Short Story – Flat Tyre

I stared blankly at the road ahead as I drove. The lanes were narrow, but I knew them, knew every turn, every bend that was a little sharper than anticipated. It was a good job, because I wasn’t paying attention to the road at all.

That is, I wasn’t paying attention to the road until some idiot came speeding around the corner in the middle of the road, forcing both of us to slam our breaks on and me to swerve out of the way, into the verge. I felt the car hit something in the hedge, but I was more preoccupied in sending the dirtiest look I could his way as he squeezed his posh car past the beat up old car I had been driving since I turned seventeen.

I knew something was wrong, though, when I pulled away and the steering wheel was difficult to turn. The car crawled around the bend, because I wasn’t sure I could turn it at any greater speed. I struggled on until the road widened, and pulled the car into the entrance to a field, turning the car off and getting out, looking around it for damage. It was when I saw the flat tyre, where my front wheel had hit the verge, that I sighed. I had a spare in my boot, but I didn’t know how to change it. 

I grabbed my phone from my car, and scrolled through my contacts, trying to figure out who to call. My finger hovered over my Dad’s number, and tears welled up in my eyes. It was always him I called for things like this. He was the person who came to my rescue when I didn’t know how to fix something, or who to call. 

I hadn’t properly grieved him, I knew that. I had sat, dry-eyed, at his funeral, listening to countless people say that they were sorry. Sorry. They weren’t the drunk driver who had smashed into him. They weren’t who needed to apologise. Besides, I had managed to convince myself that he wasn’t really gone. He had just gone away for a little bit. This kind of thing didn't happen, not in my family where nothing ever happened. It was a bad dream that I needed to wake up from.

Standing next to my car, with a flat tyre, I cried. Not for the tyre, but for my Dad, who couldn’t come to my rescue anymore. I couldn’t call him up when I needed him, or pop round to have a cup of coffee and listen to him rave about his latest motor obsession. He would never wrap me up in his arms again when I was upset, never reassure me that everything was going to be alright.

I cried until a car drove past, reminding me of where I was, and that even though I was off the road, I wasn’t completely out the way of danger, and I was still stranded in the middle of a long lane with only a beginning and an end, and barely nothing in-between.

I sniffed, scrolling through my contacts again, and clicking on one, holding the phone up to my ear. 

“James? I’ve got a flat tyre, and I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t know what to do.” It was all I could do not to start crying again as my Dad’s best friend reassured me through the phone. I could hear him leaving the house, and getting into the car through the phone as I explained where I was.

He pulled into the field entrance as much as he could, switching his hazard lights on and getting out. I ran to him, and he engulfed me in the kind of hug only a father could do. But it wasn’t my father. 

James didn’t seem to care that I was getting his shirt wet with tears. He hugged me, on the side of the road, as I finally realised that my Dad was gone. He wasn’t coming back. It was the kind of hug that I had been missing from my Dad, but it was what truly made me come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t here to hug me anymore.

When I finally pulled away, and reached my hands up to wipe the tears from my face, it didn’t escape my notice that James had tears in his eyes as well. James sniffed, and gave me a sad smile.

“Shall we get your tyre sorted, and get you back on the road?”

I nodded, and opened my boot, throwing things from the boot onto the back seat, so we could get to the spare wheel.

“You know,” James sniffed again, “I can’t believe you don’t know how to do this. Your Dad rebuild four different cars from scrap, and he never taught you how to change a wheel?”

“He did,” I smiled at the memory. Me being a grumpy teenager who just wanted to lounge about in the sunshine, forced to take a wheel off and put it back on because my Dad wanted me to learn. “I was never enthused about the idea of getting dirty, so I never really paid attention.”

“Well, you can get dirty this time. I’m not doing all the hard work. I pulled a muscle in my shoulder the other day. You’re changing this wheel.”

Somehow, James making me do the hard work made me feel better. My Dad was always doing something on some car or another, tightening this, or fiddling with that. Now, I was the one doing those things. Granted, I was just changing a wheel, not rebuilding an engine, and I did have to get James to help me loosen the bolts in the first place, but I was fixing a car. Kind of. 

James hugged me again when the wheel had been changed over, a side-hug that said ‘well done’. My Dad might not be here to help anymore, but I wasn’t alone in missing him. It was clear James missed him just as much. 

“You need to get that tyre replaced, you can’t drive on the spare forever.” James told me as I struggled to lift the wheel I had taken off into the boot.

“Where do I do that?”

“We’ll do it now, yeah? I’ll go ahead, you follow behind me so you know the way.” 

I smiled, more to myself. My Dad was always doing that if we needed to take two cars somewhere, and I didn’t know the way. Driving ahead, so I could follow him. 

“Okay. Thank you.” I hugged him again, but this time, I wasn’t sure if it was him comforting me, or me comforting him.

And done!

I know, I know. Another sad one.

I don't actually have anything to say down here today.

Anyway, that's all for now...

Bye!

 

A Review – Falling for the Competition by Jen Smith

Hi.

It's been a good while since I last posted. At least since I last posted properly, following a schedule. With a book release, and illness in the household, I've been too preoccupied to actually create any blog posts.

Now I'm ill, which gave me an opportunity to read, for the first time in ages! I actually received my copy of this book through a review portal. If you are interested, and want to check it out and potentially review some books as well, you can find out some more information HERE!

Let me introduce the book, and then we can get into my review!

It’s going to be the best summer ever for ambitious, overachieving Quinn. A huge history buff, not only has she landed her dream job interning in the archives department of the local castle, but her best friend will be working there too.

However, Quinn isn’t the only one to be working in Archives this summer; Quinn’s academic rival, Patrick, is sharing her office in Muniments. They’re competing for the Letter of Recommendation (singular) from the research historian that Quinn needs to get her dream future placement.

Their emotionally-loaded and competitive rivalry turns into a reluctant friendship, as they spend every day working together in silence (and sharing the occasional Twix). Until the Re-Enactors arrive. Between Patrick and Harry – the Golden Knight of the jousting team – Quinn’s carefully planned summer is thrown into complete disarray. Meanwhile, her best friend’s relationship may look perfect on the outside, but Quinn is starting to realise that there’s more going on than there seems.

Although Quinn is determined and single minded about planning every detail of her sparkling future, she comes to discover that the best things in life are the spontaneous ones – and that some people are more important than any Letter of Recommendation (singular) could ever be.

Amazon UK • Amazon US

My Review!

Quinn is ready for the best summer of her life. She has her dream intern job, her best friend will be working in the same castle, albeit in the cafe, not in the archives, and at the end of the internship, she will receive the Letter of Recommendation she needs to further her dreams, and to get the next dream placement.

The only problem is, when Quinn shows up for the first day of work, not only is she forced to take part in a briefing she doesn’t need to, therefore making her late, she finds that she is not the only person working in archives. She will be working alongside Patrick, her rival in everything. He is in the year above her at school, but she is taking the same subjects as he did, and with everything, the teachers are always telling her to have a look at what he did, because he is the golden boy that she is just compared to. That’s not all though – the real kicker is that there is only one Letter of Recommendation, and they are both competing for it.

Quinn is a very prepared person, she has everything planned to the final second. That first day of work completely throws her, because nothing goes as she planned. She can’t get into work without doing the briefing, which she was told she did not have to do, and when she finally arrives? She certainly was not expecting her nemesis to be sat at a desk. Quinn’s frustrations are incredibly clear. Her future means everything to her and everything starts falling apart in front of her. 

This is definitely an enemies to lovers story, for from the very beginning, it is clear that Quinn cannot stand Patrick, and it is an effort for them to even be civil to each other. Being forced to work in the same room, day in day out, means that, eventually, there must be some conversation, and, after a while, they might even become friends… not that Quinn is an unfriendly person, she just doesn’t like Patrick!

While on the surface this is a cute love story between two history geeks, there is so much more to this book. One: there is Harry, a Re-Enactor knight who has come to sweep his princess off her feet (not that Quinn particularly wants that). Two: Frankie, Quinn’s best friend, is having boyfriend troubles. Three: Quinn goes on a journey of realisation when she starts to discover that, just maybe, not everything is as important at the Letter of Recommendation. Frankie’s boyfriend troubles, in particular, stirred up a lot of trouble. Her boyfriend is annoying her, with how much he checks in, constantly texting her and trying to always know where she is and what she’s doing. His controlling behaviour escalates rapidly, and eventually, threats start coming both Frankie’s and Quinn’s way. While it is a side plot of the novel, it is one of great importance. The way the relationship, and the events, has been described is wonderful, even if the actual events are not. Not all relationships are healthy, and Frankie shows that everyone should be treated the way they deserve, with love, respect, and compassion.

I loved Patrick and Quinn, especially some of their things. It is not a spoiler to talk about the Twixs. One will buy the other a Twix, and they will share it. They show each other how they’re feeling through chocolate, which I think is amazing. They have other things as well, but I don’t want to go too much into it. You will have to read the book and find all the little quirky things they do yourself! I love how Patrick lets Quinn lead the relationship. He knows what he is comfortable with, but she doesn’t, so he sits back and waits for her to figure out what she wants, instead of pressuring her forwards. Their relationship isn’t particularly helped by Harry the Re-Enactor, who I loathe for reasons I will not divulge for spoiler’s sake, but still. Again, read the book if you’re curious!

If you are after a lighthearted romance book, with some more serious sub-plots, and don’t have anything important to do, you should grab a copy of this book and read it. I mention that you can’t have anything important to do, because you won’t be able to put this book down. I read it over two days, but only because I fell asleep the first day! Otherwise, I could have easily read it in one sitting.

And done!

I am so glad I asked to receive a copy of this book, because I was certainly in need of a five star romance book to snuggle up with.

I don't have much to say down here, I pretty much said everything I wanted to at the top of this post. So, yeah!

That's all for now...

Bye!

Celebrate the release of Embrace the Choice (The Choice Series, Book 2) with me!

It's Release Day!

Embrace the Choice (The Choice Series, Book 2) is out now! It is the second in a stand-alone series.

How do you deal with choices when you don’t know how?

Lena has always been a quiet and private person, who only talks to people she knows and doesn’t stray outside of her comfort zone. She refuses to admit to anyone but herself that she has a crush on Tyler, the roommate of a friend’s boyfriend.

When Tyler starts making excuses to spend time with her, she can’t help but like the attention, however awkward she may find social interaction. The problem is, Lena knows next to nothing about dating. Everything she knows has come from a romance book, and she is too socially inept to be able to act like the women in her books. Will she be able to summon the courage in order to go on the date she so desperately desires?

A quick read filled with friendship, love, and trashy romance books.

You can grab a copy now!

Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU

To celebrate the release of book 2, Escape the Choice (The Choice Series, Book 1) is FREE for a limited time!

How do you make a choice when you don't want to choose?

Oliver's friendship may be important to Ali, after all, she's the only friend he's got, but that's all they will ever be – friends. When it comes to Noah, she can't help but hope their friendship will become something more. Her heart flutters when he is near, and her eyes always seem to find his.

Unfortunately for Ali, Oliver would make things very difficult if anything were to happen between her and Noah, and while Noah has never told her not to be friends with Oliver, his distaste for the man is quite clear. For Ali to resolve the ongoing dispute, she will have to choose between them. But how can Ali choose between the two men when her decision will mean she has to cut one of them from her life?

A quick read filled with friendship, love, and a deep adoration of coffee and muffins.

Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU

Short Story – Thank you for the Memories

“Can we sit down for a bit?” My granddaughter asked, pointing towards a bench. Her small hand in mine swung our arms as we walked along the path I knew so well, that she had yet to discover. 

"Of course.”

She led the way to the bench, pulling me along behind her. I knew everything about this path, every tree, every plant. I knew that bench. I came to visit every week, ran my fingers along the engraving. 

“Can I have a drink?” She asked, and I sat down, digging through the bag I carried with me for her water bottle. She took it from my hands and tipped it up, drinking deeply, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand afterwards. I looked up to where the tops of the trees brushed the sky, aware of my granddaughter turning on the bench and looking around.

“RTB.” She said quietly, and I dragged my gaze down to her. Hearing the initials I knew being spoken aloud felt like a spell had been broken, and yet, at the same time I longed to hear them spoken again. “Who do you think it was?” She looked up at me, and I turned my attention towards the engraving. RTB. Thank you for the memories. 

I knew who it was. I knew better than most. I knew that Robbie was the love of my life the moment I saw him. It was the summer, and heat beat down on my head as I walked through the fields. I heard laughter, and my eyes found the source, a group of boys from my class at school, kicking a ball around. He saw me looking, and held up a hand in greeting. I had blushed at the attention, and at being caught, and rushed home, but I couldn’t get his face out of my head. The splattering of freckles across his pale skin, the sun tanned crinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling. The bright orange curls that had been the object of teasing when we were little, but was quickly forgotten. 

I went back to school after the summer holidays, a year older at 16, to find a flower on my desk, just a daisy, but one that beamed up at me as I sat down. I glanced around the room and saw him staring at me, grinning. I fell into the seat and tucked the flower into my bag before anyone else saw, smiling. 

He started walking me home from school, making conversation. When the summer warmth left, and cool autumn breezes set in, I tried to convince him that I could walk home fine by myself, concerned about him going out of his way in the cold to see me home, but he refused to cease accompanying me. Secretly, I was pleased. 

By the time summer came back around, we were sweethearts, holding hands and stealing kisses when we were by ourselves. He took me out for the day, and we walked along a path with trees either side of it, the birds singing in the sky and among the leaves. I carried a picnic basket, swinging it as I held his hand, smiling in contentment as we walked. He took me to a clearing, one he obviously knew well, and we ate sandwiches and kissed. As afternoon turned to early evening, our kisses escalated, and for the first time, we were wrapped in each other’s arms on the picnic blanket, with no clothing between us. His arms were a cocoon of love, and I never wanted to leave him. 

The day he didn’t turn up for school, I walked alone to his house, missing him in his entirely. I missed his hand in mine, the lilt of his voice as he talked to me, the look on his face when he listened to me talk as if I were saying the most interesting things he had ever heard. I knocked on the door, and when his mother answered, I asked after him. Sick in bed, she said. I was not to come in, lest I too grew ill. I walked home in silence, eagerly awaiting the day he was well enough to return to school, and to walk with me again. 

Three lonely weeks passed of me visiting his house daily, seeing only his mother or older sister at the door, and never stepping foot inside. I never knew I could feel dread before anything bad happened, but there was a pit in my stomach when I walked up to his door one day, and knocked hesitantly on it. No one answered for a few minutes, and I knocked again. His mother opened the door, tears running down her cheeks, and pulled me into a hug as she sobbed. I stood shook still, trying to process what I knew was the truth. My Robbie was gone. 

His funeral was a quiet affair, and I stood by his mother as they laid the coffin in the grave, a handkerchief grasped in the hand that rested against my belly, where I was now certain our child grew. My Robbie was gone, but there was a tiny piece of him, coming to life inside me. Despite my weeks of crying after Robbie left, he did not return. Yet, my child grew, and I vowed to give them enough love for Robbie as well.

“I think it was someone very loved,” I wrapped my arm around my granddaughter, and tucked a bright orange curl behind her ear. Her mother had the same hair, and still, only I knew where it came from. I hadn’t shared Robbie with anyone, but had kept his memory to myself all these years. But, the bench that I had put here, to keep his memory alive was not doing that. No one knew who RTB was, only that it was a person who was no longer here. It had been long enough. 

“His name was Robert Thomas Brown.” I told her, and she looked up at me, the freckles across her nose so much like his. “And he was your grandfather.”

And done!

Yes, it's kind of sad – I know, I know.

The inspiration for this came entirely from going on a walk and coming across a bench with an inscription that had three initials, and then said 'thank you for the memory'. My writer brain instantly came up with this story idea when I started to wonder who they had been, and who had dedicated the bench to them.

ALSO – I just realised I named this after a Fall Out Boy song when I titled the post... it's nothing to do with them, I didn't copy the title or anything, it was literally an inscription on a bench!

Anyway, that's all for now...

Bye!

 

Movie Review – Polaroid – when a camera 'shoot' may actually be lethal

I have way too many films on my to-watch list.

I've also managed to get really behind on my blog posts, I missed several in the last few weeks, and I want to get more organised with them. I wrote a list of posts I want to make, so I can actually get some finished, and making that list involved scrolling through my Netflix list to see what movies I could review. This was one I couldn't remember adding to my list, so I was obviously intrigued and clicked it.

I watched it instead of finishing my list.

Let me introduce it, and then we will get into my review.

High school loner Bird Fitcher finds a vintage Polaroid camera that holds dark and mysterious secrets. She soon realizes that those who get their picture taken by it meet a tragic and untimely death.

My Review!

Bird Fitcher is the person in high school with a nickname, the kind people say loudly, so that you’ll definitely hear it. ‘Scarf Girl’, who always has a scarf around her neck to hide an old scar. Bird loves photography and antiques, so when her friend, Tyler, gives her an old polaroid camera that he found in a yard sale, she is overjoyed. She snaps a photo of him to commemorate the moment.

A few hours later, Tyler is dead. A shadow on the photo Bird took disappears, and moves to a newer photo, one of another friend. Hours later, and she is also dead.

Bird has a single picture, with all her friends in it, taken with the camera. With two people dead, and the shadow mysteriously having moved onto the picture with all her friends, Bird starts to grow worried. There is something about the camera, something about the deaths of her friends and the photos taken. The shadow looms over the group photo, as she realises that someone in the photo is next.

The two characters we see the most in this film are Bird and Connor. Connor is a guy Bird has a crush on, and they meet at a party, where Connor goes on to be featured in the group photo. After talking to Bird for a brief time, Connor starts to spend more time around her, teaming up with Bird to try and solve the mystery, and escape the danger, of being in the polaroid. Connor seems to be the one who believes Bird the most when she tries to tell her friends she is worried for them, and the photo, and together they work to try and figure out what is happening, why, and how to stop it.

I really liked Bird’s character. She is a very fleshed out main character, she has all the attributes of a real person – she is not just a backstory and the events of the film. Unfortunately, some of the other characters felt a little flat. Like they were just there for the sake of another character, rather than being real people in the situation. There was one character, I won’t name which, who I was certain from the start was going to die. They just seemed like the kind of person added into the film to be a friend who died. What do you know, they did! There was another character, though, Devin, who I thought was the next most real character after Bird. Unlike some of the others, he had very strong emotions that changed with what was happening, and he reacted to them physically. He might’ve been my favourite character, just for how real he came across. 

Those in the pictures are linked to them, and that, in turn, links the shadow to them. I watch films with subtitles on, and the subtitles referred to the shadow as an ‘entity’. The entity shows up within the first few minutes of the film, so it is not a spoiler to talk about it. It makes an utterly terribly noise, a ragged wheezing, screeching scream. It is the kind of sound that is the last thing you ever hear. I won’t go into detail, but I quite liked the ‘rules’ of the entity. There are always rules for supernatural beings, like how werewolves can be killed with silver, or vampires with a wooden stake. The entity has rules I’ve never come across before, and I thought they fit the film perfectly.

When looking up this film, after watching it, I found a lot of negativity about it. Apparently, not many people liked it. While I can understand that it’s not an engrossing horror film, that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, it is not without tension. Sure, there are predictable moments, and it uses jump scares to add to the horror aspect, but it was still enjoyable. Some people have called it unoriginal, saying that the story has been done before. I can’t really add my own opinion to this, because I’ve never seen this kind of story anywhere else. This might be why I enjoyed it more than others, who have.

Yes, this film may not be what some people would class as a horror film, I would personally say it’s not that scary, but I don’t get scared watching horror films as it is. I would consider it more of a tense supernatural thriller. There is a lot of darkness, as with most horror films, and I am once again made to question – do lots of people use weak lamps as lighting in their homes, rather than lights that actually light up the room, or is that just a thing in horror films so there are shadows and dark corners? 

Overall, I enjoyed this film. It is a quick film, just under an hour and a half, and while I found it more interesting than scary, it was entertaining. I think it might’ve been better with less jump scares and more gore, but it was still a good film. It certainly was not one I regret watching, it wasn’t a waste of my time (and believe me, I’ve watched several films before that were!) I would quite happily watch this again, perhaps with a friend, to introduce them to it. 

And done!

I honestly don't know why I can't find any positive reviews for this film. There's not actually that many reviews of it, and they're all terrible. It wasn't that bad! I liked it!

That's all for now...

Bye!

Short Story – The Call of the Sea

My feet pounded against the beach, my shoes kicking up sand behind me. I couldn’t spend another minute in that house with my father. Not with him trying to tell me how to live my life when he barely knew how to live his own. I had run upstairs, slammed my bedroom door shut, and climbed out the window. I looked through one of the downstairs windows as I passed, and saw him already sat down in his armchair with a glass of whisky in his hand. 

The summer sun was starting to lower in the sky, but it would be light for a while yet. That was what I loved about summer, the long evenings. The air was warm, but a slight breeze had begun, and it cooled the sweat on my face as I ran. 

I crossed the beach and slowed, stumbling into my family’s boathouse. It was run down, a partition wall collapsed, and holes in the roof that let rain in.

I pulled the doors open and climbed into my little boat. The engine started with a splutter, and I sailed it through the doors, out onto the open water. The sound of the engine rumbling, and the waves lapping at the paintwork, seagulls calling out above me – this was my happy place. The place where nothing could get to me, where I felt the safest, alone on the water. 

I took the boat around the coast, watching my house come into view, half hoping my father would be outside, looking for me, making sure I was alright. The house stood solitary, and the only people I could see were the elderly couple who lived down the road from us, walking slowly along the beach. Who was I kidding, my father probably hadn’t even gone upstairs to realise I wasn’t there. Why would he come to apologise, or talk to me? There was no point in talking if I was going to be the only one listening. 

I turned the engine off, letting the boat drift. The waves were calm, and I walked across the deck as it rocked, a practiced motion of staying upright. The shore was small in the distance, and I sat, staring at it. I couldn’t see my house anymore, or the couple on the beach. I couldn’t see the individual trees that I knew from climbing them in my childhood. What I could see, though, was the colours of the land. I could see the pale sand, the darkness of trees and the lighter patches of grass. I could just about make out the town.

The air lost its warmth as the sun continued its descent. I could see the moon, pale against the still blue sky, and the white trail left behind from an airplane. My attention drifted as I watched the water, sat crosslegged on the deck, the gentle rocking calming me. I breathed in the salty air, the hair on my arms raising with goosebumps from the new chill in the air. I reluctantly pushed myself to my feet and went in search of the blanket I kept on the boat, finding it tucked away and wrapping it around my shoulders. 

The engine reluctantly came back to life, and I directed the boat back towards the shore, to its captivity in the boathouse. A broken down home, where it had no choice but to stay. Somehow, I would rather stay in the boathouse. That, or take my boat and sail somewhere, anywhere. I could travel along the coast, follow it to another beach town and find my place there, or just keep going, live on the boat as I travelled.

The walls of the boathouse enclosed me in, and I cut the engine, jumping out the boat to close the doors. I would stay here tonight. I couldn’t face climbing back into my room, or going through the front door and explaining where I had been. I didn’t want to face my home tonight.

My boat had a little cabin, with a small kitchen and a place to sleep. I kept things here, things I would take if I ever were to just up and leave. I pulled open one of the drawers, and took out a framed photo of my mother. This had been her boat, left to me when she passed away a few years ago. That was when my father had changed as well. Now, he would rather spend money on a bottle of alcohol than pick flowers for her grave. 

I settled into bed, laying the blanket over the duvet, and tucking both around me. My father didn’t understand why my mother and I loved this boat so much. He didn’t get why we would rather be out sailing than on land. But there was something about being on the water, the rocking of the boat, the sound of the water – I even slept better in on the boat than in my room at home. Being on the water was home for me, and it gave me a way to keep my mother’s memory alive. Every time I took the boat out, I could almost hear her voice in the sigh of the wind, and could almost feel her hands over mine on the wheel, like how she used to help me steer when I was little. 

I rolled over, and yawned. I would go back tomorrow, talk to my father. I suppose I had to. For now, though, I would sleep. One day, I was going to take the boat and go. I could feel it. I was just waiting for the day to come, and in the meantime, I dreamt of the open water, the wind in my hair, and no one around to stop me.

And done!

I wasn't sure what to call this story, 'The Call of the Sea' was the first thing that came to mind.

Well, actually, the first thing that came to mind was 'Boat Story', and it was sat on my desktop with that title for a few days before I actually made this post. I think 'Boat Story' would've sufficed. Anyway.

That's all for now...

Bye!