a farm. He was my adored big brother, he was daring and right and full of purpose. I followed him, into the police. By some quirk of hard work and talent, he made it to Sergeant and became my boss. Jessica just didn’t get our closeness.

Litany against fear

I was afraid of you
I knew you would upset my equilibrium
I knew you would
I knew we would make memories
  to hoard, a jewelled rosary for later years

I was afraid of you
I  knew you would open up my heart
I knew you would
I knew we would walk on, squeeze a blossom of baby's breath
  and twine fingers and thoughts through our lives

I was afraid I would not be good enough for you

Written in response to Sharon Old's "To our miscarried one, aged thirty now" for the Cardiff Bay Writing Group

Batter my heart

You wore yellow, when we met
by appointment, for our first illicit kiss
You, with a bottle of wine on the table
two glasses, though you had not waited to pour
You wore yelllow on your finger
your wedding ring, a guilty gilty gleam
We spoke circles around each other
(will we? shall we?), coiling certainty with doubt
We leaned closer, willing
and unwilling to close the deal
You, like an usurp'd town to another due


(Prompted from John Donne's holy-sonnets-batter-my-heart-three-persond-god)

There is no try...

I believe in failure
  waiting to trip me up at every opportunity
Do nothing, the easy way to fail
Try, and yet, fail again
  at something different
I try to do the right thing, but there is no reward in heaven,
  only the world turning around to bite you
    somewhere new
I stopped believing

Driving to Tesco

Driving this time of year, wet tarmac and skies all blunt greys and the verges sombre evergreens, with shivers of egg yolk and copper, nodding as cars swish past.

076/100 days of aspirin

Waving parents off on a trip from the family home. Must be twenty five or more years since I did that. Back to bed with stomach ache. Watching Alias Grace, all six episodes one after the other. Reading, cooking partly succesful, using a different hob and microwave to my own. Sleep and sunshine, yellow and cream curtains and walls make the light glow in some of the rooms here.

075/100 days of aspirin

Back at the family home, life is low key and precious at the same time.  There's an awareness that life is moving on, and some day, spending a day walking to to the supermarket, or sitting chatting with my parents won't be an option. Partly because of the accident, I'm more alert to risks and see more danger in everyday activity. Partly because they are more concious of the passing of time, wondering when they do something significant (or perhaps not), if if will be the last time.

Reflective, I suppose. Certainly less fraught than the last time I was here, straight after surgery. Going upstairs or downstairs isn't so exhausting that once a day is enough.

074/100 days of aspirin

Musing on personal impact today, I've been working at a new site, which means getting to know a whole new set of people. Meeting new people and having to work with them on key business projects straight away, and getting them to trust you, a person who's just walked in off the street. Giving out the "we're here to help" message without being patronising (which is just one of my manyy delightful character traits according to my MBTi profile!)
For all I like to think of myself as a self aware person, I'm really not that good at assessing my impact on others, but yesterday I felt I clicked with a key person.

Arrived at my parents house late evening, and smiled, looking at the porch step that caused so much consternation and trouble eleven weeks back, the effort it took to haul myself into the house. The stairs I spent a week going up and down on my bum! My ankle may be a long way from perfect, but it's also a long way from where it was in a cast. Phew!