The story is short, very short, and tightly focused. With that delightful quality of a type of short story, nothing much happens. An English family of rural labourers, father, son, mother, and baby daughter, walk over a hill. The father, 'slightly drunk', berates 'his little son' for losing a sixpence. I don't want to spoil it by saying much more, but if you have ever heard someone being relentlessly, repeatedly berated by someone whom they cannot answer back, you will appreciate the awful, sustained oppression in this tale.
“The pocket watch in the window. Is it a Ballian?” I asked. “Indeed, sir, a Ballian.” “How old?” “Twelve years.” “And its provenance?” “From a master, sir.” “May I examine the piece?” He took the watch from the shop window and passed it to me. It was clear a master had finished it, for the brass was rendered with delicacy and the glass had a curve and quality seen only in the finest lenses. However, I had seen a hundred pieces with such a finish and none of them were a quarter the price of this Ballian.
Having diligently followed the instructions in Chapters 5 and 6, you will now have more money than you know what to do with. One opportunity open to you is temporal tourism: how much better it is to stand shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other spectators and watch the brave gladiators fighting for life and glory, than to traipse around the ruins the Colosseum has become, guided by a man with neither the wit nor the imagination to describe the wonders that once happened there, your senses numb to the heat, the dust, and the excitement?
Annalisa sighed. "Always takes so long, doesn't it?"
The woman looked up. She was probably called Tamara, Annalisa decided, or Hermione. One of those Kensington names. What on earth was she doing here, in the shabby waiting room of the Hackney ante-natal unit? She looked like she should be brunching at the Woleseley, not slouching on a green, foam-filled NHS chair beneath a dog-eared anti-smoking poster.
Besides, Tamara certainly wasn't pregnant. Her grey cashmere dress skimmed an extravagantly concave stomach. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of bluebottle shades, and in her hands she clutched a large leather handbag, the kind Annalisa had seen in glossy magazines, usually with a four-figure price tag attached.
I was born at some point in the nineteen-sixties. I’m English, I’m from the north of England. My parents – I’m of unknown parentage. I’m learning, slowly but surely. Everyone here has been very helpful.
‘Do you remember it? Any of it?’ Doctor Wainwright asked me this morning.
I thought hard. I did not remember. I shook my head.
Longtime contributors Niall Boyce, Jonathan Pinnock & Richard Smyth all have books out which you'd be well advised to buy, then read, then buy for others. All genres are catered for, from novels (Niall's Veronica Britton) and short stories (Jonathan's Dot Dash) to nonfiction (Richard's Bumfodder)
KATY LIAR'S DEBUT NOVEL
Liar Katy Darby's debut novel, a Victorian drama called The Unpierced Heart (previously titled The Whores' Asylum) is now out in Penguin paperback. It's had nice reviews in The Independent on Sunday, Sunday Times & Metro (4*).
OUR INTERVIEW WITH ANNEXE MAG!
They came, they saw, they asked us a bunch of interesting questions. Interview by Nick of Annexe Magazine with Katy of LL: here
